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| [Wednesday, September 12, 2007 at 10:22 am] |
| Subject: Office Politics |
| Mood |
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 busy |
| Music |
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Under Pressure - Queen |
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As expected, the next couple of days were a nightmare. The newspapers were full of the news of the Blanchard arrest, and Michaela had to dodge news crews just to get into the precinct building. When Donna Upchurch of KNTV approached her with a microphone, it was all the detective could do to politely say 'No comment' and not bark at the woman to get the hell out of her way. 13 Action News was just going to have to get in line for their dose of scandal along with everyone else.
Compared to the outside of the building, the inside was very quiet, despite the chatter of uniformed officers as they came and went, the clacking of computer keys, and the occasional catcall from the holding cells. Here she was Detective Starnes instead of Michaela, and sometimes just Starnes. She had always tried to keep the job in the office, and the person she was within these walls was much different than the woman who drove her children to school and to their sporting events. She waved to Sergeant Gaither on her way past his desk, and he lifted his coffee cup in a mild salute.
"Coroner's report is on your desk," he said. "And the DA has already called three times this morning."
Parsons. Great. Starnes trundled into her office, poured a cup of coffee for herself, and sat down in the familiar creaky chair. Soembody had put a copy of the Beacon next to the manila envelope that contained the coroner's report, and she skimmed over Logan Guevara's article while she sifted through her other phone messages. Reporter. Reporter. The DA's secretary. Reporter.
The article was set aside, and the autopsy was removed from the envelope. Starnes had worked with Jules Davidson on a number of previous cases, and his spidery handwriting was familiar as she studied the information.
'The deceased is thirty-four years old, a Caucasian male identified as Gerald Michael Watkins. The cause of death was difficult to ascertain, as there was a good deal of decomposition by the time the body was located, but four bullets were removed from the abdominal cavity during the autopsy, and it appears that they were fired at such close range that there were slight powder burns around the entry wounds. No other injuries could be discovered, and a screen for narcotics came up empty.'
She would call Jules later, the detective decided. He'd probably at least heard about the inital lab reports to analyze the blood found on Blanchard's porch and sidewalk, maybe he could shed some light on why there had been so much spatter. She read the Guevara's article again, a little more carefully this time. Putting off the inevitable. She might have to contact the guy again anyway, might as well do her homework first.
Finally she couldn't ignore the phone anymore, and she picked up the reciever to punch in Parson's number. The secretary answered, her voice nasally, and the call was put through with blessedly little fuss. "Good morning, sir, this is Detective Starnes. I understand you wanted to talk to me?"
"Have you found a murder weapon yet?" Parsons demanded without preamble. "No, sir, not yet. A team is going to start searching the grounds of Blanchard's residence today. The house was turned practically inside out last night, but there wasn't enough light to properly conduct a search by the time the backup arrived. But they should be on the scene right now. Provided they find something, I'll be hearing from them."
"Have you seen the papers?" the DA said snappishly. "I've had reporters slavering like dogs in front of my office all morning." "The article is right in front of me," Starnes answered. "What's this garbage about a connection between Blanchard and Wolfram and Hart?" "I'm checking into a couple of things right now, sir. I'm planning to run both Jillian Andersen and David Gregor for priors, see what I come up with. I doubt I'll find anything, but it's always worth a shot." The detective drank some coffee, listening to Parsons fume in silence.
"How good are your people?" "They're good enough. If there's something to find, they'll find it." Another silence, then; "Keep me posted, damn it. I don't like how this smells." Spoken like a man who's due for re-election, Starnes thought, keeping the observation to herself with difficulty. She did so detest behind the scenes politics. That and paperwork. And this mess was promising plenty of both.
"I'll call the second I have anything concrete," the detective said, and she and Parsons said stilted good-byes before she hung up. She'd run those two names through the national database, then call CPS to see if Cory Watkins was faring well. Maybe she'd finally go ahead and set up an appointment for the boy to see a psychiartrist. He was doubtlessly going to need one.
This was going to be a very bad day. |
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