Jack & Sloan
This is a background ficlet, a very short story that takes place in the world of my as-yet-to-be-written novel. I write them to introduce characters, play with interactions, and to provide some insight into the world of the novel. They can also help set the stage for events that may or may not pan out in the novel. No promises, but it’s fun to play around. Enjoy!
“I told you, didn’t I?”
Sloan looked up at the uniform as he walked down the porch steps from the townhouse. The cop held out a cigarette which Sloan had just started smoking a half hour before. He hated being interrupted during a smoke, so his foul mood went into the house with him. His examination of the crime scene only served to make things worse.
“You’ll forgive me if I had hoped you were wrong,” Sloan said. He lit the cigarette and took a calming drag.
“Did you find anything at all?” the cop asked.
Sloan shook his head and exhaled smoke away from the cop. “Not a damned thing. It’s like the perp came through an open door wearing socks, shot her, then walked out, all the while leaving no imprints on the carpet, and without disturbing the dirt on the porch or sidewalk. Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”
They stood there in silence. Sloan took another drag.
“You’re gonna call her, aren’t you?”
Sloan didn’t flinch. “Uh huh.”
The cop folded his arms. “You already have.”
“Uh huh.” He took another drag.
“Chief ain’t gonna like it, Red. You know how he feels about your ‘irregular assets’.”
Sloan chuckled. “You tell the chief to send every other detective on the force to run this crime scene. If they can find anything, I’ll call her off.”
The cop smirked. “No way I’m taking you up on that.”
“Smart cop.”
“I suppose you want the usual? Everything out and no audience?” the cop asked.
Sloan smiled. “You know me well, Horatio.”
The cop shook his head. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
It took an hour for the teams to clear out all the forensic tools and machinery from the house and the surrounding area. Once he was satisfied the area was clear, he called her. She picked up on the first ring.
“Professional Investigations, Jack speaking.”
“We’re ready for you,” Sloan spoke into his phone.
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
Jack closed her phone and stood up, finishing the last of her protein shake before tossing the cup into the trash and grabbing her jacket and helmet.
“Leaving so soon?” her friend behind the counter asked.
“I have a case,” Jack responded as she made her way to the door.
“You tell that Sloan fella I said hi, and if he ever comes by, first cup’s on me.”
Jack smiled. “I’ll tell him.”
The ride to the address gave jack an opportunity to ready herself. If this turned out like the other cases Sloan sent her way, it would be a missing person, a murder, or both. Typically she would find some bit of evidence they overlooked, something small and inconspicuous, yet crucial to uncovering a link to the perpetrator. Her talents proved unique, so much so that not even she knew where they came from. She told few people and none of her clients except for Sloan, and only then after a year into their working relationship. It took another two cases with Sloan following her closely before he believed her.
Sloan stood by his car outside the townhouse as she pulled up. She killed the engine, set the kickstand, dismounted and took off her gear. He lit a cigarette as she approached.
“Still smoking those hideous things, Detective Sloan?” she said in way of greeting.
“Only on special occasions,” he said, smiling. The smile disappeared quickly.
“What’s the story here?” she asked, getting down to business.
Sloan took a deep breath. “Caucasian female, thirty-five, single, shot around two this morning in the head with a .38 special. No prints, no fibers, no footprints, nothing on the ultraviolet. No sign of the gun. No forced entry. No tracks outside the house.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a challenge.”
“You could say that. Every cop associated with this one has their panties in a bunch about it, including me.”
Jack chuckled. “I assume Chief Grumpy knows you called me.”
Sloan nodded. “It’s a safe bet.”
Jack brought her hands together and cracked her knuckles together. “Then let’s see what we can find, shall we?”
“Have at it, Tiger.”
Showtime.
Jack walked up the stairs and stood before the door. She braced her stance, shook out her arms and closed her eyes. She ran through her calming and breathing techniques carefully, taking her time. Calmed and prepared, she opened her eyes.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw the door. She collected herself quickly, though, not wanting to worry her client. The door had a distinct astral residue on it. She didn’t know what could cause such a thing; the emotion emanating from it suggested concentration, but only superficially, as if the person in question hadn’t actually touched the door. The doorknob revealed a stronger residue, but with the same signature. She pushed on the almost-closed door and looked inside.
The body lay in the center of the room, looking like the woman had simply collapsed. She could make out the head wound as well as the blood, mostly on the floor, but also the spatter around the body. She breathed slowly to work down the nausea; sensing blood in her way always affected her. She quickly began scanning the room for traces of activity. After a few minutes she was forced to admit the impossible: No on had been in the room in the last day or so except the victim and a small army of forensic law enforcement.
She stepped outside and scanned the porch. No reading whatsoever, aside from Sloan and cops. No feelings of malice, deception, anger or revenge, save for the detached reading on the door and doorknob. No trail of astral energy leading to or from the door along the house or through the yard.
Frustrated, she turned to face the door. She was overlooking something. The door stood out as the anomaly in this case. But why? As she thought, she tilted her head up to think and spotted her answer. An astral trail led upward from the doorway; Jack concluded the perp had repelled down from the roof. Examining closer, she discovered a tiny bit of fabric snagged in the bricks near the door. She sighed in relief: physical evidence always made it easier.
Satisfied she could earn her fee, she relaxed and stepped back to take a better look at the astral trail. Sure enough, she could make out the concentration and anxiety in the trace, as if a man worked his way down the wall, hung upside down, took the shot, then made his way back up. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would go through so much trouble to cover their tracks, though she had stopped trying to figure criminals out long ago. She prepared to clear her vision when she noticed something that made her blood freeze.
There, on the roof, hung the remnant of a glowing swirl of energy.
She had seen this before in a couple of other cases. She didn’t know what it was exactly, but she knew what it meant. In every other case the swirl appeared in, the perp was never caught. She shook her head, took a deep breath and pulled herself out of her sensing state.
Her normal sight restored, she waved Sloan over. He jogged over, looking hopeful.
“You find something?” he asked when he arrived.
She nodded and pointed at the bricks above the door. “Fibers from the perp.”
Sloan looked at the bricks closely. “Well I’ll be damned. You sure these are from the perp?”
“Positive.”
“Uh huh. Why are they up there?” he asked, staring at the bricks.
“He repelled down from the roof.”
Sloan turned slowly to face her. “Hell of a way to kill a gal.”
“Hard to trace, though.” Jack smiled triumphantly.
Sloan sighed, nodded and looked back at the bricks. “Standard fee?”
“As always.”
“Right. Come by tomorrow.”
Jack nodded. “See you then.”
She walked down the stairs towards the bike. She didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d probably never catch the perp. Besides, it’s not like he’d believe her anyway.
