《Spectral Case Files》


 Chapter 1 - December 2, 2022

    Julia Taber was stuck in Yorkville traffic at the corner of 3rd and 90th Street. The clock on her dashboard read 7:35. She had an urgent meeting at 8:00 which she would get to barely on time. Then her hazel eyes fell on a fresh orange sign outside Naruto Ramen, her favorite restaurant which read: ¡°New: Boba milk tea.¡±


    ***


    Julia strode into the 23rd precinct of the New York Police Department 15 minutes late, happily slurping up boba with a big pink straw. Her cropped brown hair bobbed in rhythm to a tune only she could hear.


    Captain Picclin looked up from his briefing with that eye twitch that Julia suspected was becoming permanent. It started shortly after she began calling him ¡°Captain Pickle.¡± He was a grey gentleman in his late 50¡¯s with a messy crop of long hair and a thick beard.


    The cluster of officers in attendance looked up. When they noticed her, several rubbed their temples. One rolled her eyes and sighed. A senior officer took a dollar from a young male rookie.


    ¡°In short,¡± Captain Picclin continued, his face twisting like he was eating a pickle, ergo the nickname, ¡°we are declaring the subway bombing investigation cold.¡±


    He shot a weary glance at Julia.


    ¡°That means it¡¯s in your department now, Julia. Are there any..¡±


    ¡°Woohoo!¡± Julia cheered, literally skipping over to Picclin¡¯s desk where a stack of case files waited for her eager hands.


    ¡°Wait, hold on now,¡± the captain objected.


    But it was too late; she was skipping to her office to crack the file.


    Julia was a cold case detective. She handled the cases where after two years of active investigation every lead was exhausted and no convictions or arrests were made. She had an impressive track record and incredible patience, having already solved an arson, a theft, and a murder in the 6 months she¡¯d been (officially) working for the department.


    She threw herself into a full 360 in her spinny chair. The 24-year-old detective had six monitors behind a long, curving desk. They were precisely at symmetrical angles and exactly the same size. It made a glowing fishbowl around her so she could lock into her work.


    She spun her mouse and attention to the leftmost monitor. This one only streamed music. She listened exclusively to K-pop, J-pop or Country. She pulled up ¡®How You Like That¡¯ by Blackpink and let the algorithm do its thing.


    Julia heaved the thick file onto her desk and wagged her finger.


    ¡°Alright mister, spill. You¡¯re hiding someone. There¡¯s no expiration date on a murder case.¡±


    Nothing could have prepared her for the first picture. She froze. Charred black stains. Fragments of bodies. It wasn¡¯t the gore that bothered her. No, she was analyzing bullet casings and blood stains since she was 14. In a violent rush this picture pulled her 8 years into the past.


    ***


    She could smell the acrid smoke as it stung her eyes. She witnessed bodies in scattered piles. Half-melted stanchions bent at unnatural angles.


    ¡°Where¡¯s dad?¡±


    Her heart hammered in her chest. She combed frantically through the debris on the bank floor for any sign of him. Then she saw it.


    ¡°No.¡± Her strength left her legs as she collapsed to the floor. She wailed until there was no air left in her burning lungs. Her father¡¯s tie pin lay on a charcoal heap, the symbol of a sword with wings smudged from the explosion.


    ***


    She startled back to the present. Her eyes were blurry and leaking. She took a shaky breath.


    ¡°None of that,¡± she scolded herself. She weakly imitated her father¡¯s deep and gentle voice: ¡°You keep that pretty smile on, girlie.¡±


    She wiped a sleeve across her eyes and drew a quick sob. She looked down and saw her father¡¯s tie pin. Despite Captain Pickle¡¯s insistence that she didn¡¯t need to wear a tie, she did anyways. It reminded her that she was carrying her father¡¯s legacy.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go get some justice.¡±  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    She flipped the photo over and began reading through the complete set of documents. July 12, 2019 a bomb went off on the 77th Street stop on the subway¡¯s Green Line. Eight dead, twelve injured, 23 witnesses. No active leads. The theory initially was that the perpetrator was caught up in the explosion. The one piece of evidence that called it into question was that the explosion originated from a lunchbox from an eight-year-old boy. It was a stretch to believe he was the criminal mastermind, which meant the murderer was most likely still at large.


    This case drained a lot of the department¡¯s resources because it held an unsettling detail. A flash drive was found in a red circle on the subway floor shortly after the explosion. On it was a simple .wav file of a scrambled voice recording that repeated a date: ¡°Ten..Twelve..Twenty-twenty-two.¡± An ominous prediction for what was suspected to be a future attack. It was the department¡¯s number one concern, and security at the subways in New York tripled.


    Well, the dreaded date 10/12/2022 came and went. That was two months ago. That explained the meeting today to officially de-escalate it to ¡®cold¡¯ status.


    After scanning through the rest of the witness reports, she flopped the file dramatically down on her desk.


    ¡°First things first, let¡¯s play a game.¡± she said.


    Julia pulled up the subway¡¯s security footage from that day on her middle monitor.


    ¡°I spy with my little eye, something¡­¡±


    She scanned the crowds with years worth of people-watching experience under her belt. People were truly fascinating to her. She watched the boy, Kyle Inkliff walk up to the yellow line, one hand in his pa¡¯s and the other on his Pikachu lunch box. Then the explosion.


    Rewind, she combed through it again, but tracked someone different. Hours passed. Many different people. Rewatching the same explosion. And then¡­


    ¡°Wha-who are you, mister?¡± The image showed someone in a thick blue winter coat in a small corner of one of the feeds. First there was his clothes (who wears a thick coat in the middle of summer?) But he was talking to this older lady. Her eyes grew wide and she talked animatedly a second before he left. Two minutes later, the bomb went off. She was one of the victims. Donna Amberthy.


    Julia sighed.


    ¡°I wish you could tell us what you seen, Grams. That would definitely be a hot lead.¡±


    A churning in her midsection made her pause. Julia checked her wristwatch.


    ¡°4 O¡¯clock?! Guess I should get some lunch.¡±


    ***


    One tasty bowl of pork-belly ramen later, Julia sighed with contentment. It was a good day, all things considered. She didn¡¯t want to admit it also weighed heavier on her in an unusual way. This was her first case that brought back her own dark memories, and that made it hard to focus on the job.


    She shook her head and got up from the table. A strong whim pulled at her, one she indulged many times before.


    ***


    She stood in twilight at the 77th street memorial. She often went to visit the graves of the deceased from cases she worked on. It gave her a quiet place to think about the details of the case. Something about being near the dead churned her mind towards the secrets they held. She traced the eight names on the grey stone and her finger found Donna¡¯s. The slow, sad tune of ¡®Raymond¡¯ by Brett Eldredge came in through her ear buds.


    ¡°Donna, I wish you could tell me what you know.¡±


    She waited a while in the relative quiet with thoughts and faces turning over in her mind. The song was on the line ¡°Until she can see his face again, I¡¯m gonna fill in the best I can.¡±


    She was about to leave when suddenly, static filled her earbuds.


    ¡°Wha-? That¡¯s different.¡±


    She turned her earbuds off and on again. Nothing, just the lone drone of the static. Julia checked her watch. It still showed the song was playing. Pause, unpause. Still static. She moved her hand up to put her earbuds away, thinking the problem was a low battery. But then¡­


    A low voice. An elderly voice. It sounded like it was coming from far away, as though through an old telephone.


    ¡°No, no,..¡± it was saying, ¡°This isn¡¯t right. I¡¯m¡­ not supposed to be here.¡±


    ¡°Hello?¡± Julia asked. She looked at her smart watch. No one was calling. She looked around her and took an earbud out. The memorial site was empty. A chill ran down her spine.


    In spite of how creepy it was, a crazy, wild idea filled Julia¡¯s mind. It was irresistible.


    ¡°Are you Donna?¡± Julia asked.


    Static.


    ¡°Yes..that, that is my name. Was my name. Who..Who are.. child? Why.. why am I here? I should not be here¡­¡±


    Was this really happening? Could the dead spill what they knew? Julia lit up with excitement. She pressed Donna for more.


    ¡°Do you remember the explosion at the subway? The bomb that went off?¡±


    Silence.


    ¡°I remember¡­that day, a bright light..¡±


    ¡°Yeah and just before that - you were talking to someone in a thick blue jacket; do you know who that was?¡±


    Muffled mumbling.


    ¡­¡±hair.. I must go back now¡­¡±


    Julia panicked, not wanting Donna to leave yet. There was more she needed to know.


    ¡°Wait. Don¡¯t leave! What did you say?¡±


    ¡°He¡­the boy I was talking to, had red hair¡­¡±

 Chapter 2 - December 3, 2022

    Julia had red hair on her mind from the moment she woke up. To think Donna actually spoke to her, and gave her a solid lead! To think the dead could talk at all. She couldn¡¯t wait to get to the office. Well, maybe she could wait long enough to stop for boba. Maybe she¡¯d try the Thai Tea this time¡­


    At 8:16 she arrived at the doors of the 23rd precinct. She was always fascinated by the architecture; it looked like a medieval castle. It had windows that looked like turrets and a crenelated wall on top.


    She was practically skipping to her office when the low rumble of Captain Picclin¡¯s voice cut through her train of thought.


    ¡°Julia, I need you over here for a minute.¡±


    ¡°Oh. But Captain, I got a fresh lead on the subway case, and I¡¯m dying to see where it goes.¡±


    ¡°It can wait, Julia. We need all hands on deck for this one.¡±


    Julia growled, crossing her arms as she plunked down into a chair right next to Officer Greaves. The man looked like he¡¯d been former military, all the way down to the blonde buzz cut. He wore a simple moustache and was all-business, no fun.


    ¡°What¡¯s it this time Jules?¡± Greaves asked, ¡°couldn¡¯t find your car keys?¡±


    She hated when he called her that. It was always in this snooty ¡°better than you¡± kind of way.


    ¡°Ugh, can we just start with the briefing already?¡± Julia asked.


    Officer Greaves smirked, and nodded to the captain to continue.


    ¡°We were alerted at 7am this morning to a high-profile child abduction. Tom Cruise¡¯s daughter, Ocean, was last seen in Central Park¡­


    ¡°Wait, so her name is Ocean Cruise? That¡¯s wild.¡± Julia said.


    She thought she saw Captain Picclin sprout another grey hair.


    ¡°Ernn.. Yeah. We received a tip that Ms. Cruise was last seen leaving Central Park and entering an H2-Hummer, white, with tinted windows. No plates. Every department in New York is sending a dedicated patrol to try and track it down. Julia, go with Officer Greaves to the Astoria Area along the East River. Follow it up to the La Guardia airport. They¡¯ve been given orders from the Commissioner to not let anyone fly or drive out of New York.


    ¡°On it Captain. Jules, you coming?¡± Officer Greaves stood.


    ¡°Yeah..coming.¡±


    Julia begrudgingly pushed herself out of her chair and followed him to his police cruiser.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    This is gonna be a looong day, Julia thought as the door closed and Greaves pulled out of the driveway.. If I¡¯m gonna spend all this time on patrol, I might as well tackle two cases at once.


    Julia flipped out her phone. Luckily the case files were also stored in the cloud.


    Alright, Mr. Redhead, time for some hide-and-seek.


    Julia did some quick mental math, and figured with about 8.26 million people in New York City, with 4% of them being redheads that was still 330,400. Thankfully she had some data points she could cross reference to bring that number down.


    First, let¡¯s search the redheads that had a ticket through the Green Line on July 12, 2019.


    ¡°Only 263? That cuts it down quite a bit!¡± she said. Out loud.


    Officer Greaves shot her a look.


    ¡°Jules, focus. I need you to help me check my blind spots.¡±


    ¡°Nothing yet, boss. I¡¯ll let you know if I see anything.¡±


    She made it a point to swivel her head in all directions for a few minutes. The only things she saw moving past them were the clustered buildings, ornate bridges, and deep blue waters of the East River. No Hummer.


    Oh well, let¡¯s see how far we can bring the number of redheads down. What if we cross check the suspect¡¯s height too? We could probably roughly gauge it from the subway security feed.


    Officer Greaves mumbled something and got out of the car, which happened to be no longer moving. Julia looked up and saw him quickly approaching the front door of the Gulf Gas Station.


    ¡°Huh, he probably needed a bathroom break,¡± she mused. She returned to her screen.


    Suspect in the blue jacket is probably 5¡¯7-5¡¯9, somewhere around there. That gives us a total of¡­ She held her breath as the roster refreshed with the new fields.


    ¡°Twelve!¡± Julia shouted in triumph. That was definitely a number she could work with. She would look into their alibis later.


    Julia looked up just in time to see a young man burst out of the convenience store. He had jet black spikes for hair and two large gauges with a lip ring. He turned back to see Officer Greaves in hot pursuit. Greaves tackled him to the ground. A very flustered-looking Ocean was shouting at Greaves. That¡¯s when Julia noticed what they had been running towards: a white Hummer H2 with tinted windows. How did she miss that?


    Greaves looked up at Julia as she stepped out of the car. He practically roared out her name.


    ¡°Julia! Did you at least call it in?¡±


    ¡°Nuh..no, not yet, I was¡­


    Greaves let out a growl and yanked the young man behind him as he pushed past Julia and shoved his arm in through the window to grab the car phone. He spit out the words.


    ¡°Officer Greaves to Dispatch, we found Ocean and have the kidnapper in custody. We¡¯re at the Gulf Gas Station near the Ditmar¡¯s Steinway.¡±


    Natalie¡¯s nonchalant voice sounded through the other end. ¡°I hear you Greaves. Two other patrols will be with you in a minute to compile the report.¡±


    Officer Greaves hung up the phone and threw the protesting kidnapper into the back seat of the cruiser with one hand. Ocean was silently huddled in an oversized black hoodie with her face in her hands, sitting on the curb. Julia approached the fuming officer.


    ¡°Greaves¡­¡± Julia said.


    ¡°I told you to cover the entrance and call it in, Julia! It could have gotten bad out there. What if he had a gun?¡±


    Julia couldn¡¯t find the words to say. They died in her throat.


    Greaves drew a shuddering breath.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why I trusted you to watch my back to begin with. I won¡¯t be making that mistake again.¡±


    He marched up to the two patrol cruisers who were turning into the parking lot.


    Now there were two young women on the curb with their heads in their hands.

 Chapter 3 - December 4, 2022

    Julia finished dressing by snapping her dad¡¯s pin onto her tie. An unexpected tear trickled down her face as she recalled something her dad had told her.


    She was about 8 years old and he was tying his tie, snapping the pin in place.


    ¡°Daddy? What does that pin mean?¡± she asked with wide eyes.


    ¡°Well Juleberry - that was his favorite nickname for her- this sword represents the truth that cuts through the lies. Sometimes when I ask people questions they will lie to try to cover up the truth.¡± He put his jacket on. ¡°My job as a detective is to find out what¡¯s real.¡±


    She closed her eyes and let the ache of his absence wash over her. That¡¯s when she noticed the clock.


    ¡°Oh no..¡± she groaned.


    The clock already showed 7:50. She counted on being late for work.


    ***


    She walked into the 23rd Precinct at 8:21am. That didn¡¯t even include stopping for boba. She needed caffeine though, so she resigned herself to the company coffee pot. She¡¯d settle for black coffee this morning, as bitter as her mood.


    She dragged herself to her desk and barely sat down when her cell phone rang.


    ¡°Hello?¡± Julia answered. She winced as she burned her tongue on the hot coffee. Captain Picclin¡¯s voice rang through.


    ¡°Good morning Julia. No doubt you want to keep trailing the subway case, and I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be able to work that in today, but Kelli is out sick this morning. Knowing her, that probably means it¡¯s worse than your common flu. We have a fresh homicide in West Hempstead and we need forensics on it ASAP.¡±


    Kelli was the on-site forensics expert for Precinct 30. She was good too. She could eyeball the precise angle a bullet entered and exited a wound, accurate to within .03 of a degree. Julia wished she could learn more from her someday. For now though, she would do her best to fill her shoes. Without complaining this time.


    ¡°Yes Captain, consider it good as solved!¡±


    Julia tried to inject a little more enthusiasm than she felt, but that helped perk her up a little more as she heard the captain fumble a bit for his words.


    ¡°I uh¡­ok Julia, I appreciate you doing this.¡±


    *Click*


    ***


    Julia stood over a body on the corner of Woodfield Rd and Hempstead Avenue on Long Island. The victim was identified as Idris Carver, a six foot, five inch tall African American male. He had one clean bullet wound to the back of the head.


    Checking his file showed that he was connected to the Crips and had a record of violent assault and grand theft. He also spent several years of his life on Rikers Island, an island prison on the East River between the Bronx and Queens.


    Julia whistled to the tune of ¡®More¡¯ by K/DA as she calculated where the bullet would most likely be by measuring the angle at which Isdras fell, and the angle of impact near the base of his skull. Walking back about 50 feet, conveniently there on the sidewalk just beyond the caution tape, was the fatal bullet.


    Using gloves, she carefully placed it into a sealed bag, then into an airtight case. She would drive it over to the lab, but first she wanted to try something¡­


    Julia hovered over the body.


    ¡°Isdras, this sounds crazy, I know, but I¡¯d like to talk to you.¡±


    She waited. Maybe she had been crazy and imagined Donna Amberthy¡¯s voice. She also didn¡¯t know how she managed to do it the first time. Maybe it was a once-in-a-lifetime-thing.


    But then the static sounded in her earbud. An electric spasm shot down Julia¡¯s spine.


    ¡°Wha, who, wha¡­who¡¯s this?  How am I¡­back here?¡± The voice was deep. Unlike Donna¡¯s faint voice, his sounded clearer.


    ¡°Isdras, my name¡¯s Julia Taber. I¡¯m investigating your death. Can you tell me what you know about your killer?¡±


    The static lasted for longer than a minute.  She was afraid he might already be gone.


    ¡°Yeah¡­I know ¡®im. What¡¯s it to you?¡± he snapped back.


    ¡°Look, I¡¯m just trying to get you the justice you deserve.¡±


    ¡°Justice¡­heh, that¡¯s funny. You cops think you know what that is. You bust us up, take us away from our families, even when we didn¡¯t do nothin¡¯. Jes for bein¡¯ associated with someone who did. You beat us up in jail an¡¯ leave us to die there. You call that justice? Nah¡­If that¡¯s justice, you can smoke it yourself.¡±


    Julia was stunned, not knowing what to say. Her dad had been a part of drug raids before. Had there been people who were taken away for just being associated with criminals? Something about that felt very wrong.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you want your family to know the truth about what happened to you?¡± Julia asked.


    ¡°My¡­family?¡­My only family is my lil¡¯ sister. She¡­she got out of Hempstead. Went to college. I think she¡¯s workin¡¯ as a ER nurse even. Nah¡­she won¡¯t miss me. She cut ties years ago...¡±


    Isdras paused for a minute, then continued.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Tell you what, I¡¯ll¡­cooperate. The person you¡¯re looking for, his name is Angel Nelson.¡±


    ***


    ¡°Gotta love technology these days,¡± Julia said as she applied for the warrant to apprehend Angel Nelson from her cell phone. It also let her work from Starbucks, where she could get a caramel macchiato.


    She couldn¡¯t exactly say that her evidence for probable cause was ¡°someone dead talked to me¡±, so she put ¡®ballistics evidence¡¯ on the warrant. It hadn¡¯t finished processing in the lab, but she was confident in what the results would show.


    The warrant could take a few hours to get the judge¡¯s stamp of approval, so until then she had some time to work the other case.  She sorted the list of 12 suspect redheads for the subway bombing case alphabetically. Ten of them were Irish with a ton of ¡®Mc¡¯s. There was a McCarthy, a McClosky, a McMahon, a McGee, a McMenamy, and even a McDonald.


    ¡°E-I-E-I-O,¡± Julia said to herself, ¡°Who¡¯s down for a game of Guess Who?¡±


    Ian McCarthy had exited the Green Line well before noon, so it was less likely that he had been the one in the thick blue jacket.


    Samuel O¡¯Brian had never entered the green line that day.


    Derek McClosky worked grounds maintenance in Central Park.


    Mac McMahon sparred at his favorite UFC gym.


    Brennan McDonald, at 2:35pm, was at his place of employment, McDonald¡¯s.


    ¡°Bet he gets all the jokes,¡± Julia said.


    A ping from her cell phone notified her that the warrant was approved.


    ¡°Alrighty, looks like I¡¯ll have to pick this up later.¡± Only seven more alibis to sort through.


    She tossed her cup into the trash can and hopped in her car. Destination, the 23rd Precinct. Time to pick up a buddy to apprehend the suspect.


    ***


    Julia was secretly glad that she hadn¡¯t run into Officer Greaves. Lauren Loveless, a Deputy with the Department, when asked to go with her simply said ¡°Sure.¡±


    Lauren had both perfect blonde hair and curves. When she first joined the force she got the attention of many of the single male officers. That was, until they discovered her deadpan personality. She hardly talked. Heck, Julia didn¡¯t remember a time when she saw Lauren smile. She always looked like her mind was far away. She never complained, and did the job with the minimum effort required.


    Now Julia stood behind her in front of Angel¡¯s home address, both of them with their hands on their guns. They knocked. They heard shuffling by the door. It creaked open.


    Julia¡¯s hand was halfway up to her mouth before she stopped herself. There, framed in the doorway, was an African American lady with tight grey curls and a walker. The expression on her face was painfully familiar. It was the same expression Julia wore the night her father died.


    ¡°Oh, Come in, officers.¡±


    She had a gentle voice and walked as slowly as she talked. She hobbled her way across a floor littered with several newspapers and paper cups. She swatted a few magazines off the couch and motioned for the officers to sit.


    ¡°How can I help you today, officers?¡±


    It looked like Lauren was going to let Julia do all the talking. She didn¡¯t mind.


    ¡°Well, miss¡­¡±


    ¡°You can call me Ginga, sweetheart.¡±


    ¡°Ok, well miss Ginga, we¡¯re looking for Angel Nelson. Do you happen to know where he is?¡±


    ¡°Sweet Angel¡­¡± The elderly lady¡¯s hands began to shake. ¡°I guess¡­I guess he¡¯s an angel now¡­¡±


    She picked up a tiny photo framed on her table and stared at it for a long time.


    Just then, Julia got a ping. It was the results from the ballistics lab. She would open that later.


    Ginga turned the frame to show the officers. The picture was of an 8-year-old boy smiling and wearing his backpack.


    After each word her voice trembled even more and tears began running down her sunken cheeks.


    ¡°This is Angel. He is no longer with us.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean, ma¡¯am?¡± Julia¡¯s eyes grew wide.


    ¡°A bullet took his life three days ago. His brother Raymond and his friend Isdras got caught up in a turf war. Angel was running, and ran right in front of Isdras¡¯s gun. He was trying to get away.¡±


    She drew a desparate sob.


    ¡®¡°Raymond, oh my soul, Raymond, even though he and Isdras have been like brothers, he¡¯s just so angry.  I told him, ¡°Raymond, if you live by the sword, you will die by the sword. I¡¯ve already lost one grandson. I don¡¯t want to lose you too.¡± I hope, I pray he listened, that they can embrace each other again one day.¡±¡¯


    An unsettling panic wormed its way into Julia¡¯s mind.


    Wait, so Angel was the little brother? He couldn¡¯t have shot Isdras, but Isdras himself called him out by name. Was it Raymond who shot Isdras? but then that means¡­¡±


    ¡°Thank you ma¡¯am, that¡¯s all we needed.¡± Julia said. And then, after a pause, ¡°I¡¯m so sorry you¡¯ve lost so much.¡±


    Julia stood up to leave. Lauren raised an eyebrow, the most expression she¡¯d shown all day. She quickly followed Julia out the door.


    Julia¡¯s eyes were on the ballistics report as soon as she stepped into the police cruiser. Sure enough, the report confirmed her fears. The shot was fired from a Ruger 3600. Possible owners connected to the target: one name. Raymond Nelson.


    ***


    Julia was afraid that she was going to get in major trouble for naming Angel instead of Raymond on the warrant. Thankfully, the judge was satisfied when she explained that she had been tipped off earlier that day that it was Angel who committed the murder. Of course she left out who had given her the tip.


    After Julia called it in, Raymond had been spotted and taken into custody at the Sand Box Motel in New Jersey, after which he was locked in a holding cell. The District Attorney approved formal charges against him for Isdras¡¯s murder, despite Ginga¡¯s insistence that she would not press charges. Thinking about her living in that house alone¡­


    Julia shook her head. These past few days had really taken an emotional toll on her. She still had something important she needed to do today though.


    Isdras¡¯s body was already moved, so she didn¡¯t know if it would work, but she stood where his body had been hours before, questions burning in her mind.


    ¡°Isdras! Why did you lie? Why did you say it was Angel instead of Raymond?¡±


    In her ear buds his voice sounded farther away now.


    ¡°So you know, huh¡­Look¡­ I ain¡¯t gonna snitch on a brotha¡¯. Raymond and I grew up in the projects, hustled together, were in and out of Riker¡¯s  together. When he lost his lil bro¡­ that was my lil bro too.  Lookin¡¯ back on it, the hustle wasn¡¯t worth it. I lost the only family I ever had. Much as I wish, I¡¯ll never get a do-over¡­I have forever to play it back in my head over and over again¡­I can¡¯t stay here anymore¡­My time is up.¡±


    The static went silent.


    ***


    A dark thought plagued Julia¡¯s mind as she returned home in the shadows of dusk. She¡¯d made a dangerous assumption, thinking the dead wouldn¡¯t lie. But wait, couldn¡¯t that also affect the subway case? Julia voiced her fears into the night.


    ¡°What if our suspect¡¯s hair isn¡¯t red at all?¡±