Page 97 of Call Me Anytime
Dom:Fuck, I miss you, Hannah. Please talk to me.
My back hits the closed bathroom door and my body slides all the way down it until my ass hits the tile floor, as tears stream down my face.
Everything feels like such a mess. A big, fat mess. And the last thing I want to do is go sit inside my red-lit cubicle and take more calls.
I want to be anywhere but here.
Probably because you can’t go on like this.
39
Dominic
Monday, June 17
1:30 p.m.
“Owen Martin. Early forties male. Five stab wounds to the stomach, right shoulder, left thigh, and two to the chest,” Officer Marks updates Shane and me as we stand beside the lifeless body lying in the center of the living room of this apartment in a large puddle of blood. “We got a call from a concerned neighbor in the building. She heard yelling and loud noise coming from this apartment. We arrived five minutes after the call, but he was already DOA.”
“Do you have the neighbor’s info?” Shane asks, and Officer Marks nods, pulling his small notepad from the front pocket of his uniform shirt.
“Sara Dobbs. Apartment 503.”
My eyes survey the room, noting blood splatters on nearly every available surface in the place, along with a clear path of a violent struggle from the kitchen to the living room. Chairs are flipped over, and all items that once sat on the kitchen counter, kitchen table, and coffee table are scattered across the floor.
Everything but the suspect and the actual murder weapon appears to be here.
“Let’s get forensics out here,” I say, but irritation fills my veins as I watch a few newbie officers traipse through my crime scene like they’re tourists on vacation. “And how about we treat this like a fucking crime scene, yeah?” I call out to the room full of morons.
Everyone stops what they’re doing, but they also just stand there, looking at me.
I sigh, run a hand through my hair. “Tape off the scene, and if you’re not actively investigating this case, get the hell out.”
Officer Marks takes it upon himself to corral the newbies out of the apartment, and Shane chuckles beside me as he writes something down in his notepad.
“What?” I ask, and he slowly lifts his eyes from his notes to look at me.
“Oh, nothing,” he replies, sliding his notepad back into his inside jacket pocket. “Just wondering when whatever has crawled inside your asshole is going to crawl back out.”
I scoff. “I’m not that bad.”
He tilts a knowing grin. “Sure.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “They were traipsing through our fucking crime scene like we’re hosting an art exhibition.”
“Officer Carey was taking photos,” he states. “Langley was standing in the corner of the room, not touching anything. And Hughes was literally standingoutsidethe door.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not Langley’s job to take fucking pictures.”
“Right.” Shane just grins. “God forbid the kid try to get a little experience in homicide investigations.”
Seeing that this conversation isn’t going anywhere, I head out of the apartment, climbing beneath the yellow tape in front of the door as I do. I’m halfway to the stairwell, ready to climb the two flights to reach apartment 503 to speak with the victim’s neighbor, when Shane stops me with a strong grip on my shoulder.
“Whatcha doin’, bud?” he asks, and I turn on my heels to look at him.
“Well, I would say I’m trying to investigate a homicide,” I retort. “Not sure if you realize, but that’s the whole reason we’re here.”
Shane just stares at me, amusement tugging at the corners of his lips.
