Tomorrow Is Never Promised

Chapter 2

Oliver



"Authorities don't have any leads so far on the death of Kyle Harding, a twenty-four year old Portland man, whose body was discovered in Ankeny Plaza early Saturday morning. Portland Police are urging citizens to come forward if they have any information related to the death of Harding. His death came as a shock to his family and co-workers, who said that Harding was a kind man, with a big heart, and a desire to help people."

The news was abuzz about the death of Kyle Harding. It had been a couple of days and there were still no leads in the case. A part of me wished that I could get my hands on his case. Maybe I could build a profile and help catch the killer.

Crimes like this are the whole reason I became a Criminal Psychologist. I was able to use my knowledge of behavioral analysis to notice certain patterns in crimes, patterns that help to build a profile based around the perpetrator. I was very good at my job, having helped solve numerous cases in LA, some of them Cold Cases.

It had been a year since I left LA and bought a nice little two-story in the St. Johns neighborhood of Portland, and started working for the Portland Police. I never regretted my decision to leave LA. In fact, it was necessary.

I drummed my fingers anxiously on the steering wheel of my jeep, willing traffic to start moving again. Which was hopeless because, for the past thirty minutes, I had been sitting in the same spot, in the middle of a bridge, hovering roughly a hundred feet above the slow moving water of the Willamette.

That didn't make me nervous at all.

My cell began to ring and I answered it over Bluetooth.

"Hello?"

"Ollie where are you?" The voice of my colleague and best friend, Gavin, came through my car speakers.

"Stuck on the St. Johns." I grumbled.

"Well, you better hurry up and get here. Captain Harvey's been pacing in his office for, like, five minutes."

Captain Richard Harvey was not a man who liked to be kept waiting. He had called me up this morning saying he had a new case for me, and wanted to see me immediately. Though no one could have predicted an accident on my main route to work.

"How bad is it?" I asked, not really sure I wanted to know the answer.

"He's got crazy eyes," Gavin replied in an amused tone.

I made a frustrated noise and slapped my hand against the steering wheel.

"Well, what do you want me to do? Sprout wings and fly over this mess?"

"Could you?" He replied in a hopeful tone.

I snorted and shook my head. "I'll be there in twenty."

I hung up the phone and once a hole in oncoming traffic appeared, I initiated an illegal u-turn and went back the way I came.

Twenty minutes was a lie and I would be lucky to make it in double that time. Portland traffic was hell at that time of the morning. Though, it was better than LA traffic.

Thirty minutes later, and a red light ran, I was high tailing it into the station. I went through the metal detectors rather quickly, which got me an annoyed expression from the security guard who took his sweet ass time running the wand over me.

I was getting sideways glances from the other elevator riders as I bounced anxiously on my feet, willing the stupid metal box to climb faster. Once it reached the fifth floor, I all but barreled out of it, almost knocking a stack of papers out of a woman's hands.

I helped her right the heaping pile. "Sorry."

She didn't respond, only replied with a glare and stepped into the elevator.

I shrugged it off and walked into the large open space where most of the detectives worked, including myself.

The precinct I worked at back in LA was different from this one, it was more modern. This station, which was the oldest and largest in the city, had floor to ceiling windows, and gothic-style architecture that reminded me of the GCPD straight out of a Batman comic. I always felt like I should wear a fedora, a nice suit, and talk like I’m in a noir film when I was here.

I took a right and passed by Detective Shaw's desk, who was poring over paperwork.

"Doctor Reagan, how nice of you to grace us with your presence."

I whipped around to see a smirk plastered across his aging face.

I liked Detective Shaw. He was a no-nonsense kind of guy. Where others saw a surly man, who would bite your head off at any given opportunity, I saw an honest man. There was something refreshing about that. You knew exactly where you stood with Sully Shaw.

I glanced nervously over my shoulder into Captain Harvey's office, who appeared to be on the phone with someone, perma-scowl plastered on his face.

"You better get in there kid." Sully added.

"Wish me luck." I groaned, which got a chuckle from Sully.

I turned around and headed for the Captain's office. I hadn't even gotten a chance to knock on the door before it was thrust open from the other side. There in the doorway stood Captain Harvey, looking like an angry bull. Or was that just his permanent facial expression?

He narrowed his eyes at me, and with a single jerk of his head, indicated to me to get the hell in his office.

I gave a nervous glance toward Sully, who chuckled and shook his head, then proceeded to turn his attention back to his paperwork.

Gee, thanks Sully.

I stepped into the office and closed the door behind me, feeling the weight of the tension that floated around the room.

The whole office spoke of a man who was highly respected by his peers, with many achievements and newspaper clippings of some of his more memorable cases hanging on the wall behind his desk.

“When I say I want you here in twenty minutes, I expect you to be here in twenty minutes.” He spoke in a gruff tone.

“Yes, I’m sorry sir.” Was all I could muster for a reply.

He began pushing papers aside on his desk, a large sturdy number with a mahogany finish. He appeared to be searching for something.

“I’m not gonna deny that you are the best Profiler we have in the department right now. You came highly recommended by the brass in LA when you initiated your transfer.”

I furrowed my brow at that statement. Was I being reprimanded or commended?

“Thank you, sir?”

“But that doesn’t mean,” He flashed his steely eyes at me. “That you can get lazy on me. Not now.”

That last sentence kind of carried a little more meaning to it, like there was something more there. It was something that prickled underneath my skin and had my senses tingling. The case he had for me must have been big.

He grabbed a manila envelope and handed it over to me. I took it almost immediately, anxious to see what its contents contained. I always loved a good case, and the puzzle that was profiling a criminal.

“I want you to look at these two victims and tell me what you see.” Captain Harvey stared at me intently, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest.

I pulled the contents of the manila envelope out and glanced at the first picture, as well as the file attached to it.

Name: Jane Doe

Age: Estimated late teens

Sex: Female

Cause of death: Blood loss due to multiple sharp force injuries to the chest

I looked at the first picture, which was of her at the scene. I have seen a lot of things from being a Profiler in LA. But this was purely gruesome, and sickening in a way that made my insides knot up and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

I moved on to the next file, keeping my best poker face and avoiding eye contact with Captain Harvey, who was watching me, hoping maybe to pick up some kind of reaction.

This victim was male and looked like the same MO. Same stab patterns, same location and presentation of body, even the number of times stabbed, which was thirteen. The victim's name was what stuck out to me though.

Kyle Harding.

I looked up at Captain Harvey. "This is the Harding case."

He gave me a curt nod and settled into his comfy leather desk chair, resting his elbows on the dark wood surface of his desk.

“The lead detective on the case has a feeling they could be connected.”

“A feeling?” I c****d an eyebrow at him, the doubt dripping from my voice.

I hate when people say that they had “a feeling” about something. It wasn’t concrete enough for me. I needed the hard facts, the whole story. It would be like me saying I had a feeling that the suspect was a male, or that they wore brown loafers while twirling a baton.

"That's what I said." He replied stiffly.

I snorted back a laugh. "I'm afraid I can't make a connection based on a ‘feeling’.” I gestured with air quotes.

Captain Harvey arched one of his large bushy eyebrows at me. "Do I need to find another Profiler to work this case?"

"Well no, but-"

"Great!" He slapped one of his large hands against the desktop. "Then I expect your input by the end of the day."

The end of the day?

I tried to work up the courage to argue, to tell him I would need at least a couple of days to work through all the evidence. However, the impatient look on his face indicated that I was officially dismissed.

“Yes, sir.”

Feeling a little saltier than usual, I strode out of his office and into the noisier atmosphere outside.

My mind was working in overdrive, going over different aspects of the case before I could sit down at the desk and properly look over the files.

Two victims, both seemed unrelated, but the same MO. Both had been stabbed thirteen times in a circular pattern, both had been presented in an almost showmanship type fashion. Whoever the killer was, was proud of his or her work.

I climbed the set of stairs towards the back of the room and immediately took a right at the top in the direction of my desk. Once I reached it, I slapped the case file down and dropped myself in my chair, staring up at the ceiling.

“Well, that was intense.”

I brought my gaze down to see Gavin perched on the edge of my desk, looking like a housewife who was searching for the juiciest gossip of the day.

Gavin and I had been best friends for the past four years, having met during our graduate studies at Harvard. He went the Therapist route, while I had more of a knack for getting inside the minds of criminals. He was the one who talked me into coming to Portland after the LA incident.

“I got a new case,” I replied shortly.

“A new case eh?,” He snatched the file off my desk and began thumbing through it. “Care to share?”

I snatched the case file out of his hands and he gave me a pouty look, crossing his arms over his slender torso.

“Boo, you’re no fun.”

“You know the rules,” I grumbled.

He groaned and sank into the chair in front of me, propping his feet up onto my desk. I scowled and slowly pushed them off. He knew how I felt about people putting their dirty shoes on my desk.

"What's got you so salty?"

I sighed. "This case. The Captain wants my input by the end of the day."

"Okay. So get it done. I've seen you put a profile together in like six hours."

A frustrated sound escaped my throat as I rubbed my hands over my face. "That's the thing though. The lead detective on this case has a ‘feeling’ that these two victims are linked somehow. But other than a similar MO, I don't know what could draw that conclusion."

An amused expression split across Gavin's narrow features. "Ahh, so that's what this is about."

"What what is about?"

He gave me an endearing smile before speaking. "Listen hun, you're my best friend and I love you. But we both know that you look at the world through an objective lens."

I was slightly taken aback by that statement. This wasn't the first time someone had brought to my attention that I was a little on the cold and calculated side. It was just the way I was. Feelings were messy, and in most cases, clouded people's better judgement.

"Of course I do. Objectivity forces you to take a step back and look at the facts, not let some chemicals in the brain determine your judgement." I argued.

"True, but there is such a thing as ‘gut instincts’."

I could tell he wasn't going to drop the subject. Gavin was my best friend, and I knew he meant well, but I was happy with the way I was, and the way my life was.

"Is this the best friend talking, or the department psychologist?" I c****d an eyebrow at him.

He let out a lighthearted sigh and stood up from the chair. "Fair enough, but one of these days you'll see I'm right." He grinned like a cheshire cat.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Mmm, doubtful."

He snorted and shook his head. "I'm going to that coffee shop on the corner that you like, and getting you a very large, extra shot, salted caramel mocha. You seem like you need it, it'll match that salty attitude."

"Don't think that bribing me with coffee is going to sway my opinions." Even though the thought of that delicious goodness made me feel slightly giddy inside.

He feigned surprise and grabbed his chest. "Bribe? Whatever do you mean?"

"Mmhmm." I flipped open the file and began digging through the case notes.

I heard Gavin's footsteps retreat, and I let out a small gust of air. Maybe he had a point; maybe I was too closed off. But I didn't understand feelings, or people's desire to express them so openly. Sure, I studied all about them in graduate school. However, it was one thing to study them out of a book, and another thing entirely to express them yourself.

It wasn't that I was emotionally stunted either. I was able to recognize my own feelings, and work through them in my own way. But there's a reason why I went into Forensics and not into Clinical Psychology like Gavin. Murderers and Criminals were just easier for me to understand.

I put my earbuds in and turned on some music to help me concentrate. Then I started the long process of sifting through evidence, notes, and crime scene photos.

After a few hours, I pieced together a partial profile based on both victims. Though it wasn't enough for me to completely declare that they were connected. The only things that seemed to connect them were location, cause of death, and the manner in which the bodies were displayed on the fountain. Even I had to admit that was pretty compelling.

The reports said that Kyle Harding was an LGBT youth counselor, and often helped homeless teens on the streets.

Jane Doe was a teenager, and by the looks of her clothes and the Medical Examiner’s report, she was presumed to be homeless due to a number of contributing factors during her autopsy. Also, the fact that no one had claimed her when we released her police sketch made that theory even more likely.

Was it possible that Kyle Harding and Jane Doe knew each other? Maybe Kyle's death was a message, a warning to other people who helped these particular kids. The only way I could be sure though would be to go and investigate.

I looked at the time and it was one-thirty. The LGBT youth center was in Chinatown, and if I hurried I could make it over there and back in time by my deadline, which was five.

I shut down my computer, shrugged on my light jacket, and grabbed the now lukewarm coffee that Gavin had brought me earlier, off my desk. Going somewhere to investigate wasn’t my usual activity. However, if I was going to make conclusions about this case I needed more evidence.

I bounded down the stairs and began making my way through a row of detective’s desks. I was just about to the last row when a mail cart, being pushed by some shaggy-haired intern, cut me off.

I quickly bounced around it to avoid being hit but my foot got caught on a bag in the isle. If it wasn't for a pair of hands that found my waist, I likely would have found myself on the floor.

The man righted me back on my feet, his touch lingering on my waist for a bit. Embarrassment flooded through me at my latest episode of clumsiness, my hands finding the thick muscles of his forearms for added stability.

"You okay?" His voice was deep and thick with a New England accent. His emerald eyes met mine with a sense of amusement, and staring into them was like staring into an evergreen forest, the greens seeming to wrap me up in a peaceful embrace.

I nodded my head in response, words seeming difficult at the moment. It wasn't my fault that the dude was absolutely handsome, with slicked back auburn hair, and a hint of scruff on his face.

He let go of my waist rather quickly, as if recognizing his touch was also lingering. I straightened my posture and stared at him. What was I doing again?

"Sorry, I shouldn't have left my bag in the aisle like that."

"What?" I glanced down in confusion to see a backpack leaning haphazardly against the desk.

The man grabbed the bag and moved it to the front of his desk. The entire time, I couldn't help but notice how well-built he was; with defined muscles that flexed and rippled underneath the cotton of his long sleeve shirt, which hugged close to his body.

Focus… LGBT youth center.

"Gotta go." I gave a nervous chuckle and spun on my heel, trying to outrun my embarrassment.

What the hell was wrong with me? One interaction with a sexy detective and I was a blundering i***t.

Nice going Oliver.

I stepped outside and crossed the street to the adjacent parking garage where my car was. The entire time, my thoughts went back to those green eyes, and that amused expression on that rugged face.

No, never going to happen.