Dirty Laundry A Charlotte Justice Novel

CHAPTER 1 THE LITTLE DEATH Back in seventy-eight, when we were making the arrangements, the funeral director said something I've never forgotten: Only when we face death do we see our lives clearly. Still numb with the shock of seeing my husband, Keith, and infant daughter, Erica, lying murdered in my driveway, and my only brother, Perris, nearly getting killed in an on-the-job shooting, I had barely been able to ask the funeral director what he meant. His reply: "The cars, houses, the distractions we surround ourselves with to keep us company on this journey called life fall away in the presence of death. In that moment, if we're lucky, we will see ourselves--and others--naked and unadorned, for who we really are." Only twenty-five years old, I had clung to my big brother's hand, staring into the abyss of loneliness ahead of me, and asked: "But what if you don't like what you see?" For that he had no answer. But his words have stuck with me, have guided me in every death investigation I've conducted since becoming an LAPD homicide detective. His words especially rang true during the case I investigated in March of 1993. Two uniforms from Wilshire Division, who had already set up a perimeter at the north end of the alley at Eighth and Vermont, were standing in the damp fog when I arrived at 0130 hours. "I read in a book somewhere that they call an orgasm 'the little death,' " the middle-aged Latino was saying to his female partner. He kneaded his crotch and licked his lips. "But little or big depends on what you're packin', y'know what'm sayin'?" The female, a brunette a head taller than her partner and maybe twenty years his junior, tried to hide the disgust on her face. "Thirteen Korean merchants killed in the last month, and now this," she said, edging away and shoving her hands deeper into her jacket pockets. "This is about the worst thing that could happen in Koreatown." I coughed to hide the blush I could feel warming my cheeks. My own little death had been interrupted by the twelve twenty-five call from Lieutenant Stobaugh to roll out with my team to this crime scene in Koreatown. I had been about to leap out of Aubrey Scott's bed and get dressed when my lover stirred beneath me. "What's your hurry?" he'd asked, his arms trying to anchor my hips. "You know how important this is. It's my first case since going back on the job!" "Take it easy, Char." He pulled me closer. "Your victim isn't going anywhere." But my face was burning with anger, too. I'd been in this young officer's position myself, and I'd be damned if I'd let this Neanderthal make another female's life on the job as miserable as mine had been. "Can you stop playing with yourself long enough to tell me who's your CO?" I demanded of the crotch-grabbing senior officer, a uniform with four stripes on his arm and a brass nameplate that read paz. The female smirked and Officer Paz blushed as he scanned the ID I'd flashed him. I wrote down my badge number and signed his crime scene log sheet. "Yes, ma'am. Lieutenant Graydon." "The lead Wilshire detective--" I put down my MagLite, opened my briefcase, and extracted a fresh version of the notebook I carry on all my cases. I flipped to the page on which I'd hastily scribbled the address and basic facts when I got the call from my lieutenant. "Detective Bianchi, where is he?" "Down at the south end of the alley with our lieutenant." "Has Lieutenant Stobaugh from Robbery-Homicide signed in yet?" Paz didn't need to consult his log for an answer. "In at twelve thirty-five, out at twelve fifty-five. Caught another high-profile case at a nursery on the Westside. Someone connected to the DA's office, I think."[read more]