Free Deadly Sin (Cassandra Farbanks) by Sonnet O'Dell Page A

recovery. Of course, he hates it that he’s desk bound, but my hands are tied. The psychiatrist won’t sign off on field work till she’s sure the stress won’t – you know…”
    “Send him bug shit crazy.”
    Hamilton shot me a look, trying to stop his lip from twitching into a smile.
    “Yeah, something like that. I mean he’s got scars, some mental, some physical. His wife tells me he wouldn’t open their closet from anywhere but the side for months.”
    “All right. So I won’t leave him alone in Ikea or buy him a weekend pass to Narnia.”
    Hamilton pulled up to another light, turned to me and came part way over into my seat.
    “This man is my friend Cassandra. He’s been through a lot. Don’t you make fun of him.”
    “Sorry,” I said my cheeks flushing slightly, “you may not have noticed this yet, but I make inappropriate jokes when I’m nervous, or worried, or scared, or uncomfortable.”
    “I get it. But what are you fretting about now?”
    “Oh so many things,” I said, not wanting to look into his face anymore. My eyes flashed forward. “Your light’s green.” There were a couple of angry honks behind us and Hamilton returned to his side of the car. In response, he turned on his flashers and sped through the light as it turned red again.
    The Fort Royal Park has only one entrance accessible by car from the top of the hill of the same name. The small culvert that allowed only as far as a line of bollards was stuffed with vehicles. The forensics van was right at the front, three squad cars with their lights still flashing were parked in a fan formation around it, and an ambulance at the back packing up. There was no one for them to save. We passed it, parking alongside everyone else and got out. The air was cool, so I shoved my hands into my pockets to keep my fingers from numbing. I followed behind Hamilton a few paces as I was only a guest. I watched the scene, taking in all the activity.
    An officer stood on the path with a notebook taking a man’s statement. The man held tight to the leash of a golden retriever. On the grass, to their right, the forensic potatoes were hard at work in their shiny suits. They took pictures of something on the ground. I took a few steps closer. The retriever pulled on his leash, barked and wagged his tail as I approached. The officer noticed and I held up my identification, letting him know I wasn’t a nosy civilian. He went back to questioning the dog walker while the dog pawed my leg, obliging me to bend down and give his ears a rub. Isn’t it always people walking their dogs that find bodies? Or people just out for a jog? I saw clothes on the ground. It started with a pair of huge heeled black boots by the path, a pair of socks further on, then boot cut, denim wash blue jeans, a sparkly red club top, a nice lacey bra, and finally the matching panties. There was a small, hexagonal shaped structure just beyond, the clothes leading to it like a perverted Hansel and Gretel trail. The structure was some sort of cabinet, and a tree’s branch went right over the top. A uniformed officer named Carson lay on his belly on the branch looking down in through the open top. I sidled closer to hear what was going on. From what I could gather, the cabinet was solid all the way around. The top was open to the elements and inside was a body. An emergency medical technician –EMT – had dropped down from the branch and couldn’t get out. I circled it, running my hands along the wood and feeling the buzz of magic.
    On one knee, in front of one of the panels, was Doc Cameron. From the back, he looked very squat, pudgy and bald. From the front, with the beard and a smile on his face, his cheeks puffed up and he looked like an over pleased, oversized hamster. Hamilton stopped on his left, having walked around the structure from the opposite direction. I looked for another way in.
    “Can we just push it over?” he asked.
    “No. It’s solid and very heavy. It could