You Choose

Chapter 2

Chapter 2Late October was Investigator Vincent Falcone's favorite time of year. Brisk mornings, cool days, and cooler nights. He didn't miss the heat and humidity of summer. This morning was no different. The chill in the air felt invigorating, and although he wore a thigh-length black leather jacket over a white-collar dress shirt, and loose blue jeans, he drove toward work with his window down.

On his way, he stopped at the Tim Hortons on Lake and Ridge and bought two coffees at the drive-thru. He took his black. His partner drank her coffee with two creams, two sugars. Pulling into the precinct parking lot, past the back gates, Falcone parked alongside the fence, and then entered the precinct through the front door. He greeted the desk sergeant, made his way upstairs, and exited on the second floor, Special Operations Division. Investigators for the Major Crimes Unit, like Falcone and Farrah Richards, were to the right, other divisions, like Economic Crimes, License Investigations, and SVI, the Special Victims Investigations—were to the left, and also occupied space on the third, and fourth floors.

Desks were butted together, so partner faced partner. Farrah Richards wasn't in yet. Falcone set her two creams, and two sugars coffee down by her keyboard, and his on his desk before removing his jacket. His department issued Glock was suspended from a shoulder holster under his left arm.

Lieutenant Daniel Garcia made his way over, eyes locked on Falcone. He was the second platoon commander. The two wore similar crew cut hairstyles, except Garcia's was black with thick, silver streaks, and Falcone's hair was deerskin-brown. Garcia coordinated day-to-day operations, handed out assignments, helped the sergeant keep officers in line, paperwork cleaned up, and the higher-ups happy. The higher-ups were never happy, so Garcia was rarely happy, which meant most of second platoon was generally unhappy.

“Hey, Lou.” Falcone took a sip of coffee, moved his mouse on the pad, and woke his computer. He punched in his password and waited while the system booted up.

“Don't get comfy,” Garcia said. He pointed a waving finger at Farrah's empty desk. “Where's Richards?”

Falcone looked over the lieutenant at the wall mounted clock. “Should be here any second. I'm a bit early. What's the deal?”

“Tell you what. Why don't you meet her downstairs?” Garcia turned a thin manila folder over in his hands, looked at the label, and held out the folder. “I need you guys out on a triple.”

Falcone inwardly groaned. It seemed impossible they were already next in the rotation. He and Richards were still working two other unrelated homicides, one from last week, and one other from two weeks before. Adding a triple into the mix would spread them thin, like air. There was no point in complaining. The bodies kept showing up and there wasn't an investigator on the team who wasn't already pulling twice their own weight.

Falcone took the folder, but figured he'd look over the contents in the car. He had the lieutenant right in front of him, and chances were it was Garcia who had put the information together anyway. Why not just talk with the source? “What do we have?”

Garcia's expression, grim normally, darkened as he pursed his lips turning them into two thin lines. “This just got called in. You know Officer Byron Franks? He was a no call no show at roll call. The sarge sent a patrol unit by Franks' house.”

Standard operating procedure. If someone didn't show for a shift and couldn't be reached by phone to see what was what, a car was dispatched to the officer's residence. Falcone remembered a time or two when he forgot to set an alarm and had been awakened instead by the hammering sound of fists pounding on his door. People overslept. It happened.

“Who checked on Franks?” Falcone knew what the patrolman found. The lieutenant wouldn't be coming up to see him unless the officer had been found dead. The lieutenant had said a triple homicide, though. Falcone's stomach muscles clenched.

“Parker. Michael Parker.”

Falcone couldn't recall a Byron Franks. Not unusual. There were a lot of patrol officers on the city payroll. “Parker. Good kid. Knew his father,” Falcone said as he turned the file over in his hands. He peeked into the folder and saw the basic intake form inside. Although his eyes scanned the page, he wasn't concentrating on what he read. The handwriting was Garcia's though. “Scene secure?”

“House is taped off. No one unauthorized is allowed inside.” Garcia pointed toward the road. “Got a few more cars en route with a tech and the Monroe County forensics team. Medical examiner is going to be a bit. Shouldn't be too long. Said he was on the way. Chief's on the phone with the mayor's office right now. Notifications are being made.”

“Media?”

“No. Not yet. We didn't go through dispatch. Nothing was put out over the air. It will buy us a little time. Not much, but the delay gives us a bit of a chance to get some of our ducks in a row.” Garcia was about dotting “I”s and crossing “T”s.

“You said a triple.” It wasn't a question, it was more of prompt. Falcone thought he could surmise an answer. Guessing, or assuming never helped when looking for facts. Doing so led to trouble, and backtracking.

“Officer Franks, his wife, and their eight-year-old son.” Garcia lifted his chin, ground his teeth, and concentrated on something just over Falcone's shoulder. “Your partner's here.”

Falcone turned.

Richards walked toward them, arched an eyebrow as if silently asking what's going on? Short black hair framed milky skin and bright grey eyes. She looked as sharp as ever in navy-blue pinstriped suit pants and a crisp white blouse, with only the first two buttons undone.

Falcone looked back at Garcia, and asked, “What? Like a murder suicide? Franks kill his family and then take his own life?”

“Parker didn't think so. It's one of the things I need you and Richards to check out.” Garcia crossed his arms. “Parker sounded convinced it was a home invasion gone south. Definite signs, according to Parker.”

Officer Michael Parker was green, still wet behind the ears. Soles of the kid's shoes probably didn't even have scuff marks on them yet. “Any witnesses? Someone see something? Strange car in the area? Anyone lurking about?”

Garcia pointed at the file. “Soon as more uniforms get on scene you can have them canvass the neighborhood. Knock on doors. No one's come forward with anything yet, but as I already mentioned, this was just discovered, and for the moment we want to keep the media at arm's length. Although we diverted around ECD, I did just alert supervisors at nine-one-one.” The Emergency Communications Department was where Monroe County's 911 operated. Everyone just referred to it as ECD. Short. Simple. “They created a tech job. Once this does hit the news outlets their phones are going to be ringing. They're going to collect names and numbers and add them to the one tech job card. This will make sure all information they gather from citizens calling is centralized in one place, instead of scattered all over. So far, we have nothing. I instructed Parker to seal off the entire area. House. Front yard. Backyard.” The lieutenant offered up a smile. It wasn't for Falcone's benefit. “Morning, Richards.”

“Fellas,” she said, and took off her suit coat. “Looks like I'm a little late to the party.”

“Keep it on.” Falcone lifted his jacket off the back of his chair, pushed his arms into the sleeves, and adjusted the collar. “We caught a triple.”

Richards gave their boss a look, one Falcone knew well.

“It's one of us. It's a cop.” Falcone added before his partner complained outright about being overworked. “Bought you coffee.”

“How very thoughtful,” she said, and gestured toward the cup on her desk. “Two creams, two sugars?”

“Naturally. Was my turn.” Falcone shifted his attention. “We reporting directly to you on this, Lou?”

“I told the captain, and she told the chief. Tunsil wants you reporting directly to him. Like I said, he's tied up briefing the mayor right now. He's got the same thing I've just given you, which isn't much. I'd expect the chief, and possibly the mayor at the scene before the morning's over,” Garcia said. It sounded like both a head's up, and a silent warning. In other words, cross the “T”s and dot the “I”s. No mistakes. People were going to be watching.

Falcone knew a case like this would attract a lot of attention, some good, but mostly bad. Once the media caught wind of the murders, pressure on solving the case would come at them from all directions. The media, the citizens, and from the big bosses.

Garcia continued, “No talking to the media. Canned statements while our liaisons work on preparing a press release. You can tell them the chief will address all questions when we have information worth reporting. Got it? Okay, get going.”