Brandi Reeds [Reeds - Third Party

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Text copyright 2019 by Brandi Reeds

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle

www.apub.com

Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

ISBN-13: 9781542044936

ISBN-10: 1542044936

Cover design by Faceout Studio, Derek Thornton

For my hunky husband and our amazing girls,

who taught me laugh lines are a sign of happiness.

I followed the doe, and she led me here, to the life we share.

CONTENTS

When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving oneself, and one always ends by deceiving others.

Oscar Wilde

Chapter 1

JESSICA

I know right away this isnt going to be good. I cant explain it. Its just a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Sometimes its there. Sometimes its not. And this time, not only is it there, its somersaulting.

Its barely six in the morning, nearing the end of a long shift at the fire station.

I ring the bell for the top-floor unit of a building we in Chicago call a three-flat. Were on the eight hundred block of Leavitt in a decent neighborhood, a recently gentrified section of Bucktown, where many of the three-flats have been renovated into single-family houses. This one, as evidenced by the mailboxes and doorbells on the front porch, is still home to three renters.

Red and blue lights flash in rotation against the building. In further testament to the safety of the neighborhood, curious neighbors lean out of their windows to see what the fuss is all about. Cops dont fill the streets around here every day.

The buzzer bleats to admit the fire battalion chief and me, and I yank open the door.

Excuse me. An older couple, frantic, is suddenly at the curb, exiting their car, slamming doors. The woman is stoic; the man, fidgeting, speaks for both of them. We got a call... I own the building.

The chief holds up a hand like a traffic cop, but if he hopes to stop the couple from coming any closer, its a futile attempt. Im sorry, I have to ask you to wait here a minute.

But our daughter lives here.

That changes things. The chief slows his pace and adopts a softer tone. Ive yet to assess the situation. I only just got here myself. While the chief hangs back with the couple, I begin to climb the stairs. I dont know much about the situation, except that a neighbor called for a well check. I dont know what were going to find up there, but nothing about this scene feels remotely well.

Im the one who called, a tenant says, looking down at me from the second-floor landing as I approach. I found this note... the police have it now. If anything happens to me, tell them it wasnt an accident. Thats what it said. Can you believe it?

A chill chases down my spine.

So I called, naturally, and

Thank you. Youve done your civic duty.

Its just... she must have slipped it under my door last night. I didnt see it until this morning. Is she okay? he asks. The guy downstairs... you might want to talk to him. He says he heard her arguing with someone. A man who threatened to tape her mouth shut. Do you know whats going on?

My breath catches in my throat, and I reach out and pat him on the shoulder. Ill know soon enough.

If only I hadnt gone to bed early. Maybe I could have

You did what you could, I assure him.

I recognize the pair of patrol cops standing outside the closed door on the third floor.

Theres a lot of city-issue cars outside, I say. What are we walking into?

You dont want to go in there, maam, one of them tells me.

I point to the name lettered down the right sleeve of my department-issue fleece pullover. Firefighter Blythe. Here to serve, same as you. Called here to assist.

No saving her now.

The somersaulting in my gut ceases, and a hundred-pound rock plummets there. I see.

Hanging, the other says.

Shes not my first, but that doesnt mean this job is ever routine or easy. You fellas done in there? I indicate the door. May I?

One of the pair opens it for me.

The acrid stench of human decay rises up as I enter the apartment. I roll it up and mentally file it into the special place in my mind I created for moments like these on the job. Compartmentalization. It keeps me sane.

The place is decorated in a bohemian vibe. Its colorful and eclectic and airy, with vaulted ceilings and exposed rafters. A nice place to come home to, Ill bet.

Lieutenant KJ Decker, detective third grade, is standing in the living room, not far from where the victim is hanging from the rafters. His arms are crossed over his chest, and hes gnawing fiercely on a wad of pink gum. He gives me a nod when he sees me.

Slowly, I approach.

Shes beautiful, even postmortem. Thin. Blonde. Wearing a red satin nightie. Well-manicured hands. Red polish on her toes. The same shade paints her lips. Even death couldnt darken that shade.

And on her right cheek: a horizontal slash, with a trickle of blood, now dried, as if she dodged a sweep of a knife.

So much for a well check, I say.

Sometimes we arrive for this type of call and learn all is fine, or at least fixable. We come, we help. But even on calls like this one, when its too late for intervention, they still need me.

Were just about ready for you, Jessie, Decker says to me.

Anything I can do in the meantime?

I have some difficult visits to see to. He gives me a sort-of smile. Hes tired. You wanna notify next of kin?

I dont, but its a task no one is going to raise her hand to do. I think the next of kin just arrived outside.

Decker lets out a drawn-out sigh. I dont want them to see her like this.

The chiefs keeping them at bay. But Ill accompany, if you think itll help.

Maybe.

It appears the evidence techs have swabbed and bagged her hands, presumably to preserve whatever evidence might be lingering in the folds of her skin and under her fingernails, which is interesting because...

This is a suicide, I say. Its meant to be a question of sorts. At the very least, Im seeking confirmation of my assessment, but after nearly five years on the job, Ive learned that the right inflection is important for a woman in this profession. Too much lilt, too much emphasis on the question mark, and these guys, even those without rank, will assume Im uncertain, and theyll be bossing me around until the cows come home.

Apparent suicide, Decker says. Then, under his breath, he adds, At least thats what someone wants us to think.

Really. She leave a note?

Yeah. Brief. Along with a few Benjamins on the counter.

I glance at the kitchen and see several hundred-dollar bills fanned on the counter. The number fourteen is tented next to them, which means the techs have photographed the cash as evidence.

Another numberelevenmarks the location where a lacy red bra is lying on the floor.

Did you find a knife?

Decker nods. Theres one in the kitchen sink.