Girl, 11 by Amy Clarke (grave mercy TXT) 📗

Leo’s murder, but it was best she knew Elle had inadvertently gotten wrapped up in another Minneapolis PD case.

Then Elle clutched her phone, unable to take her eyes off Leo’s slowly graying face.

It sounds like every choice in your life until now has been made for you.

Dr. Swedberg’s words from nearly a year ago echoed in Elle’s head as she stared at the body. She had seen five therapists in her life, but for some reason, Dr. Swedberg was able to cut through her distrust and shine a light on a part of her mind that had long been hidden in shadows. That was the day her blurry future snapped into focus. That was the day she decided she had to stop hoping other people would fix the broken pieces inside her.

That was the day Elle decided her next case would be TCK.

Now, sprawled out on the floor in front of her was another unmade choice, another of someone else’s bad decisions screwing up her plans—and taking Leo Toca’s life.

Knowing the first responders would be at the apartment any minute, Elle snapped into motion. Leo’s apartment was starkly furnished: one sofa that folded out into a bed, a wobbly dining table with two mismatched chairs, a bare kitchen with paper plates and plastic cutlery and an empty trash can. There was no sign of a computer or printer, and no backpack in sight. That left one place to search, and it could get her arrested. But if Leo actually did have a clue about who TCK could be and had some evidence to prove it, she had to know.

Looking over her shoulder at the partially ajar apartment door, Elle crouched next to Leo’s body and pulled a pen out of her laptop bag. She inserted it in his left jeans pocket and gently lifted at the fabric, bending to peer inside. Nothing. The sound of a distant siren made her pulse pick up; she scurried around to his right side and did the same. A dark bit of plastic stood out against the white interior of his pocket. Her fingertips were clumsy and numb as she used the pen to slowly nudge it up and dislodge it onto the floor. Elle looked around. She couldn’t steal the flash drive. That would be too much, even for her. She’d been building up a trust with Minneapolis PD for two years; she couldn’t break it now. The siren was getting closer.

She stood up and ran into the bedroom, looking for a computer. There was a small desk against the window across from a twin bed, but no computer or laptop on it. She opened the desk drawers, slid her hands under the pillow, checked in the closet—nothing.

“Shit,” she spat. Back in the main room, she rushed to Leo’s side. Pounding footsteps were coming up the stairs. Using a clean tissue from the box on the counter, she picked up the flash drive and put it back in Leo’s pocket with trembling hands.

She was standing, flushed, with her hands in the air when a detective with dark brown curly hair burst through the door. His weapon was drawn but not aimed at her.

“I’m Elle Castillo,” she said. “I called it in.”

“Detective Sam Hyde. Are you the only one here?” he asked as another officer, a white woman with a slick blond ponytail, walked into the room. She went straight to Leo’s body to examine it.

“I am now. When I arrived, there was another man here, right next to the body. I think it was the victim’s business partner, Duane Grove.” Elle quickly explained their limited conversation, including the fact that Duane said Leo was already shot when he arrived and seemed distraught when she confirmed he was dead. She did not mention the flash drive in his pocket. Ayaan might not charge her with disturbing a crime scene, but she wasn’t so sure about Detective Hyde.

“Are you armed?” he asked when she was finished.

Elle nodded at her right hip. “Yes, I have a carry permit for my Ruger LCP II. You can take it off me if that’ll make you more comfortable.”

He nodded, a slight tint coming into his cheeks as he swept her coat aside and pulled the handgun out of its holster. Without ceremony, he released the magazine and shoved both it and the gun into his coat pocket. “Sorry, it’s policy. You can have it back later. Commander Bishar vouched for you; she called when I was en route.”

“Yes, she and I met when I was in CPS. And I’ve worked a case with her before as an independent investigator.”

Sam’s lip curled up at that, and Elle had to fight to keep from rolling her eyes. It wasn’t like she was some teenager researching cases from their mom’s basement—and even if she was, she’d seen internet sleuths crack cases that had stumped law enforcement for decades. It was kind of the whole reason she’d been able to make this podcast her career. But she could always tell when someone on the force immediately disregarded her work because she wasn’t a real cop.

“I’m supposed to bring you back to the station so Commander Bishar and I can ask you some questions. That okay?” The way he asked, Elle could tell she didn’t have much choice. She nodded and picked up her bag.

Sam looked past her at the other officer. “I’m going to have Ms. Castillo follow me back to the station. Forensics will be here in five. You good?”

The female officer nodded, and Sam walked out the door with Elle following close behind.

I-35W was a cluster of red brake lights and swirling snowflakes. There were three inches of fresh powder on the ground, and as usual, people were driving like assholes. Elle drummed on her steering wheel as she stared at the cars, at people cutting in and out of lanes, horns blaring. The longer she sat, the more she wanted to scream. She should be talking with Leo