Chapter 1
Valerie Gauthen
Two weeks earlier
“Detective Gauthen?” When the uniformed officer called out, a worried expression started to appear on his formidable face, but it faded as soon as I shifted to look at him. “Are you okay, you seem out of it.” Officer Ortiz asked, tilting his head somewhat. I let out an extended breath and replied, “Yes I am okay, just been a long night.”
Since there had been numerous crimes in this town, the truth was that I was inside my own mind. Knowing that I haven’t yet solved any of them frustrated me since nobody seemed to want to come forward because of what the town’s higher authorities were capable of doing mixed with the fact that there wasn’t enough proof in each case.
The officer swiftly changed the topic of conversation, explaining, “It’s a rough night for everyone; the other cops guarded the area and set a perimeter around the site. I nodded and promptly motioned in the direction of the crime.This would not be a typical crime scene, as evidenced by the lingering scent of mystery.
The elegant store, renowned for its lavish products, had been the target of a burglary orchestrated by the shadows of the thieves. The windows were purposefully made to be enormous in order to display some of their most magnificent item.
A hush dropped over the crowd of onlookers, their gazes shifting from the messy scene to me. When I got on the site, the community was aware that justice would be meted out ruthlessly even in the face of a crime committed by criminal organizations. I halted at the cautionary tape and proceeded to look at the shattered storefront door which was meant to be eye-catching to customers.
I swept across the area, taking in every detail with a keen sense of observation. Due to the mayhem that had occurred during the crime spree, the air was heavy with tension. The store had lost all of its charm; jewelry had been stolen by breaking display cases, and glass from the thief forcing access to the building coated the floor. I lifted the tape and strolled further into the scene of the crime.
“Mister Sullivan,” I greeted, approaching him with an awareness to not disturb any potential evidence that might lie hidden amidst the chaos. Jake Sullivan was a skilled crime scene photographer who knew how to capture every little detail of a case. He worked for me as an associate of an evidence collecting team. Before rising up, he snapped one more image. His nonverbal indications that he was intimidated by me made my lips twitch almost into a grin, but I swiftly wiped it off and held my head high.
“Good night, Detective Gauthen,” he said whilst withdrawing the camera strap from heavying around his neck. “I documented as much evidence as possible, hopefully it will provide you with enough references to get through this investigation,” Jake guaranteed his voice somewhat shaky.
I responded in a demanding tone, “There is no such thing as hopefully when you are working with me and you know that; I want you to capture more,” then strolled away before he could express a reaction. I attentively examined the crime scene as I pulled my gloves from the blazer. I didn’t hesitate to stretch the latex piece onto my hands before crouching down and gingerly raising a shard of broken glass. My senses warned me that there could be more going on here than just a straightforward robbery.
I set the glass back down and pulled the gloves off my hands before getting up. I motioned to the cautionary tape and left the perimeter. “I want information about the owner and every last person who stepped foot into the building,” I declared in a loud manner for my evidence collecting team to understand.
I am simple, I know what I want and when I want it. I worked severely for this, from joining the police force and working my way through the ranks, I earned my respect because of my intelligence and dedication to stop these criminal organizations. This kind of stuff is nothing unusual, particularly in a place like New Providence. Everyone was aware that organized crime groups controlled every establishment and street in this modest town. The only location that wasn’t tainted by the deals and demands of the vicious mafia boss and his associates was perhaps the department where I held my position. They were furious because we were not devoted to them.
They knew who I was because I am determined to take them down though I am not an agent of the FBI. I was drawn to undertaking criminal investigations because I could spend hours reviewing security tapes, speaking with witnesses, and examining the evidence—all in an effort to stay one step ahead of these greedy criminals. I put up a fight every time to the point where the chief even pleaded with for me to take a break, but I refused to give up. I firmly opposed letting the small percentage of decent people in New Providence be over-taken by the wickedness of the mafia.
People labelled me ‘intrepid’ because I wouldn’t worry losing my life going against these criminals. It surprised me that none of them hadn’t threatened me or stranded me in an urban area to perish. I’ve never met the “Don,” but I am aware that his guys informed him about me, and in exchange, he sent his men to maintain a close eye on me. They followed me and monitored me as if I don’t have the senses of a tiger; sometimes their foreboding presences can be too much for me, but I just put up with it and have no regard for it.
I approached Officer Ortiz who was accompanying the remaining eyewitness. They might provide me a clue, but given who the witness was, I doubt it. Because of the bystanders on the opposite side of the street, my skin was burning from the stares.Do these folks not sleep, God?
“Office Ortiz,” I greeted with a nod, indicating that I would take the witness off his hands. He handed me a little piece of paper with a name and number on it and stated, “The other witness left. It was a young lady. However, I had her leave her contact information and asked her to come to the station to give a statement later on.”
“Thank you, but how about the store owner?” I expressed appreciation and put forward a question as I took the piece of paper. “He is currently trying to schedule the first flight home while on vacation in Maplewood,” described Officer Ortiz.
The thief was aware that the owner was away on vacation, and it is possible that someone close to or related to the owner committed the crime. I would have to investigate if this store was protected by the criminal organization tearing this town apart or if money was owed. I patted him softly on the back and responded, “Please have Officer Patel take any relative or close friend in for questioning,” Officer Ortiz nodded and bid me good night before making his way over to the crime’s primary site. I turned my attention to the senior citizen in front of me.
“Goodnight Miss Mae...” I trailed off, extending my hand out for her. Miss Mae, the town’s grandma, was adored by everyone. Miss Mae was one of the second generations to immigrate to New Providence, she watched this town rise and fall. I frequently visited the bakery she owned because it was near to my studio apartment, and it was my first job when I moved here. Mae clutched her purse, her hand --visible with veins-- shook mine, they were cold like ice and unsteady but was from aging.
“You are such a beautiful young lady, you remind me of my uncle’s first girlfriend back then,” She complimented with an enormous smile. Under the orange glare of the streetlights, her facial creases shone. I returned the smile and pulled out my notepad and pen. She had been telling me for years that I resemble her uncle’s childhood ex-girlfriend. I replied, “Thank you, Miss Mae,” and attempted not to stress her out by being as patient as I could.
Despite having minor dementia, Miss Mia was still able to recall names and basic information. “Okay Miss Mia, I am Detective Gauthen and I will be going to ask you some questions about the events that recently took place,” I elucidated as I towered over her hunched figure.
“Oh my God, am I in trouble?” Her face was etched with worry as she enquired. “No, my love,” I answered. Instantly, a look of relief formed on her face. “Miss Mae, may I inquire as to your purpose in wandering these streets alone at night?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“There isn’t a caregiver this week since my stepdaughter --or daughter-- is here to look after me and the bakery, I think,” I listened intently as she spoke softly. “She thinks I’m dying,” added Miss Mae with a lighthearted flip of her wrist.
The relatives have begun to spend time out with Miss Mae so they can talk her into providing them with the dead left money once she passes away. Typical. The second witness must be the relative she was with, but why would she leave her here alone? My guess is that the relative would believe that the thieves would kill Miss Mae for seeing the crime so the relative could get the dead left money quicker. I might be mistaken, but I can’t think of any other explanation and it’s sad but true that the people close to you can be your enemies behind closed doors.
“Can you describe the suspect during the crime?” I tapped the top of my pen to reveal the ink side while posing another question. “Though his language was dirty and indecent, he was still a gorgeous guy,” she described, her cheeks growing heated. My eyebrows furrowed in confusion as I responded, attempting to be patient, “Miss Mae, we are talking about the crime that just happened.”
She explained, with perplexity in her sweet tone, “I’m sorry, I have no memory of a crime.” There goes my witness.. I thinned my lips and turned to the officers who were trying to handle the onlookers. “Wait, the men were actually masked,”
Fuck, it was multiple of them.
“Can you provide me with any other information on them?” I asked her again after I turned to face her. Although she hesitated, I could see by the expression on her face that she might have remembered something. “Yes, one of them gave my daughter a praise, but it was dirty, he also had a tattoo, he must have been the leader because he was the only one not masked,“.
“A tattoo?” I reacted, putting information onto the notepad. “Yes, yes, it was a bird,” she confirmed, providing further specifics. It clicked on me as I paused.The Dove of Loyalty. Associates of a criminal organization were no longer taking blood oaths unless you were an older generation; instead, they were receiving tattoos to signify their loyalty. “Do you know the location of the tattoo, Miss Mae?” I asked in the hopes of receiving a sensible response. “No, I don’t remember the exact area, but it was someplace,”
I felt as though a weight had doubled on my shoulder, which drove me to release a long sigh. This isn’t enough proof to prove the case, but if the suspect had a D.O.L. tattoo, it meant the crime may have been committed by an associate.
