The Drinking Game

She Arrives

The call had come a day ago. Jen glanced at her watch again. Maybe two days now. He'd begged her to come north to help him with something. He'd been mysterious and her curiosity had her in the car now.

Then she found that case file on her desk at FBI headquarters. Someone had mistakenly given it to her even though she was on leave. She tucked it into her briefcase and made haste out the door. Now she had two reasons to be in New Jersey.

Her phone rang again and she debated not answering it. Ken would be worried if she didn't answer.

“O'Grady."

“I killed him."

She frowned. “You again. How'd you do it?"

“I shot him." He giggled.

“Right, once again, I'm happy for you." She clicked off the call, then clicked off the phone. “Should I just throw it out the window or file a police report?"

She shrugged and kept on driving.

***

Red lights flashed and raced each other across the faces of Ken's neighbors as they waited in the streets, held back by yellow police tape. Some had pajamas, but most wore tank tops and shorts. Roused from their television viewing, the scene in front of them had to be more boring than an episode of Law and Order, but they could hope.

Sean's head dropped and he stared at the mottled street. Heat still poured off of the black top. Thunderstorms had yet to materialize and relieve this central New Jersey town of its oppressive humidity. Thunder rumbled in the distance as if teasing him.

He hated the dog days of August when a storm might or might not roll through and provide a respite from the heat. Relief. Sean wished for enough lightning and large raindrops to wash away the grime. He'd be grateful.

A storm was brewing in his soul. Someone had killed his ex-partner. Worse yet, the killer may have been just leaving when Sean entered the house.

And he'd missed him.

Sean lit another cigarette, making sure he blew the smoke out of the open patrol car door. The officer who had responded to his call for backup had led him out the door and secured the scene. Sean's commanding officer had shown up also, but had disappeared. Not odd, since Cam Bentley wanted to coast until his retirement next month.

“Ken." Sean rubbed where an ache began the moment he saw his partner.

Unfortunately, Sean had also seen Ken surrounded by incriminating evidence. Stuff that only they could have known. Items that could make a reasonable person think that Ken had been the Redhead Killer, the man they'd been trying to track down for months before Ken left.

Sean's eyes fell closed again. He couldn't keep them open. With every fiber of his being he knew Ken's innocence. Ken wasn't a killer and whoever was, had killed his friend and framed him in the process.

Sighing deeply, he stood to work out the kinks in his back. The medical examiner, Dr. Press, walked past Sean. “Doc?"

The doctor glanced at him over his glasses. “Detective Gaudette, I'm sorry."

“How'd he die?" That was all Sean wanted to know. Had someone killed his ex-partner? And would they find enough evidence to catch him?

The man, who resembled a fire hydrant, shook his head. “You know I can't comment on that."

Sean took a step toward him. He needed an answer. “But Doc—"

Doctor Press held up his hands. “Don't ask me for any favors. I don't owe you any."

Sean took a drag on a cigarette as the man walked away. His inability to be nice to people while he focused on an investigation had just come back to bite him in the ass.

A large drop of rain hit him in the forehead. The detective looked to the dark sky as more rain lashed him. Maybe the precipitation would wash away this whole f*****g night.

***

Jennifer slowed as she took in the scene before her. Her cop eyes didn't miss a detail, part of her found the scene surreal.

A mass of police cars and an ambulance sat in front of Ken's townhouse. Well, in front of the building that housed his home. She figured the meeting of law enforcement and EMS couldn't be for him.

Parking her car, she approached the yellow crime scene tape. Having gone under so many in her time, she never thought she'd be stopped.

“Where do you think you're going, miss?"

She looked up into husky blue eyes and realized this wasn't her crime scene to work. This event wasn't even in her jurisdiction. “Uh, nothing. I was looking for a friend who lives over..." She noticed the crime scene tape across Ken's door. Her breath caught in her throat.

The caller had been right. She shook her head and mouthed the word, “No." Pain threatened to cut her in half.

A breeze whipped her hair around her face, but she didn't really notice. Her gaze remained glued to Ken's front door. She blinked, once then again. Her head shook and the scene blurred in her sight.

“Miss, are you okay? You'll have to step back."

She did move away as if on autopilot. Ken's house, the scene of a crime. Thick despite the recent storm, the air enveloped her like felt. She could barely draw in a breath.

Still in disbelief, she approached the uniformed officer again. “What happened?"

He eyed her and smiled. More like a leer. She'd seen it before when a guy wanted to impress her about how 'in the know' he was. She resisted rolling her eyes.

Her heart stuttered as disbelief raced through her. She knew the man's next words.

“Some guy killed himself."

Her heart stopped, then resumed. Ken? “Who?"

“Are you next of kin?"

She swallowed. Ken didn't have any kin. His parents died last year. “I'm, uh, the fiancée of the guy who lives there," she lied.

The man's expression softened. “I'm sorry, but Ken Westin is dead."

Just like in the movies, his words echoed in her brain as she stumbled back to her car.

Ken's dead. She started the car and drove to find a hotel, maybe. She wasn't sure where she was going.

Maybe to escape the pain and disbelief in her heart.