The Little Grave (Detective Amanda Steele)

“There’s actually a little snippet of the video on there too.”

“Why?”

Trent kept his gaze out the windshield. “Never know when I’m going to have a minute and want to take another peek; might not be at the station.”

“You’re telling me you take your work home with you?”

He glanced from the road to her. “Maybe,” he dragged out.

She smiled. “You’re a brown-noser.”

“A what?” he rushed out.

“It’s someone who kisses up to look good to authority figures.”

He met her gaze and held it longer than she would have liked. She pointed out the front window.

“Eyes on the road please.”

He glanced out the windshield. “Do brown-nosers typically work on a case their partner has been taken from?”

“Okay, fair point.” She smirked.

“Thank you.” He laughed.

She proceeded to play the video clip. It captured the lot from the vantage point that looked down at the perp’s back. She watched as the gunman came up on Palmer when he was nearing the Caprice. The perp was carrying the gun in his right hand, close to his side, but his walk showed he was favoring his left knee. She paused the video. “I’d say the gunman’s left knee is injured,” she said to Trent.

“I noticed that too.”

A driver ahead of them tapped their brakes and changed lanes without signaling. Some people didn’t know how to drive. She returned her attention to the video. Something caused Palmer to turn around. Maybe he’d heard the perp’s footsteps, or the perp had said something. A brief animated interaction followed, resulting in the gun being raised on Palmer. Palmer had his hands up in surrender and it appeared the perp waved for him to put them down. The perp then corralled Palmer to the passenger side of the car at gunpoint, then struck Palmer in the head and hoisted the dead weight into the Caprice.

End of video.

Things played out a little differently from what George had told her in the Happy Time lot, but he had admitted to drinking that night.

She rewound to take a closer look at the stand-off. It was hard to tell, but the gunman seemed twitchy, his arms and shoulders rising and lowering. Either not comfortable holding a gun or nervous. If this was Palmer’s killer, she’d say the nerves didn’t testify to someone who had killed before. She shared that observation with Trent.

“I wasn’t sure what to make of that myself.”

“I think we need more pieces of this puzzle.” She straightened but every millimeter of adjustment trickled agony down her spine. “So you also watched a video, ate some popcorn… anything else?”

“You’re tough, you know that.”

She bobbed her head side to side. She could blame that on her father. He’d stressed to her that the only way to succeed and advance rank was to put in the hard work. By passing this “toughness” on, she was really doing Trent a favor.

“And yes, for your information, I did more than just that. I’m quite sure I found out where Palmer got the Caprice.”

She jerked her neck so fast to face him, she cried out.

“Whoa. You okay?”

Tears were in her eyes as she met his. “Do people”—she winced—“normally cry out in pain when they’re okay?”

“I can take you home if you need or the hospital. You probably should get checked out.”

“You take me to either of those places and—”

“You’ll what?” He was toying with her; she had nothing she could do to him.