Page 8 of Pretty Stolen Dolls

His white bushy eyebrows pinch together and he folds his arms over his chest, emphasizing the beer belly he has going on.

“I just wanted to make a few tweaks to a couple reports,” I lie.Always lying.

He already knows how much time I spend here, so he must be bored if he’s standing here breaking my non-existent balls.

“Here,” he says, digging into his slacks and pulling out a twenty. He spends a couple seconds ironing out the creases between his fingers before offering it to me. “I can hear your hunger from here. Go get us some sandwiches from Benny’s.”

Benny.

Thud.

“What?” I breathe, a tremor rattling through my body.

“Jenny’s Subs, across the street,” he grunts and then frowns. “Why do you look so pale? She passed that last health code inspection. It was just hearsay about the rat.” He shakes his head and waves his hand to dismiss me.

Jenny’s not Benny’s. Fuck. I hate how he still affects me.

“Actually, Chief, a homicide just came in. I could use her if that’s cool with you,” Detective Marcus says, walking past my desk.

Reaching over, Stanton snatches the twenty back and nods his head, gesturing for me to go with Marcus.

Charming.Tight ass.

“Why do you need me?” I ask as we pull up to a residential block. None of the detectives in the department like me that much, so him asking me to come along is unusual, to say the least.

“You’ll see,” he smirks.

My brows dip and I bite the inside of my cheek as I follow him past the buzzing of other residents in the building.

“We been tellin’ you pigs for weeks he would kill her in the end and you didn’t fuckin’ listen,” a woman yells, waving her hands around her head like she’s swatting a wasp.

Pointing to the open door behind her, Marcus barks, “Get inside.”

She “pffts” at him and remains parked where she can watch what we’re up to.

Uniformed officers stand at the entrance to the scene of the crime.

“Get these people back in their homes and tell them we’ll be around to take statements in due course,” I tell the uniform who looks like he’s going to vomit all over his sparkly black shoes.Rookie.

Pushing inside, there’s noise and movement to my left where a kitchen is situated.

Two uniforms sit with a strong, built man in cuffs. He’s shirtless with blood splatter all over his chest and face, demanding to be let go and shouting how it was an accident. His eyes clash with mine and I imagine steam coming from his nostrils as he breathes heavy and deep. In him, I see the same darkness Benny always had in his eyes—no remorse, lacking empathy.

My feet carry me into the living space where a naked woman lays on her back. I skim over her exposed flesh, logging everything that stands out. Contusions to her wrists, blue in color. She was tied up recently. New and old bruises on her inner thighs. Signs of rough sex or rape. Bruising around the throat shows signs of strangulation. Coloration suggests ante mortem and more than likely the cause of death. There is an injury to her head from blunt force trauma, supposedly from the fireplace, but the spray over the suspect in the other room and the little blood and lack of inflammation tells me this was caused after death.

Rolling my head on my shoulders, I pull a pair of latex gloves from my jacket pocket and snap them into place before making my way back through the small apartment to the kitchen. The suspect glares at me and chin lifts his head.

“It was an accident. She fell,” he grits out.

“And the bruises?” I question, darting my eyes over him to study the splatter on his chest.

“We like to fuck,” he says with a shrug. “Rough. She fucking loved it. I bet you would too.” He licks his lips and smacks them at me before crinkling his nose. “Unless you’re a fucking dike.”

Because I’m a detective and don’t walk around in girly shit? That’s a new one.Dick.

“What did you use?” I ask, and his right eye twitches. “To smash her head in?” I clarify.

“She fell on the fireplace,” he barks, his tone defensive.

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