Moon Bear's Mate

Chapter One SASHA The inside of her throat was dry as a sunbaked leaf. Detective Sasha Monroe roused from her shallow sleep, and with the instinctive sense that it was still too dark, still too early, grew annoyed at the muffled rhythmic vibrating she heard. The news would not be good. She sat up, and immediately felt the thumping in her head, and recognized the fuzziness at the edges of her vision: It was punishment for a celebration the night before when she drank a little too much for a little too long. Doing only one of those alone might have been fine, but combining the two was definitely a mistake, and one she knew she would pay for all day long. Groaning with discomfort and more than a little annoyance, and realizing that on her first day as a newly and meritoriously promoted Detective Inspector that her temper would be short, Sasha pushed her face into her hands. “Damn,” she whispered. For the first time in a long time, she felt like a university student again. “The good old days, right?” she murmured to herself. The vibrating did not stop, and she looked toward her purse. Who was calling her at this hour? And, come to think of it, what hour was it, exactly? In truth, she knew the answer to the former, and the answer to the latter didn’t matter now that she was a for-real Detective. The blinking red digital clock on her bedside table read fourteen minutes past four, an hour and sixteen minutes earlier than her alarm was set. The knowledge did nothing to improve Sasha’s mood. “Alright, alight,” she mumbled, standing up, and fighting off a wave of momentary dizziness. The glass next to her clock stood empty, and so she grumbled her way to her desk, and pulled from her purse her trembling phone. It took her a few seconds of squinting to make out just who the hell it was that was calling her. Superintendent O’Neill. Her boss. Of course it was. God damn it. Her first day hadn’t even started, and she’s already on-call. That’s what you get for living in a small desert town, she supposed. Sasha cleared her throat, winced at the rasp she felt, made a mental note to never forget to down a pint of water just before bed after a heavy night, and then answered. “Good morning, sir.” “Detective Monroe,” the sleepy voice said at the other end. He was wheezing a little, and that meant he was worried about something. This was not the ideal way to start her first day as a detective. “Yes, sir.” She ran her hand to the high bun she used to give her hair waves she liked, and was thankful that she had even bothered while drunk the night before. Sure, she could remember to do her hair up into a bun, but not to drink some water… or maybe a bottle of Gatorade for the electrolytes. “I didn’t wake you, did I?” She rolled her eyes. “Of course not, sir.” “Bad news, I’m afraid.” Sasha felt her stomach knot. “Oh?” “Charlie Kinnear is dead.” It took her a moment to remember the old, fragile man who lived on Lester Street, which was in the same grid she walked her first beat on. “Dead?” “That’s right. And there’s more. It’s looking like it wasn’t of natural causes.” Sasha couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “He was murdered?” “Woah, woah,” O’Neill cautioned. “Nobody’s saying that. At least, not yet. The call came in just a few minutes ago. Some new kid working the phones at the station called me personally. Can you believe that i***t? We have protocol. Procedure. We have—” “Unbelievable, sir,” Sasha said, trying to get O’Neill back on track. Charlie Kinnear was dead? Who would want to kill him? The man was, as far as she knew, as benign and harmless as they came, not to mention possibly the most ancient living thing she had ever laid eyes on. “So it’s possible that he was murdered?” “From the details that kid told me,” O'Neill said, before pausing. “That’s looking like a possible theory.” She could tell by his reticence to use the m-word, or ‘homicide’, that he was hoping, rather uselessly, for the best. Another murder would add more waves to a political ocean that was already surging. He’d have the state governor breathing down his neck. Sasha cleaned sleep from the corners of her eyes. “That’s terrible, boss. He seemed to me to be a sweet old guy. At least from the few times I met him.” “You ever walk Lester?” “Yes, sir, when I was fresh out of the academy. I was on foot in the early morning, in a patrol car by noon.” “Ah. Yes, Charlie was gentle. Anyway, Monroe, I’m calling to let you know that the case is yours. Congratulations,” he added sardonically. Sasha was wondering what the purpose of the personal call to her was. Now she knew. She blanched, recovered herself, and then spoke into her phone with as even a voice as possible. “Sir, it’s not even my first day as a detective. Surely I shouldn’t be the lead?” The superintendent’s voice hardened. “I’m sorry?” “I mean, wouldn’t one of the more experienced detectives be better if this is a homicide, sir?” “Nobody said anything about homicide, Monroe.” “You said it wasn’t natural, sir.” She cradled her forehead with a cupped hand. The mere vibrations from her speaking were making her headache worse. “I never said homicide. Get down to his house. A couple of uniforms have taped it off, and they’re waiting for a detective” “Sir, with all due respect, this isn’t my watch. I wouldn’t want to step on the toes of any of the other det-” “Detective Monroe.” The superintendent sounded like he was struggling to control his breathing. “I have just given you a case. In other words, an order. You have a job to do, and I don’t care if it is not your watch. You’ll do as you’re told, understand?” “Yes, sir.” She paused for a moment, realizing how she sounded. She was being too nervous, and too worried to offend other detectives in the squad. So what if she was a newbie? If the superintendent was giving her a case, then she’d damn well work it, and she’d work it well. “Just didn’t want to offend the men in the squad,” she added quickly. “I’ll work it.” “If the boys get pissy,” O’Neill said, “Then they can shove it because I’m giving this to you.” “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your confidence in me.” “Good,” he said, his voice relaxing. “Now get down to Charlie Kinnear’s house and work the damn scene.” “Yes, sir,” Sasha said, but the superintendent had already hung up. First day, new case, another murder. Not exactly what she’d had in mind, but Sasha knew she could do this. She’d solve this crime, if it even was a crime. Sitting down at her desk, she plunged her face into one of her hands, phone still pressed up against the side of her face. Her skull was pounding, and her left ear was blocked. Definitely way too much celebrating the night before. Cops… they sure knew how to put it back, and being the only woman in the station house, she wasn’t about to let a man outdrink her. And she didn’t. Sasha’s mind returned to the case. Who would want to hurt a harmless old man like Charlie Kinnear, anyway? The poor soul would not have even been able to put up a fight. Arthritis and what she guessed was Parkinson’s had Charlie in a pitiable state. The few times she’d seen him, he looked entirely out of control of his own motor functions. It was a rare sight that he left his house. But she did wonder why the boss was giving her a case like this on her first day. It seemed odd. After all, there was a body. This could very well turn out to be a homicide. And in that case, it would spiral into politics. Why give it to a rookie? Why not one of the other three detectives, two of whom were on night shift? Begrudgingly, she was forced to admit to herself that she knew why. Not only was it her first day as a detective – and technically, that day hadn’t even started yet – but it was also because she was not just the highest ranking female police officer in her station house, but she was the only female police officer in her station house, ever since Margaret Bell transferred out two months ago. But even if she were still around, it was still just a big old boys club, and she suspected that this was a political cover-up job. O’Neill didn’t want another murder in this small, sleepy town. He didn’t want the mayor getting involved. He didn’t want the state governor getting involved. Put a rookie on, maybe she’ll miss the connections. Maybe she’ll just write it up as accidental death, or circumstantial death, and move on. And then guess what? It’s her name on the sign sheets. She’s on all the paperwork. She takes the fall if this thing spirals, and the superintendent gets off scott-free. There was a built-in excuse, too. The only woman, she was overeager. Newly promoted, she was rushing and nervous. He gave it to her to give her a chance, but knew he should have provided more oversight. A small error, no repudiation, and she takes the fall. Unbelievable. It all unwound in Sasha’s mind and she saw the politics at play right then and there. The power play. The superintendent clearly wanted her to bury this, and then play the patsy if it ever unraveled. No freaking way. Sasha was not going to play the role they wanted her to. She was going to solve this damn thing. “Same old B.S.,” she said to herself, and she began to pick out her clothing. Thoughts of what to wear on her first day were unimportant and distant at nearly half past four in the morning, so she threw on the bed a white layered pleat shirt with long sleeves, which she knew she would promptly fold up to her elbows. She then tossed straight-cut suit pants with a comfort waist onto the bed, essential in the desert heat. It was simple and formal, she thought. She’d be wearing her all-black, padded sneakers, too. She’d need support, especially if she was going to be on her feet for most of the day. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, and an orange glow struggled to penetrate the thick curtains in her bedroom. A dog bayed in the distance. It was a sign that the morning ritual was beginning for animal and human alike, and so she ran the shower while brushing her teeth, knowing that getting clean would bring some welcome, if temporary relief, from her hangover. The uniforms who would not be dismissed until she arrived on the scene would just have to wait.