Page 2 of Shrapnel

On a hunch he hoped was wrong, he went back to rifling through Andrews's clothes. On the opposite hip, he found a pocketknife. Slim, its handle was a deep mahogany. A gilded cactus was stamped onto the hilt.

“Fuck,” he breathed, looking up over his shoulder at the crime scene photographer. An experienced officer, he immediately stopped taking photos and disappeared around the corner to make a call.

“What?” Alan asked, lifting an elegantly shaped eyebrow.

Palming the knife, Hodges felt an exhaustion headache beginning to blossom at the base of his skull.

“This is no longer our jurisdiction,” he told the young detective.

Alan blinked at him in confusion. “What are you talking about?” he was getting defensive now that he knew this could be a possible homicide. Something the young greenhorn could sink his teeth into. “Of course, this is our jurisdiction. This is our body, Hodges.”

Hodges reached forward and put the knife back where he found it. The photographer returned and continued taking photos, but there was a grim set to his mouth. Hodges stood and stepped back from the body.

“Get away from the victim, Alan.” Hodges looked down at his watch. “We have to wait for permission.”

Alan exploded. “Permission from who?! Hodges, I’ve overlooked your obvious burnout. I’ve willingly shouldered more of the burden than is fair, but this is it. You can’t let your apathy—”

Hodges chuckled, stopping Alan’s tirade. “Apathy? No, son, it’s more like self-preservation.”

Twenty minutes later an SUV parked at the opening of the alley. Hodges was on his third cigarette, and he hoped it was the nicotine that made his hands shake. Alan was pouting. His arms crossed and lips twisted into a scowl. He had held in his temper tantrum, content to let this play out before he went back to shouting at his superior officer.

Hodges liked Alan. The job hadn’t ruined him yet—hadn’t worn him down until he was a shell of the person he used to be. Alan had things likehobbies. He had interests besides drinking and smoking. There was real potential for the kid. But none of that would matter if he didn’t keep his trap shut.

A young man stepped out of the passenger side of the car. He removed a set of mirrored sunglasses, tossing them into the car behind him. Trim, and a little on the short side, from a distance it would be easy to mistake him for a teenager. Dressed all in black, he didn’t wait for his companion to join him before ducking under the police tape.

The sun struggled to pierce the tall buildings, but glimpses of its rays reflected off the sidearm on the young man’s hip. Plated in gold chrome, it was as gaudy as it was wicked looking.

Cool eyes appraised the two detectives.

“Officers,” he said dismissively, eyes dropping to the dead man.

A second man joined him. Older, his features made his age difficult to pinpoint. He was dressed cleanly, shirt crisp, and a sleek-looking watch on his wrist. He stood just behind the young man.

Hodges inhaled smoke. “He’s one of yours.”

“We appreciate you letting us know,” the older man said. His smile was polite, but it didn’t extend to his eyes.

“This is a closed crime scene,” Alan practically snarled. He took one look at the short young man and clenched his jaw. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are. But you can’t be here.”

Rather than responding to him, the young man glanced up at Hodges. “Muzzle him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alan gaped at the deferential response Hodges had to the kid. He grabbed Alan by the back of his neck, dragging him several feet away from the body. “Stay here and shut the fuck up. This is your only warning.”

“Officer,” the young White Sand Mesa leader called over to Hodges. “What have you found?”

Hodges flicked his cigarette near a pile of garbage, stamping it out with his scuffed dress shoe. He cleared his throat. “ID says the victim’s name is Jude Andrews. The Falafel restaurant employee found him when he came to toss the garbage. No signs of violence, it’s likely he was just dumped here.”

The kid, Hodges knew his name was Noah, cocked his head and glanced at the weather door set into the brick wall on the east side of the alley. “What time?”

Hodges glanced at his watch. “An hour ago.”

“What’s on his face?”

Hodges caught himself before he shrugged. “Some kind of chemical, probably. We won’t know until the academics get at it.”

Noah knelt beside the victim. With steady hands, he reached for the man’s face. He ignored Alan’s sharp intake of breath and pulled the blistered mouth open. Judging by the look on his face, the kid seemed to be struggling with it. His lips were pressed tight as he reached into the dry cavity. With the tips of his fingers, he pulled something out of Andrew’s mouth.