grew red-tinged.
He had no idea how much time passed. It seemed like hours. The traffic noises faded to a dull roar. Overhead he heard a helicopter.
Finally Des’s door was wrenched open and he heard a soothing voice speak softly to Des. Meanwhile he heard the sharp grind of metal that went on and on. Finally his own door was pried opened, and gentle hands guided him out of his seat.
They lay him on a stretcher, checking his vital signs as they wheeled him toward a blue and white ambulance, lights strobing on the top of the vehicle.
Free of his Escape Chris was now able to look around at the crash site. Figueroa was closed in both directions and was crowded with fire trucks and neon yellow vested paramedics.
What had happened? He saw the vehicle that had rear-ended him, a panel truck that had been carrying a load of plate glass which now lay shattered in glittering shards around the pavement. He could hear Des muttering to someone who was trying to calm him down. Then he looked over at his Escape.
Totaled didn’t begin to describe it. It looked like it had been opened by a giant can opener, the once clean lines twisted into a nightmare form.
One of the paramedics bent over him. “Can I check your wallet sir? I need to find some ID, so I know who to alert.”
Chris managed to nod, and felt his wallet being taken from his jacket pocket. He even heard the man flip it open and presumably read his name. He knew his emergency contact would be David. He wanted to tell the guy not to call; David would only worry. But he couldn’t get the words out. He turned his head, letting his gaze wander out to where his Escape lay in a twisted mass of metal and rubber. That was when he saw the third body. A woman—at least he thought it was a woman, 54 P.A. Brown
though she was too mangled to be positive—lay sprawled untidily on the pavement between the bumper of his SUV, and the concrete abutment he had slammed into when he swerved off the pavement. Already yellow crime scene tape had been strung around the two vehicles and the body. A wave of nausea rolled through his stomach, threatening to bring up the lamb couscous he’d shared with Des earlier.
Sunday, 4:20 PM, Northeast Community Police Station, San Fernando Road, Los Angeles
When the autopsy concluded David and Jairo had returned to the station. In the locker room, David stripped off his shirt and tossed it into the bag he kept there for that purpose.
Everything he wore today would need to be washed before it could be worn again. The morgue smell clung to every porous surface, and only hot water and soap could dull it. He skimmed off his wool pants, and replaced them with a lighter, linen pair.
When he snagged a golf shirt out, he realized Jairo was beside him, staring.
The younger man had already changed into another all black outfit that hugged his broad chest and did nothing to conceal the bulge between his long legs.
“You know if you keep looking at me like that everyone’s going to know.”
“Know what?” Jairo licked his lips. “That I want you to fuck me? You like bluntness, eh? How’s that for bluntness.”
“I think you need to transfer to another division.”
“No.” Jairo stepped closer. David could smell his cologne all too well. Worse, he could smell Jairo. “I won’t ask. And you can’t, can you? Not without giving a reason. You can’t even claim sexual harassment, since you’re my senior officer.”
He was right. David couldn’t ask for reassignment. He slammed his locker shut and looked around to verify they were alone. “Can you explain to me what the hell you’re up to?
You’re married and have no intention of telling your wife L.A. BONEYARD 55
anything. Do you really think if you keep this up no one else is going to notice? Maybe you can shield your wife from the gossip, but we both know the guys here. They get a hold of this and both of us get dragged through the mud. Is that what you want?”
“Everyone knows I like
He had no idea how much time passed. It seemed like hours. The traffic noises faded to a dull roar. Overhead he heard a helicopter.
Finally Des’s door was wrenched open and he heard a soothing voice speak softly to Des. Meanwhile he heard the sharp grind of metal that went on and on. Finally his own door was pried opened, and gentle hands guided him out of his seat.
They lay him on a stretcher, checking his vital signs as they wheeled him toward a blue and white ambulance, lights strobing on the top of the vehicle.
Free of his Escape Chris was now able to look around at the crash site. Figueroa was closed in both directions and was crowded with fire trucks and neon yellow vested paramedics.
What had happened? He saw the vehicle that had rear-ended him, a panel truck that had been carrying a load of plate glass which now lay shattered in glittering shards around the pavement. He could hear Des muttering to someone who was trying to calm him down. Then he looked over at his Escape.
Totaled didn’t begin to describe it. It looked like it had been opened by a giant can opener, the once clean lines twisted into a nightmare form.
One of the paramedics bent over him. “Can I check your wallet sir? I need to find some ID, so I know who to alert.”
Chris managed to nod, and felt his wallet being taken from his jacket pocket. He even heard the man flip it open and presumably read his name. He knew his emergency contact would be David. He wanted to tell the guy not to call; David would only worry. But he couldn’t get the words out. He turned his head, letting his gaze wander out to where his Escape lay in a twisted mass of metal and rubber. That was when he saw the third body. A woman—at least he thought it was a woman, 54 P.A. Brown
though she was too mangled to be positive—lay sprawled untidily on the pavement between the bumper of his SUV, and the concrete abutment he had slammed into when he swerved off the pavement. Already yellow crime scene tape had been strung around the two vehicles and the body. A wave of nausea rolled through his stomach, threatening to bring up the lamb couscous he’d shared with Des earlier.
Sunday, 4:20 PM, Northeast Community Police Station, San Fernando Road, Los Angeles
When the autopsy concluded David and Jairo had returned to the station. In the locker room, David stripped off his shirt and tossed it into the bag he kept there for that purpose.
Everything he wore today would need to be washed before it could be worn again. The morgue smell clung to every porous surface, and only hot water and soap could dull it. He skimmed off his wool pants, and replaced them with a lighter, linen pair.
When he snagged a golf shirt out, he realized Jairo was beside him, staring.
The younger man had already changed into another all black outfit that hugged his broad chest and did nothing to conceal the bulge between his long legs.
“You know if you keep looking at me like that everyone’s going to know.”
“Know what?” Jairo licked his lips. “That I want you to fuck me? You like bluntness, eh? How’s that for bluntness.”
“I think you need to transfer to another division.”
“No.” Jairo stepped closer. David could smell his cologne all too well. Worse, he could smell Jairo. “I won’t ask. And you can’t, can you? Not without giving a reason. You can’t even claim sexual harassment, since you’re my senior officer.”
He was right. David couldn’t ask for reassignment. He slammed his locker shut and looked around to verify they were alone. “Can you explain to me what the hell you’re up to?
You’re married and have no intention of telling your wife L.A. BONEYARD 55
anything. Do you really think if you keep this up no one else is going to notice? Maybe you can shield your wife from the gossip, but we both know the guys here. They get a hold of this and both of us get dragged through the mud. Is that what you want?”
“Everyone knows I like
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