Daddy's Little Killer by LS Sygnet Page B

I been suckered into coming here after all? 
The bits of truth I shared about my father churned in my gut, a
stinging hornet's nest of swelling nausea. 
    "I'll introduce you."  Briscoe cupped
my elbow and led the way toward the ongoing argument dead center on
the lawn.  I could still feel Orion's eyes burning through my
back, but was determined to ignore it.  I had a right to be
here.  From the look of things, Orion was nothing if not a
person of interest in the case, perhaps even the prime suspect.
    Dirty cop.  Nobody
will believe anything he says about you, Helen.  Stop worrying
about Todd and his lame attempt to lure you into bed.  For all
you know, that's all it was.  A chance meeting between two
lonely people.   The part of my psyche
that tries to soothe me into complacency more often than not simply
pisses me off. 
    Bullshit .  My brain was
screaming at it's kinder cells.  Dad's opinion on coincidence
was that there was no such thing.  I didn't want to
believe.  I don't want to believe.  Am I really so off my
game that I missed all of this?  Warning signs were screaming
at me from the get-go, from the moment those thugs grabbed me in
the hotel lobby.
    I groaned softly.  Should've called
hotel security to verify that story.  Orion could've set up
the whole scenario to get close to me.  Stupid!  Stupid,
Helen!
    "Forsythe," Briscoe nodded curtly, "Daltry,
Rogers."
    "What the fuck are you doing here,
Briscoe?"  Rogers dismissed me with barely a glance. 
"And who's the broad?"
    He was certainly old enough for that
particular sexist slur to be part of his vernacular. 
"Eriksson," I said, thrust a confident hand forward, "Dr. Helen
Eriksson.  I'm a criminal profiler.  Commissioner Hardy
asked me to take a look at the crime scene.  If you gentlemen
will excuse us, I believe Lieutenant Forsythe and I need to look
inside the house.  Shall we, lieutenant?"
    His eyes tightened in an expression of
admiration, perhaps of my grit or my shrewd side-step of the
ongoing battle for control.  He stepped around Rogers and fell
into cadence at my side.
    "George did a good thing getting some
outside help."
    "Thank you.  I haven't signed the
contract yet.  I suppose you could say this is my job
interview."
    He laughed softly.  "Leave it to
Hardy."  Humor evaporated as quickly as it appeared. 
"Did Briscoe tell you why this is such a mess?"
    "The old case?  Hmm," I nodded. 
"If I have to get physical to get past Myre at the door, do you
think it would help or hurt my chances of getting a contract in
Darkwater Bay?"
    "It might get you a medal, maybe a
parade."
    "He's as incompetent as he looks?"
    "Oh yeah," Forsythe exhaled his opinion on a
sharp breath.  "I doubt he'll put up a fuss.  He might
think he's on par with Rogers, but the guy is a complete
moron."
    I followed Forsythe up the sidewalk to the
front door.
    "Myre," Forsythe greeted with a curt
nod.  "This is Dr. Helen Eriksson.  She's a criminal
profiler George hired to help us close this case once and for
all.  He wants her to take a look at the scene."
    "Then let her go look," Myre chewed the
stick of wood between his teeth lazily.  A few words came to
mind.  Caricature.  Cliché.  Inspector
Clouseau.  Keystone cop.
    "Detective Myre, under no circumstances will
I enter a crime scene alone.  Whoever ordered you to prevent
the crime scene from being properly processed should be fired," I
said.  "Lieutenant, after you."
    Myre's jaw dropped.  The toothpick
bounced off the concrete. 
    "You'll want to retrieve that, Flynn. 
We wouldn't want your DNA processed as part of a crime scene."
    I grinned at the remark and followed
Forsythe into the house.  The humor faded, replaced with a
heavy metallic odor.  Iron and honey.  Thick, sweet,
cloying.  Forsythe paused and pulled out shoe covers and
nitrile gloves.
    "Have you got experience at fresh
scenes?"
    Translation: are you going to toss your
airplane peanuts all over the crime scene when you