Ava
"We have the answers," John tells me, holding the file. I've been waiting on this for almost two days and we take a seat in his office.
"Alright, the woman is twenty-six-year-old Victoria Peters, according to her dental records. The blood work was the answers we needed. She had a fatal dose of potassium chloride injected in her system," he explains, and my eyes blow wide.
"Potassium chloride? One of the drugs used in lethal injection?" I reiterate and he slowly nods his head. The knowledge to know that this is involved in lethal injection isn't all that hard to find, but having the chemistry knowledge to obtain potassium chloride is not an easy task. At least, not one for a lay person. However, it is relatively inexpensive in its physical form, which is not the case.
Potassium chloride is the drug used in lethal injection to cause the heart to stop beating. It causes blood clots, leading to cardiac arrest, and eventual heart failure.
"Based on the evidence, I'm assuming blunt force trauma to the face and ribs to essentially render her incapacitated. Then injected to initially end her life," he suggests, my lips releasing a sigh. It's heavy stuff to wrap my mind around these cases, especially when the woman is my own age.
"Shit," I breathe out, John nodding along with me. He has a certain soft spot for those victims of this age. Anyone deprived of life so early is hard to fully understand. Now, all that's on my mind is the motive. Who could have possibly wanted Victoria Peters dead?
"We will be in contact with her family. We have a few leads adding up so I'll be in contact with you," I tell John, taking the file. I shake his hand and make my way out of the building, walking to my car. I hate driving the SUV because of how boxed in I feel, but I love the feeling of authority it brings me.
The only thing I hate is everyone drives slower because I'm in the cop car. I'm not here to intentionally give tickets, only when someone is speeding passed me at a speed much higher than I should allow. On these roads, I don't have many offenders.
I steer into the station and grab the file, walking in. My route to the Chief's office is fast and I shut the door, his head looking away from the computer to look at me.
"Bad?" he asks, and I throw it on his desk.
"Bad," I say flatly, taking a seat. He looks over the file and his eyes blow wide, just as mine had. It's news no one wants to hear, and an unfortunate phone call has to be made to the victim's parents.
"Has she been filed as missing?" I ask, his body shifting his chair to face his computer. It's not long for him to search the database.
"Nope. I'm sure she isn't living with anyone, but if she has a job, her workplace should have called someone on her emergency contacts," he explains, and I grab the file. There is so much needed to happen, so I need to conjure a plan.
"Let me talk to Detective Styles, and you can give the family the call while we question Ms. Zetter," I say, his head giving me a curt nod.
I make my way to my office to drop off my things before walking to Harry's, my hand knocking on the door.
"Ava," he addresses, my hand shutting the door.
"There's a lot to unfold right now," I start and he moves a few file envelopes off of his desk. He files them in his desk and grabs a notepad.
"Let's see it," he tells me, and I hand him the file. He opens it up and takes a look, his eyes widening and eyebrows lifting.
"Potassium chloride, wow," he says, amazed at the fact. It's shocking.
"Is there a missing person's report on her?" he asks and I shake my head.
"Nothing," I tell him, unsure on how to go about this. It's not a great day when a phone call to parents has to made to tell them they've lost their child, especially when they don't even know their child is missing. It's heartbreaking.
My own childhood was not all that strayed from a horrific scene. My own father was killed in front of me. I needed to make sure that men like those who killed my father that would get caught, hence why I'm in the business I'm in. First, I took care of what I needed to do to make sure my father's name was cleared. Now, I bring justice to families who face similar situations I had once been in.
"How about we speak with Bernadette and see if she has any ties with her while the Chief contacts the family? I know we should inform her parents prior to our questioning, but if Bernadette has any information, it might help us when we question her parents," he suggests, and I agree.
"Let's go," I state, standing from the chair. I return to my office to grab my notes and the file, meeting Harry at my door.
"Would you like to drive?" I ask, his shoulders shrugging.
"Haven't driven one here yet. Do I need permit?" he asks. Standard protocol is to get a permit to operate the vehicle, but I hate driving them so much.
"I'll let it slide today," I smile, just for him to reciprocate the gesture. We get outside and I get into the car, Harry following suit.
He brings up the directions and steers out of the station, my hand grabbing my phone. It's a text from the man I had seen last night, and I frown.
Mark: Thanks for last night. See you soon?
I ignore it. He shows interest and I don't need that right now. It's not my intention to go further than a night, but some don't necessarily feel the same. Case in point, Mark. He had taken me on a date last week, but I was unable to finish dinner before I got a call from the Chief. I gave him my number to meet this week, but all I needed was the one night.
"You alright?" Harry asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
"Yes, thank you," I say, ignoring the frustration in my situation. I don't want to bring up the subject.
However, I do recall briefly making eye contact with Harry last night when I got into Mark's car. It had toyed in my mind on my drive home late last night. Something about seeing him while I was going somewhere with another man unsettled me. It was strange.
Harry doesn't say anything else and I look down at my phone once more, deciding to block Mark's number. I don't want him coming back anymore, and it'll give him the hint. Usually I don't give men my number, but I allowed Mark to. That's how attracted I was to him. But yesterday, something changed. It wasn't how I had wished it was.
My mind races to find something to talk about and I just bring the first thing that pops into my mind.
"What's your dog's name?" I wonder, trying not to seem too invasive. It's a basic question, but I don't usually build relationships with my coworkers.
"His name's Zeus. He's a pit-bull," Harry tells me, smiling over at me.
"How long have you had him?" I continue, trying to make casual conversation. I'd assumed he's the kind of guy who likes small talk; I'm not one for it. If I want to get to know my partner, I should probably start.
"He's five, but I've had him for three years. He was in a shelter when I figured I'd look into getting a dog," he shares, and I smile over at him.
"Sounds nice," I tell him, his head nodding.
"It's nice having him around. You have any pets?" he asks, and I shake my head.
"No. I haven't ever had one. Plus with the amount of hours I work, I don't think I'd make a very good pet owner," I explain, his hand steering down the street after he turns.
"You could always get a fish," he says nonchalantly, making me laugh. I've never had someone suggest I get a fish. It's funny.
"I think I'm good," I smile, his smile flashed towards me.
Something about the car ride seems comfortable. It's not nearly as awkward as I thought it would be. It takes time for me to build any sort of relationship with any of the detectives, as well as anyone else working at the station. My trust in other people is not all that high, simply because of my past. I've always been independent; preferring to be alone.
Somehow working with Harry doesn't seem so bad. I don't mind working with him so far, and he seems to have the same work ethic I do. It makes working with another easier, because we both have similar thought processes in deciphering evidence. Not too bad for a newcomer.