Dead Woman Crossing by J.R. Adler (books on motivation .txt) 📗

the rest of the paperwork tomorrow. Then, we got The Trophy Room. It’s our local bar and the town trouble spot. I’m sure you’ll be there at least once a week breaking up a brawl or escorting a drunkard out.”

Sam drained the rest of his coffee. “Any questions?”

Kimberley hesitated for a moment, thinking of the high-octane pace of her NYPD job. How every day was different, and she never knew if a call would lead to an intense situation like a chase or a murder scene, or if it’d be something mundane like a suspicious person report or a disturbance. A slight pang ensued as she remembered the excitement, but she quickly forced it to subside, reminding herself of all the reasons she came here. Repeating them over in her head. More time with Jessica. Predictable hours. Mom. More time with Jessica. Predictable hours. Mom. More time with Jessica. Predictable hours. Mom. To forget. To move on. The words slipped into her mind just as quickly as the memory tied to it.

“Are you sure you two want to see this?” an officer with a potbelly and a bald head asked.

Detective Hunter looked at Kimberley and shook her head, giving her a smirk. “Yes, Officer Richardson,” she said, holding up her NYPD homicide detective badge. Kimberley followed suit, flashing hers.

“Oh, sorry,” he stammered. He pointed to the ladder that led up to the attic. “Right up there.”

Detective Hunter started up the ladder first with Kimberley following behind. The attic was almost entirely empty, save for the victim, a forensics team, and a couple of officers. A Hispanic woman with long dark hair and high cheekbones was strung up by her neck and wrists with the ropes tied to the rafters. Dozens of rope burns and bruises revealed he had pulled her up, strangling her, and then let her down again, up and down, and up and down, for as long as her body could take it, as if she were some sort of string puppet.

“Fucking Jesus,” Kimberley said.

“Jesus didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“Has this been photographed?”

“Yes,” a young officer replied.

The camera flashed over and over and over again.

“What do we know about the victim?” Kimberley asked. She always wanted to get to know the victim as best she could. It was her way of remembering and honoring the person. Detective Hunter had taught her that.

“Maria Velasquez, age thirty-two, legal secretary, lived on the lower eastside,” an officer holding a notepad said. “We’ve been looking for her as her husband reported her missing a week ago.”

“You think this is tied to the Roberts case? Were they both pregnant?” Kimberley wiped the sweat beads that had formed at her hairline.

“I fucking hope not.” Detective Hunter shook her head.

“Sounds breezy,” Kimberley finally landed on, pulling herself from her thoughts, sweat trickling down her spine.

He nodded. “On the whole, Dead Woman Crossing and the surrounding areas are pretty safe and quiet, so I hope you’ll feel at home.”

He stood up from his seat. “I can show you the holding cells, if you’d like. We don’t have anyone in them.”

“If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all,” Kimberley said, rising from her chair.

Sam gave a rueful smile and left her office.

Kimberley smirked. There was something about Sheriff Walker that she liked. He seemed bigger than this town; not too good for it, but not made from it either. He carried himself like someone with more experience and confidence than this job would lead on. Maybe that’s just the type of guy he was, or maybe he had something more to him. Kimberley added that to her list of “things to dig into more”. A list that was growing larger in Dead Woman Crossing than she would have thought it would.

7

Kimberley pulled up to the front of The Trophy Room in her mom’s Chevy Impala. She couldn’t wait to have her very own police car. The tires crunched the loose gravel as she lined it into an unmarked spot and put the car in park. As Sam had said, it was the town trouble spot, which stood to reason since it was also the only spot in town. She figured she’d get acquainted with the place, seeing as the sooner the townsfolk saw her as a neighbor, or at least someone familiar, the sooner they’d respect her—or so she hoped.

Before getting out of the vehicle, she sent a quick text to her mom.

You’re picking up Jessica from daycare. Right?

Nicole had already agreed to do so, but it didn’t hurt to double-check.

Her phone buzzed with a reply from Nicole.

Yes, of course.

Satisfied, Kimberley slid her phone into her pocket and killed the engine. Several tacky neon beer signs lit up the windows of the bar and patrons shuffled around inside. Like the night before, some of the same men stood outside puffing on cigarettes. They hadn’t noticed her yet, but she was sure they would as soon as she stepped foot out of the vehicle.

Kimberley took a deep breath, opened the door, and crossed the threshold into the mild evening air. Without even looking, she knew their eyes were on her. She could feel it. She stood up tall, pushed her shoulders back, and walked toward the entrance. Before entering, she eyeballed each of the men with purpose and nodded. Kimberley had learned back during her time in New York to not show weakness, to not cave to others’ intimidation. The moment you do, they own you, and you never have a shot at being the true authority figure. Their eyes quickly averted. Kimberley smiled and strolled inside.

Immediately, she could see where the name The Trophy Room had derived from. It was the hundreds of glassy black eyes that seemed to be looking at her and only her. The heads of antelopes, boars, hogs, deer, and bobcats hung on all the walls, haphazardly placed wherever there was room. Taxidermy hawks, pheasants, ducks, and quail forever perched on branches that had been turned into shelves. In the