drove her instantly to her feet. She was a newly minted detective and so she stood ramrod straight. âYes?â
âJust talked to DâAnnibal. Heâs on his way in.â George cast a glance to the darkened glass cubicle that was their superiorâs, Lieutenant Aubrey DâAnnibalâs, office. DâAnnibal was on the last hours of his vacation and that left George in charge, a dubious honor for a dubious commander. George liked to squeak his heft in his swivel chair and remain at his desk and that was about it. Now he swiveled around and said, âJesus Christ. Thereâs been a shooting at Zuma Software. Patrolâs on the way. Get over there and see whatâs what. DâAnnibalâs orders.â
âAnd me?â Detective Gretchen Sandler demanded in her nasal tone. She was slim, dark-haired and dark-skinned, a gift from her Brazilian heritage, with almond-shaped blue eyes that raked over September as if looking for flaws. She was also Septemberâs partner, a fact Gretchen didnât like much at all. But then she hadnât liked her previous partner much, either. Gretchen and George had also tried to work together and that had not worked out. Gretchenâs stormy resentment and Georgeâs deep, long-suffering looks had forced Lieutenant DâAnnibal to prudently break them apart and that was how September had become Gretchenâs partner. As soon as they heard her nickname, to a one, the detectives and Lieutenant DâAnnibal of the Laurelton Police Department called her Nine. None of them knew the nicknameâs origin; theyâd just taken it on.
âOf course, and you,â George growled at Gretchen, then swatted at them both as if they were gnats buzzing around his head. âGet outta here.â
September dropped everything except the wallet she kept in her back pocket that held her identification. She wore gray slacks and a matching gray shirt, buttoned to her neck. Gretchen had on a pair of denim jeans and a black sleeveless sweater with a matching cardigan that she snatched from the back of her chair and threw over her arm as they headed toward the front of the building. Gretchen walked ahead of September and ignored her as they passed by the front desk and outside into the shimmering heat. âYou gotta dress for the weather,â Gretchen told her as September felt sweat gather along her hairline and the back of her neck.
âThis is cotton,â she answered, gesturing to the gray shirt as they climbed into an unmarked black Ford Escape.
âNobody wants to see you sweat.â Gretchen threw the SUV in reverse and wheeled them around, then slammed the vehicle into gear and they lurched forward.
Realizing the gray material was light enough to show moisture, September filed that away for future reference. Sheâd just moved to homicide from property crimes and it was a whole different ball game. Sheâd followed her brother into law enforcement but he was currently working with a gang task force in conjunction with the Portland PD and hadnât been around to congratulate September about joining the Laurelton PDâthe same police department he was also based out ofâand still wasnât.
She glanced back as they headed onto the street. The Laurelton Police Department was on the northern edge of the city, a squat, rectangular brick building that the idiots from the Laurelton City Council had demanded they paint white because it was in the original specs. Now, years later, that white paint had turned a dirty, yellowish beige. So much for city planning. Farsightedness was not their forte.
The walkie-talkie buzzed and Gretchen grabbed it. September heard squawking and Gretchen snarled back, âYeah, yeah. Weâll be there in ten.â She switched off and added, âFour people shot. All on the first floor. Shooter didnât go upstairs, or if they did, the steel door was locked.â
âWhat were they