asked.
“Haven’t talked to them yet,” Hannah said. “His sister is autistic. She’s hospitalized in a place called the Wexler Center.” She rubbed her eyes again.
“You should go home and rest,” Mitchell said.
“Like hell,” Hannah said, snapping her eyes open. “I need to talk to the sister. And I think there’s a girlfriend—”
“You need to sleep, Hannah,” Jacob said, touching her shoulder gently. “We’ll notify next of kin.”
She could feel her resolve draining as her shoulders sagged. Jacob didn’t seem to put her on edge like Mitchell did.
“Fine,” she said. “But if Grimes shows up, you call me and wake me up, okay?”
Jacob nodded.
Satisfied, Hannah stood up and turned toward the door, only to suddenly halt in place. Damn, she had totally forgotten about Mikey, the Devin Derkins wannabe. She muttered curses as she sat down, dialing the Sheriff’s office, ignoring Jacob and Mitchell’s stares.
The cheery voice of someone who’d had a good night’s sleep answered. “Sheriff’s office, this is Yvonne.”
“Yvonne, this is Detective Hannah Shor,” Hannah said, “Listen, we arrested a drug dealer last night, and put him in our holding cells. Can you send someone to pick him up?”
“Why didn’t you take him to jail when you arrested him?” Yvonne asked in a testy voice.
Hannah gritted her teeth, and tried to remind herself that Yvonne was just doing her job, and wasn’t inherently evil. Probably. “We had some issues that needed addressing first,” she said, knowing she had just said a meaningless, unhelpful jumble of words. “Everything is now resolved. Can you pick him up?”
“What’s the prisoner’s name?” Yvonne asked.
“Devin Derkins,” Hannah said, thinking about her soft bed.
“Okay, we’ll send someone over soon.”
“Thanks, Yvonne,” Hannah said, relieved. She hung up the phone, stood up, and stumbled outside.
Mitchell was reading his e-mails, trying to avoid thinking about Pauline, and the fact that today was her birthday. She had left him two months before, right in the middle of the Jovan Stokes case, and he was far from over her. She had been the love of his life, and he was still struggling to figure out what went wrong.
A brief fling he had with an FBI consultant called Zoe helped to ease the pain, but she had left to Boston when the case ended. They had two brief chats on the phone, but neither of them pushed it further, and he hadn’t heard from her for over a month.
Despite his valiant efforts, memories from her last birthday kept popping into his mind. It had been a rainy day a year ago. He had taken the day off, and they’d spent the entire day snuggling in bed, watching movies and having sex.
He sighed. Maybe work would keep his mind busy; a murder investigation ought to get the job done. This was technically Hannah and Bernard’s case, but no one expected them both to work on it without any sleep. The first few days of a murder investigation, when the trail was still warm, were crucial; they all usually worked together to solve it. Mitchell and Jacob would naturally pick up the slack.
Mitchell grabbed Frank Gulliepe’s phone from Hannah’s desk and started methodically extracting information from it.
To a detective, a phone was a treasure trove. It was amazing how many details about a person’s life one could learn from such a small device. The navigation application gave him Frank’s work address, a place named Yorrick & Rodrick Co. From the call log, Mitchell learned that Frank placed a daily call to the Wexler Center, where his sister was staying. Additionally, he’d spoken with a woman named Lyla several times.
Frank’s Instagram account had pictures with a woman named Lyla, and Mitchell assumed it was the same one. She was beautiful, with golden-tanned skin and smooth, jet-black hair. She reminded Mitchell of an actress, but he couldn’t remember which one, or point out any movie she’d played in.
“Haven’t talked to them yet,” Hannah said. “His sister is autistic. She’s hospitalized in a place called the Wexler Center.” She rubbed her eyes again.
“You should go home and rest,” Mitchell said.
“Like hell,” Hannah said, snapping her eyes open. “I need to talk to the sister. And I think there’s a girlfriend—”
“You need to sleep, Hannah,” Jacob said, touching her shoulder gently. “We’ll notify next of kin.”
She could feel her resolve draining as her shoulders sagged. Jacob didn’t seem to put her on edge like Mitchell did.
“Fine,” she said. “But if Grimes shows up, you call me and wake me up, okay?”
Jacob nodded.
Satisfied, Hannah stood up and turned toward the door, only to suddenly halt in place. Damn, she had totally forgotten about Mikey, the Devin Derkins wannabe. She muttered curses as she sat down, dialing the Sheriff’s office, ignoring Jacob and Mitchell’s stares.
The cheery voice of someone who’d had a good night’s sleep answered. “Sheriff’s office, this is Yvonne.”
“Yvonne, this is Detective Hannah Shor,” Hannah said, “Listen, we arrested a drug dealer last night, and put him in our holding cells. Can you send someone to pick him up?”
“Why didn’t you take him to jail when you arrested him?” Yvonne asked in a testy voice.
Hannah gritted her teeth, and tried to remind herself that Yvonne was just doing her job, and wasn’t inherently evil. Probably. “We had some issues that needed addressing first,” she said, knowing she had just said a meaningless, unhelpful jumble of words. “Everything is now resolved. Can you pick him up?”
“What’s the prisoner’s name?” Yvonne asked.
“Devin Derkins,” Hannah said, thinking about her soft bed.
“Okay, we’ll send someone over soon.”
“Thanks, Yvonne,” Hannah said, relieved. She hung up the phone, stood up, and stumbled outside.
Mitchell was reading his e-mails, trying to avoid thinking about Pauline, and the fact that today was her birthday. She had left him two months before, right in the middle of the Jovan Stokes case, and he was far from over her. She had been the love of his life, and he was still struggling to figure out what went wrong.
A brief fling he had with an FBI consultant called Zoe helped to ease the pain, but she had left to Boston when the case ended. They had two brief chats on the phone, but neither of them pushed it further, and he hadn’t heard from her for over a month.
Despite his valiant efforts, memories from her last birthday kept popping into his mind. It had been a rainy day a year ago. He had taken the day off, and they’d spent the entire day snuggling in bed, watching movies and having sex.
He sighed. Maybe work would keep his mind busy; a murder investigation ought to get the job done. This was technically Hannah and Bernard’s case, but no one expected them both to work on it without any sleep. The first few days of a murder investigation, when the trail was still warm, were crucial; they all usually worked together to solve it. Mitchell and Jacob would naturally pick up the slack.
Mitchell grabbed Frank Gulliepe’s phone from Hannah’s desk and started methodically extracting information from it.
To a detective, a phone was a treasure trove. It was amazing how many details about a person’s life one could learn from such a small device. The navigation application gave him Frank’s work address, a place named Yorrick & Rodrick Co. From the call log, Mitchell learned that Frank placed a daily call to the Wexler Center, where his sister was staying. Additionally, he’d spoken with a woman named Lyla several times.
Frank’s Instagram account had pictures with a woman named Lyla, and Mitchell assumed it was the same one. She was beautiful, with golden-tanned skin and smooth, jet-black hair. She reminded Mitchell of an actress, but he couldn’t remember which one, or point out any movie she’d played in.
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