Open Wounds (Harbour Bay #2)(3)

“Give me a couple of hours and come see me. I should have some answers by then,” he told them.

“Thanks, Doc.”

He watched with interest as Donovan bent down to examine the tiny, almost invisible mark of white powder on the floor where the bodies had once been. It was clear the body had protected the powder after it had fallen.

“Looks like I found something.”

He kneeled beside her as she placed the powder into an evidence bag.

“Is that cocaine?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

She shrugged one shoulder. “One way to find out.”

Darryl handed her a drug testing sachet and she deftly added a little of the powder into the clear plastic sachet and broke the vial inside the bag. The liquid inside turned a blue colour, indicating that the powder proved positive for drugs.

“Murder and cocaine. I’m guessing they were having themselves a party,” she said flippantly.

The mobile phone attached to her belt chirped from its perch beside her gun holster. She yanked it off and answered, listening to the voice on the other end. Once she had the information she needed, she pressed the disconnect button and faced him.

“They found the car. It’s downtown.”

He nodded. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll drive,” she said.

Darryl rolled his eyes and exhaled his breath heavily. “I hate it when you drive.”

Normally he had no issue letting his colleagues drive but Donovan was a mad woman behind the wheel of the car. She didn’t slow down for anything or anybody, usually weaving in and out of traffic at about ten kilometres an hour more than the sign dictated. He had witnessed a few near misses and one in particular that he wasn’t too proud to say scared the shit out of him. But he wasn’t about to argue with her. His lovely partner could get a bit touchy and his number one rule was to never piss off an armed woman.

He climbed into the passenger seat and secured his seatbelt as she started the car. “What’s wrong with my driving?”

Where should I start?

She suddenly grinned, changing her whole heart-shaped face. She was an attractive woman, not graceful, but she had a quality that certainly made every man give her a second look. Strong and fit, with mocha tanned skin, she kept her raven hair short and pulled back into a severe ponytail.

She never wore makeup, and never needed to, having the type of skin which looked good under any circumstances. Other than her obvious good looks and lithe body she was intelligent, hardworking, a damn good cop, and had the respect of her team.

“I thought you took tactical driving,” he complained.

“Twice,” she said.





Chapter 2



An hour later, Darryl sat with Donovan in their car, watching the grey Saab parked across the road. The council pretended neighbourhoods like this didn’t exist. Litter blew across the road, graffiti lined every wall and surface, going from the brightly coloured to the explicit and crude.

Several of the city’s homeless sat huddled in corners or begging for change outside the local grocery store. Even during the day the drug pushers worked the streets, unfearful of being harassed by cops.

The smell emanating from the street was enough to make a man’s eyes water and the sun beating down on the concrete wasn’t helping. Stakeouts were never like in the movies. It was a lot of sitting and waiting. Most times leaving with what you came with—nothing. Darryl resisted the temptation to turn on the air conditioner. It was summertime, and they were roasting in the car with the windows rolled down. The owner had better show up soon, otherwise they were sure to fry, which would no doubt put his partner in even more of a foul mood.

He turned in her direction as she began tapping her fingers impatiently against the interior of the car. Shifting in her seat, she stretched out her five-foot-seven frame in the small confines, then glanced at him with sympathy etched on her face. Being six-foot certainly wasn’t helping matters and he was squished uncomfortably in his seat. He consulted his watch with impatience.

“We’ve been here over forty minutes,” he told her.

She nodded and turned to the old model Saab. It was probably older than him, but had been kept in fairly good repair. The grey had faded with time and there was rust over the front wheel where the paint had been scraped off when it had collided against something.

Donovan grunted and twisted the cap off a bottle of water and took a sip. “If he’s not out in five minutes I’m going in after him. I don’t care if I have to drag him out of a whorehouse mid-screw, he’s coming with me.”

That was one thing he liked about working with Donovan. If she had an opinion she let him know it. Not that his previous partner Matt wasn’t a good cop—he was, and one of the best—but she tended to be less diplomatic about getting answers and that seemed to work for her.

It was no secret she had her eye on Superintendent Alec Harris’s job when he retired in the next year or so. If it was a democracy, she’d have his vote. The detectives of Harbour Bay’s LAC were a dedicated bunch. Other than Donovan and Murphy, there were two others in their unit—Dean Matthews and Nicholas Doyle—who usually partnered up. It was rare when they were all called to work the same case. The last time had been the previous year when the Butcher was loose.

A young man of about nineteen, covered in tattoos and scars, exited the nearby red brick office building and walked towards the Saab. Darryl sat up in his seat, becoming alert when he realised this could be their guy.