Murder In the Pines

I sat at my polished mahogany desk, its surface smooth and cool beneath my fingertips, flipping through a stack of old murder files from recent months. After reviewing each case, I dutifully prepared to hand them over to my chief, Chief Lowry, whose stern face awaited them. As I scanned the documents, vivid memories flooded my mind—troubling scenes etched into my consciousness—suicides, homicides, domestic violence, and abductions. The gruesome images replayed in my thoughts on a constant loop.

"Happy two years as a Forensic Scientist, Elizabeth!" Alice, my best friend, greeted me cheerfully as she entered my cluttered office carrying a steaming cup of coffee, the aroma of roasted beans filling the air early in the morning.

"Thank you," I said with a soft smile, shutting the folder lids carefully and trying to push the distressing memories aside to focus on the warm cup now offered to me.

"Today is both a sad and a happy day," Alice mused gently.

I took a cautious sip of my white chocolate mocha, furrowing my brows in confusion. "What do you mean by a sad day?"

Alice mirrored my expression, following suit with her own coffee. "Well, I know your goal is to transition from Forensic Scientist to Homicide Detective. But for that, you'll need to transfer to the agency in Freya County, which is in the next state over."

Her words struck a chord because my ambition since starting my law enforcement career had been to become a Homicide Detective. The only obstacle was waiting for openings—something I hoped would happen soon—and I hesitated to leave behind my close friendship with Alice. Still, I felt the urge for a change and to leave behind the trauma associated with Mason County.

"Let's not jump to conclusions," I replied softly. "We don't even know if there’s an opening for a Homicide Detective in Freya County. I imagine those positions are already filled." My voice carried a tint of sadness.

Shrugging, Alice took another sip, contemplating before replying, "Maybe." Then she turned and left my office quietly.

Fueling my curiosity, I pulled out my sleek silver laptop from the side drawer and searched the online database for detective job openings in Freya County. Although I was reluctant to leave Alice, the fact that Freya County was only about eight hours away by car made it feel manageable—more like a move for growth rather than an escape across the country. The search yielded a few listings: Missing Persons Unit, Forensic Investigator, and Cybercrimes Detective. While I respected the importance of these roles, none appealed to me as much as the homicide position I desired.

At that moment, my concentration was broken by a sharp knock on the office door. I quickly shut my laptop when I recognized my chief’s entrance. Recalling our previous heated discussions about my transfer ambitions, I braced myself for his reaction. His expression was stern as he stepped into the room, running a hand through his thick, graying mustache.

"Morning, Parks," he greeted curtly.

Acting casual, I gently placed my laptop in my drawer. "Good morning, Chief Lowry."

He rested his hands on his broad belly, glancing around my orderly desk, which was neatly stacked with case files and forensic reports. "Are those my case files?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

Looking at the pile, I made eye contact with his piercing green gaze. "Yes, sir. I just finished reviewing them; everything’s ready to be filed."

His gaze lingered a little longer than usual, making me shift uncomfortably in my chair. Feeling uneasy, I watched him as he cleared his throat and said, "So, why did you slam your computer shut when I entered? Are you looking into transferring again?"

His expression seemed almost to mock a warning.

"Well, it's been two years, which meets the minimum experience required to apply for a Homicide Detective position. I also have the necessary certifications," I responded firmly.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed heavily, his tone growing irritated. "Haven't I already told you that you’re not leaving? You're the best Forensic Scientist I've ever had on the force—and the most attractive," he added with a slight wink, which sent a shiver down my spine in a very uncomfortable way. "Besides, you need my recommendation and approval, and I'm not willing to give that up because I need to keep you here."

Without another word, Chief Lowry stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

A wave of stress washed over me, the feeling of being trapped under his watch. My head began to throb painfully as I recalled the first time I contemplated transferring.

Six months prior...

I was examining a teenage girl’s body that had just arrived at the crime lab for autopsy. She laid flat on the cold steel table, her skin faintly blue and icy to the touch. At first glance, there were no obvious signs of trauma—no strangulation marks around her neck, no cuts on her wrists indicating a suicide attempt.

I carefully donned a pair of medical gloves and started my thorough physical examination, lifting her right arm and leg, gently turning her over onto her side. My eyes scanned her fragile, lifeless form—no visible cause of death, until they caught a small, pen-sized hole on her lower back, encircled by a faint, light brown bruise suggesting an injection site.

Repositioning her to her original posture, I moved to the nearby lab station to gather samples. Picking up a syringe and tube, I prepared to extract blood and bodily fluids for analysis.

With precise control, I inserted the needle into a prominent vein in her arm, slowly pulling back the plunger to draw dark, tar-like blood into the tube. The surreal nature of this work often made me feel as if I could make her come back to life.

I capped the tube and placed it into the blood chemistry analyzer. After closing the lid, I pressed the start button, allowing the machine to do its job while I continued my examination of her body, ensuring there were no additional injection sites. Using a black light over her skin, I confirmed there were no fingerprints or residue.

After multiple inspections, I still couldn’t find a definitive cause of death. I even examined her mouth and interior airway to rule out any obstructions.

When the analysis finished, the printed report slipped out of the machine. I discarded my gloves and carefully picked up the report, studying the results.

The report revealed the presence of Fentanyl in her bloodstream, enough to be lethal to two adults. My heart sank, and I closed her eyes momentarily, hesitating before turning away.

"Who did this to you?" I whispered aloud.

A knock sounded at the door, and I placed the report aside as Chief Lowry entered. "Did you find out anything? We believe we’ve identified the suspect responsible for her death."

He moved closer, examining the girl's body as I stepped aside, donning another pair of gloves. I gently rolled her onto her side again, following protocol.

"I found this puncture wound that appears to go directly into her spine," I pointed out.

"Wow, that's barely visible. Excellent attention to detail, Parks," he praised with a wink.

His compliment embarrassed me—he was in his late fifties, and I was only twenty-five. It was unsettling, even more than the sight of the dead girl.

"I’ve already run blood tests to determine what was injected," I explained, switching the subject. I tore off the gloves and picked up the lab report. "Thirteen-year-old Maggie Bishop has been dead for approximately one day and four hours. Cause of death: Fentanyl overdose." I met his gaze, emphasizing, "Her blood contains enough Fentanyl to kill two adults."

He studied my face, shook his head slowly, and ran his hand through his thick mustache. "We suspect her father might be responsible."

A wave of disbelief washed over me, sadness flooding my chest. "How could he do such a thing?" Tears threatened to fall as I remembered my own childhood trauma, vividly connecting with Maggie’s pain.

"That’s what we’re trying to find out. When her father reported her death, he claimed it was a suicide due to her drug problem. But when we went to question him today, he tried to flee. After we restrained him, he pleaded it was an accident. I'm beginning to think he has a drug problem of his own. Our investigators are at his home now. Any fingerprints?" he asked.

I shook my head slightly. "Only the puncture wound, nothing else suspicious."

I completed the report, sealing her in a bag until further instructions. Later, I returned to Chief Lowry's office, knocking softly as he finished a phone call.

"What can I help you with, Parks?" he asked coldly.

"I wanted to discuss transferring to a Homicide Detective position when I reach my two-year mark here," I said firmly.

He set his phone down, steepling his fingers on the desk. His eyes pierced me. "Why would you want to do that? You’d have to transfer to Freya County. Do you really want to leave me?" His tone grew more aggressive.

"It's not that I want to leave you, but I’ve explained from the start that my goal is to become a Homicide Detective. I want to work in the field—investigating crime scenes, analyzing evidence, and catching criminals."

He leaned back, sighing heavily, before replying, "I thought you’d forgotten about transferring. I can't let you go, Parks. You belong here, with me—working closely, being my forensic scientist." He gave a suggestive wink.

I gagged internally at his words. "At my two-year mark, I plan to look for a detective job," I asserted, standing my ground.

"Let me warn you now, Elizabeth Parks. If you try that, I will fire you and make your life miserable," he said with dangerous intensity.

I blink, refocusing on the present. Feeling the weight of my decision, I stared at my desk, then, on impulse, opened my laptop once more and began searching for information about the Freya County Detective Agency.