Free Blunt Impact by Lisa Black

not a happy place even before Samantha’s death.’
    Chris Novosek puffed. ‘You could say that.’
    ‘These protests ever get violent?’
    ‘Not yet. They have to stay off the property and they do. They have to stay off the mall green proper and they do. They put their vitriol in writing and direct it to the prison commission and the city exec.’
    ‘Never a run in with one of your guys?’
    ‘Nope, got to say that for them. They don’t accumulate until after we’ve started and they disperse before we leave for the day. They concentrate on office workers and yuppies who come to eat their lunch on the mall. They’re not stupid, they know enough not to pick a fight with a guy who spends all day lifting very heavy things, and they know no one here is going to sign a petition that might put them out of work, not in this economy. But it won’t be long. They’re growing in numbers and starting to shout insults now and there.’ He didn’t sound bitter toward the protesters, he didn’t even sound particularly unhappy. But then a shadow crossed his face and he said, ‘You think maybe they came in here to kick up their efforts and ran into Sam? Maybe she got caught in the middle?’
    ‘I don’t know. But I’m sure Frank will want to check it out.’
    The man in question reappeared, red-faced and having shed the jacket. He panted: ‘Car is registered in her name. Chief says we don’t need a warrant.’
    Theresa put an arm around him. ‘It’s over here. No matter what we find, you are not making that climb again today.’
    ‘You’re telling me.’
    She rubbed his back. ‘Maybe you need to start running again, cuz.’
    ‘Too hard on the knees. I think I need to start drinking again.’
    ‘You stopped?’ The group made their uneven way towards the parked cars. Bauer glanced back at them with a frown. He probably thought them unprofessional, but Theresa had dropped caring what other people thought on her fortieth birthday and had never looked back.
    Jack led them to the Camry, opening the passenger door with a toss of his shaggy hair. Theresa ruined this gallant flourish when she asked him to please not touch it. She might want to fingerprint the surface.
    Theresa felt torn about the car. If Samantha had come to the building with a boyfriend and that person had then pushed her off the floor, he might have left hairs and fibers behind him in the vehicle which could be picked up with adhesive tape and analyzed. If Samantha had jumped or fallen, then the vehicle and everything in it (excepting a suicide note) became irrelevant. Towing the car to the coroner’s office created an expenditure she would have to justify, but impounding it, or worse yet leaving it to be picked up by family members, would eliminate its current integrity.
    A thorough search, she decided, dusting the doors and rear-view mirror and then a quick taping of the seats and floors should cover all her bases. She could pick up any loose hairs or fibers and then let the vehicle go, because what she didn’t see was blood. No drops on the dirty gray upholstery, no signs of a struggle. Nothing broken or, aside from the collection of stained McDonald’s coffee cups littering all four floor mats, out of place. Neatness, apparently, did not count for much in Samantha Zebrowski’s life, to judge from the interior of her unlocked Camry. Neither did safe driving practices – she had two outstanding speeding tickets and five parking violations, which Frank detailed for them as his breathing slowly returned to normal.
    On the rear passenger side floorboard, tucked under a reusable shopping bag, Theresa found an oversized purse in shiny black vinyl, with large silver-colored rings and clasps. It held a department store of mascara, lip gloss, scratch-off lottery tickets, about fifteen bucks in crumpled bills and loose change, four condoms, two pay stubs and a phone number written in pencil on a scrap of paper. It had been torn from a menu, apparently, since