Title: Light A Way Through the Shadows, Pt. 2
Author: ladyjax
Characters: Joss Carter / Zoe Morgan
Summary: Detective Joss Carter has seen some of the worst things that humans can do to one another both in the Army and in her job as a detective on the murder squad. When Zoe Morgan, fixer and vampire, steps into her life, Joss’ world is upended. Against the backdrop of a burgeoning investigation, they work to find equilibrium.
Joss took a step back and gazed at the murder board. Two pictures, provided by grieving families and clearly from happier times, gazed back at her.
The picture of Shantelle and her daughter made her heart hurt. The little girl was all brown skin, big eyes, and even bigger, kinkier hair wrangled into submission by the strategic placement of ponytail holders. Mother and daughter were laughing and mugging for the camera on their apartment stairs. Alicia’s picture was a study in motion, taken at a neighborhood party. She was in her best party dress and being dipped by a laughing young man who was clearly enamored with her. Beneath each picture there was writing:
Shantelle Dubious – killed on the way home from work half a block from the A train stop
Alicia Garcia – killed on the #1 subway platform at Dyckman Avenue
Joss had added Alicia’s particulars from the file that had been handed to her by Captain Miller. The picture came with Detective Thomas Signorelli once he joined the investigation from the 34th. The task force, such as it was, was small. Five detectives, a smattering of administrative assistants to help with the investigative scut work. On the street help from beat cops like DiPiro. Budget cuts meant that they were still scrambling to bring more bodies to bear.
Joss looked over at a third picture, the one she called ‘Victim Zero’ in her head: Charlotte Finney, 29. A tall, skinny redhead whose serious mien belied a wicked sense of humor. This from her roommate who had worked in publishing with Charlotte; they had both been a lowly editorial assistants in a boutique. Lived in an apartment ‘the size of a closet with a hotplate’ because living in Manhattan and publishing salaries at their level rarely mixed. Charlotte was the case Joss and Fusco had caught when her body was found near a subway station in Midtown.
“Carter.”
Joss turned and nodded at Signarelli and took the steaming cup of coffee he offered to her gratefully. He stood beside her, taking in the board. Though some careful culling of open cases from the other boroughs, they had found three more murders that resembled the others. Spread as they were near subway stops in Queens, Brooklyn, and the Bronx, there hadn’t been a pattern. Until now.
“We might have missed the others if it hadn’t been for the three kills here in the city,” Signarelli said.
“Started as slow moving serial killer,” Joss mused thoughtfully. “Started in the spring in Queens and spread it out to the Bronx and Brooklyn over time. Kills from midnight till dawn. Late night spots haven’t let out yet, shift changes are done.” She sipped her coffee and made a face at the bitterness before putting it back down on the table with a frown. “Something about August got them riled up.”
“Shit, that’s always the way it is this time of year,” a voice called from the back of the room. “You staring at the board isn’t going to change that.”
Joss could almost feel Signarelli tense and she was sure he could feel her own enmity for the speaker. Lieutenant Fletcher Kennewick worked out of the 12th but Joss had had a few passing run-ins with him after the HR affair. He was of the mind that she should have kept everything in-house. Never mind that in-house would have signed her death warrant.
“Just making sure I’m not missing anything, Kennewick.” Joss replied pleasantly. “Sometimes I find connections when I least expect it.”
Kennewick’s derisive snort did little to disturb Joss’ thought processes. Besides, while she was largely occupied with the board, she was still mentally wrestling with the fact that Marconi had been at the crime scene. What the hell was that about? None of the people had any connection to Elias as far as she knew, so what was his interest?
Joss turned back to the table, swept up the offending coffee, and tossed it in a nearby garbage can before taking her seat. “So far, we have victims, the areas where they were killed, and personal particulars.”
“No motive, no witnesses,” Detective Sid Burell added. He pushed an impatient hand through already disheveled hair. “What we got is a fat load of nuthin’.”
“I don’t believe that,” Joss replied. “What else?”
Signorelli said, “Bodies were arranged neatly, nothing stolen as far as we can tell.”
“Okay,” Joss was back up out of her seat and heading towards a white board. She grabbed a dry erase marker and wrote body arrangement – neat.
Something was plucking at the edge of her thoughts. Something about Shantelle. “Fuck,” she whispered. Her colleagues all looked at her. “Blood.”
She motioned at the files on the table. “Shantelle DuBois neck and front were smeared with blood. The killer made her look all nice and pretty on the stoop but her whole front was a mess. Look at the other reports and photos.”
There was a brief flurry of movement as folders were flipped open and the contents gone over yet again as a sour feeling began brewing in Joss’ stomach.
“Well, damn,” Burell muttered. “All the others, their necks were snapped.” He looked up at Joss. “Your girl, Shantelle? She’s the only one who got painted red.”
**
The late afternoon sun warmed Zoe as she picked up a nectarine from a market stall and looked at it closely. The skin was a light, pinkish orange and slightly fuzzy to the touch. S
“Brand new varietal, ma’am,” the stall owner called out over his shoulder. He finished bagging another customer’s purchase and pocketed their money before moving over to her. “Would you like a taste?”
Zoe smiled. “If it’s not too much of a bother.”
“Not a problem.” As he picked up another nectarine and pulled a paring knife out of his apron, Zoe reflected on the irony. Although blood provided all the sustenance she needed, she still loved good food and drink and nectarines were a favorite. She tossed the one she’d already touched into a paper bag and took the offered wedge from the tip of the owner’s knife. Sweet, summery flavor burst over Zoe’s tongue; the nectarine’s flesh was firm but juicy and she took the offered napkin gratefully.
“Oh, I like that. I’ll take half a dozen.”
“Good choice!” She handed him the bag containing the first fruit and looked at more of what was on offer. She added some black plums and two large peaches to her haul, utilizing another bag for her choices. Once her transaction was done, Zoe continued on her way.
The market, run by an organization called “YouthGrow,” was situated in a formerly empty lot between two brownstones in her neighborhood. The kids from YouthGrow spent a year petitioning the city to clean up the lot and then pave it over so that they could hold their once-weekly farmer’s market. Zoe was very familiar with the organization which kept kids out of trouble and taught basic urban farming skills. She supported their efforts with her dollars. Stall boundaries were marked out clearly on the concrete and strings of lights provided more than enough illumination once the days grew longer. The kids even had their own farm stand.
Passing by another stall, Zoe stopped for a loaf of bread. She brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply. The rich, yeasty smell coupled with the crackling crust brought up all kinds of happy memories from when she was a kid, before things went bad.
“Don’t have any rye today, Ms. Morgan,” Sally Fish said. Zoe passed over a few dollars for the loaf in her hand and replied,
“No worries. Next time.”
Zoe’s mother’s skill ran to biscuits. Even though her father repeatedly reminded her that there was more than enough money so that she didn’t have to bake, her mother would just crook an eyebrow and continue on. Loaves of bread, however, were too much of a bother so Zoe and her mother would make their way to Levittson’s Deli and grab fresh loaves of rye bread hot from the oven. Mr. Levittson was one of the few people in town who didn’t turn their backs on her family when they had their fall from grace.
Since then, Zoe made it a point to buy bread from Sally Fish’s bread stall whenever she came to the market. She rarely got back to the old neighborhood and buying from Sally was her way of paying it forward.
As she walked away, she pulled a list out of her pocket. “Okay, got bread, fruit, some sausage. Just need cheese and wine, and we’re done.”
Her plans for the evening included finishing up some client work, invoicing others, and then hopefully some time with Joss. That was definitely a “hope.” Trying to solve the newest murder was taking up a lot of Joss’ time and they’d been content with calling each other when they could. Still, it didn’t hurt to have provisions in case things changed.
Her phone’s insistent buzzing phone broke through Zoe’s reverie. Shifting her purchases around so she could pull her phone out, she checked the display and smiled. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Hey.”
Joss’ exhaustion seemed to communicate itself across the phone lines and Zoe moved over to a nearby table so she could sit down and listen.
“Hey yourself,” Zoe looked at her watch. “You sound tired.”
A low, bitter laugh answered her observation. “I am…beyond tired right now. And as much as I’d rather not do it, I need to ask you some questions.”
That took Zoe aback. “I thought we weren’t going to cross the streams so to speak.”
“I know, I know and normally, I wouldn’t. But something has come up and quite frankly, you’re the only one I can come to about this. You have the expertise, so to speak.”
Joss’ reticence put Zoe on alert. “You’re not talking about my business, are you?”
There was a beat and then Joss said, “No.”
They spoke for a few more minutes, solidifying plans for Joss to swing by after her shift was over. Inside, her vampire growled, disturbed by an assumption of a mate’s possible distrust.
“Whatever it is, Joss, I’ll help in any way I can.” Zoe rubbed her temple, willing herself to calm.
“I know you will. And Zoe? Thank you.”
**
Carl Elias tipped his chair back as he gazed at the boats passing on the East River. The view from this particular office was one of his favorites. He and Anthony moved periodically. It never hurt to make sure none of his enemies knew exactly where he was. It kept them off balance while he remained in control.
The door to his office opened and he knew by the footfall that it was Anthony. Not a day went by that he didn’t give thanks for this man. He and Marconi were perfect compliments to one another.
“Boss.”
Carl turned around to face Anthony, who’d taken up the chair in front of his desk. “What do we know?” he asked.
“The woman who died, Shantelle DuBois. She was one of ours.”
The rest of the information came quickly: she had worked out of Pure Essence, one of the organization’s cleaner establishments. No funny money flowed through it’s doors. It catered to businessmen with nice looking women and mid-range entertainment and had a reputation for being a safe place to work.
As this was one of the clubs under Marconi’s direct purview, he’d already started digging into Shantelle’s life. “She was clean, boss. No complaints about her work, well liked by the other girls.” He gazed at Carl. “Scuttlebutt said she was going to move on if her kid got into Stuyvesant.”
Carl’s lips firmed. “She in the lottery?” When Marconi nodded, he continued. “I think we can make that happen. You see who’s working the case?”
Marconi smirked. “Carter.”
Joss Carter was a good cop, a fact that caused Carl no end of amusement and consternation in equal measure.
He turned the murder over in his mind. He didn’t know Shantelle personally; he rarely knew any one particular employee unless they came to his attention for a less than savory reason. But this was his city and she was on his books, the ones that counted.
Carl nodded and smiled, all teeth. “Well, we’ll keep an eye on proceedings then. And her.”
Oooo I’m hooked.
Excellent chapter!
More, please?
—-Naj 😀 ❤❤
I am in love.