Slater leans over the board, marker tapping against a photo.
“Guy’s knee-deep in debt. Gang comes knocking, he panics, and they make an example out of him. Messy? Yeah. But debtors don’t get clean exits.”
Aubrey crosses her arms. “Except half-cleanups don’t exist. Either it’s chaos, or it’s surgical. That scene was both. Mortician flagged a casing batch that ties back to Stonetown.”
Slater straightens, turning to her. “Numbers don’t lie, Archer. Debt ties, gang turf, one witness hearing voices—that’s as simple as it gets.”
“Simple doesn’t make it right,” Aubrey fires back. “One casing shows up in debtor jobs, the other in retaliation hits. That’s not random. That’s someone threading needles.”
Slater exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “Or maybe guns get passed around. It happens. Not every crime scene is a crossword puzzle.”
He draws a rough circle on the board. “Even if you drool over every scrap of evidence, the picture still doesn’t spell ‘hitman.’”
Aubrey leans forward, eyes sharp. “Unless one’s been working for different gangs this whole time. Quiet. Invisible. Years' worth of bodies, same hand pulling the trigger.”
Slater chuckles, dry. “If that’s true, Archer, you should be wearing Cal’s badge before sundown.”
Cal shifts in his chair, voice steady but firm. “Alright, knock it off. Archer’s got links worth chasing. Slater’s right about one thing, though—we don’t build cases on theories. Until we’ve got hard evidence, we stick to what we can prove.”
The room begins to leave after the debrief.
Aubrey gets up and begins to leave.
“Yo B, want to take Brian's spot in fantasy?” Dorian leans in closer. “He’s thinking about dipping out so he doesn't get dead last.”
“Uh-no thanks, Dorian, but thanks.”
Aubrey walks quickly out, not to avoid Dorain but to find the solution to something else.
Aubrey walks to the elevator and goes down to the evidence lab.
Ding, the door opens. Aubrey walks out and to the door with the tech inside.
“Hello, what can I help you with?” The tech-friendly exclaims.
The lights dim, but the sound is aching.
Aubrey is putting her stuff down on the floor. “Hi, I’m Detective Archer. I’m working on the Stonetown murders, and-well, I think seeing the sheets instead of the summary might help us out a lot.”
“Yeah, sure, can I see your badge?”
“Sorry, I forgot it's on my bag.” Aubrey clicks it off her bag and shows it to the tech. ‘Detective Brooke, ’ it reads.
“Two first names?” The tech confusingly states.
“First and middle. Depends on who’s asking.”
The tech turns around and runs through some files. He pulls out the ‘Stonetown Ballistics Report’.
Aubrey and the tech are glancing at the file together.
Aubrey catches something down the middle of the report. “A scratch along the rifling.” She mutters.
“Yeah, same caliber, but the barrel grooves are unique.”
“Listen, I went through old cases the other day, and 3 of the gang-related homicides had the same rifle groove, same manufacturer casing.”
“That’s the same gun, detective.”
Aubrey stops reading and looks at the tech. “This isn't a passed-around street gun; if the same gun is reaching different boroughs, years apart… and the victims are always tied to debt/gang dispute. What’s the coincidence?”
“I suppose at that point the coincidence becomes a fact and the former becomes the coincidence.”
Aubrey is writing this down on her notepad. “Thanks, this was a huge help.”
“No problem, let me know if you need to comb through any more summaries.”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Aubrey nods and walks to and in the elevator. The doors shut.
The elevator doors slid open to the precinct lobby, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. Brooke stepped out, shoulders still tight from the debrief, her mind still running loops around rifling grooves and timelines.
“Brooke!”
Miss Evie’s voice cut through the lobby. She stood near the front doors, fumbling with a small dolly stacked with sealed evidence boxes, one tilting precariously as she tried to steady it with her knee.
Brooke hurried over, slipping her hand beneath the top box before it could tip.
“I’ve got it,” she said, adjusting her grip as the weight settled into her arms.
Miss Evie let out a relieved laugh, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Lord, these things get heavier every year. They’re headed to storage, but my back’s not what it used to be.”
Brooke shifted the box against her hip, already angling toward the doors. “Where’s your car?”
“Out front. I parked close this time—thank God,” Evie replied, grabbing the dolly handle to follow.
They pushed through the glass doors together, the late afternoon air spilling in as they stepped outside.
The sun was beginning to dip, painting the parking lot in a warm orange haze. Heat rose from the pavement in faint, wavering lines. Brooke squinted against the light as they moved toward a silver sedan parked a few spaces from the entrance. The dolly’s wheels clattered over a small crack in the sidewalk, and Evie winced slightly but kept up.
Brooke shifted the box in her arms, tightening her grip before it could slip.
Brooke reached the car first, setting the box carefully on the curb while Evie dug her keys out of her purse. The trunk popped open with a hollow thunk, and Brooke lifted the box inside, sliding it neatly against the others already stacked there.
Evie leaned the dolly against the bumper and let out a slow breath, the strain easing off her shoulders. She turned to Brooke, studying her face for a moment—the distant eyes, the way her jaw was set like she hadn’t stopped thinking since she walked out of the elevator.
“Something on your mind?” Evie asked quietly. “You look lost.”
The sun hung high overhead, a hard white disc in a pale blue sky. Its light bounced off windshields and glass doors, making the pavement shimmer, but the air still carried a faint chill that slipped through Brooke’s jacket. A breeze pushed at the stray flyers taped to the precinct windows, rustling them like restless paper birds. Cars rumbled past on the main street, their engines low and steady beneath the midday hum.
Brooke leaned back slightly against the car, arms folding without thinking. Her eyes stayed on the lot for a moment, unfocused.
“This Stonetown case,” she said finally, her voice lower now. “I know you’ve heard about it.”
Evie gave a soft, knowing hum, shifting her weight onto one leg as she leaned lightly against the dolly. “You know, ever since you walked through those doors—what’s it been, almost two years now?—I’ve never seen anyone get wrapped up in their cases the way you do.”
She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to read Brooke’s expression. “It’s like your brain never shuts off.” She giggles.
Evie’s gaze softened, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Listen, sweetie,” she said, her voice lowering into that warm, seasoned tone she used when she meant something. “I’ve been around this place a long time. Seen cases come and go, hotshots burn out, and legends get made.”
She adjusted her grip on the dolly handle and nodded toward Brooke. “Best thing I can tell you? Don’t try to fix what isn’t broken. Sometimes the picture’s clearer than you want it to be.”
Brooke let out a slow breath, eyes narrowing slightly against the midday sun. “But… am I wrong?” she asked quietly. “If most of the department thinks I’m crazy for digging this deep—” her voice caught for a second, softer now, “—maybe I am crazy.”
Miss Evie paused by the trunk, one hand still on the dolly, and fixed Brooke with a knowing look. There was no judgment in it—just the quiet weight of someone who’d seen this kind of thing play out before.
She gave Brooke’s arm a gentle squeeze. “I’ve been here long enough to know—most folks get comfortable. They stop looking once the picture makes sense to them. But you… You keep turning it over.”
Evie straightened, a small, tired smile flickering at the corner of her mouth. “Don’t let their comfort make you second-guess yourself.”
Evie tilted her head, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Or maybe,” she added, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret, “it’s because you have coffee for breakfast every single day.”
She brought a hand to her mouth, a soft laugh escaping as her eyes crinkled with amusement. For a moment, the weight between them eased—just two people standing under the midday sun, the chill in the air brushing against their coats.
Evie studied her for a moment, one hand resting lightly on the dolly handle. The mid-day sun caught in her silver-streaked hair, and for just a second, the usual hum of the street around them faded.
“Sweetie,” she said gently, tilting her head, “the world’s gonna keep spinning whether you crack that case or not. Don’t forget to come up for air once in a while.”
She gave a small, knowing smile — not pitying, not patronizing. Just honest. The kind of thing said by someone who’s been standing in the same lobby for decades, watching people burn themselves out and keep going anyway.
Aubrey let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of her neck before meeting Evie’s eyes again. “I can’t lie,” she said softly, a faint chuckle slipping out as she pressed a hand over her mouth, eyes closing briefly. “Sometimes I feel a little lost. Kind of like rock climbing and then looking down… and wondering if I really climbed this high, you know?”
The words hung there for a moment, lighter than her usual sharp case talk but honest in a way that surprised even her.
Evie’s expression softened, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she watched Aubrey. She didn’t rush to fill the space—just let the moment breathe. Then she gave a small nod, her voice gentle.
“Yeah, sweetie… I know exactly what you mean.”
She reached out and gave Aubrey’s arm a light, reassuring pat, her smile faint but steady—like someone who’d stood in that same feeling once and didn’t need to say more.
Aubrey’s smile lingered for a second, small but real. The midday sun caught on the glass doors as she turned back toward the building, the faint chill in the air brushing against her arms. For a brief moment, the noise in her head quieted.
