Skies of Ash (Detective Elouise Norton) by Rachel Howzell Hall

Author:Rachel Howzell Hall [Hall, Rachel Howzell]
Language: eng
Format: azw
ISBN: 9781466828827
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2015-05-19T00:00:00+00:00

30

Lieutenant Rodriguez slammed his office door shut.

My arms spread wide as I opened my mouth to say, “All I’m—”

But my boss pointed at me with a single thick finger. “You’re fucking up.”

I gaped at him, then cocked my head. “Excuse me?”

He now pointed toward the detectives’ bureau beyond his closed door. “I will back you out there in the midst of those assholes, especially Taggert, but in here—”

“What are you saying?”

“That’s he right: you’re letting outside shit—”

“No—”

“Hey,” he shouted. “At ease, Detective.”

Everything in me numbed, and weird prickling spread across my chest.

Lieutenant Rodriguez exhaled, then crossed his arms. “Next time you’re in here with me means what?”

Pangs of anger exploded behind my eyes like little bombs. “Means I’m off the case.”

He glared at me. “Anything else?”

“No, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

I gave him a short nod, then left him to whatever he did at his desk all day.

Everyone’s gaze followed me as I stomped out of the station and into the frigid night, out to the parking garage and to the Crown Vic. I was nauseated and light-headed, and it felt like an alien was clawing in my belly, trying to burst through and spray the world with acid.

On every case, a detective decidedly depersonalizes all of it to stay sane. The dead victim ain’t my sister, the perp ain’t my husband, and the murder didn’t happen on my block. Yes, a cop brings her own experiences to the squad room and to a murder scene. She filters bullshit through her prejudices and bigotry. Tells herself, same shit, different toilet. She pushes the rock up the hill even when she knows the fucker will roll down the other side. But she’ll do anything for justice.

So to be told that I couldn’t see because my boobs were blocking the view? That I couldn’t think correctly because the little girl inside of me was sobbing on the living room couch, waiting for her deadbeat daddy to make her whole again?

I released a single primitive scream, and the alien pushed past my pancreas and lodged near my clavicles. Stuck.

Be productive.

That had been an order from my boss.

Fifteen minutes later, I had parked a block away from Ben Oliver’s house. Just as I was about to leave the car, the Motorola blurped from the passenger seat.

“Lou, you there?” the man asked.

I smiled and grabbed the radio. “Now, you’re a voice I haven’t heard in a while.”

“I tried you at the station,” Zucca said, “but Taggert said you went out in a huff.”

“Bitches be huffy,” I said, glimpsing all of the activity on the Oliver property.

“The blood found in Christopher Chatman’s Jaguar.”

“What about it?”

“Belongs to Juliet Chatman … and to someone else.”

My mouth opened, but no words came—someone else?

“You there?” the criminalist asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “At this point, any news is good news. Any idea who ‘someone else’ is?”

“Nope.”

“We need a sample from Chatman, don’t we?”

“That would help, yes.”

There could have been many reasons Juliet’s blood had been found in her husband’s car. Couldn’t wait to hear those reasons from the man himself.

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