A Little Wicked (The Bewitching Hour Book #4)(21)
So when she started dating the green-haired witch who specialized in mind control, he’d crossed his i’s and dotted his t’s. Unfortunately, when it came to witches, there weren’t a lot of letters to cross or dot. If he had ever gotten into any trouble, Dante could’ve abracadabra-ed his way out of it.
But from what he could tell, on paper Dante was clean enough. And Jackson had tried to kill him, which strangely enough was a good sign. Enemy of my enemy and all.
Even so, Dante was a ladies’ man. And ladies’ men didn’t make great boyfriends. For that reason alone, Derek didn’t know whether he’d ever be okay with Claire dating the guy.
But as protective as he was with her, she wasn’t a little sister or family member. She was an eighteen-year-old woman who lived on her own and, thanks to her unique powers, could more than handle her own.
He still didn’t have to like Dante, though.
He took a sip of his own coffee and sat down in a chair next to Parker’s desk. She was still located in narcotics while the transfer went through. Even though she was a detective, she didn’t have her own office. Derek had only gotten an office after he’d “solved” the Tommy Collins case. Even though he hadn’t wanted any rewards for that clusterfuck, he had to admit that the privacy made everything easier.
“I got us the conference room again today,” he said. The things they needed to talk about couldn’t exactly be discussed in the bullpen surrounded by other cops who had no idea about all the magic wreaking havoc around them.
She nodded. “Let’s do it.” They were both getting up when the familiar pounding footsteps signaled that Captain Voss was approaching.
Derek stood up a bit straighter before his boss rounded the corner and approached them.
“I have something for you,” he said in a hushed tone.
“Yeah? What is it?”
“There’s been a double homicide in Brownsville. Looks like a drug deal gone wrong, but the dead guys don’t seem like the normal junkies or gang bangers.”
Parker glanced between Derek and Voss. “That doesn’t mean it’s witch related.”
“Not that. It’s the name. You said a lot of these witches are related, right?”
Derek really wished Voss wouldn’t use that word here, even if he whispered. “There are a few main families, yeah.”
“Well, one of the dead guys is Erik Benedict. Maybe related to the guy causing all that trouble before, right?”
Jackson Benedict had been adopted, but Voss was right. The Benedicts were a long line of witches. The chances that this dead guy was part of that family weren’t great, but it was worth looking into. “Send me the address and anything you have and we’ll head over now.”
“Will do, but you’re not the first detectives assigned to this one. If the guys there give you shit, tell them I want you and Parker on this because of Parker’s narco experience. And if they give you any more trouble, tell them to talk to me.”
Derek nodded, grateful for Voss’s support. This wasn’t a small town. There were crimes all over this city, and it was impossible for Derek to keep his ear to the ground on his own. This murder might be nothing important, but it was worth noting, and Derek never would’ve known about it this early if not for Voss.
Parker clicked her holster in place and then pulled on her jacket, all ready to go. “I’ll drive,” she said before Derek could claim that for himself.
Damn it, he hated anyone else driving him around in the city, but it was impossible to argue with the solid rules of whoever calls it first.
It was still early, so getting through the traffic from Manhattan to Brooklyn was a bitch. Luckily a lot of traffic was flowing into the island, so it would’ve been worse going the other direction. This wasn’t part of their precinct, but Voss could probably BS a connection between this murder and one of their other cases.
Once they got to the area, the crime scene was evident by the collection of police cars and crime scene tape. Parker navigated her Dodge Charger as close as she could to the scene before she threw the car into park.
When they stepped out, uniformed officers were immediately approaching to tell them to get the hell out. Derek and Parker each flashed their badges and introduced themselves. The officer eyed the badges warily before he led them through the crowd of locals who had gathered and to where the two bodies were sprawled on the ground.
Derek glanced around him, trying to get as much unbiased information before the other detectives gave their thoughts. Two victims. One Caucasian male, apparent gunshot in the head; one African-American male, multiple gunshots to the chest. Both looked to be in their thirties. The African-American was in a suit that fit him well. The Caucasian was in jeans and a bomber jacket but wore a valuable-looking watch and had a wedding ring on. If it was a robbery gone wrong, it wasn’t for jewelry.
The murder happened underneath a bridge. The Caucasian was half on the sidewalk and half on the street; the African-American was on the sidewalk. The bodies would’ve been discovered almost immediately. There were storefronts just a few feet away and any car passing would see them. The murderer wasn’t worried about witnesses.
Was it because people around would be too afraid to talk? Or because he knew he could just whammy their memory to make them forget?
Derek wanted to get closer, but he would need shoe coverings first. It would be hard to get footprints off the concrete, but if there was a collection of dirt or dust, they could get pictures of any shoe imprints.