The Broken Mirror

Pretty women

        Since Hannah left the shelter, she had felt as if someone was following her. There was a sound of footsteps that weren't hers -- they didn't stop when she did -- and now and then a shadow sulking out of the corner of her eye. The main road was still a few blocks away. She ran long-distance in high school, but she wasn't wearing the appropriate shoes. If she ran in her heels, she'd likely twist an ankle. She pulled out her phone and tried to dial as she walked. While she was distracted, her stalker snuck across the street, the sound of shoes on pavement echoing in her ears. Hannah turned around quickly, her heart hammering in her ears.
        There it was in the alley, standing just out of the light of the street lamp. Tears welled up in her eyes. " ... Jack? Jack, if that's you, stop it. I-I'm not putting up with you anymore. Stop trying to scare me!"
        It stepped into the pool of light on the sidewalk. She took a few steps back and choked back a sob. "Please, no."
        "Hannah, are you alright? I thought I saw someone following you." It was one of the women from the shelter.
        Oh, thank God. She wrapped her arms around the woman and sobbed into her shirt. She tried to thank her, but it just sounded like blubbering.
        "Oh, honey, he has you scared." She ran her hand through Hannah's hair. "Don't you worry. I won't let him hurt you ever again. Let me walk you home."
        "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Hannah hugged her tighter and tried to remember the woman's name. Sarah, wasn't it? "Thank you, Sarah."
        Sarah smiled. "It's my job."
       Sarah sounded different than she had when she'd interviewed her at the shelter, but Hannah brushed it off. They walked in silence and arrived at the apartment ten minutes later.
        "Do you want to come in?" she asked and held open the door.
        "I would love to."
        Hannah put on a pot of coffee and went to the bathroom to remove her makeup. When she returned, Sarah was sipping her coffee. Hannah smiled and sat down to drink hers. They chatted for a while, and Hannah gradually became sleepier.
        She stood up and announced that she was sorry to cut their fun short, but she needed to go to bed. She had a court date tomorrow.
        "It's not a problem. I'll see you around." Sarah pressed a business card into her hand. "Take my card. If anyone bothers you tomorrow, send them to me."
        "Thanks for tonight. I needed that," Hannah said.
        After the door was shut and locked, she laid down in her bed. She was feeling very tired, and her face was feverish. I must be coming down with something.

        Hannah Shaner was a thirty-year-old kindergarten teacher and an active member of her community. She had been scheduled for a court hearing on the fifth but had failed to attend. On the ninth, a concerned neighbor had called the cops to report that Shaner had not left her apartment in four days. She was found on her bed, dead, with no external injuries. The police believed it was a homicide, connected with the recent murders of Alina Curhan and Cassidy Burris.
        Detective Kevin Smith repeated the facts of the case in his head as his head as his hand hovered over the door. Notifying the family of the deceased was always the hardest part, and decades in the New Haven Homicide Unit never made it easier. He breathed deeply and knocked.
        A red-haired man in his late twenties holding a baby answered the door. His blue eyes clouded over when Kevin showed his I.D. badge. "Do you need something, Detective?"
        "Does Maria Brown live here?" he asked.
        The man's countenance darkened considerably. "Come in."
        Smith entered and sat down on the couch. The young man called down the hall. "Maria, babe, can you come out here for a sec?"
        "Yeah, what is it?" A woman walked in casually. Her silky black hair was pulled up in a bun with a mess of pens sticking out it. There was a spot of ink on the collar of her white shirt.
        Her light demeanor dissipated when she saw him. She turned to her husband, questioning. He nodded. "I think so."
        Maria tilted her head toward the kitchen, and he left with the baby. She sat down carefully. "It's Hannie isn't it."
        "I'm sorry." He was careful to maintain eye-contact.
        "Don't tell me that," she snapped. "Just tell me what happened. It was that trashy boyfriend of hers, wasn't it?"
        He frowned. "What? M'am, we don't -- "
        "Well, I can assure you he was the culprit, or at least involved. I told her to get a damn restraining order before now, but she doesn't listen," she said bitterly. "Hannie always did think she knew best. Thought that if she couldn't see good in someone, she just wasn't looking hard enough. Can you believe it?" Maria started to cry into his shoulder. "Can you?"
        "Ms Brown, I understand that you're upset, but right now we need to schedule an interview to find out what happened to your sister."
       Her eyes widened. " ... You think I had something to do with it? I wouldn't do that -- I love my sister."
        "We have to consider all possibilities, and if anything you might know can help us find the culprit, we have to get that information," he informed her gently. "Do you understand? I don't think you did it, but I have to be sure. It's my job to help your sister. This is a part of that. I know it's painful to be informed that a loved one has died and that you're a suspect, but it's very important that you give us your testimony so we can get justice for Hannah."
        Maria's face hardened. "I had nothing to do with it. Do your damn job and find out who hurt my sister. And punish them."
        She hadn't used the word killed or murdered. She had said hurt. "Ms Brown, I need you to cooperate. Your sister is dead, and I need to find out why."
        "I assume you're doing an autopsy." She wasn't looking at him anymore, and her voice was shaking angrily. "At least give me a week to get her things in order and bury her properly. Does Tuesday work?"
        "That's perfect." Smith stood and offered his hand. "Thank you."
        She ignored it and glanced pointedly at the door. He had just crossed the threshold when he heard her break into ugly sobs and her husband softly shushing her.

###

        There was a loud knocking at Smith's office door that evening. He groaned and tried to ignore it, but the knocking only increased in force. A female voice shouted, "Kevin, I know you're in there. You never leave your office light on when you leave. Let me in -- you owe me one after last time."
        "Go away, Roberta," Smith groaned. Roberta Burrows was the newest addition to the Daily Times newsroom, responsible for covering crime in the city, and she was extremely bold in pursuit of a story. She trekked through dark alleys alongside cops after murderers and drug lords alike, pushed for interviews from men twice her size and dug through old police reports without ever changing out of her four-inch heels. Smith had to admit her commitment was extraordinary and her investigative skills and intuition were usually spot-on, but that didn't mean he wanted some girl taking over cases       
        "I don't think I made myself clear: you owe me," she crowed. "I saved your butt when you botched that last case, so you're gonna give me the scoop."
        He rubbed his temples. "I'm busy."
        "Probably need my help anyway." She had stopped knocking, and he had the distinct impression that she was leaning against the door and grinning smugly at him.
        Smith slid the case file back into his desk drawer and stayed quiet for a long time, until he heard her sigh and the click-clacking of her heels fade away. When he left the office, there was a sticky note on his door: You think you're so clever, but I want this story and I intend to have it. People deserve to know if there's a killer on the loose.

###

        Dr Gionelli approached Smith's desk with a folder a few days later. "The results of the autopsy are in."
        "What do you have?" He glance up from his computer. Roberta had sent him several leads on places Shaner frequented, people she spoke to often and little quirks she had. He hated to admit it, but Roberta was good at her job, even if she was a meddling brat and if every report had a sticky note on it reminding him that she would have this story. According to her leads, Shaner had spent most of her time lately at the local women's shelter where she had been receiving counselling and support in dealing with her abusive ex-boyfriend, Josh Warner. He had set up an interview with Sarah Palmer, the shelter's chairwoman, later today.
        "As expected, she was poisoned. Belladonna, with a business card in her hand. There's a name and number on it, as well as a sun scribbled on the back." Gionelli removed a plastic evidence bag from her clipboard and placed it on his desk. "That woman you're meeting later? Her name's on it. It's possible that it wasn't her; if Shaner went there often, she may have just had the card on her already and had pulled it out to look at. Belladonna works fast. It's unlikely though."
        "I'll be careful, see what I can get out of her today." He stood up to stretch, wincing when he felt his bones creak. He was starting to feel his age.
        Gionelli hurried around the desk and offered her arm hesitantly. Smith laughed and waved it off. "I'm not that old, Elisa. Wait 'til I'm fifty before you start with that."
        "Well," she said, smirking now. "If I have to put up with you for another ten years, I might not feel so obliged."
        "Brat." He walked out the door and made for the shelter.

        Sarah smiled at the women visiting the shelter as she checked on them and made sure they had what they needed. She frowned upon receiving a notice that the detective was coming and hoped it wasn't to shut her down. Sarah shook the thought from her mind before checking in with some of the children staying with their mothers. She played with them on the playground as she is smiling happily. She looked up to an attendant. "Oh, hello, Jasmine, what's wrong?"
        Jasmine was a twenty-year-old volunteer with dark skin, long wavy black hair and brown eyes. Jasmine smiles sweetly. "The detective is in your office waiting on you."
        Sarah nods. "Alright. Thank you, Jasmine." She then walked toward her office.

(Sparkyeve's A/N: Hey sparkies~ Me and Jay Wells are starting this story and hopefully we will get to finish this one! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and are looking forward to the next one!)