Sneak Peek

Welcome! These are the first two chapters of my new novel, THE CONSULTANT. It's available now as an ebook through Amazon, published by Golden Storyline Books. 

Chapter 1

Detective Jane Larson, with her partner Detective Clay Marshall at her side, stepped out of the elevator, now cold coffee in her hand, a bitter reminder of the situation. The overpowering scent of bleach filled the entire hallway of the Reynolds Hotel, a discomfort that seemed to seep into their bones. Other officers, who had arrived on the scene earlier, stood scattered throughout the hall, their dread evident in their expressions. Even the oppressive heatwave infecting Grand Rapids felt intensified in the face of the circumstances. The uneasiness in the air was thick, adding to the tension of the crime scene.

Larson rolled her head around her shoulders, hoping to lessen the headache that started to form. She wasn’t sure if it was from the pungent smell, or her walnut hair being pulled too tight behind her head. As she and Marshall approached a wiry officer—undoubtedly fresh from the academy based on the green hue of his flesh and the sickness in his eyes—she realized she was still wearing the same suit she wore the day before. She hoped no one else would notice. As one of the few female detectives in the homicide division, she felt she was the representative for all female officers, which meant she had to work twice as hard. Fortunately, she recognized that her partner was married to the job. Working through the night was the standard, not an exception, and most street cops knew that.

“What's the situation?” Marshall's voice was low and gruff, a reflection of the weariness that had settled somewhere deep within him. They had barely had time to pay for their coffees when the call came in, summoning them to the Reynolds Hotel. A maid had discovered a body, but no other details were provided. Dark half-moons rested under Marshall’s eyes, a testament to the sleepless nights they often endured. Larson suspected her own eyes mirrored his. Marshall’s dark eyes seemed to extend, whereas her light blue eyes made the dark rings more pronounced. The weight of their responsibilities was etched on their faces, a constant reminder of the high stakes of their work and the fatigue that came with it.

“Sickest shit I’ve ever seen,” the officer huffed as if he’d been holding his breath to not breathe in the stench. The pale green color of his face morphed into a deep red. “Sorry, Sir. I mean, it’s just the smell in there. I haven’t actually seen the body.”

Larson stepped in before Marshall had a chance to bite. “Details, officer.”

“Sorry, Ma’am…” the young officer struggled to keep composure. His black hair appeared damp.

Larson looked at the rookie's name badge, “Graves. First scene?”

He nodded.

Larson put her hand on his shoulder as Marshall’s eyes rolled. “Take a deep breath and just tell us what we got.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Graves took a deep breath, calming him considerably. “Victim is a woman, mid-thirties, we think. The causes of death and the time of death are still unknown. No witnesses yet. I don’t know much more. One of the officers mentioned a ritual type of situation.”

“What does that mean?” Marshall asked.

“I’m not sure. You’ll have to see it for yourself,” Graves’ voice was sad.

“You said no witnesses. Does that mean the other officers and detectives have canvassed?”

Graves nodded sheepishly. “No one on the floor heard or saw anything. Someone went down to watch footage and check other floors for witnesses.”

“Thanks,” Marshall scowled before entering the hotel room.

“Has the prosecutor arrived yet?” Larson asked Graves.

He shook his head, “No. I think someone said she was on her way.”

Larson offered a gentle smile to Graves, hoping to counteract Marshall’s harshness. “Thank you,” she told him.

When she reached Marshall’s side in the entryway, she said, “You could be a little nicer.”

“I save the niceties for the Vic’s family.”

From the entryway, Larson could tell the room was a suite. It was much more open than a typical hotel room, and while Reynolds was an upscale hotel, most of the rooms were arranged like any standard hotel. She had stayed in one during her fifth wedding anniversary—which was six months before her husband divorced her. That had been three years ago, but what she had seen of the hotel seemed unchanged. Over a decade ago, before a facelift outside and significant renovations to the interior, the hotel was a grungy cesspool. Someplace where a possible murder wouldn’t necessarily be unexpected, now, it was almost incomprehensible.

“You know Grand Rapids has twice the murder rate of the entire country? And November is the worst month,” Marshall offered as he slipped a pair of latex gloves over his hands.

Larson followed suit, “I do. Because you’ve told me every third scene we’ve entered since I was assigned to you six years ago.”

“Six years? Has it been that long?”

Larson nodded. “It was my twenty-fifth birthday. Hard to forget.”

“Damn, that makes me forty-seven. No wonder everything hurts. I’m old now.”

Larson bit back a laugh. Despite Marshall’s harsh and often abrasive exterior, she appreciated the softness he somehow managed to hold onto inside. “I’m sure Kelly appreciates you more now that you’re old.”

“She says I’m nicer now. Think I’m losing my touch.”

Larson shook her head, “Not at all,” then she entered a living room.

The room they stood in was flooded with officers, a three-seat sofa, a sliding door on the far wall to allow natural light, and a television that looked as though it had been angled away from the glass door. Larson believed some sort of struggle had started there, but it was short-lived before either ending or moving on to another part of the suite. The walls and furniture were dark, which seemed to steal the light as it entered. Even in the early morning, the sun blasted through the high windows overlooking the Grand River.

Suddenly, she realized the irony of the hotel being located at 187 Monroe and 187 being the police code for a homicide in California. She wondered if the killer had been cognizant of that fact and chose this location because of it or if it were a nasty coincidence from the universe.

“That way,” a tall officer with jet-black hair said, pointing to their right. He looked like he spent his entire off-duty time in a gym, lifting whatever crossed his path.

“Thanks, officer.”

Both detectives went down a compressed hallway toward the only open door. Fiona Bissett, the medical examiner, kneeled in front of a body. As they got closer, the smell Larson had started to get used to smacked her in the face again. She pulled Vick’s roll-on from her suit jacket, rubbing a small amount under her nose. She extended it to Marshall, who winced from the scent despite his best efforts.

“Can we open a window?” Marshall asked as he entered the bedroom.

Fiona shook her head vehemently as she jotted notes down on a yellow legal pad. “Five more minutes and I’ll allow it.” Without looking up from her pad, “How are you, Larson?”

“Fine, thank you. How’s Rufous?” Rufous was Fiona’s two-year-old boxer, the only family she had. Fiona Bissett and Jane Larson were like oil and water in high school. On one occasion, when Jane saw Fiona kissing her boyfriend on the cheek, they became like gas and fire.

Then, they began working together. They realized they had a lot more in common than they didn’t. Fiona was now Larson’s main confidant and the main reason she survived the divorce.

“Do you have a guess on cause of death?” Marshall asked.

“Best guess is asphyxiation,” Fiona informed them, using her pen to move a strand of her bright fiery hair from her eye. It was the first indication of her Irish heritage, which she often shared pridefully without provocation.

Fiona used her pen to trace around the victim’s half-naked body. A woman in her late twenties or early thirties, Larson guessed. Her sunburst hair had been fanned out over her head, her arms spread outward. She looked peaceful. Beautiful. Larson’s heart stung for a moment.

“No obvious signs of blunt force trauma or anything else. But if you look here,” she used her pen to circle above a discolored spot on the victim’s neck, “There’s minor bruising. It could have come from the murder. I won’t know until I get her back in the office.”

“Do we have a name?” Marshall asked, jotting notes onto his own pad.

“The other detectives are looking into that now. No personal effects were found anywhere in the room.”

Something to her left caught Larson’s eye. She scanned it for a moment, then once she was certain it didn’t belong in the room, she asked Fiona. “What’s that?”

Marshall looked to where Larson pointed. “Is that part of the décor of the room?”

“No, it was brought in,” Fiona told them.

Larson and Marshall each took a step closer to the object, which stood four feet tall. It was a bronze-painted stool on three legs. A wooden carving of a woman resembling a Greek goddess sat atop the seat, holding a plate in one hand and some sort of plant in the other. The woman’s legs were crossed on the stool.

“I assume this is related,” Fiona gently lifted the victim’s head from the ground. She pulled a small coin from underneath. She held it between her gloved thumb and forefinger as Marshall and Larson kneeled closer.

“What is it?”

“Not sure,” Fiona told them. “It’s definitely not real. It’s a replica of some sort, but I couldn’t tell you what of.”

Larson used her hands to push against her knees, helping her rise. “We need to call him in.”

“No!” Marshall shook his head to sell his objection further.

“This is right in his wheelhouse.”

“I don’t give a damn; we don’t need him every time we find something weird at a crime scene.”

“Do you want to call him, or should I?” Larson asked, pulling her cell phone from her pocket. She removed her right glove to allow her finger freedom to unlock the phone.

“No one needs to call him. Can we at least start working the case before we call him in?”

Larson tapped the screen three times and put the phone to her ear. “It’s ringing.”

“He is good. Cute, too,” Fiona offered, knowing it would further agitate Marshall. Larson gave her friend a wink.

 

 

Chapter 2

 

Raymond Cross had just finished his second cup of coffee, placing his mug in the sink. He had ended with the summer courses at Western Michigan University, but waking up at five was habitual at this point. Even when he tried to sleep in, he couldn’t. He had grown to enjoy the time alone. It gave him two hours before having to get Mary-Beth and Max up at seven. He had learned he could do a lot in those two hours. Or he could rest. He had some grades left to enter but decided to relax this morning.

He would dress down in jeans and an untucked button-down on days like today. His wife, Angela, used to make fun of him for his idea of casual wear, but it was as much a habit as his waking time.

Mary-Beth and Max were twins, which ran on his wife’s side of the family. They looked like her, too, for which he was thankful. Every time he looked into their eyes, it was like he got to see her again.

They weren't in daycare since it was a Thursday, and he hoped to take them to the pool or perhaps the Grand Rapids Children’s Museum. As a mythology professor, he enjoyed taking them to the museums, and in the July heat, he knew the AC would be nice, especially since he didn’t often get into the pool with the kids.

He entered the kid’s room at seven and flipped the light on. Mary-Beth tussled in her bed, pulling the Frozen comforter over her mangled blonde hair. Max rolled over. His hair was slightly darker than his sisters' but just as disheveled. His Hot Wheels comforter had been pushed down only to cover his feet.

“Time to get up, darlings.”

“Ugh!” Mary-Beth protested.

Max, who took his role as the older brother seriously—even if it was only by three minutes—spoke up. “Come on, Mary. It’s pool day!”

“Pool?”

It had been decided, Ray smirked. They would be going to the pool.

 

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After the kids were dressed, Max went downstairs to the kitchen of their Victorian manor-style house—an awful teal color on the exterior that he hated but his wife had loved—while he sat cross-legged in the kid’s room, allowing Mary-Beth to plop down in the center. He held a brush in one hand and a hair tie in the other, a skill he had begun to finally master after five years.

He brushed the thick knots gently, careful not to hurt her.

“Are you going to swim today, Daddy?”

“I don’t know. Do you want me to?”

“Yeah!” Mary-Beth shouted, waiving her arms at the same time. Ray paused his brushing until she finished her excited dance. “You can be Daddy Shark!”

“Oh, then I get to eat yummy kids!” Ray let out a fake growl and started kissing Mary-Beth’s head. She giggled and squirmed in his arms. It was another unexpected moment where he wished Angela was still there. Even after five years, part of him was in mourning.

“Will Grandma Annie come?”

Annie was Angela’s mother, who fortunately lived just five minutes away. She not only shared stories of Angela that preceded Ray’s time in her life, but she also helped watch the kids if he happened to be called to a scene or had classes when they needed to be picked up on a school day.

“We can ask her,” Ray told Mary-Beth. He pulled her hair through the tie and wrapped it expertly. He noticed the ponytail wasn’t entirely centered on her scalp, but she would pull it out within a few hours anyway.

He was just about to stand when his cell phone rang. Mary-Beth’s body tensed, knowing that phone calls usually meant Daddy had to leave. Feeling his daughter tense, already knowing what was to come, he felt like a cold hand grabbed his heart and squeezed.

“Larson, what’s going on?”

“Marshall and I are at the Reynolds Hotel on 187^th and Monroe…”

“Coincidence?” Ray interrupted. He didn’t believe in coincidences, but if there ever were such a thing, this would undoubtedly be the perfect opportunity for one. 187 was the police code for homicide in California, a fact made well-known by the entertainment industry. It could have been intentional or not.

“We’re really not sure,” she said. The tone in her voice told Ray she knew he would catch the irony. “There’s some… odd things here. Could you come by and give it a look? I’ll clear it with the Captain, but once I tell him what we’ve walked into, he’ll clear it.”

Ray’s attention went to Mary-Beth, whose demeanor had shrunk since he’d answered the phone. “I promised the kids I’d take them to the pool today. Can I review the crime scene photos tonight?”

“I think you’d better see it in person. Give me an hour, and I’ll drop you off at the pool. Sirens and all. I know how much Max loves the lights.”

A small chuckle left Ray’s mouth. “I’ll call Annie. But you only get an hour.”

Ray ended the call, checking the time on his phone as he did. It was only 7:45 a.m., and he hadn’t planned to take the kids to the pool when it opened at nine. The July heat that morning was already in the upper eighties and would only become more suffocating.

“Honey,” he said to Mary-Beth, gently lifting her and turning her toward him. I have to go to work for a little while, but I promise I’ll meet you at the pool. Miss Jane said she would take me personally and even use the sirens.”

Mary-Beth’s eyes were low, and her bottom lip rolled over the top. “But I wanted to play Daddy Shark,” she said.

“I know, baby. I’ll call Grandma and she’ll take you at eleven. That way, there’s no chance I miss too much of your swimming.”

“Why do you have to go?” Her gentle voice trembled.

“Someone hurt somebody real bad. The police want me to help make sure the bad guy is found and can’t hurt anyone else.”

“Like with Mommy?”

An unexpected emotion jabbed Ray’s throat, causing a slight choke. He clenched his jaw, screaming in his head to hold it in. Even after all this time, he had to be strong for his kids. Once he forced the painful thought back, he nodded. “Yes, just like with Mommy.”

“Do you promise you’ll swim with us? Like promise, promise?”

Ray smiled from her innocence. Something he hoped she’d not lose for a long time and a big reason he consulted with the police at all. After solving his wife’s murder, when the police couldn’t, he became dedicated to making the world as safe as he could for his children. Every day, he was reminded it was a losing battle but a fight worth taking.

“I do,” he told her. He stuck out the pinky on his right hand, allowing Mary-Beth to wrap hers around it, and they shook.

THE CONSULTANT by Jack Lawrence is available now on Amazon.