Daimon, DANIELLE BOLGER [read my book .txt] 📗

not the car belonged to the victim or the killer. Police have yet to give a statement to this latest incident and are currently investigating the crime scene. They have, however, urged motorists to take alternate routes if they normally travel along this road, since it is presently closed for the investigation. We will keep you updated as further details are revealed in this shocking murder case. I am Tracey Wickham on Cloud News.”

Frank grabbed the remote and turned the television down. He gave one of his rare smiles, and the office erupted in excitement. Numerous heightened conversions took place, a few energized yelps, a couple of slaps against desks, even an outcry of, “blood is media!”

Sandra appeared in front of my desk in a flash, smiling like a child on Christmas Eve. This was my best friend. However, she wasn’t visiting me, but the editor who happened to be standing before me in this revealing moment. “Frank! This is my piece, please let me go and cover it!” With Frank's nod, Sandra squealed with unrestrained zeal.

“I want you to go to the crime scene and work your special charm to get behind that tape,” Frank ordered. “I'll have some others here dig up information on the victim. Let me know anything you find straight away, we can't lose a chance to get exclusives with family and friends of this poor sap.”

“Yes, of course!” Sandra emitted a sound akin to a rabbit being strangled. She suddenly noticed my presence and sobered slightly as she looked at me. “Let Jane come with me. I...she drove me here today and I need someone to take me there.”

“No, I've got her busy on another piece. Besides, she has her own big story to be distracted with right now.”

“Please, Frank. I've got no way of getting there.”

“Zach can take you.”

“I need Jane.” Sandra lied as she bit her bottom lip. “She's got contacts with the cops. They can get us behind the tape. Without her I'll just be pushed away.”

Frank peered down at Sandra, despite his own stature being barely taller than her own. “Is that true?”

I considered the contacts Sandra was referring to. There was someone I knew that was in the homicide unit; there was Ryan Morgan who was once my brother's friend, and who was supposed to have recently been promoted to detective. It seemed unlikely that we would be assigned this case since Valentine had been at this game for over two years and had developed into quite a high profile investigation. No department in existence would give a new gun that type of responsibility. Even if he were involved somehow, I had not seen him since my brother split town— two weeks before my eighteenth birthday.

I very much doubted Ryan would even remember me. If he did, the fact that I was a reporter, and therefore his natural enemy, would surely have him turning me away like all the other cops on the scene. As to any other police contacts, well it seemed they knew me better than I knew any of them, and that was not a good thing. More than once, I had been thrown in lockup over night with a hefty fine for getting my paws into a crime scene. Due to the fact that my brother used to be a cop in their division, they never formally processed me; they just embarrassed me as I was escorted away from reporter heavy crime scenes in cuffs, and then threw me in a cell overnight. So, in this circumstance, I'd be the last person to take along to a murder case, but to appease the earnestness in Sandra's eyes— and to save myself from the dreary confines of the office— I replied, “Yeah, one of the homicide detectives and I go way back.”

As Frank ground his teeth, I heard the hard surfaces clenching and scraping against each other. The sound resembled cement granules being crunched by large devouring trucks. “Fine, go. Jane, I want the art piece by the close of trade today, got it?”

“Course.”

Sandra clapped her hands in excitement. “Alright, Janey, grab your gear and get ready for some furious driving! Well, not too furious.” She forced a laugh as Frank eyed her suspiciously. “Don't wanna give me a heart attack now.”

Chapter Four

“Oh my God, this is so exciting! Another victim of Valentine!” She rolled the name off her tongue as if it held a pleasing sound. “Lucky number fifteen, hey?” Sandra exclaimed as she drove onto Terry Highway. I could almost feel her excited heartbeat underneath my own breast; it was so invigorating that it distracted me from a thought that kept trying to pop up into my mind.

I could not help smiling. “You do realize that someone is dead so that you can get your story, right?”

“I know, you're right, I'm a horrible person, but wow, what a story! I finally have something with a little pizzazz to write about without the need of running headstrong into danger like some people.” She glanced aside at me. “Hey, there's your smile and God it's pretty! Have you been using that makeup I bought you for your birthday, finally? Your skin looks amazing, a little too amazing, actually. Don't go outshining me now, you hear? Damn, you're even making jeans and a T-shirt sexy.”

I laughed. “Thanks, but don't worry, you're still prettier than me.”

“Oh, it's not a competition. I am glad that I brought you along, Janey, and took you away from that boring story you're doing at the moment. What was it, some artsy-fartsy thing?”

“Performing arts exhibition.”

“Exhibition? How do you exhibit performing arts? What do people do, a dance routine in little booths all day or something?”

“Yeah, a bit of that.”

“Christ, that sounds stupid. Sorry to put it bluntly— Not dissing your story, but it sounds like you don't have much to work with. You're chattier now - this is nice! Say, we're getting closer, got any strategies on how we can get around that tape?”

“Not really. Why did you take me along, anyhow? You do remember what happened at the last crime scene I was at?”

“So you slipped under the tape and botched some silly footprints by accident. That was months ago, no one would seriously remember that. Besides, you made it across, didn't you? That's no small feat. You just looked so bored at your desk today; I knew taking you along with me would pep you up. Yes, I saw you destroying that pencil at your desk. Also, I wanted your company. I wanted to talk to you. You really freaked me out when you didn't reply to any of my messages yesterday. I know this is going to sound silly, but I just had this horrible feeling that something bad was going to happen to you. I know you said this morning that you were just too busy to respond, but I'm not satisfied with that. Something more happened, but you won't tell me. I'm your friend, Jane. You can't just keep shutting me out like this!”

Guilt coursed through me. “Sorry. I didn't mean to diss you, at least not the whole day, it's just that so much happened...” Sandra raised an unsatisfied eyebrow. “You know, you're absolutely right. I was a bitch, I'm sorry. I should have called you back to at least let you know that I was all right. I'll tell you everything soon, I promise. I just need a little air first, to clear my head.”

Sandra softened. “That's okay, Janey, I forgive you. I only pester because I care. Just don't take too long to open up.” She revealed her perfect white teeth, an end-to-end toothed smile that usually had guys melting at her feet. I heard her heart beat happily in her chest. It was rhythmic, and possessed a healthy combination of force and control. My stomach grumbled noisily.

Sandra laughed. “That was a good one! Did you have breakfast this morning?” When I shook my head, she continued. “Neither did I, when I know I should. It's meant to start your metabolism off for the day. Don't want to be getting fat now. Otherwise, Frank will start thinking he has a chance.” She laughed; I couldn't help joining in.

“Oh, God, thinking about that mountain of lard. My brain just flashed a picture of how clogged his arteries are.” I chimed in.

“Ew. That's gross, Jane.” She giggled. “He stunk so bad today, right? Was it tuna on his breath? I think he keeps tins of them in the top drawer to his office and scoffs them down when no one's looking. Seriously, there's no way his breath can stay like that all day without him constantly grazing on the stuff. Oh, check it out—We're here.”

In front of us were dozens of cars, several of which displayed network logos. Beyond these, I just made out the all too familiar yellow tape that people in our profession became so exhilarated to see. We pulled up by the side of the road amongst the masses of reporters and stepped out onto Terry highway.

“So this is where Valentine chose the location of his latest murder. I swear I can literally feel his presence here. Gosh, it's giving me goose-bumps.” Sandra husked excitedly in my ear.

As we walked towards the roadblock, we passed a pair of reporters commenting on the scene. The two were murmuring amongst themselves, but loud enough so that their words were clearly audible.

“It seems this one is different, she doesn't fit Valentine's usual victim profile.”

“How do you know this? I thought the cops weren't releasing any statements yet.”

“I overheard one of the detectives asking about the abandoned vehicle. He described it as a BMW—the same fancy-looking one that's on the inside of the tape over there. Seems like the rules have changed.”

I nudged Sandra and indicated the couple talking, but she simply shrugged throwing me a questioning look.

“Did you hear what they said?” I asked softly.

“Course not, they're ages away. You can hear them?”

“Sure, I haven't destroyed my ears from upping the volume on my mp3 player yet.”

“More like all the concerts,” Sandra granted.

“They're saying a car was left at the crime scene— a BMW. Even if she is a high-class escort, still sounds pretty pricey for our killer.”

“No shitting!” Sandra shouted, and then quickly scaled back her voice. “That is very uncharacteristic of Valentine. He likes lower class girls; the ones that won’t be missed as much; usually prostitutes or druggies, unsuccessful ones that this; broke girls, sometimes homeless, but never wealthy. This is going to be interesting!” Her eyes twinkled as her heart kicked up its pace.

I had the feeling like an important thought was trying to reach the surface but all the sounds— the singing birds, frantic chatter and excited pulses— were too distracting to discern its meaning.

When we approached the blockade dozens of reporters pressed themselves densely forward, shoving microphones into the faces of the police stationed there, as they demanded responses. The cops largely ignored the waving mikes. However, one occasionally responded with a monotonic, “No comment.”

“This isn't fair. Why is everyone so tall?” Sandra strained to see past the reporters in front us, hoping to catch a glimpse of the crime scene. Perched on the side of the road, I did notice that amongst a few police and other unmarked cars was a very expensive looking BMW. I wondered whether this was the alluded to vehicle that belonged to the poor girl whose life was stolen.

As I panned around, I was suddenly struck with a strange sense of familiarity. The car, the trees, and the smells; it was like I recognized them. There was a combined scent of eucalyptus, Banksia, wattle, and the same scent of blood clung to the air as it did to my linen that morning. There was something else as well, something which sparked a shiver across my body.

“Stop being so tall, people! Jane, do you see your boyfriend anywhere? Maybe he'll let us in.”

“You mean Ryan?” I asked incredulously.

Sandra shot me a defiant grin.

“Yes, well my boyfriend, who I haven't seen since I was in school, would totally let us behind the tape, but you see, there is no way he would be put on a high profile case like this. He just got into homicide, girl. Boyfriend, geez!”

Sandra elbowed me in my ribs and indulged in a giggle. “You were so keen on him.”

“He was my brother's friend. He used to hang around all the time. I thought of him more as a second brother than a boyfriend. I was never interested in him that way.”

“The way you used to blush when