Arrest, Search and Séance : Book 1 of the Fringe Society, R.D. Hunter [good english books to read txt] 📗

hadn’t bathed in a while, a common practice among the homeless population of Atlanta. I didn’t have to look hard to find the cause of death.

The back of the man’s head had hit the pavement hard when he went down, causing a thick red pool to congeal under his skull. Maybe he’d slipped or passed out, but my money was on the two tranquilizer darts sticking out of his chest as having something to do with his fall. Charley Sawyer, the leader of the forensics team, came up to stand behind me, patiently waiting for me to finish my initial inspection. Finding nothing else, I straightened up and greeted him with a smile.

Charley was a good guy. A bit on the heavy side with deep, laugh lines around his mouth, he’d always treated me with respect and professional courtesy. I was glad to see his team on this scene. They had a reputation for thoroughness that often made the difference as to whether a case was closed or remained unsolved. “Hiya, Mel,” he said by way of greeting.

“How ya feeling?” I barely kept myself from wincing at the question.

On my last case, my partner and I had been blown up by a psychotic madman, powered up on magic crystals and hellbent on destroying the Fringe Society, the secret supernatural community of which I was a card-carrying member. I’d stopped him, barely, but had gotten more than a little beat up in the process, forcing me to take a few weeks off. Thanks to a few potent healing rituals overseen by my grandpa, my recovery had happened in record time and deemed nothing short of miraculous by several of the doctors.

In fact, this was my first case since returning to active duty, and the third time in the past hour I’d been asked how I was feeling. I was getting a little tired of answering the same question over and over, but squashed my irritation. Charley’s concern came from a place of friendship, and that was a good thing. “I’m fine, Charley,” I said brightly.

“Glad to be back to work. Your team find anything?” He shook his head.

“They’re still going over everything. The body was discovered about half an hour ago by a sanitation worker. We don’t even have an I.D. on the victim yet. There are some bags of belongings over there,” he pointed to a small bundle about a dozen yards away. “We think they belong to him. We’re going through them now and will let you know what we find.” I nodded.

“What can you tell me about these darts?”

“Right now, not a damn thing. They appear to be stuck deep, probably fired from a high-powered rifle like the kind they take on safaris. Once I get them back to the lab, I’ll be able to tell you more about what was in them.”

I absently rubbed my left shoulder. It still ached occasionally, a holdout from the injuries I’d recently sustained. I was lucky that was all I had. My partner, Bill Perkins, was still recovering.

“Any witnesses come forward?” I asked hopefully. Charley shook his head.

“Not so far. There’s a small tent city under an overpass about two blocks from here. Uniforms are combing the area, asking questions, but I’m not hopeful.”

“Me neither.”

There was a strict code of silence among the homeless population. They saw any kind of authority figure as the enemy, someone to be distrusted and shunned on sight. The possibility of a uniformed officer casually strolling into their camp and getting answers was next to zero. Maybe I’d have better luck.

“Can you finish up here?” I asked Charley. “I’m going to go ask around, see what I can turn up.” The forensics leader looked uncomfortable.

“You sure that’s a good idea, going alone? I could come with you.”

Gods save me from the overprotective patriarchy! I got where he was coming from. I’m a 5”6, 120-pound female in her mid-twenties. I look like a stiff breeze would blow me over, and during the four years I spent as a beat cop, regularly had to prove myself as more than just a pretty face. But I was tougher than I looked. I’d been taking Krav Maga, a brutal Israeli martial art, for several years now and could handle myself in most physical confrontations. I also had my sidearm, a Glock 40 caliber handgun, concealed in a holster on my right hip and within easy reach.

Plus, there was the tiny, hidden fact that I was a witch, able to summon and manipulate the invisible forces around us in a variety of ways. I probably should have mentioned that earlier.

I smiled fondly at Charley and patted him on the shoulder.

“Thanks, but I’ll be ok. Finish up here and let me know what you find.”

“Will do.” He still didn’t look happy about letting me go alone, but he respected my choice. Like I said, he was a good guy.

At any given time, there are roughly 3,000 homeless people in the city of Atlanta. They come from all backgrounds, all walks of life, and live on the streets for a variety of reasons. Many of them have substance abuse or mental health problems. There were several shelters, of course, publicly and privately funded, but none could hope to accommodate so many people with such varied conditions.

Still, the streets can be a dangerous place for anyone, so buying into the fact that there’s safety in numbers, temporary tent cities sporadically spring up all over the city. Usually no more than ten or twelve dome, canvas structures, housing anywhere from one to five people, would spring up overnight in empty parking lots, under highway overpasses, or even in abandoned buildings. They provided some protection from the elements as well as a degree of privacy, but no one in their right mind would call them comfortable. This was where I found myself now.