Minka
MINKA
“ I have an idea. And I’m not sure if the detectives have thought of it yet.” I sit back at my desk after rounds and study Aubree on the other side. Though my building is a hustle and bustle of techs and doctors who easily manage themselves, I take this moment after signing a thousand—or, well, maybe twenty—work orders and budgetary requests.
I took this job as chief medical examiner, because I wanted the career advancement, and most important of all, I wanted to get out of New York City and live my life somewhere else.
Anywhere else.
But in all my upskilling wisdom, I never truly stopped to take stock of the fact that half of my job would consist of administrative tasks and people asking me questions.
That was my mistake.
But now that I’ve completed today’s quota, I get back to the thing I enjoy most: stepping on the detectives’ toes and horning in on their investigation.
“What thing have you thought of?” Aubree pops a candy into her mouth and smiles around it to show off a colored tongue. “That the experienced, educated detectives might not have thought of on their own?”
“The knife. It’s not a standard knife, right? And no regular family is gonna have one just lying around. Maybe, if it was just a random hunting knife, then we could pass it off as a coincidence. But the murder weapon was a very specific knife that corresponded with the very specific costume Connor wore.”
She plops another candy onto her tongue. “Okay? So?”
“So the killer specifically ordered this knife for this crime. They went into a hunting store, or they ordered it online, or they did something to obtain that knife. So if we can somehow track its purchase, then we can find our killer that way.”
She grins around her meal, mocking me as a gurney wheels past my office and that telltale black bag registers in my peripherals. “Alright, Chief. You may have a point. But I fail to see how you will obtain this information. Is that not, like… something you need a badge, and perhaps, a warrant for?”
“Or…” I open my drawer and take out my cell. Since these people force me to socialize sometimes, I think of a certain person I know who can get information they probably shouldn’t have.
Is it legal?
No.
Do I always follow the law?
My past would suggest not.
“I know someone who can help us. You’ve met her, actually.”
“I have?” She sits forward in her chair and sets her elbows on my desk. “Who is this person I’ve met who has access to information regular citizens should not have?”
“Stop repeating everything I say. It’s weird.” I take my phone and unlock the screen, then I scroll to my contacts and work my way down to D.
Detective Archer Malone… busy.
Detective Beau Fox… deceased.
Detective Charlie Fletcher… busy.
Detective Asa.
I glance up and meet Aubree’s enraptured stare, then I hit dial and bring the phone to my ear. For a moment, I think to place our call on speaker and allow Aubree to have unfettered access, but Detective Asa—which is not actually her name or title—knows too much about me. And if she thinks our call is unmonitored, she might say things that’ll land me in a world of trouble.
“Swear to god.” She answers without a typical ‘ hi ’ or ‘ Soph speaking ’ and jumps straight into impatience. “It’s like I’m everyone’s go-to these days. Am I in the phone book under, ‘ Call me. I enjoy helping people. ’?”
“Well, geez.” My pulse skitters and tempts me to hang up and pretend this never happened. “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, or…? ”
“I’m busy, Chief. And I know you’re not calling to eat Snickers and shit-talk the men in our lives. Which means you want me to work. And my workload, at this moment, is what we call cata-friggin’-clysmic. What do you want?”
“A better attitude, mostly. Are you always this rude?”
She snorts, then she takes a noisy bite of something chewy and crunchy. A Snickers, perhaps. “I’m often accused of being rude. However, the way I greet someone who wants me to work for free is entirely my choice. And if I’m deemed rude, then that typically weeds out the soft folks. Are you soft, Chief Mayet?”
“I think not. And as a woman also often deemed rude, then I suppose we can conduct this conversation without hurt feelings. I was calling you for work stuff.”
“Color me surprised. Riley!”
I jump when she shouts. Then frown and listen closer when someone clomp-walks her way.
“Call Griffin and tell him this whole system is about to crash. He’s got about twenty minutes to explore before they get it up and running again. So make the twenty count and get what we need. After that, they’re gonna throw up new firewalls.”
“Alright.” A deep, male voice responds, then the snap of paper exchanging hands has my brain swirling in a dozen directions. “Twenty minutes starting when?”
“Thirty seconds ago.” Then she brings her attention back to me. “I have nineteen minutes. What do you want to know?”
“Uh… well, it’s not, like, crashing-systems important. It’s not even life or death important, considering this isn’t my job and I have no right to intrude.”
“I love intruding. You now have eighteen minutes. And the final five are gonna be noisy. Stop wasting time.”
“Oh, yeah. Okay. So I’m chief M.E. on this case. Eighteen-year-old girl is stabbed to death inside a haunted house.”
“Creepy.” She takes another bite. “What about it?”
“Well, she was stabbed by this kid in a Ghostface costume. The weapon was a Buck hunting knife, like the kind in the movie. Which I figure is a pretty specific purchase not easily bought from the local corner store.”
“I concur. There are probably purchase records for that sort of thing.”
“Right! So I have some spare time right now, and sometimes I enjoy solving puzzles beyond my portion of an investigation. ”
She snorts. “And we both know how far you take certain investigations.”
At that, I swing my gaze up to an expectant Aubree. She’s listening to my side of the conversation, but not to Soph’s. Thank god. “Not that that is information shared with everyone.”
“Not even your bestie?” she taunts, sitting back in her chair so the frame squeaks under her weight. “Sheesh. Not sure I could have a best friend and not share everything with her, Mayet. Those kinds of secrets have a way of getting out. And the longer they’re held in, the bigger the fight will be. Are you not gonna tell her you sometimes kill for sport?”
I narrow my eyes to dangerous slits. “It’s not for sport. We both know that. And no, some things are better left unsaid. How long do we have left on our clock?”
She pauses for a beat, as though to check the time. “About seventeen minutes. You want help tracking the knife? Why can’t the cops do it?”
“They can. And they possibly are. I don’t know. But I have spare time, and a desire to expand my knowledge. Since the detectives are busy right now?—”
“You’ve decided to come to me. A different kind of detective. Listen, Mayet.” She takes another bite and chews noisily. “The things I do and know are not necessarily something that can be taught. I mean… it can. I’ve taught coding to this kid who has a natural ability. But that’s kind of a career direction thing. Not a ‘ medical examiner has five minutes to spare ’ thing. And since we’re not really talking about teaching, that means you’re asking me to be your PI. Seems the Malones are making a habit of that, though I tell you,” she laughs, “I have no clue where they got the balls for it. I’m not for hire.”
“Mostly I was looking for direction. I can do my own legwork.”
She exhales a sigh. Exhaustion tweaking a small part of my heart to feel sympathy for her. But then I hear her sit forward and tap at her keyboard. “There are different ways of doing things. Some are easily obtained simply by entering someone else’s database. Most are dangerously under secured, so it’s a matter of walking in the front door and looking around.”
“But that’s something taught to someone with a natural ability.”
“Correct. Which, and I say this as kindly as I can muster, I don’t think you have that ability. And to teach you would take thousands of hours.”
“We don’t have that.”
“Exactly. But there’s another way to gather information. It’s a tactic I use when there is no tangible data to be collected. It’s something I utilize when information must be secured in person, and not through the internet. This method was one I employed that led to us meeting.”
“That’s the direction I was leaning.” I drag my bottom lip between my teeth and wait. “ Detective Asa. I gave you the information you asked for because of the badge you held.”
“So now you’re asking for a badge,” she teases. “I am not a cop, Mayet. But I have documentation that says I am, and the confidence to back up what I’m saying. If you wanna find who bought that knife, you need someone to slide in through firewalls and collect the information, or you need a badge and the cojones to demand it.”
“And to get the fake badge, I need someone to do the firewall thing. They’re gonna make sure I’m legit before they send information over, no?”
“They sure will. Use mine for now, then I’ll get you set up with your own when Griffin gives me the green light to get back to work.” She recites numbers. A full name. Details. “Act like you know what you’re saying. And definitely don’t use your office phone to make the call. That’s a surefire way to get your ass fired and your entire work history laid out for a judge to peruse. Use your cell. I’ll make it so the call is untraceable.”
“And you’re just… you can do that?”
“I can do anything I want. Give me four minutes from when we hang up to have your lines folded over to mine. Then you’re free to call whoever, and say whatever. Untraceable.”
“Except by you, right? You can trace that stuff.”
She snorts. “I already have you on my watchlist. There’s nothing you say or do that isn’t already logged in my files for later dissection. If you send Archer a titty pic, I’m gonna see it. But don’t worry,” she adds quickly. “No one else here sees anything unless I intentionally show them. If you wanna send that guy a picture of your rack, go for it. I’ll see, but I won’t judge.”
“I think I’d rather simply not send nude pictures if that’s alright with you.”
Surprised, Aubree’s brows shoot high on her forehead.
Meanwhile, Sophia sniggers. “A pair of melons is a pair of melons. Seen one set, you’ve seen them all. But while we’re discussing badges, you have a shiny legit one that makes you chief M.E. of your own building. Since we’re all about sharing now, you won’t mind if I?—”
“I definitely mind,” I cut in with a snarl. “Don’t touch.”
She laughs. “It’s a one-way deal, I see. Is that all you need, then?”
“Uh… yeah. I guess.” I look down at the notepad with scribbled information in black ink. “Archer’s gonna be pissed if he finds out I’m doing this. ”
“Personally,” she audibly shrugs, “I enjoy my day more when I annoy the men. We good now?”
“How’s Michelle?” I tempt fate and piss the almighty and powerful Sophia off by asking about someone she protects like no other. Then I grin, because her breath stops and her temper alights. “She good?”
“She’s fine. Living pretty and completely safe. You don’t ask about her, and I won’t use your badge or ask about that other stuff you haven’t told your best friend.”
“Deal. Four minutes?”
She breathes out a soft, exasperated laugh. “Four minutes. Then you’re clear.”
“Alright. Good talk.” I drag the phone from my ear and hang up, setting it face-down on top of the badge number I plan to use shortly. “She’s a bit scary. And yet, completely malleable. I think she enjoys helping people, but only if she gets to complain about it first.”
“Kinda reminds me of someone else I know.” Aubree sits back and sets her feet on the corner of my desk, tossing candy into her mouth. “Wanna tell me what that was all about?”
Not all of it.
“Sophia is someone I like to think of as a digital Robin Hood.”
She considers my words. Processing. Filing. “Okay.”
“Sophia does slightly illegal things to garner information about things that might eventually lead to better things.”
“So kind of how you’d like to ascertain the purchase records of a knife that killed a girl. You’ll receive that information in a slightly shady way, but hoping the result will help solve a case and bring peace to a dead girl and her unborn fetus.”
“Kind of like that, yeah.” I check the clock on the wall and count the minutes. “We don’t talk about the means with which she does things. We focus on the positive that comes of it.”
“Sounds like you’re breaking the law to me.” She brings her hand up and studies her nails. “But what do I know?”
I roll my eyes. “My husband’s very existence is like, a law broken. And your boyfriend’s existence is?—”
She stop signs me and purses her lips. “Not my boyfriend. Timothy Malone’s career choices, pre and post Copeland City, are his and his alone. Unlike you, I am not married to the mafia.”
“Uh huh. Well, simply knowing him is still scratching on ‘sort of illegal’. It’s up to you to decide where, exactly, you put down your flag as far as ethics go. I wouldn’t be hurting anyone by using a badge number to collect information that might help the detectives close a case.”
“Except, if that information is needed in court, you condemn the detectives to evidence they can’t use.”
“No. I do my research, and if that research turns up anything useful, I let the detectives know, then they can run the same searches and find the same, usable information. Or,” I add when my phone dings, placing my hand over the device and preparing to flip it, “I drop that information in an envelope, seal and send it. The detectives can use it, so long as it wasn’t them who illegally obtained it.”
Picking up my phone, I check the screen and find a text from Detective Asa: You’re free and clear. Be confident. Be assertive. And use the email address, attached below, for correspondence. Telling them your name is Detective Asa, but requesting materials be sent to Mayet @ im-a-newb.com isn’t gonna instill faith. I’ll reroute all emails back to you, untraced.
Scrolling away from her text chat, I jump onto Google instead and swallow the nerves lodged in my throat. Because I’m about to lie. And although, I suppose, I have a decent amount of experience at it, I still worry I’m going to screw things up. For me. For Archer. Even for Soph, when her fake police alias is blown to hell and back.
Typing into the search bar, I pull up every hunting store within a ten-block radius of the haunted house, then I glance toward my door and make sure no one is coming in.
“So what are you supposed to do?” Aubree lowers her voice, like she knows we’re about to get into trouble. “How do we proceed?”
“We call them.” I hit the phone icon and bring the device to my ear. “And we fake it.”
“Hunter’s Hunting Supplies. This is Beverley speaking. How may I direct your call?”
“Uh, hi. This is Detective Asa of the Copeland City Police Department. I’m in the middle of a homicide investigation, and I need to speak with whoever controls accounts and sales over there. I have questions.”