Heritage: Against the Grain

Chapter 2 - The Boss

Senior Detective Hoight didn’t much resemble a detective. The tall, heavyset man with an ample belly, massive hands, and legs like gum poles looked like a prizefighter, even though his face had no scars.

Despite his massive girth, his well-cut clothes shouted money not earned by a cop’s salary. Although nearly seven in the evening and chilly, he’d removed his jacket and rolled his cuffs to his elbows, exposing hairy forearms and an expensive watch.

Steel-blue eyes with silver highlights betrayed intelligence and a weathered outlook on life.

“Well, did they send you to me because I asked for something pretty? Or do you have something I can use behind all that subtle, well-chosen, inconspicuousness?” The question startled her, and she almost let it show—not that it mattered. She would grant him that one, but now she understood Forester’s mirth.

His amused glance measured her every reaction.

“Well, can’t an officer be cute and... useful?”

Approval lit his eyes and deepened the light of consideration, but he had yet to touch her file. Was it because he wanted to draw his own conclusions about her?

She had chosen “officer” over “girl” on purpose. This office had no distinctions between girls and boys or women and men. Not with him. You either did your job or you didn’t.

“Miriam?” Hoight did not even need to raise his voice. The woman appeared like a shadow, reminding her of one of those soundless servants from old movies.

“Coffee, please, for Officer Gillian Beaumont and me. She joined us fresh out of the egg pen. I asked for more seasoned detectives, and they sent me five rookies. I guess, in their estimation, five rookies equals one detective. Get me, Colt, and ask her to pick up their newest recruit. Make her tell Detective Boss that this is an order.” Hoight's grim smile almost made Miriam grin.

What amused them so much? Is it this Detective Colt’s reaction to being stuck with yet another rookie, or whoever this “Boss” is?

“Am I to be fed to the biggest shark in the shark pen on my first day?” she asked when they were alone, and his glance caught onto hers with unbridled mirth.

“You will do,” he murmured almost to himself as Miriam reappeared with coffee she could not have made when she was gone.

She handed them their cups.

“It’s hot.”

The woman aimed her warning at the man behind the desk, and that laughter-filled gaze met hers for a moment before she moved on. She did not glance back at Hoight, who had already almost burned his mouth as he stared at Miriam’s retreating back with amused chagrin.

“She thinks she’s everyone’s mother,” he scoffed, the fondness in his expression speaking a story of its own.

Gillian braced herself for the worst cup of coffee of her life, as she had grown to expect from these places, and instead took a sip of the best coffee she had ever tasted. Bar none.

He chuckled at her surprise. The scalding brew was just how she liked it—sweet, hot, and half milk.

“She is the best assistant ever and comes with perks,” he said, indicating the coffee, and winked at Gillian.

They enjoyed their beverages in appreciative silence until she put her cup down and stood.

“Miriam will take you to your locker, give you a quick tour, and introduce you to Colt.” His voice halted her at the door. “Beaumont?”

She turned to face him.

“Welcome to the graveyard shift.” No laughter laced his voice, only weariness, and an odd acceptance. She nodded and followed Miriam, who, once again, appeared out of nowhere.

When Miriam entered the locker room with a detective in civilian clothes, Gillian finished tying her shoes and checked that her hat was on straight.

Colt took in the rookie uniform, and her mouth set into a grim line. She looked tired and not in the best mood. The only thing keeping her silent was the steely look in the red-haired, gel-nailed, but overdressed woman beside her.

“We’re late. Get your s**t and come,” she ordered, turning on her heel and stalking away without waiting.

Miriam indicated with a short, indignant shake of her head that Gillian should follow post-haste.

The blond detective towered over her by an inch or two. Her long, fast strides said she spent half her life on the run from one place to the next with no time to waste. Colt’s clipped pace and manner suggested some time in the armed forces.

The long walk down to the garages didn’t even wind her, and she didn’t speak as they located her car, got in, and made their way into traffic. Her mind wandered elsewhere while she handled the unmarked cruiser almost on autopilot.

The scent of rain haunted the air outside, and not long into their drive, rain speckled the windshield, turning into a deluge. Colt swore, then reined in her temper with visible effort.

Gillian pretended to ignore her. Instead, she took stock of the detective and kept track of their route through the streets. The lights flickered eerily in the rain, blue... red... blue... red... interspersed with headlights, streetlights, and neon signs as they wove through traffic.

They finally found themselves in a street cordoned off by police vehicles and yellow tape. When they exited the car, two officers came running up to them with umbrellas, and one spoke to Colt about a fingerprint. The atmosphere of the day muted all sound.

Gillian followed Colt from the rain-soaked tarmac to the underground parking area of an abandoned building. When they entered the cavernous, wet-smelling concrete structure, a familiar odor reached her nose—blood, older than a day but no older than two. Lots and lots of it that belonged to more than one human. She detected at least three distinct people. The scent of something older, long ago, she ignored.

They followed a narrow, taped corridor deeper into the artificially lit darkness, approaching a man who stood out among the others as if alone in the room.

Tall, dark-looking hair, almost black, but being damp, was probably brown. Greenish brown eyes missed nothing as his gaze fixed on Colt, strayed beyond, and settled on her.

He awaited them, but his eyes turned glacial at the sight of her uniform. Now she understood Colt’s reluctance. The detective noticed his expression and glanced at Gillian with something akin to pity.