Free The First Cut by Dianne Emley

the wall beside the windows.
    Detective Sergeants Cho and Taylor weren’t there. Vining pulled a chair from in front of Taylor’s desk and sat.
    “Coroner’s office called,” Early began. “It’s Frankie Lynde. Preliminary cause of death was the slit throat. She bled out someplace else before he dumped her in the arroyo.”
    Vining took in the news and said nothing.
    “Ruiz is on his way in,” Kissick said. “He told Frank Lynde the news. They’d gone for a drink and Ruiz had just brought him home when I called.”
    As if on cue, Ruiz arrived. His jacket was off, his tie was loosened, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. He plopped into a chair, set his elbows against his knees, and rubbed his face with both hands. After a second, he sat up and laced his palms over his bald head.
    “That was tough. I never want to do that again.”
    “How’d he take it?” Kissick asked.
    “How would you take it?” Ruiz gazed out the window at the bright glare reflecting off the haze. “I told him how you’ll never lose the one you love if you love the one you’ve lost. The usual shtick. I had always believed that was true, each time I made a notification call to a grieving next of kin. I thought I was giving them comfort. Today I realized it’s total bullshit. Empty words to fill the silence. There’s nothing but silence left. A big, gaping hole where a life used to be.”
    Vining reflected that Ruiz was ever pompous. He had been working Homicide for barely a year and had worked just three cases on which Kissick had been the lead investigator. Still, his distress was real and touched her heart. She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. He patted her fingertips and gave her a nod.
    Early’s phone rang. “I’ll send someone down.” She looked at Kissick. “Detective Schuyler from LAPD is here. A lieutenant from their homicide desk is here, too.”
    “You called Schuyler before you had a positive I.D.?” Ruiz’s moment had passed and his hard edges returned.
    “We had a high degree of confidence it was Frankie Lynde,” Early said. “The clock’s ticking, Ruiz.”
    “They sent a lieutenant from Homicide? They think the little-city cops need help from the big-city cops?” Kissick stood. “I’ll get them.”
    Ruiz and Vining stood as well.
    Early said, “Vining. Hold up a second. Shut the door. Sit down.”

 
    S E V E N
    V INING SAT IN THE CHAIR SHE’D JUST VACATED.
    Early got right to the point. “This case may be too close to home for you.”
    “I disagree.” She knew her comeback was too fast. Kissick must have told Early about her episode at the arroyo. Now Lieutenant Beltran knew, too. She wondered what Kissick had seen. At worst, he saw her struggling to breathe. He might have deduced anxiety, even panic. Okay. But she’d overcome it.
    “Here’s my dilemma.” Early folded her hands on the desk. “I’m seeing you on the witness stand, undergoing cross-examination, and I’m seeing the million ways a defense attorney could discredit your testimony.”
    “Is this a preview of the rest of my career here, my colleagues treating me like damaged goods?”
    “My number one concern is managing this case. A lot of attention will be focused on us. I have to look at the whole enchilada, from start to finish.”
    “Sarge, you know I’m one of the best you have. I’m a better interviewer, I work longer hours, and I’m more thorough than anyone else I’ve seen on the second floor other than Kissick. And I never complain.”
    “What about when the media finds out you’re working the Lynde case? You’re a minor celebrity. Your fifteen minutes haven’t ended yet. They’ll land on it like a bad smell. We’re already going to have our hands full.”
    This is what it’s come down to, Vining thought.
    She flashed back to that June afternoon nearly a year ago.
    She had been on patrol in uniform, working the Sunday overtime gig she’d been lucky enough to land for the past few weeks. It worked