No Looking Back: A Breakdown Series Short Read Read online

  No Looking Back

  A Breakdown Series Short Read

  Debra Webb

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 Debra Webb

  Cover Design by Vicki Hinze

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Pink House Press, Madison, Alabama

  First Edition September 2018

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  What is Breakdown?

  Welcome to Shutter Lake

  The BREAKDOWN Books

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Friday, August 3

  “You should celebrate this weekend.”

  Detective Laney Holt glanced at her partner before biting off a chunk of hotdog loaded with spicy mustard and sweet relish. She grunted, choosing not to commit to a yes or a no, as she chewed. Then again, maybe she should celebrate. She’d been with the Los Angeles Police Department since she graduated college almost eight years ago.

  She swallowed, almost choking. How could eight years have passed? Grabbing her soft drink from the cup holder, she sucked down a big swallow, then cleared her throat. “Maybe.”

  Charles Brown Junior, aka Chip, laughed. “Or you could come to my house and help with Caleb’s birthday party.”

  Chip had named his first and only son Caleb, after his wife’s father, rather than passing down his own name. He’d explained that he’d been teased about the cartoon character with a similar name his whole life; he wasn’t doing that to his son. Smart man.

  “Party with a dozen or so nine-year-olds?” Laney tossed back. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.” She finished off her hotdog and tossed the wrapper into the empty bag. Her car would smell like relish for the rest of the day. “But I have a killer birthday present for Caleb in the trunk.”

  “He always likes your presents better than anyone else’s.”

  “That’s because I get him the cool game stuff.”

  The silence that followed warned Laney that Chip had something on his mind he wasn’t quite sure how to approach. She almost smiled as she stared out the windshield. She knew this man too well. They had been partners for two years, since she joined the Homicide Division. Being partners in a career where you put your life on the line everyday was almost like a marriage—without all the emotional complications and the expectation of physical intimacy.

  Chip finally said, “You turned thirty this year.”

  Laney nodded, took another sip of her soft drink. “A milestone I’m still celebrating.” Not.

  “You ever think about getting married or having kids?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, you sound like my mother.”

  He exhaled a big breath.

  Oh yeah, the man had something on his mind.

  “It’s just that having a kid is like nothing else you’ll ever experience in life.”

  Laney made a doubtful sound. “Oh yeah? That’s the same line Jimmy Butler used about sex when I was a freshman in high school. I ended up getting screwed—no pun intended.”

  Rather than laugh as she’d expected, her partner blurted, “Michele’s pregnant.”

  Laney bit her lips together to prevent asking ‘again?’ and sounding too insensitive. No wonder the guy was off his game this morning. They already had four kids. Wow.

  “Congratulations. That’s amazing.”

  “Yeah. Amazing.”

  His tone said otherwise but she wasn’t touching that one. “Girl? Boy?”

  “Too early to know yet.”

  Laney nodded and hummed a note of understanding. “So how does one celebrate making sergeant?”

  She actually had no plans for celebrating but the subject change was needed. Wading into relationship talk was asking for trouble. Besides, she hadn’t managed a single long-term relationship in her entire life. She had no business giving anyone advice in that department.

  “We could go out for a beer after our shift?” he suggested, obviously not looking forward to going home today.

  Never a good sign.

  “We could.” Laney doubted Michelle would appreciate her husband’s dragging his feet about getting home. With four kids and another on the way, he was likely needed at home after work. As much as she liked and admired her partner, she wasn’t cutting him any slack in that department. “I’m thinking I should give my parents a call and order pizza.”

  “You’re a real party girl, Holt.”

  Laney did smile then. “Yeah, I get that all the time.”

  “So if we’re not going for a beer after our shift, let me buy you an ice cream for dessert. It’s the least I can do, you know, being your partner and all. Not to mention I’m partially responsible for that promotion of yours.”

  She chuckled. It was true. He’d taught her a great deal about being a good detective. “Ice cream would be great.”

  The way the temperature was climbing toward a record setting high, ice cream would be a refreshing way to prepare for a long, sweltering afternoon.

  He snagged his buzzing cell from its holster and greeted the caller with, “Brown.”

  While he took the call, Laney gathered the remains of their lunch and climbed out of the car. She walked the few yards down the sidewalk and tossed the trash into a garbage bin. Before she reached the driver’s door once more her partner was already urging, “Let’s go, let’s go.”

  She dropped behind the wheel and drew her seat belt into place. “We have a call?”

  “We do. Rain check on the ice cream. Got a body over in Boyle Heights.”

  Laney peeled out of the parking lot. Nothing like a homicide to save a few calories.

  Chapter 2

  The new coffee shop on the corner was roped off by yellow tape. A crowd of onlookers had been pushed back to the opposite side of the street.

  “More anti-gentrification resistance?” Laney glanced at her partner before turning back to the somber activity on the street.

  The issues in Boyle Heights over the development of the historic community were on the news on a far too regular basis. There were those who didn’t want all the swank art galleries and hip coffee shops. The surge of upscale businesses carried a trickle down effect of rising rent. For lifelong residents this was unacceptable. Based on the frequent protests, the battle over the future of the historic community was just warming up.

  If the dead guy on the sidewalk was a casualty of the ongoing war, the resistance had moved to a whole new level.

  “I sure hope not,” her partner muttered.

  They climbed out of the car simultaneously. The crowd on the other side of the street was growing. A number of scenarios ticked off in Laney’s head as she crossed to the two uniformed officers surrounding the body that had been covered with a tarp. Gang hit? Random stabbing or shooting? Unfortunately, these things happened. Even in nice neighborhoods.

  “What’ve we got, Whitt?” Chip directed the question to the older of the two officers.

  “Caucasian male, mid twenties. No ID on him. Shot once in the back of the head. No witnesses.” He nodded toward the coffee shop. “A customer waiting for his latte heard the s
hot and came outside. He started yelling for help but he didn’t see anyone fleeing or standing around with a weapon.”

  The younger officer said, “Officers Thompson and Petty are canvassing the shops, questioning the employees and the customers. Two cruisers are patrolling the area. Coroner’s on his way.”

  Laney crouched down and had a look under the tarp. “Was he robbed?” She looked from one officer to the other. “You didn’t find a wallet?”

  “Wallet’s there,” Whitt explained. “But there’s no ID. Absolutely nothing that gives even a hint of who he is.”

  The crime scene unit van eased to the curb. “If we’re lucky, his prints will tell us who he is,” Laney offered. The only thing worse than having a victim of a homicide was having one you couldn’t identify.

  She surveyed the crowd. Mostly younger females, a few males. Was one of them enjoying the results of his or her handiwork? Every other one carried a designer bag from one of the new ritzy shops in the neighborhood.

  The coroner’s wagon braked to a stop behind the crime scene unit van. With the coroner’s arrival, the body was now his domain. Time for Laney and her partner to beat the bushes and see what—if anything—shook out. It was a busy block and the middle of the day, a Friday at that. Surely they would find a witness.

  Laney scanned the shops and the sidewalk. “If we can’t find anyone who saw the shooter, it’s possible he stepped out of that alley, pulled the trigger and disappeared the way he’d come.”

  “Unless he went into one of the shops.” Chip looked from the alley to the nearest shop entrances. “Could have been an owner or an employee.”

  “Someone who knew the victim would be here.” As clean as the execution and egress were, had to be premeditated.

  “Let’s take a walk,” Chip suggested.

  This was her partner’s way of suggesting they should explore the area and talk to the people who were nearby when the victim took his last breath. Though two uniformed officers were already doing exactly that, some people were put off by the uniforms and pretended not to have seen or heard anything. They were more likely to talk to a detective in plain clothes.

  The alley was the usual narrow pathway between the historic buildings that had been revamped into trendy boutiques and popular restaurants. Down the block was an art gallery. It was growth and development on steroids. The resistance felt the history of the neighborhood was being erased and the lifetime residents were being priced out of their homes. Others felt the developments were good for the community, creating jobs and making the neighborhood attractive to shoppers and tourists as well as potential additional business interest.

  Laney didn’t really have an opinion on the matter, but when a resident decided to kill another, it became her business. At the end of the alley and directly across the street there was a covered parking garage. Hopefully there were security cameras that could confirm or rule out whether or not their shooter disappeared via that route.

  When they would have turned to walk back in the direction from which they’d come, her partner hesitated. “The truth is I don’t think I can deal with another kid.”

  Laney mulled over his statement for a moment before responding. Anything she said could hypothetically be held against her later. “It might be a little late to lean in that direction, partner.”

  He scrubbed a hand through his hair, shook his head. “She knew I was done. She was supposed to be back on the Pill. We made that decision together.”

  A sinking feeling tugged at Laney’s gut. This was not good. “Sometimes even when you take the Pill, you can conceive.” She’d heard about plenty of situations where birth control failed.

  “We’ve been drifting apart.” He exhaled a big breath. “It’s like diapers and vomit and bottles are all we have in common anymore.”

  Laney laughed. Couldn’t help herself. “Do you love her?” They had a homicide investigation. There was no time to debate whether his relationship was strong enough to survive this new bump in the road.

  “Of course I love her. What kind of question is that?” He planted his hands on his hips and looked from doorway to doorway along the alley that lay ahead of them.

  “She still in love with you?”

  He frowned. “I think so. What does that have to do with—?”

  Laney turned up her hands. “You’re still in love with each other. You have a nice house and four great kids. Work it out. Four kids, five kids, what’s the difference?”

  He exhaled a big breath. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m going through that midlife crisis she’s always accusing me of.”

  Laney laughed. “If that’s the case, there’s only one thing to do about it.”

  His eyebrows reared up in question.

  “Get over it.”

  He nodded, even chuckled. “Good advice.”

  As they moved back toward the other end of the alley, Officer Whitt rushed toward them with a female in tow.

  “We may have an eye witness,” he announced.

  That would certainly make life considerably easier.

  The woman looked shaken. She was twenty-five at most, red hair, blue eyes. Jeans and a tee with sandals, typical southern California fashion.

  “My name is Lori Dayton,” she said. “I saw the man with the gun.”

  “Thank you, Officer Whitt.” Laney removed her credentials and showed them to Dayton. “Ma’am, I’m Detective Holt, this is Detective Brown. Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

  “I work in the lingerie shop two doors down from where…from where it happened.” She hitched her thumb toward the west. “The shop runs from one side of the block to the other. I was putting away stock when I heard people screaming at the front entrance. I was at the back.” She gestured toward the end of the alley closest to where they stood. “I glanced outside and I saw a guy running toward that parking garage. He had a gun.” She shuddered. “It hung from his right hand.”

  “Can you describe the man?” Chip asked.

  “He was taller than me. Medium height, I guess. He wore a gray sweatshirt hoodie.” She shrugged. “Baggy blue jeans. I didn’t really see his face. But I saw the gun. It was one of those like you see in the movies. A nine millimeter or whatever.”

  Laney asked, “Did you get any sense of his age? Older? Younger?”

  She shook her head. “Like I said, I didn’t really see his face.”

  “Was he alone? Did you see anyone else nearby?” Chip pressed.

  “Just him. The street was empty except for him.”

  “Officer Whitt, why don’t you take Ms. Dayton’s official statement and call in a sketch artist. Detective Brown and I will have a look in the parking garage.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  When Whitt ushered the woman away, Laney turned toward the street where the parking garage stood.

  “He’s probably long gone by now,” Chip said.

  “Probably,” Laney agreed.

  But there was only one way to find out.

  Chapter 3

  The four-story garage had cameras. Since the shooter was most likely long gone, hopefully one of the cameras captured his face when he looked back over his shoulder or as he ran up a ramp. If the shooting was premeditated as Laney suspected, the shooter may have parked here, walked to where he waited for his victim and then hurried back after the deed was done. It was as good a scenario as any other considering they didn’t have a theory period at this point.

  Chip had called for backup. It was time to broaden and intensify the search. The female witness’s description, though not exactly detailed, would go out wide. Hopefully more witnesses would come forward. Otherwise, this was going to be a very long day with little or no results.

  An officer was rounding up the garage manager in order to access the security system’s cameras. The attendant insisted she didn’t have the code for accessing the system. With officers rushing to each level of the garage, Laney and Chip took the ground level. If the shooter was spotted on one of t
he upper levels he would eventually come down—one way or another.

  “Thanks for giving me that kick in the ass earlier.”

  Laney glanced at her partner. “Not a big deal. We all need a pep talk now and then.”

  He blew out a breath, surveyed the dozens of cars spread around the first level. “I guess I feel like I’m losing my identity. Does that make sense?”

  Laney crouched down and checked beneath the row of vehicles to her left. “Yeah, I get it.” She stood and waited while he checked the row on their right. “Five or six days a week you’re the focused, hardworking homicide detective.”

  He nodded as they moved forward once more. “Then I go home and I’m daddy. With four kids there’s very little time to be the husband and zero time to be Chip.”

  Oh, yeah. The man was definitely in midlife crisis mode. “Take a day for yourselves, just you and Michelle. Go for a drive up the coast. Leave the kids with their grandparents for the weekend.”

  “You see,” he paused at the next row of cars, “that’s part of the problem. My wife doesn’t like leaving the kids overnight. We haven’t had a night alone in nearly nine years.”

  “Talk to her. Tell her how you’re feeling.”

  He grunted. “She’ll call me a selfish bastard. She always does.”

  “And you’ll tell her you’re serious. No one but the two of you can fix this.” Laney had a feeling he understood that point but didn’t want to have to deal with the necessary confrontation to make himself understood.

  The man was a brave and tough cop but he was terrified of his wife.

  As if he’d read Laney’s mind, he said, “Easier said than done.”

  No doubt. “What has always been her favorite getaway spot? Did you go some place special before you had kids? On your honeymoon?”