Read Online Wounds by Alton Gansky - Free Book Online

mother was beside herself.
    As Carmen exited the house she heard the little girl say, “Don’t cry, Mommy. It will be okay.”
    Carmen wished that were true. Such violence committed on the doorstep left wounds that never healed. Carmen knew that for a fact. Tunnel vision was a horrible thing for the eyes, but it could do a world of good for the mind. Focus on the work. Block out anything not related to the investigation. Facts. Evidence. Logic. Careful procedures. Those things mattered. Everything else was a distraction. Think like a laser, not a spotlight. That was her philosophy.
    Pity it seldom worked.
    Before the door closed behind her, images of her own mother’s hysterical weeping washed forward in her mind. A uniformed officer had come to their door late in the night to deliver the news of the tragic auto accident. He looked suitably sad, expressed his regret at the news, and said detectives would be by to ask questions.
    The officer left.
    The night darkened. Carmen’s mother went from weeping in the front yard to screaming. It took Carmen and her father fifteen minutes to get her back into the house. She cried for a full week. Shelly had died on Clairemont Mesa Boulevard; Carmen’s mom died that night in a small home in East Clairemont. Not physically. She lived many years longer, but her heart, her spirit, perished that night.
    It took a moment for Carmen to realize she had stopped walking. The buzz of a gathering crowd, the drone of slow-moving traffic on a busy College Avenue, a blend of voices hung about her head, waiting for attention.
    She raised her eyes and took in the scene. Two uniformed officers stood just on the other side of the yellow police ribbon. A small crowd had gathered, and she recognized reporters from a local radio news station and two television stations. The officers stood tall with shoulders back, beefed up by their bulletproof vests, which made them look thicker and more powerful than they were.
    Bud was leaning over the body again. The rabbi stood near by, never moving from the spot Bud had assigned him. No doubt Bud had made it clear that a few careless steps could ruin an investigation and therefore a prosecution. Carmen started Bud’s direction but stopped when she saw motion at the barricade. A tall, dapper man in a dark gray suit was pushing through the crowd. He stopped and spoke to the uniforms. Hanging from the man’s suit coat pocket was a SDPD badge. He smiled and one of the officers chuckled. Then the unthinkable happened: the man stepped to the yellow tape and lifted it. He was about to enter the crime scene.
    â€œHold it, Chief!” Carmen raised her voice enough to stop Assistant Police Chief Barry “Butch” Claymore in his tracks.
    Carmen hustled his way, doing her best to show no emotion. The emotion she felt, she didn’t want to express to the force’s newest assistant police chief.
    â€œMorning, Detective Rainmondi.” At least he knew her name. She wasn’t sure that was a good thing.
    â€œGood morning Assistant Chief. How may I help you?”
    â€œJust doing my job, Detective. Word is spreading about the—let’s call it unique situation —of the murder. I thought I’d take a quick look.” He reached for the barricade again. Carmen stepped in front of him. The two patrolmen moved a few steps to the side, no doubt putting distance between them and what might become a war.
    â€œI’m sorry, Chief, but protocol demands I limit the number of people trafficking the scene.”
    His smile dissolved. “Do I need to remind you that I outrank you, Detective?”
    â€œNo, sir. I congratulate you on your promotion. I’m certain your leadership will be a big boost to the department.”
    â€œAre you being sarcastic, Rainmondi?”
    â€œNo, sir. I just can’t let you on the scene. Rank has nothing to do with it. Protecting the evidence on scene does.”
    â€œI’ve