Part Three: A Gathering Storm
Detective Emma Lopez stepped out of her official vehicle into chaos. Blustery winds, presignifying a storm, blew around the area, kicking up dust and bits of paper. The long poles holding tall flood lights wavered slightly against the onslaught, causing an odd interplay with the flashing blue and red emergency lights. It added a surreal feeling to the scene.
Emma grimaced skyward, taking in the roiling clouds visible against the night canopy. The storm was close, a tangible presence whose barely contained fury declared a warning that time was running out. Once the promised pounding rain hit, the entire area was going to be a mess. Her hope was that she could get what she could before that happened - the rest was up to the crime scene unit.
She looked past the busy bodies which moved hurriedly about near the buildings and in tall grasses toward the edge of the woods where EMS had driven a rig out to the tree line. A stray flare of worry edged itself through her heart, but she stuffed it away. No sense in getting worked up until she knew what was going on.
As crime scenes went, this one was a nightmare. And not only because two of LAPD's own were involved. Every cop on the force was under scrutiny because of the alleged misconduct and cover-ups at a neighboring precinct. The chief had called her himself while she was enroute, declaring that he wanted this handled by the book. Emma snorted beneath her breath, like there was any other way to handle this situation.
There were several cops that she might have thought twice about becoming involved in shady dealings. But this was Banks and Sloan. Both were good cops that she admired and respected. They could handle whatever the media threw at them and come out smelling like roses.
In the short time that she had partnered with Cheryl on swing shift, she had only grown to like the other officer even more. And though she had never had the pleasure of partnering with Steve Sloan officially, she had worked with him a little while back when his sister's husband had been killed. She knew him to be a decent, stand up sort of guy. Not too tough on the eyes either.
She was half across the field when she detected a subtle shift among the uniformed officers ahead of her. Turning, she looked back toward the street and saw an approaching Channel 7 news van. With a scowl, she faced forward. Just terrific. It looked as if the sharks were already starting to circle.
"Joe," she called, redirecting her steps toward one of the patrol officers who had started to rope off the area with yellow crime scene tape.
"Yeah?" His gaze had drifted past her toward the press van before refocusing on her. His look spoke volumes. Joe knew exactly what her next request would be.
"Think maybe we should widen the perimeter a bit?" She looked up at the sky and back toward the news van. "It's pretty windy out here, and you just can't count on things not blowing in and out."
"How about past the warehouses way, way back there," Joe suggested with a chuckle as he gestured in the direction of the building at the entrance to the side street. "That should help with the air flow."
"Thanks, Joe. That would make for some nice breathing room." Emma grinned. "Were you first on the scene?" She looked around at the other half dozen uniformed officers scattered around the area. Already two of them were heading toward the street, apparently intent on keeping anyone who did not belong out. She was glad to note the crime scene wagon, and the coroner pulling in as well.
Joe shook his head. "Nah, me and Pete came in a little behind Stomes and Carew. EMS was already on the way - dispatch says Banks called them for the vic. Don't see why she bothered, though. Guy is stone dead. Shot to the back of the head." He lifted a hand up to the back of his own skull to demonstrate, adding a sound effect. He then continued, "Either way, by the time Stomes and Carew got on site, Sloan and Banks were down. Don't know what happened, but it's a freakin' mess up there."
"Yeah, thanks for the warning." Emma turned and headed toward the ambulance. Joe certainly had a way of painting a picture. But more than his description, something else about his words troubled her. She'd thought that Cheryl and Steve were coming out to question a man - that was what the message Cheryl left her had said. How had they ended up out here in the woods? And why had Cheryl called an ambulance if whomever they'd found was so obviously without hope? She made a mental note to contact dispatch about Cheryl's call.
The force of the winds seemed to lessen as she entered the protective covering of the forest. Large flood lights atop the ambulance sliced through the gloom, illuminating the area so that the EMTs could work. Despite the additional lighting, much of the view was still blocked from the angle of her approach. She didn't get a good look until she rounded the back end of the emergency vehicle. She was glad that Joe had warned her.
Her eyes were first drawn to the female detective lying between two EMTs. There was an oxygen mask over her face and a C-collar around her neck. Thick white bandaging shown from one side of the C-collar, and was soaked with brilliant redness. Though Emma knew, logically, that head wounds bled a lot, she didn't know what had caused the injury that Cheryl had sustained. Based upon the quickness of the EMTs' motions, and the frightening gray tone to Cheryl's skin, things didn't look very good. It caused the first cold twinges of true worry in the pit of her stomach.
Determinedly, she forced herself to take in the rest of the scene, this time looking on with an investigator's eye. Cheryl was on a stretcher near low lying bushes. The dark slickness of blood coated the ground nearby, indicating, no doubt, where she had been found when the paramedics had arrived. Emma refused to allow her mind to focus on just how long she had been lying there to lose that much blood.
Continuing to examine the area, she looked beyond the medics and toward a tree that was set back and a couple yards to the right of the activity surrounding Cheryl, she focused on the back of Pete Koffer, Joe's partner. He was settled in front of someone who was on the ground, propped against a tree. Pete shifted slightly, revealing more of the man across from him: Steve Sloan.
Pete wore latex gloves, and one of his hands was clamped on to Steve's upper right arm with a thick padding of bandages. Emma could see the spots of blood on it from where she was standing. Steve sat, mostly holding an oxygen mask up over his nose and mouth with one hand while trying to keep an eye on Cheryl. But every few seconds, his hand would come down from his face, and Pete would encouragingly guide it back upward. Though she couldn't hear the words, she knew that he was trying to reason with the detective, probably telling him that he needed to hold that up to his face. It was a losing battle.
Steve seemed dazed and his motions sluggish, but he responded to whatever Pete was saying. His gaze flickered upward when Emma moved forward a step. The only discernible emotions that she could see were confusion and fear. And then his attention was again drawn back to Cheryl.
Pete glanced back over his shoulder and nodded in Emma's direction, before turning back to his charge. Emma returned a solemn greeting, then continued in her perusal of the scene. A few yards to the right of Steve lay a man, obviously dead. He was lying face down on the forest floor, both his hands cuffed behind his back. No one was tending him. Doubtless, he was waiting for the coroner and the rest of the investigative team. The man appeared to have died in custody. The cold worry that had started when she'd first seen Cheryl's condition burrowed in and made itself at home. All of her previous naïve thoughts about a quick and easy case went out the window.
Emma completed her visual circuit before approaching EMS. "How's she doing?" she asked, not wanting to interrupt their work, yet unable to hold back the question.
"Couple blows to the head," one of the men supplied. "Shock. Blood loss. We'll know more when we get her to the hospital." He jerked a head in Steve's direction. "He's had a blow to the head as well, and a wound on his upper right arm. Probably a little shocky, too."
"Where are you transporting to?" Emma asked.
"Keller Memorial is closest," the EMT supplied. "You don't have long if you want to talk to that one," he gestured again toward Steve. "We patched him up a bit, but he really needs to go in. We're moving out as soon as we get her ready to roll."
Emma nodded and with a final look at Cheryl, silently encouraging her to hold on, stepped around them and headed toward Steve. He barely looked up at her approach. She settled in beside Pete on the log, trying not to notice the blood that was smeared in spots over the back of both of Steve's hands. She could see the edges of a piece of gauze which had been taped in place on the back right side of his head. There was also blood splattered on his shirt, most notably at the neck area. In short, he was a mess.
"What happened here, tonight, Steve?" she asked, wanting to get as much information as she could before the EMTs moved them.
The oxygen mask again came down to his lap as he moved his eyes to look at her. She noted the way that his upper body weaved slightly as if he was barely keeping himself upright. She glanced toward the thickness of the bandages that were being pressed into his arm, watching as Pete picked up another from the kit beside the log where he was seated and packed it on over the one that was soaking through. She noticed that both Steve and Cheryl's guns were in plastic evidence bags alongside the supplies case. She frowned.
Steve spoke, his voice soft and almost hoarse, interrupting her observation. "We came to question a suspect . . . lives in that warehouse." His eyes drifted in the direction of the street. " . . . for St. Augustine case. We heard a scream in the woods and came over here. The suspect was strangling a woman. Cheryl called for back up, I apprehended the suspect."
Emma nodded grimly. His words had been slow and measured, if slightly breathless. "Is that the suspect?" She pointed to the dead man.
Steve didn't follow her gesture, but simply said a quiet, exhausted, "Yes."
"Are those your hand cuffs?" Emma asked.
"I apprehended him." Steve confirmed.
"Did you shoot him?" Emma asked.
Steve hesitated a moment, obviously struggling to recall, before shaking his head slowly. "No. I brought him back here and Cheryl was missing. I found her right there. Somebody hit me."
She looked toward Pete, knowing that he would understand what she needed to know. Had he seen evidence of anyone else on scene? The nearly imperceptible shake of his head was response enough.
"You mentioned that the suspect was strangling a woman. Where is she?" Emma asked. "What happened to her? Can you tell me where she is?"
Steve looked around, seemingly surprised. "I don't know. She was on the ground near Cheryl."
"Think you can describe her for us?"
Steve frowned as a camera's flash illuminated against his face. Emma turned, and watched as several more pictures were taken in quick succession. Even the camera seemed to sense the urgency. She turned back forward. "Steve? The girl. Can you describe her?"
Steve shook his head, then winced slightly. "No. Didn't really get a good look."
Emma's worry deepened. "What about this guy's warehouse? Was there anyone else there?"
Steve's brow furrowed. "Don't know. Didn't go inside. Heard the scream first."
"Okay --"
"We've got to move them, now." Emma was cut off by one of the approaching EMTs. Her initial urge was to beg for more time. But Steve was clearly not himself, and Cheryl needed more medical attention than could be properly given in the woods on a California night. So she relented. There were a lot of other things she needed to look into before this night was over, anyway. She would get her statement tomorrow.
Resting a hand on Steve's uninjured left shoulder, she told him that she would come and see him later, and then got out of the EMT's way so that he could help Pete get Steve to his feet and then to the waiting ambulance.
Emma watched as the doors closed and the vehicle started back across the field, then she turned back toward the scene. It was time for the real work to begin, but first, she put in a call to dispatch.
