Dead Spots by Olson Melissa F

Author:Olson, Melissa F.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: AmazonEncore
Published: 2012-10-30T00:00:00+00:00

We arrived at the comic book store just before 4:00 a.m., and Cruz came around the van to open my door for me, which I thought was incredibly cheesy. We circled around to the back of the building, where a bunch of that yellow crime scene tape segregated the section of the parking lot between the dumpster and the store. Even from thirty feet away, I could see the rust-colored blood still oozing sluggishly down the sides of the dumpster. We weaved through the parked police vehicles and approached the scene.

Before I could worry too much about his plan, Cruz took my hand in his warm brown one and led me straight over to a squat, nerdy-looking guy in his late twenties who was painstakingly cleaning the lens of an enormous camera.

“Hey, Dale? Have you got a second?”

The heavyset guy looked up, wrinkling his nose in a squint at us. “Hey, Jesse. What’s up?”

“Dale, this is my girlfriend, Scarlett.”

I smiled winningly. Or tried to.

“She’s studying photography at the U. I was hoping maybe you could show her around the scene a little, say she’s your apprentice.”

Dale looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know, Jesse. They’re pretty careful about who gets across the tape these days.”

“Aw, come on, man. Don’t make me look bad.” He leaned in, and I heard him murmur to Dale, “You know that new Kate Beckinsale movie? How’d you like to go to the premiere?”

Dale’s eyes bugged out. “Really? You can do that?”

“My dad’s working on the set, man. He can do anything. You think you can help me out?”

“Sure, yeah.” Dale nodded his head enthusiastically.

“Thanks, Dale.” Cruz squeezed my hand and turned toward me. “You go on home when you’re done, baby. I’ll have somebody drop me off at my car when I get done. It might be late.” He gave me a mischievous grin, then reached over and patted my ass. “Go get ‘em.”

I glared at him behind Dale’s back, but he just smiled sweetly.

He trotted off to join the other cops who were milling around the tape line, and Dale looked me over with interest, taking an extra-close look at Molly’s leather pants. Never borrowing these again, I thought.

“Wow, you’re pretty. Okay, so how far are you in your classes? Have you taken two forty-five with Crawford yet?”

We started walking toward the yellow tape ourselves.

“Um, no. I just declared my major,” I said lamely. Undercover is not exactly my thing. I had explained to Cruz that my only understanding of cameras was how to push the big green—sometimes red—button, but he’d just shrugged and told me to fake it. Thanks, Jesse. Very helpful.

“Okay, well, we’ll just go over the basics, then. Police photography is straightforward, not much for artistry or technique.” He frowned disapprovingly at the justice system’s obvious artistic ignorance, but continued. “The cops drop a numbered marker near anything they think is important, and you take three shots of each marker—close-up, mid-shot, and wide shot.” He flashed an ID at the cop guarding the scene and briefly introduced me as his new assistant.

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