Hunt and Prey (Kelsey's Burden Series Book 8) by Kaylie Hunter (novels to read for beginners txt) 📕

said as I holstered my weapon. I looked over at Chambers. “Wanna take him off our hands? I’m sure my boss wouldn’t miss him if he were transferred.”

“No thanks. We’ve got one of our own already. But Gibson’s got potential. He somehow convinced me to drop what I was working on, help him gather copies of everything I had on the case, and meet you here.”

“And how did a newbie manage all that?”

“It helped that this case never settled right with me. I walked into the middle of it when I came back from vacation. My partner had already worked the scene, questioned the boyfriend, and was talking to the DA’s office. I only met the boyfriend once, but he seemed solid. I don’t know. Takes all kinds I guess.”

“What’s the story on your partner?”

“Took a bullet to the leg six months ago. He’s pushing paper until he hits the early retirement target. Still works in our unit, just works research.”

“Good detective?”

“Solid, honest guy. I consider him a friend. We were partnered together for eight years.”

“But?”

He glanced at Gibson. I glanced at Gibson. Gibson’s head swiveled back and forth. He was eagerly observing every word.

“Take a walk, Gibson,” I said.

“Now?”

“Yes, and take Beast with you,” I said, digging out a plastic bag and handing it to him. “He hasn’t had a bathroom break in a while.”

Gibson took the bag and started down the path to the main grass area. I looked at Beast, then pointed at Gibson. “Go with the newbie.” Beast trotted off in that direction.

I looked back at Chambers and waited.

“Off the record?” he asked.

I tipped my head in a slight nod.

“Pete Watkins is a good cop. I just want to make that clear first. But as a detective, he cut corners, moved too fast. He missed a lot of details.”

“Better follower, than leader.”

“Exactly. He’d work a case beside me with the energy of an English terrier, but he always needed someone pointing him in the right direction.”

While thinking, I glanced down the path and saw Beast hunched over, already doing his business. Gibson’s face was scrunched in disgust. I felt just as squeamish at the thought of picking up dog poo with one of those plastic bags, so I turned my attention back to Chambers. What he was saying made sense. Gibson had also tried closing a double homicide case using a rushed theory. That didn’t mean he was a bad person. It just meant he wasn’t ready to run a case solo. “Okay, if Watkins had been overenthusiastic when he arrested the boyfriend, why didn’t the DA toss the case back to PD?”

“The murder hit the media. The DA’s office was in a hurry to pin a face to the crime. It was an election year.”

“Isn’t it always an election year?” I looked skyward, trying to let my emotions settle. Most cops had felt the pressure to close a case too early because of the media. “You weren’t on the case directly then, but you went through the files?”

“I reviewed a very thin file, but yes, when I returned from my trip I went through the report.”

Gibson and Beast returned, Gibson carrying the plastic bag out in front of him.

“It’s not evidence, Gibson. You don’t have to keep it,” I said, pointing to the trash bin.

“Right,” he said, jogging over to throw the bag away. “Did I miss anything?”

“No,” I said before turning back to Chambers.

Chambers walked to the edge of the path, near the park bench. “She was found over here,” he said as he pointed to a section of grass about ten feet away. “There were signs of a struggle. She had bruising on her hands and neck, but the deep gash on her leg is what killed her.”

“He cut an artery. The injury itself is weird, though.” I opened the file I’d brought with me and flipped to the autopsy photos. “See here,” I said, showing him the photo with the notations. “The wound angle indicates she was facing away from her attacker and was somehow stabbed upward into her thigh?”

“I never noticed that,” he said, taking the file and reading the details. “How does that even work?”

“We need bean-bag Bert,” I mumbled.

“I love that guy,” Chambers said, chuckling. “Tasha’s not too bad either.”

“Gibson, I need you to play the role of Terri Weston.”

“You want me to walk down the path, then jog toward you?” Gibson asked.

“No, just come over here,” I said, having him follow me into the grass. “Now turn your back to me.”

I held an invisible knife in my hands, but as I tested out several fake stabbings, they didn’t add up to the injury in the victim.

“Gibson,” Chambers said. “Lie on your stomach with your arms and legs slightly separated as if you were knocked down, and you’re trying to climb up that incline.”

Gibson flattened himself on the grass and in slow motion, inched his way up the small hill.

“Terri was small,” I said, starting to understand. “Her attacker was likely a man. They fought while still on the path.” I walked over to the path. “He grabs her, trying to pull her toward the brush.”

 “But she had taken self-defense classes,” Chambers said, walking over to stand beside me. “She knew the rules. Strike—then run. If her attacker had managed to move between her and the running path, when she ran, she would’ve moved toward the trees. Away from him.”

I remembered my fight in the truck stop. “Say that’s true. That she struck him, then started to run toward the trees. If he grabbed hold of her while she was in forward motion, she could’ve fallen, taking him with her. But the knife is still in his hand.”

I pointed for Gibson to move back to the original