Chapter Three Bradley
Chapter Three
Bradley
My blades cut into the ice as I tore down the outside with the puck between my skates.
I passed it quickly from foot to foot, while the goalie’s eyes flicked and followed its movement.
I spotted the defenseman in my peripheral vision as he raced toward me, and I let him think he had me, but at the last second, I twisted and did a quick little side hop and stepped around him.
I could hear his body slam into the boards.
I tapped the puck up to my stick and quickly flipped it over the goalie’s shoulder.
The sound of the beloved siren filled my ears as the third period ended.
I circled around the net and fist-bumped a few of my teammates.
God, I loved my hockey. It was one of the few things that calmed my brain and allowed me some peace.
“Nice goal.” My buddy and fellow detective, Kennedy, slapped me on the back as we headed off the ice. I awkwardly went off balance and almost got a skate blade to my face.
“Whoa there!” Hank, a guy who sharpened our skates, quickly caught me. “Last thing you need is an injury, Bradley. I just finished sharpening these.”
“Jeez, sorry about that,” Kennedy apologized. “We sure don’t want this guy’s pretty face messed up.”
“Yeah, sorry, Hank.” I whistled. “Kennedy’s face might need a little scar, but I don’t need anything to draw the ladies.” I turned to show my profile, and we all laughed. I snatched up my roll of Savage tape from the bench, and we headed to the locker room. I wanted to retape my stick.
After I showered and changed, I gathered my stuff and headed out toward my car. My schedule was busy between playing on the Sheffield Police Department hockey team, coaching the university team, and being the lead detective on two new murder cases.
I checked my watch as I pulled into my driveway and hurried inside the house. I was going to be late for Captain’s meeting if I didn’t get a move on. I had only a few minutes to get ready.
I tapped the light and stepped into my color-coordinated closet.
I took a moment to scan the perfectly aligned dress shirts, all within an inch of each other.
My shoes were lined up, toes faced forward, so I could easily see which would work with the shirt I chose.
I chucked my wet towel into the laundry hamper—I knew my housekeeper would be by within the hour—then spun the rack to choose a tie.
I decided on the one with silver specks.
Satisfied, I headed to the kitchen and poured myself a coffee to go.
I ran my hand through my dark, shaggy hair and tucked a piece behind my ear.
Cap didn’t give me shit for keeping my hair long.
Mind you, it helped that I’d known the guy since the sandbox, and he had bigger things to deal with than my hair.
The phone in my pocket rang. “Stone,” I answered without a thought, then corrected myself. “Hello?”
“I don’t think I’ll have time to drop her off this afternoon.” Sherry sighed through the speaker. My frustration flared, but I swallowed it back and rolled my eyes. “I’m heading to my sister’s, and I’m not sure there’s enough time.”
“Sherry, you always make the point that there should be a specific time to drop her off when I bring her to you,” I reminded her.
The whole shared-custody thing wasn’t working.
“Please try and drop her off on time. I’ll talk to you later.
” I hung up with an exasperated huff. Eight months into our divorce, and we still hadn’t gotten the hang of it.
Life with Sherry had ended because of the darkness I held inside.
I desperately needed to get to a better place.
My trusty alarm went off on my work phone, and I grabbed my things and headed out.
The Sheffield Police Department had been on edge since the first murder popped up two weeks before, and with a second murder just two days ago, in the same general spot, and with the same MO, everyone was sweating.
We’d had our fair share of homicides, but these were different.
They were not the domestic blowups or bar fights gone bad we usually dealt with.
Two young women, both dead on the floor of a nightclub, with no apparent reason for their deaths.
No stab wounds, no gunshots, no sign of strangulation.
Just dropped dead. Another victim, a bartender, had been sent to the hospital on the night of the second murder.
They had to be some type of poisoning, but the medical examiner was still working on it.
I only hoped this was the end of it, but something about the whole thing made me worry more homicides might be coming.
Normally, I’d stop by Captain’s office and check in, but as I was already late, I went directly to the conference room and took a seat in the back. I nodded at a few faces and focused on what was being presented.
“So, here’s what we’ve got.” Captain shared photos of a few possible suspects.
“It’s not much, just smoke and mirrors really, to buy us time, but if you spot any of these guys, you have a warrant to bring ’em in.
They’re all known criminals, and chances are, it’ll lead to nuttin’, but we have to start somewhere. ”
“Why do I feel like we’re chasing ghosts here?
” My old partner, Ray, shook his head and leaned over to whisper as Cap continued.
“I’ve seen this stuff before, never around here.
This ain’t your average domestic dispute,” Ray cautioned.
We all knew that already. I kept my eyes on Cap as he continued to speak but gave a nod to Ray.
He had a temper, and I sure as hell didn’t want to feed the embers that always seemed to smolder in the guy’s belly.
Ray was a great detective, and he’d taught me a lot, but he did things that I didn’t always agree with.
Ray was a year away from retirement and hated the idea of being pushed out by the department.
Sadly, he needed to go. He was old school and often got us into trouble.
We had rules, and Ray only chose to respect them when they worked in his favor.
After being his partner for six years, I’d asked to be reassigned.
I don’t think the old man even noticed the change.
“The Velvet Nightclub wants us front and center when they open. We need to show the public that we’re taking the murders of Shelly White and Maggie Deloitte very seriously.
” Captain turned and pointed to a schedule taped on the whiteboard.
“I’m assigning a few of you inside the club”—he stabbed a finger to the schedule—“and I want uniforms outside the doors as well.”
He stared around the room. “You see anything, and I mean any-damn-thing, you call it in. Do not approach.”
“Or they could simply close the club.” Kennedy sounded exasperated. “At least till we catch the killer. Or killers.” He was right: How could we know for sure it was just one person?
Captain huffed as he tossed a file onto the table. “In a perfect world, maybe, but let’s face it, it’s all about the almighty dollar. Their reasoning is they don’t have to close since the two victims weren’t employees, and now we’re finished processing the scene, they want the doors open.”
What a reckless way of thinking. “But those women were killed there. We have no concrete idea how or why, or who could be next. Two of their customers are dead. I mean, call me crazy, but that sounds bad for business.”
“I agree, Stone, but I don’t own the place.” He shook himself as though to throw off his stress. “All right, dismissed.”
I closed my notebook and tucked the pen neatly away in the spine.
“Detective Stone?” I swung around to see Officer Adam Smith, the newest rookie at the SPD. He stood there, looking nervous as he held out a file. “I was asked to give this to you.”
“Thanks.” As I slid the file from his fingers, his expression made me hesitate. “Anything else?”
“No, I mean, yes, actually,” he said, stumbling on his words. “I was wondering if maybe you’d let me help out.”
“Oh.” I knew Smith was one of the more eager young officers, and I respected that.
He looked worried when I didn’t respond right away.
“I love connecting the dots to things, and I’ve got a pretty good eye for detail, so I thought if there’s anything I can do, like grunt work, making copies, et cetera .
. . I’d be more than happy to do it. I want as much hands-on experience as I can get. I’d like to make detective someday.”
“You need to be the best cop you can first, Officer Smith.” I smiled. “But yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.” I bumped his arm on the way out, then had a thought and stopped myself. “Hey, yeah, maybe there is something.”
His happy, wide-eyed face lit up. “As you know, we can’t find any connection between the two dead girls.
If you want to cross-reference all the people who were at the club on both nights of the murders, that would be a huge help.
” I had the list already, but I wanted to see what he’d come up with.
Fresh eyes on a case were always a smart idea. Couldn’t hurt.
“Of course!” He beamed as I waved him off so I could answer my ringing phone.
“Detective Stone”—I recognized the voice of the owner of the Velvet Nightclub—“it’s Donald Longboard. I was hoping you could come down for a chat.”
“I was just about to do that, sir. I’ll head right over.
” I hoped he might have something to tell me.
At this point any leads were first priority.
As I made my way through the station, I picked up the file again to take with me.
I noted the blood work had come back on the bartender.
He’d gotten sick the same night Maggie Deloitte, the second victim, was killed.
I was surprised to see they had found a small trace of the same mystery substance in his blood work.
Whatever it was, it had to be some kind of poison.
It wasn’t any kind of street drug. How come he wasn’t dead? Interesting . . .