High Risk by G.K. Parks (books for 10th graders TXT) 📕

wiping. Make sure you don’t leave any prints or DNA behind. The fire should cook everything, but let’s not take any chances.”

“Yeah, okay.” Carter opened his door and tossed the duffel out.

The three of them wiped every smooth surface and made sure to empty the interior. Then Diego doused the car in gasoline, and Carter tossed his lighter into the open window. Immediately, flames filled the inside.

“Now’s a bad time to grow a conscience,” the third man warned as they ducked out of the alley and headed across the street, remaining out of sight of the few street lamps and storefronts with exterior security cameras. “We’re in this now. There’s no turning back. If you have a problem with the way things work, you should have thought about it before.” He shoved Carter against the wall. “Tell me now. Are we going to have a problem?”

Diego stopped, looking uneasy as he watched the exchange.

“No problem here.” Carter shoved the third man off of him.

“Good, because we’re just getting started.”

*       *       *

“What do we have?” I brushed a highlighted tendril behind my ear. I didn’t even have time to tie my hair up before we got the call this morning.

The officer rubbed one of his eyes. “See for yourself, Detective.”

I peered through the broken glass. Blood spatter covered the left wall and the potted plant. But from here, I couldn’t see a body. My partner, Detective Brad Fennel, carefully stepped through the broken front door and went around the counter, stopping at the opening.

“Just one victim?” he asked.

The officer snorted. “Unless you find more.”

“Let’s hope not.” Fennel met my eyes. “Hell of a way to start the day.”

“I’m guessing he probably thought the same thing.” I nodded to the officer and entered the dry cleaner’s. The sign on the back wall offered dry cleaning, laundry, pressing, folding, and free delivery. Pulling on a latex glove, I tugged on the open drawer to the cash register. It was empty. “Money’s gone, assuming the owner left anything in the drawer last night.”

“We’ll have to ask.” Fennel stood over the victim. “According to responding officers, the vic’s name is Jonathan Gardner.”

“Yep,” a voice called from behind the curtain that led into the back. A moment later, a crime scene tech popped her head through.

Simmons, I thought, but I couldn’t recall her first name.

“Hey, Ellie.” Fennel nodded to her. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I know.” She winked at him. “I’ve missed those big brown eyes of yours.” She knelt down beside the body. “We couldn’t ID him from his photo on account of most of his face being blown into the wall and that plastic ficus.” She pointed to the spatter, which made my partner turn a sickly yellow-green. He swallowed but held it together. “So we ran his fingerprints.”

“Does he have a record?” I asked.

“No,” she looked up at me, “uh…”

“Liv DeMarco.” I jerked my head toward Fennel. “I’m Brown Eyes’ partner.”

She laughed. “Nice to meet you, Detective DeMarco.”

“Yeah, you too.” I crouched down next to her. “Has the coroner been here yet?”

“No. They’re backed up. So we’re not touching the body. But I’m willing to go out on a limb and say cause of death was a gunshot to the face. The bullet went through Mr. Gardner and right into that wall.” She pointed up at the hole.

Fennel turned and moved closer to it. It sat level with the tip of his nose. That probably meant Mr. Gardner was just slightly shorter than my partner. So maybe 5’10. Carefully, I picked up the victim’s wallet, which had been dropped beside his body. I checked his stats, not surprised to find my guess accurate. I tossed the wallet to my partner and stood up.

“You said he doesn’t have a record.” Fennel flipped through the contents. Aside from Gardner’s license and gym membership, the wallet was empty. “So why are his prints in the system?”

“He works for a security firm. They’re all on record.” Simmons grabbed the edge of the counter to help herself up. “Moonlight Security.” She shifted her gaze from him to me. “You ever heard of them?”

I shook my head and turned to Fennel.

“Yeah, maybe.” He closed the empty wallet and handed it to Simmons, who made an evidence bag materialize out of thin air. “So what are we thinking? Robbery gone wrong?”

She shrugged.

“Who found the body?” I asked.

“Mr. Lee, the dry cleaner.” She pointed to the curtain which led to the back. “Sgt. Chambliss is speaking to him now.”

“In here?” I asked. Normally, we didn’t question suspects in the middle of our crime scene.

“Lee placed the 9-1-1 call from his office phone. I don’t think the sergeant’s had much luck clearing him out. But we gave the entire place a preliminary sweep. We didn’t find a murder weapon or any indication the killer entered the office. According to Mr. Lee, the office door was still locked when he arrived. I don’t think anything’s missing.”

Fennel jerked his chin toward the curtain. “We don’t want to miss the party. Lead the way, Liv.”

I stepped over Mr. Gardner and pulled the curtain aside. “Wow.” The front of the shop was tiny, with standing room for maybe three people on the customer side of the counter. Behind the counter had been a bit more spacious, but it was nothing compared to this.

Fennel whistled beside me. “Is this what they mean by looking behind the curtain?”

“I guess so.”

He took a breath, squinting at the machinery and racks of suspended garments. Each one was covered in cellophane and tagged with an order number. “Fancy operation.” A narrow walkway led past the conveyor belt of clothing and the large machines for cleaning, pressing, and folding. At the end was an office where a thin, bald man sat