Carter (Hope City Book 2) Read online

  Honk!

  Jumping, she saw that the red light had turned green. Jesus, I’m as distracted as Colleen! I need to get my mind off the past. Glad she only had a few more blocks to go, she quickly drove to the large, brick building housing the Ever Hope Homeless Shelter.

  One of the reasons she hated to be late was due to insufficient parking in the area. Driving around, she finally found a space just big enough for her to park. Mentally fist-pumping for her excellent parallel parking procedure, she grabbed her slim briefcase. Clicking the locks, she glanced down and saw that she was still a foot away from the curb. She grimaced. At least her car was straight and not sticking out into the road.

  Entering through the front door, she waved toward the two employees sitting at the reception desk. “Good morning,” she called out. Enrico and Suzette Juarez had worked at the shelter for the past two years, and she considered them invaluable. Suzette won her over when they interviewed for the positions. “Our kids are grown, and sitting around watching TV all day will make me lose my mind or want to hit my husband. So, I told him we were going to work where we could make a difference!”

  Enrico was a retired Marine, having served in Afghanistan. He was often the first contact some of their homeless veterans had at the center, and she had no doubt they stayed to get help because of him. Suzette’s smile put many of the homeless mothers with children in tow at ease.

  Not having time to chat, she hurried past the entrance to the free clinic and down the hall to her office. Because she dropped off Colleen every morning at school, she never made it to the shelter in time to oversee breakfast being served but was resolute in starting her day in the dining hall nonetheless. Tossing her briefcase behind her desk, she turned, almost slamming into Michael, one of the other social workers.

  “Sorry!” she gushed.

  “No worries. You’re flustered this morning. Have a rough time getting out of the house?”

  He turned and walked down the hall with her as she nodded. “No matter how much I try to get Colleen organized at night, there’s always something the next morning that needs to be done, needs to be signed, or needs to be found.”

  He chuckled. “Just wait till she gets older. My wife is always complaining that our kids wait until the last minute to tell her that they need Styrofoam balls and pipe cleaners to build a solar system.”

  She smiled and nodded but inwardly winced at the thought of Colleen getting older and only having a single mother to try to keep everything straight. But, on the heels of that thought, she knew she would not trade a moment with her daughter and that her ex-husband had given up everything when he walked away. Glancing to the side, she also knew that laid-back Michael had a wife at home that was a ball of energy, probably doing most of the work.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Wilson,” came the greeting from several people as she entered the dining hall. Most of the residents had finished breakfast already, many having left to go to work or class. She hated missing the children before the school bus came to pick them up but was glad to greet them at the end of the day when they were dropped off.

  Stepping into the kitchen, she eyed the cook and volunteers. “Everything go okay this morning?”

  Mrs. Rossini had been cooking breakfast at the homeless shelter for the past four years. With a round body and a wide smile, she was considered the shelter’s resident grandmother. But Tara knew that in the kitchen, Mrs. Rossini was a taskmaster. Shelter residents were required to assist at meals on a rotating basis and their cook took her duties seriously. Smiling at Tara, she nodded her head emphatically. “Yes, yes, all is well. It’s cold outside today, so I made sure the little ones had a hot breakfast.”

  Patting the older woman on the shoulder, Tara thanked her before heading back to her office. Once there, her first order of business was to look over the list of any new residents who came in the night before. The shelter ran at capacity, the winter months making the demand worse, and they were unable to take everyone who sought shelter.

  Bethany walked in and she smiled at the bright-eyed, eager young social worker fresh out of graduate school. She hoped Bethany would be able to keep her enthusiasm, knowing she would need it over the coming years in this profession.

  “Just before I left yesterday, another group of WinterPole coats came in. I was able to distribute some of the smaller ones to the kids getting on the bus this morning, and the adult sizes I put in the supply closet.”

  Tara nodded, her smile firmly on her face as she considered the best way to distribute the bounty. “Let’s see who we have to turn away that doesn’t have winter clothing.”

  Watching Bethany leave her office, she settled her mind to the multitude of tasks in front of her.

  4

  Carter parked outside Hope City’s Medical Examiner’s building. It was housed near the campus of the university, and from the outside resembled a modern office building. Walking inside with Rachel, they moved to the reception desk. “Hey, Tim,” he greeted the familiar young man as he signed in and collected his visitor badge.

  “Detective Fiske. Detective Seas.” Tim wiggled his eyebrows at Rachel, adding, “Gorgeous as always.”

  She laughed, shaking her head and patting her stomach. “Just what I needed to hear.”

  Carter rolled his eyes at the young man’s ineffectual flirting. “Natalie Bastion is expecting us.”

  “She’s in autopsy three.”

  Moving through the doors in the back, he and Rachel stalked down the hall. She laughed again as he wiggled his eyebrows, mocking Tim.

  “I swear, the people they hire here seem to be getting younger and younger. Last time I was in here there was a girl at reception that looked like she was barely eighteen.”

  “Are you sure you’re just not getting older, Rachel?” he asked.

  “Shut up, Fiske. The last thing I want to think about is how old I’m getting.”

  Coming to the door indicating Autopsy 3, she pushed through and he followed. They were in a small observatory room, the seats leading down to a large glass window overlooking the actual autopsy. He walked past the four rows of inclined seats and observed Natalie in what appeared to be the final stages of the autopsy.

  He pressed the buzzer located on the panel and a chime sounded, drawing the doctor’s attention up to the window. She lifted her hand in acknowledgment and pulled the surgical mask down to her chin, still keeping her face shield in place. “Five minutes,” she called out. “I’ll meet you in the consultation room and can give you my results and his personal effects.”

  He felt Rachel shift beside him, turning to go back up the steps, but his gaze remained on the young man lying on the autopsy table. His chest had been opened, now stitched in the familiar Y. Under the harsh lighting in the autopsy arena, the corpse appeared even younger than he had the night before. A large tattoo covered his left bicep, but Carter was too far away to discern a pattern. He knew Natalie would have pictures and all the information they needed.

  With a last look at the young man’s face, he sighed before turning and following Rachel out the door. In the two years that he and Rachel had worked together, he appreciated that she intuitively knew when he did not want to be peppered with questions. And every time they viewed an autopsy was one of those times. They walked down the hall in silence to the consultation room for Autopsy 3.

  “Quick break,” she said.

  As Rachel hurried down the hall to the ladies’ room, he entered the consultation room. A few minutes later, both she and Natalie entered at the same time, Rachel with an air of relief and Natalie with her hands full of several bags and a file.

  Not wasting any time, Natalie sat behind the desk and nodded toward the bags. “Here are his effects. There was no identification on his body. No wallet. No cell phone. I’ll send his fingerprints to the lab and see if we can get an identification.”

  Opening the file, she flipped through several pieces of paper. “Obviously, my full report isn’t written yet, but this is wh
at I do have. Male. Approximately 18 to 25 years old. 5 feet, 11 inches. 173 pounds. Cause of death was smoke inhalation. There were drugs in his system but not enough to cause death. Definitely enough to make him drowsy and could have been a contributing factor as to why it appeared he made no move to get out of the smoke coming from the fire next door.”

  “Do you know what kind?” he asked.

  “Selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors. Prescription antidepressant.”

  “Fuck.”

  Natalie continued reading. “He had eaten recently, probably just last night. Overall health was good. There were no obvious wounds. He did have a tattoo on his left arm. I’ll send the pictures to you to see if that will aid in identification. He had scarring on his left leg and tiny fragments of shrapnel embedded in the bone.”

  “Military?”

  “Quite possibly.”

  Carter listened as she finished the recitation, nothing else giving them any more pertinent information or clues to the young man’s identity until she mentioned what was in the bag.

  “You’ll notice when you look at his clothes they appear worn, somewhat dirty. Not filthy but not recently washed. The coat, on the other hand, is almost brand-new.”

  “Probably stolen,” Rachel said on a sigh.

  “Maybe, except I noticed the brand. It’s a WinterPole, and there was an article in the paper a few weeks back about how the WinterPole company has a manufacturing plant here in Hope City. Wanting to give back to the community, they were donating a large number of winter coats to the homeless shelters to be distributed. I have no idea if that will help but thought I’d mention it.”

  “What about the tattoo?” he asked.

  Natalie leaned back and shoved her glasses up on top of her head, rubbing her eyes. Fatigue showed briefly before the mask of efficiency dropped back into place. “I’ll have it in my report that will get emailed to you but let me go ahead and send you a quick message.” Gaining his cell phone number, she sent the photograph of the tattoo to his phone.

  Pulling it up, he stared at the black, monochromatic image of a fallen soldier memorial tattoo. Boots at the bottom. Rifle propped up, rising from the boots. Combat helmet resting on top. Heart pounding, the image hit him in the gut. For a few seconds, the analytical façade fell away at the memory of some of his fellow soldiers who did not come back. Blowing out his breath, he waited for the tightness in his chest to loosen.

  He cleared his throat, swallowing past the lump, and pulled the mantle of detective around him once again. “This doesn’t mean he was a veteran, but it gives us a good place to start.” Standing, he shook Natalie’s hand and thanked her. With the evidence bags in his arms, he and Rachel walked out of the building.

  “Let’s stop at the lab,” he said, climbing into the driver’s seat. It did not take long to arrive, and they quickly headed inside. Meeting Jerry, they waited as he pulled up his report.

  “Mostly prescription drugs. Benzodiazepines, including diazepam, alprazolam, and clonazepam.”

  Carter’s breath whistled between his teeth. “Opioids.”

  “Yep. And fentanyl. No identification on the pills.”

  Grimacing, he thanked Jerry as Rachel accepted the report. Arriving at headquarters, they walked straight to the evidence storeroom. After signing in, they moved to a table at one end of the room. Opening the bags, they pulled out John Doe’s clothing and spread it out. It had already been processed by the Medical Examiner, but he wanted to look at it, hoping there was something he could discern.

  Natalie, of course, had been right. The jeans were worn, but not filthy. There were no socks, but his boots were standard-issue military.

  “He could have gotten those anywhere, so the boots don’t mean he was in the military either.”

  Rachel nodded. “His pants and shirt appear to fit a man of his size. This coat, though, is an extra-large. Unless he just wanted to purchase a large coat, this might give credence to the possibility that he received it and was given no choice in size.” She shrugged before adding, “Of course, he could’ve just stolen it from someone else.”

  Snapping pictures of the clothing, he put them back into the bags and gave them to the evidence officer. Once the bags were logged in and signed for, they walked back up to their desks.

  A few hours later, Natalie sent an eCopy of her report. Printing out the information, he added John Doe’s pertinent details to the large board next to his desk.

  This John Doe was the third death on his caseload ... unusual for a non-homicide detective. Each with a bag of prescription drugs on their possession. Standing, he moved around to the front of his desk and leaned his hips against the side. Arms crossed over his chest, his gaze roved over the board.

  Carl Burnley was the first, his body discovered on a park bench three weeks earlier. Autopsy revealed high levels of opioids in his system and he had a plastic sandwich bag in his pocket containing a variety of pills, a combination of opioids, antidepressants, and fentanyl.

  Five days later, Jonathan Rothberg was found in an alley, his makeshift home created from cardboard boxes. His autopsy also revealed high levels of opioids in his system and a similar plastic sandwich bag containing prescription pills in his pocket.

  Both men had identification on them, making confirmation easy. He and Rachel had divided the list of homeless shelters in Hope City and visited, searching for information about Carl and Jonathan, but they came up blank. Now, armed with a photograph of their John Doe, they would need to visit again.

  “Carter…”

  He turned and looked over his shoulder as Rachel approached. Her face was scrunched, and she walked with a slight limp, one hand on her back and the other hand resting on her protruding stomach. He pushed off the desk and stalked toward her, concern spearing through him. “Are you okay? Shit, is it time?”

  She shook her head, blowing out a breath. “No, it’s not labor. But I’m having some back pain.”

  “We need to get you to the doctor.” His hands shot up to offer support, clasping onto her arms.

  “Rick’s on his way up—”

  “I’m here.”

  Carter swung his head around and saw Rachel’s husband, a cyber-investigator for the HCPD, stalking toward them. Relief flooded him as he moved to one side of her as several others crowded around. “Call me,” he directed to Rick, receiving a nod in return.

  Their captain stepped out of his office, concern etched onto his face. After speaking with Rachel and Rick, he looked up and held Carter’s gaze. Stalking directly to him, Mike tilted his head toward the whiteboard and asked, “You got this for now?”

  He nodded. He didn’t mind working by himself but knew it would take longer to cover the investigation. “Yeah. I’ll let you know if I need help, but for now, I’m going to re-canvas some of the homeless shelters to see if we can get an ID on John Doe.”

  His captain remained silent, his gaze still on the board. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Like it goes much deeper than a couple of homeless men hooked on opioids.”

  An hour later, Carter parked outside of Ever Hope Homeless Shelter. Rachel had visited this shelter last week, but with her out of commission, it fell to him. He gazed at the large brick building that appeared to take up a full city block. Toward the right corner was another door, the sign overhead indicating it was a clinic.

  Climbing the steps at the front of the shelter, he walked into the reception area. The floors were spotless tile, and the pale walls were decorated with various artwork as well as informational posters. A man with a wide smile looked up as he approached. Pulling out his badge, he said, “I’m Detective Fiske, HCPD. I’m looking for any information you can give me about a person we’re trying to identify.”

  “I’m Enrico, and I’ll be glad to help, sir.” Enrico cocked his head to the side. “The police have been here several times lately. Did the other detective have her baby?”

  Smiling, he shook his head. “You must have talked to my partner. No, sh
e hasn’t yet, but it looks like I’ll be the one investigating now.”

  Enrico’s gaze grew wary. “That doesn’t sound too good, Detective Fiske. The police having to come here to keep investigating makes me nervous.”

  Kyle started to mention a sister this morning. “I don’t suppose someone named Ms. McBride works at this shelter?”

  “Ms. McBride? No sir. We don’t have anyone here by that name.”

  Just my fuckin’ luck. Not replying, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph he’d printed of the young man and had cropped so that only his face was visible.

  Enrico sucked in a quick breath. “Shit, man.” He dragged his gaze from the photograph up to Carter’s face. “This man is dead, isn’t he?”

  “Do you recognize him?”

  Nodding slowly, Enrico said, “Yeah, I’ve seen him around. But not real recently. I can’t think of his name, but the head social worker would know. Her name is Mrs. Wilson. She’s who you’d need to speak to.” He picked up the phone and dialed. “Bethany? Is Tara around? Yeah, okay.”

  Looking up, he pointed to a hall leading toward the back of the building. “Admin offices are back there. You can head on back and talk to Bethany Barker. She’s one of the social workers here. If she can’t help you, she’ll find Mrs. Wilson.”

  “Thanks, Enrico.” He moved around the reception desk and started down the hall. A moment later, a pretty blonde came into view, her smile wide as her eyes shifted quickly from his head to his boots. Not a stranger to nor immune to a woman’s approving gaze, he merely nodded toward her.

  “Hi, Detective. I’m Bethany Barker, one of the social workers. Well, a social work intern. What can I help you with?”

  Intern. I thought she looked young. Or I’m getting old. “I’m trying to identify someone and am checking with various homeless shelters in the area to see if someone can put a name to the face.” He held out the picture and watched as she eagerly reached out to take it.