Chapter 3
Three
Erin stood at the podium, arms crossed loosely as station photographers adjusted their tripods and grumbled about lighting.
Her uniform blazer pulled cleanly across her shoulders, the fabric still crisp from the iron she ran over it that morning.
Her jaw set itself into the usual neutral line, the one she’d practiced in bathroom mirrors between briefings.
One of them asked for a mic check, and she leaned forward with a quiet sigh.
“One, two, three. Erin Calhoun, Boston Police Department. That’s E-r-i-n, C-a-l-h-o-u-n.” Her voice carried easily, low and even, the kind of tone that clipped the edges off every syllable.
She scanned the crowd. Most of the faces were familiar.
Six reporters, six photographers, all crammed into a space better suited for four.
Erin tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, a nervous habit she’d never quite broken, even after years of standing at podiums like this one.
If it were up to her, she would have sent a written release and a linked folder.
But the department liked formality. Her supervisors called it transparency. Erin called it a waste of time.
A glance over her shoulder confirmed both chiefs were in place. The Medford and Boston department heads stood side by side behind her. She nodded once, then began.
“Good morning. Thank you for being here. Today, we’re providing an update on the ongoing homicide investigation out of Medford. I’ll review the confirmed facts, then open for questions.”
She kept her delivery clipped and professional.
The facts were grim but uncomplicated. A female victim had been found deceased inside a private residence.
A male suspect had been taken into custody at the scene.
There were no signs of forced entry. A weapon had been recovered nearby.
The suspect had been transferred to county holding for arraignment and was not known to the victim prior to the incident.
It was straightforward. Horrific, but straightforward.
Still, her attention wandered. Erin straightened to her full height—five-ten in flats, taller than most of the reporters in the room—and her eyes caught on a tall blonde woman standing beside the WCVB photographer.
Tilly—someone Erin actually tolerated. But the blonde reporter was unfamiliar.
Curious. She didn’t shift nervously or whisper to anyone nearby.
She just stood quietly, watching Erin speak.
New hire, probably. Boston was always cycling through reporters who thought they could handle the hard crime coverage.
As Erin closed the briefing, she expected a hand to go up. Instead, the blonde reporter spoke directly.
“Jamie Garrison, WCVB,” she said. “You didn’t mention anything about Rodriguez’s claim that he was drugged. Has that been investigated?”
Erin paused, keeping her expression neutral. She noticed a few reporters side-eyeing Jamie for jumping ahead. Erin didn’t mind. The question was sharper than what she usually got.
“Miss Garrison, that claim was made by the defense following the arraignment. It has not been substantiated.”
Jamie nodded but followed up immediately.
“Was a toxicology screen ordered?”
Erin took a beat, then responded.
“During intake at county, the suspect underwent a standard medical screening that included a blood draw. The results have not come back yet. Due to the time delay between the incident and the screening, it is possible that any substances had already left his system.”
Jamie jotted something down. The other reporters finally found their footing and began asking about the victim. Erin answered each question with clinical precision, but her mind lingered on the first one.
She hadn’t expected to be surprised today.
After the briefing, the Medford chief cornered Erin for a debrief, but her focus was elsewhere. Her eyes kept drifting to Jamie, who was now laughing at something Tilly had said as they packed up gear. Erin made a split-second decision.
“Excuse me, sir. I need to introduce myself to one of the new reporters before they leave.” She didn’t wait for permission. “I’ll circle back when the tox results are in.”
The chief looked surprised, rightfully so. Erin never went out of her way to talk to the media after the mics were off.
She crossed the room quickly, calling out over the shuffle of bags and tripods.
“Garrison?”
Jamie turned. So did Tilly. The latter’s expression cooled instantly, slipping into something unreadable. Erin held Jamie’s gaze, extending a hand.
“Erin Calhoun. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.”
“You can just call me Jamie,” she replied, her voice gentler than it had been at the podium.
Erin offered a firm handshake. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at any of these before.”
“J started a few weeks ago,” Tilly interjected before Jamie could answer. “She’s from Colorado.”
There was no warmth in their voice. They stepped slightly forward, standing just a little between the two women.
“Appreciate the intro,” Tilly added, already shifting their bag higher on their shoulder. “But we’re on a deadline, so we’ll catch you next time.”
Jamie gave a small shrug and a parting smile but followed Tilly’s lead. Erin watched them disappear through the door, her hands hanging at her sides.
Whatever she thought that exchange might be, it wasn’t that.
Erin walked briskly back to her office, heels echoing on the tile as she pressed the door closed behind her.
Her fingers were already on the top button of her collar, tugging it loose.
The fluorescent lights overhead cast a sterile glow, but it wasn’t the lighting that had her irritated. Not really.
She crossed to her desk and sank into the chair, letting her head fall back for just a second.
Jamie Garrison. That was the name. It shouldn’t have stuck, but it did.
Sharp questions. Steady tone. That little smirk as she scribbled notes.
Erin had given hundreds of briefings, and most reporters just parroted whatever made for good sound bites.
But this one was digging, even if her question had felt premature.
Erin huffed. It wasn’t the questions. Not really.
Tilly’s look had been warning enough. Erin wasn’t blind or stupid.
She hadn’t expected a warm welcome, but she also hadn’t expected that.
The stiff posture, the arm halfway between them, the clipped words.
She hadn’t seen Tilly in months, maybe more, and yet all that unspoken weight still sat between them like a second badge.
She shook her head, reaching for her laptop. She had a dozen emails to get through and a toxicology report to follow up on. But her fingers hovered just above the keys.
Jamie Garrison.
She’d need to remember that name.