Chapter Two
Bhodi?
Nodding to the patrolman, I ensure my NYPD shield is on full display as I slip under the crime scene tape. With my leather jacket pulled up close around my ears, I clutch onto the shit gas station coffee I managed to pick up on my way here. Passing one to my partner, Detective Strode, he looks at the cup, and his face contorts into disgust. His handlebar mustache droops, making him look like an unimpressed Hulk Hogan. The crisp night air rushing through me whilst we both stand in the street amongst the chaos.
“Couldn’t have found a classier establishment, Grey?” He chuckles, taking a large gulp, followed by a scrunched-up face.
“Well, when they pay better over time, I may be able to afford a nicer coffee. But until then, that’s the best you’re getting.” Taking a swig from the paper cup, I glance around at the on-lookers on the other side of the tape and the Crime Scene Team as they pass by. “What have we got? Another mafia shooting?” I chuckle as Strode slowly shakes his head.
“It’s a blood bath in their kid, it looks as though the target was Michael Harper.”
I freeze as the cup is part of the way to my lips. Lowering it, I look away for a moment.
“Are you sure?” I ask, curiously eyeing the on-lookers in the crowd.
Strode nods, placing the coffee cup down on the ground; he gestures for me to follow him into the club. Pulling out overshoes and latex gloves, we put them on and head into the dimly lit area. As the main area opens, the bar and dance area’s lights are all on. CSU work in small groups across the area.
“Why is it all nightclubs look decent until the lights all come on? It’s like the morning after a shit one-night stand. You never know what you’re going to be faced with.”
I politely smile and nod along with Strode. He’s only fifty years old but currently working on his third divorce. Real charmer, as you can imagine.
As the coroners move past us with a body in a black zipper bag, I quickly stop them. Taking a deep breath, I pull back the zipper. As it slides down, revealing Michael’s face with a large gunshot wound on his forehead. I just merely shake my head and allow the coroner to go on their way.
“You ok over their Grey?” Strode quietly asks with some concern in his voice.
Shaking myself from the trance I’m in, I nod. “Yeah, just seems Michael Harper was probably the least shady club owner in the city. An execution-style killing seems extreme.”
“If there’s one thing this city has taught me. One, never be surprised, and two, someone always has shit to hide.” Strode comments half-heartedly before moving further into the club.
I shrug again, following him through to the office space. Analysing the blood-spattered over the wall behind the desk. It looks as though he had no idea the shot was coming. I chew on my lip, looking over the crime scene before me. The office is neat and tidy, with little paperwork or signs of a struggle. The safe on the far side of the room appears untouched. At the moment, we can rule out robbery as the motive.
“Woah, who’s this beauty?” I turn as Strode thrusts a picture in my face. I feel my heart skip a beat as I admire the beautiful sight before me. Almost white, blonde hair framing an angelic face. Big sapphire blue eyes against sun-kissed skin. Those plump pink lips curved into a smile as she shields the sun from her eyes. I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at the photo before it”s whipped away again. I feel my jaw tick slightly as my partner studies it.
“Girlfriend?” I ask innocently, trying to show little interest.
Strode scoffs. “Bit young, don’t you think?”
“You told me to never be surprised?” I feign innocence and offer a shrug.
“There’s hope for you yet, son.” He laughs, patting me on the back before setting the photo back down, but part of me can’t help but continue to steal glances at it.
“Excuse me, detective?”
We both glance over as a young patrol officer enters the room, holding out a piece of paper.
“Yes?” I take the paper from their hand, studying it as they speak.
“The manager at the bar mentioned Mr Harper has a daughter. He and his wife are divorced, but she was confident he and his daughter would keep in touch.”
“Good work, thanks.” I pick up the photo and show it to the officer. “Is this her?”
“Yes, the manager confirmed that was her.”
I offer the officer a small smile as I read the small amount of information on Michael’s daughter. Summer Harper, twenty-four years old. An address based in L.A and a cell phone number. Pulling out my phone, I type in the number and save it.
“I think someone has already contacted the ex-wife,” Strode interjects.
“I know, but we’ll need to speak with everyone in Michael’s life.”
I find myself catching sight of the framed photo once again, cocking my head to one side, still enthralled by Summer’s beauty.
Michael didn’t talk much about his personal life, so I guess it’s no surprise he once had a family.
Shaking my head one final time, I head back to the precinct before my shift officially starts.