Hooker Avenue

Chapter One

There was no doubt about it. Jessie Martin felt a storm brewing.

Without warning, the blue sky darkened to an ominous purplish gray. A blade of lightning sliced open the sky, releasing a sudden downpour, and illuminating the Hudson Valley landscape as though it were a grainy black-and-white photograph. Seconds later, a crack of thunder shook her car.

Staring ahead through the blurry windshield, Jessie gripped the leather steering wheel as her heart mimicked the rhythm of the windshield wipers battling the deluge. It felt as though the world was ending, and all she wanted to do was get home to her boyfriend, Hal Samuels, and her baby, Lily.

The shrill ringing of her cellphone made her swerve toward the oncoming traffic on the slick roadway. Jessie righted her Jeep, and reflexively tapped the button on her steering wheel, activating the Bluetooth connection to her cellphone. The act was second nature and offered a brief respite from the hazards demanding her attention.

Hal? she asked, believing he was checking in. I’m on my way home from Adams Market and I’m caught up in a pop-up storm. I should be home in a few minutes, unless there are road closures because of accidents. There was a long silence and unease curled in her midsection. Hello, Hal? Are you there?

Jessica, that’s extremely interesting, but why aren’t you taking my calls? The low, raspy voice of her former mentor, Terrence Butterfield, resonated throughout the interior of the car. How rude, my dear. After all we’ve meant to each other. And the secrets we’ve shared. He paused.

His menacing tone turned her skin to gooseflesh, and before he could speak again, she smashed the phone button with her fist, disconnecting the call.

What the— she screamed, stopping before an expletive slipped out. Like an idiot, she’d let her guard down. She should have known that even after she’d helped put him away for murder, Terrence wouldn’t let her go.

Terrence had always been possessive of her, even when she’d been his student at Poughkeepsie High School over a decade ago. But something deeper, more disturbing, lurked beneath the surface. Last summer, he’d lured her teenage friend, Ryan Paige, into his home with drugs and booze. Ryan, who had been like a younger brother to her, was never seen alive again. And after the cops discovered his dismembered body in Terrence’s basement, Terrence was charged with his murder.

It still alarmed her that Terrence, her father’s best friend and one of the most popular faculty members at the school where her father was principal, was a psychotic, cold-blooded butcher. And as unreasonable as it may be, she felt responsible for Ryan’s death because she’d been blind to Terrence’s true nature, the monster hiding behind the charming mask.

Minutes ago on the phone, his voice had sounded so crisp and clear that he’d seemed to be sitting next to her in the passenger’s seat, his icy breath whispering in her ear. With Terrence’s vampiric presence lingering inside her car, Jessie’s eyes cut to the rearview mirror. Only the pitch-blackness of the stormy night reflected at her. Then, out of habit, her eyes whipped to the car seat buckled in the back seat. It was empty. Thankfully, nine-month-old Lily had stayed at home with Jessie’s mother while she’d made the quick trip to the grocery store.

The storm, the traffic, and the groceries rattling around in the hatchback had monopolized Jessie’s thoughts, as they should have; she’d been too focused on them to expect that Terrence would call her. Again. It had been two days since Terrence’s last call, and the problem was he never contacted her from the same number. He was a sneaky bastard. Sometimes he’d call her house and sometimes her cellphone, but he always phoned when he assumed she was alone.

It was unbelievable that a murderer, albeit a murderer acquitted on the grounds of criminal insanity and institutionalized in a state-run psychiatric center, could contact her. Or as she viewed it, stalk her. Jessie wasn’t sleeping. She wasn’t eating. She flinched whenever the doorbell or the phone rang, even if it was her parents, or Lily’s father, Kyle Emory, or Hal. She’d kept Terrence’s calls a secret from everyone, but Jessie felt like she was about to snap.

Another downpour engulfed the Jeep, and Jessie’s gaze darted back to the highway. She hadn’t thought it could rain any harder, but in an instant, Mother Nature had unleashed a tantrum.

Squinting to see through the misty sheets of rain, Jessie’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. Her fingernails sliced into her palms and her arms trembled as she fought to steady the Jeep on the slippery roadway.

She needed to pull off the road. She needed to get it together.

Jessie switched on her turn signal and then flipped on the emergency flashers. She coasted off the highway onto the narrow shoulder, parking a safe distance from the road on a grassy patch enclosing a strip mall parking lot, and exhaled a deep breath. As the storm swirled around her, she wondered why her life was so damn complicated.

For years, Terrence had been her friend, her teacher, and her mentor, even her confidante. Then, he’d become her greatest betrayer. To get the murder charges against him dismissed, he’d accused her of violating his attorney-client privilege, jeopardizing her law license. He’d alleged that she’d informed the cops about Ryan’s murder after he’d confided in her about the killing. But she hadn’t talked. Kyle had called the cops and had only admitted it under oath at the pre-trial hearing to dismiss the charges. Although Jessie had been exonerated of all wrongdoing, Terrence’s unfounded accusations had caused her irreparable damage. She’d lost her prestigious job, her fiancé Kyle, and almost her life and child.

Don’t be stupid, Jessie mumbled under her breath, battling the aftershock of Terrence’s call. He’s been locked up for nine months and won’t be released, ever. While the thought reassured her, Terrence had been harassing her since his commitment, and she hadn’t done a damn thing to stop him. She’d believed she was rid of him. But her inaction, her passivity, was allowing him to ruin her new life with Lily and Hal.

The nagging tightness in her shoulders relaxed as she decided, there and then, to seize control. Resolving the Terrence crisis was on her, not him. She’d hatch a plan, and if necessary, seek Hal’s help. After all, he was the District Attorney who’d prosecuted Terrence.

The rain was letting up and her yellow emergency signals pulsated in an eerie disco beat over the shimmering landscape. She switched them off and flicked on the high beams as she wiped away the condensation blanketing the inside of her windshield.

As her eyes adjusted, her vision followed the muted light of her Jeep’s headlights deep into the rain-drenched darkness. A car length or two ahead, the lights reflected off a glittering object lying in a shallow puddle. For a second, the lights twinkling like tiny snowflakes mesmerized her. Then her sight expanded, focusing on what appeared to be a bulky, glistening mass.

At first glance, it appeared to be the size and shape of a small child. But it couldn’t be. Logic told her that the object was probably a bouquet of deflated Mylar balloons, a pile of white garbage bags, or a golf umbrella blown off to the side of the road. Her eyes, and imagination, had to be screwing with her because any reasonable person would have taken shelter in the storm.

Jessie’s thoughts flickered back to Lily, and the news stories about toddlers wandering out of their homes and into the woods. Her paranoia might be farfetched, but the shiny rolling waves looked more like the curve of a shoulder than deflated balloons. Another glance at the toddler-shaped mass confirmed that it was too human to ignore.

She needed a closer look.

Jessie opened her car door and stepped outside into the rain, a cold shower so fine and intense that the drops perforated her clothing like needles. She shivered. Her damp skinny jeans and silk blouse clung to her like a second skin.

The amber glare of the parking lot’s lights shimmered along a narrow ditch lining the edge of the lot, and the beams of her headlights shone like a spotlight across the grassy roadside. Never veering from the path of light, Jessie inched closer to the slippery ridge of the ditch.

In a flash, the landscape became bathed in a blinding white light and then faded back to black. A sudden clap of thunder made her start and, losing her footing, Jessie tumbled forward onto the slick, rain-soaked earth. Her hands and knees sunk into the mud as she caught her breath and collected her wits. Water dripped into her eyes, and she blinked it away to regain sight.

Her eyes searched frantically through the storm for whatever she believed she’d seen.

Scrambling to her feet, Jessie crept toward the trench. The gully was about five feet deep, shoulder height for her, and was collecting runoff from the storm.

She sucked in her breath as realization dawned. She had not been mistaken. There, in the darkness, she spied the sole of a bare foot, pale and pink against the murky water. A sudden coldness seized her core as her eyes traveled up what appeared to be a leg toward a body partially submerged in the puddle. The person wore a silver sequined bomber jacket and jeans smeared with dirt and brush, which had camouflaged it, preventing easy detection. It had been pure luck that her headlights had reflected off the jacket at just the right angle to attract her attention.

From where Jessie stood, it was difficult to say whether it was a man or woman, dead or alive, but there was definitely a body lying in the mud curled up in the fetal position. The person’s face was hidden beneath a mass of long, straggly hair that floated like a halo in the black water accumulating around it.

She thought she heard a moan, but the pulse throbbing in her ears and the rain pulverizing the ground muffled all other sounds.

Hey, Jessie yelled. Hey, can you hear me?

She received no answer.

Jessie shouted again. This time, an arm and leg twitched in apparent response to her call. Those minute movements signaled she was staring down at a person who was still alive, still breathing, at least for the moment. From the volume of water streaming into the trench, every minute, every second counted.

Juiced by adrenaline, her thoughts bounced between whether to climb down into the gully or call for help. The retaining walls of the ditch were already crumbling and sliding down into the bottom of the trench, making them steep and dangerous. If she climbed down, it might be impossible to scale back up the muddy slopes, and then they’d both be stuck in the ditch. Or worse, they could both drown.

And she’d left her phone in the car.

I’m going to get help, she shouted. The whipping wind blew the words back into her face. I don’t know if you can hear me, but hang on. I’m calling for help.

Jessie’s legs grew weak as she turned and dashed back to the car, her feet skating through the grass and mud. Breathless, Jessie slid inside, rummaged through her bag, and dialed 9-1-1.

Dutchess 911. What is the address of the emergency? the dispatcher asked.

Hello, operator? I need your help, Jessie said, her voice ragged with terror. There’s a person lying in a ditch and we need an ambulance right away.

Ma’am, please slow down. What’s your location?

What? I’ve got a dying person here. I need your help.

Ma’am, first we need to pinpoint your location in case we’re disconnected. Now, what’s the intersection or landmark closest to you?

Jessie sighed in frustration and slowly repeated her plea for help. I’m in the City of Poughkeepsie on Dutchess Turnpike, right across from Adams Farm Stand, near the Starbucks. There’s an injured person trapped in a storm drain. The water is rising fast, and I can’t get to them.

Okay, the operator said. What is your phone number and your name?

Jessie Martin, she replied, and provided her cell number.

Thank you, Jessie. Can you tell me if the person is still breathing?

Yes, they appear to be, but not for long if they don’t get help. Panicked, she’d been rushing through her responses and paused to compose herself. He or she appears to be semiconscious. I don’t know how they ended up there or how long they’ve been there, but the rainwater is collecting in the ditch and they’re going to drown if you don’t send help. Please, please send someone right away.

The dispatcher repeated the facts to her—injured person, storm drain, rising water, Dutchess Turnpike—and asked Jessie to confirm, which she did. Thank you, Jessie. Are you in any danger?

The operator’s robotic, monotone inquiries made her question her involving the authorities. Recently, she’d learned that contacting them wasn’t always the best course of action. Before Ryan’s murder, she’d trusted the criminal justice system wholeheartedly. But that was before she’d almost lost everything she cherished. She couldn’t face another attack on her integrity and professionalism without imperiling the fragile sanity she clung to like a life preserver. Yet, here she was repeating the same stupid mistake.

No, I’m fine. I’m in my car, but there’s a person outside whose life is in immediate danger. The dispatcher had asked her so many damn questions without providing one iota of help that Jessie felt like screaming. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down and keep her emotions in check.

Yes, I understand. I want you to remain in your car, and I’d like to keep you on the line until emergency services arrive. Someone will be on the scene shortly.

Shortly was a subjective, if not relative term, which could mean anytime between ten and twenty minutes. In this rainstorm, maybe even longer. Hopefully, the person would survive that long.

Screw this, Jessie thought, scanning the interior of the car for her first aid kit and anything that could serve as a lifeline.

As the line went dead, a flash of white light caught her eye. In the rearview mirror, Jessie detected headlights careening toward the rear of her Jeep. Right toward her.

Chapter Two

Although Hal Samuels had been Dutchess County District Attorney for the past six months, his new office felt strange. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Maybe it was the lingering scent of his predecessor’s Chanel No. 5. The heavy perfume refused to quit; even after cracking the heavy wooden windows open all winter.

Or perhaps it was the turmoil that his predecessor, Lauren Hollenbeck, had left behind. An office so understaffed, overworked, and beleaguered by a spike in gang wars, assaults with illegal handguns, and home invasions that he felt like he was dog-paddling to keep up.

While he’d been Chief Assistant DA, he’d paid little attention to the bureaucratic demands upon his boss. He’d been bureau chief of the Major Crimes Division, prosecuting violent felony offenders and career criminals. The grand jury annex and the courtroom had been his second home, where he’d ensured that justice had been served.

Now, not only was he in charge of everything—narcotics, DWI, justice court, appeals, and the special victims abuse unit—he was drowning in the tsunami of paperwork that accompanied them. And he missed the nitty-gritty of trial work. He was too damn busy pushing papers around to be a real lawyer, a prosecutor. The edges of his litigation knives grew duller and more rusted with each passing day.

As Hal sat behind the government-issue desk commandeered from his old office down the hall, he shivered. The ghosts of Lauren’s twelve-year tenure haunted him, suffocating him and reminding him he was an intruder in her territory. She’d offered him the position of chief of staff in her State Senate office, but he’d declined.

Call me if you change your mind. We could have such fun together in Albany, Lauren had said, goosing him as she bid him adieu. His face had warmed at her touch, not out of embarrassment, but out of anger at her gall. Thank God the witch had finally flown away. Nobody would miss her.

Hal certainly didn’t, and he’d vowed to establish a new regime based upon kindness, not threats. On cooperation, not intimidation. Although he could improve the culture within his office, he couldn’t rectify the austerity budget and hiring freeze he’d inherited. During the upcoming budget hearings, he’d make his case to the county government for more money, but no one knew whether the legislature would grant his request for a budget increase. These were tough times all the way around.

Streamlining the office procedures would take time, but his management team, led by his Chief ADA Cindie Tarrico, wouldn’t let him down. Together, they’d make the office run smoothly. He had no choice. If he wanted re-election in November, he had to succeed.

Cindie sat across from him during their end of the day review of the new murders, rapes, domestic violence, and drug busts stretching their limited resources. She paused and swiped her hand through her short silver hair. Hal knew the sign. She was saving the worst crisis for last.

With Parkland and Newtown, school security is a hot button issue. We’ve received a report that a teen is missing from the Poughkeepsie High School. Hal felt his shoulders tighten at the breakneck speed of her presentation. Chief, I don’t have the details yet, but we’re waiting for confirmation from Principal Martin.

I don’t want to send our investigators over there until we hear from Ed. If anything occurred, I’m sure the city police are on top of it and we’ll hear from them, too. Until all the facts are in, we need to make sure that the school administration and the kid’s family remain on media lockdown. Agreed? We can’t have a widespread panic in the school system. Hal clenched his teeth, trying to suppress the yawn rising to the surface. Anything else? He surrendered to the reflex, extending his arms out wide.

Am I boring you or is there trouble in paradise? Cindie asked slyly.

Hal ignored her prying into his relationship with Jessie Martin, Ed Martin’s daughter, and she launched into an update of two troublesome cases pending in their office - People vs. Manheim, the art fraud case, and People vs. Watson, where a woman had falsely accused a priest of sexual assault.

And both Watson and Manheim are represented by— Cindie stopped when his hand flew up in surrender.

Let me guess… Jeremy Kaplan. He winced at the name of the adversary who had outwitted him in People vs. Terrence Butterfield. He’s not involved in the PHS case, is he?

Not yet.

He’s been awfully quiet lately. You would think he’d be dragging us into court every chance he got, he said.

Yeah, it’s out of character for him, but the rumor is he’s had a heart attack.

I’d heard that, too, but I really don’t give a crap after the way he tortured Jessie. It hasn’t been easy for her, almost losing everything because of— He paused, recalling how Kaplan had tried to free Butterfield by claiming that Jessie had breached Butterfield’s attorney-client confidence. While the court had dismissed the allegations of impropriety, Jessie had suffered irrevocable damage. He hated the bastard not only for his sleazy legal machinations but also for ipso facto ending Jessie’s legal career and endangering Jessie and Lily’s lives. Kaplan deserved the full force of his wrath, but he restrained himself. I’m sorry to hear that.

Are you really? Cindie asked, a smirk curling the corners of her mouth.

Yes, I am. He shifted his gaze to the window and the geese flying by, and then he yawned again.

* * *

The sound of rain pelting the window like pebbles caused Hal to glance up from the pile of correspondence deposited on his desk. The sky had turned purplish-black. Lightning flashed, and his thoughts shifted to Jessie. He felt relieved that she and Lily were home safe and not out in the storm.

The intercom buzzed. Principal Martin’s on the line for you, his secretary said.

He picked up the handset and cradled it against his ear with his shoulder. Hey, Ed. I was just about to call you.

Sorry to bother you, son, but have you spoken to Jess this afternoon? Ed Martin asked. His voice had a deep, authoritative tone that could freeze a teenager in their tracks. It was no surprise that Ed, Jessie’s dedicated father, would ask about her before settling down to business.

No, but I’ll see Jess when I get home later. He flipped through the pile of correspondence, scrawling his signature next to the red Sign Here stickers as he continued. I’m sitting here with Cindie, and we’re discussing the incident at your school. Can you fill me in? When he reached the bottom of the pile, he slipped the documents into a folder and slid it across the desk to Cindie. If anything’s happened, we’d like to round up a list of eyewitnesses. Students, faculty, and staff. Okay?

He paused, interrupted by the appearance of an assistant DA from the traffic safety division fidgeting in his doorway. The young man’s furrowed brow reminded him of a boxer concentrating on the right moment to throw the first punch, and something warned him to prepare for a sucker punch in the gut. Ed, hold on a sec.

Hal pressed the mute button and transferred the phone to his hand, covering the microphone end. His prosecutor’s innate curiosity trumped his annoyance at the interruption. Marcus?

Chief, the sheriff phoned in a multi-car crash on the arterial highway, but they’re not sure about fatalities yet. A minivan and a Jeep Cherokee. They’re running the VIN numbers and plates for identification. And there was a kid in one car.

The blow landed dead-on in the center of Hal’s belly. Fatal automobile accidents, though rare in the county, always struck him hard, but again, his mind returned to Jessie. She and Lily wouldn’t be out in this storm. These days Jessie rarely left the house, but with her, you never knew. They were just starting their long-delayed life together and should anything happen to her or Lily, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

Hal returned to the phone call, disguising the tremor in his voice with cheer. Ed, I’ll call you back.

Better to keep news of the accident to himself for the moment. There was no reason to worry Ed unnecessarily.

Chapter Three

Detective Ebony Jones’ left hip ached like a son-of-a-bitch. Rainy days were killers, tweaking her old gunshot wound, and today’s thunderstorm was no exception. She squirmed in the passenger’s seat of the unmarked SUV, trying to conceal her discomfort from her partner, Zander Pulaski. She glanced at him. Fortunately, he hadn’t noticed her wince. Zander was staring out the windshield, gripping the steering wheel with brute force determination. So perhaps she was safe. He was a ballbuster, and Ebony wasn’t giving him any reason to diss her, or to feel he couldn’t rely on her when the bullets flew.

After a year, she thought the pain would’ve subsided, but it hadn’t. She’d learned to live with it, manage it. Use it to make her a better cop. At thirty-two, with a long career ahead of her, there was no way she’d let a quarter-sized, crescent-shaped scar on the ridge of her thigh define her.

Ebony shifted her attention back to the blurry windshield. What a bastard of a night to be out in the storm. They should’ve been heading home, where Drew, a hot bath before steamy sex and a glass of Merlot with her name on it waited, but the call had come in at the last minute. She hoped Drew wasn’t pissed about another postponed dinner, but he was a big boy. As a firefighter, he’d known what he was getting into when he’d started dating a cop. Hopefully, he’d remember to feed and walk her shepherd, Wrangler.

So, here she and Zander were, careening down the highway in a monster rainstorm toward a body. A body in a storm drain.

How the hell does anyone fall into a storm drain? Ebony asked.

Just add another one to our crazy list, Zander replied.

You mean the one with the college student getting his head stuck in the dorm banister and the drunken Zamboni driver at the skating rink?

Zander scoffed as the car hydroplaned and fishtailed. Whoa, hold on.

She clutched the door handle, every muscle tensing. He brought the car back under control and she relaxed. However, his cavalier attitude annoyed her. This call was different. There was nothing funny about death.

After almost a decade on the force, Zander should know better; they’d caught a fatality before. The gray, waxy sheen of death coating the skin. The body so limp it was hard to imagine it had ever been alive. The dull, unseeing eyes staring into an unearthly realm. Tonight would be the second.

Well, this is what we signed up for, so let’s get there safely, buckaroo, she said.

Outside the window, it was dark as midnight. The road shimmered like a mirage, and the rear lights of the Poughkeepsie Fire Department Rescue Squad’s ambulance parked on the shoulder flashed red, blue, and yellow. The gale-force winds rocked their car, telling her that shortly angry gusts would be bitch-slapping her as she searched for the body lying somewhere across the street from the farm stand.

She would have to remain alert in the rain, the mud, or whatever else climate change would hurl at her. There was no time for her pain or Zander’s cynicism.

Zander pulled up parallel to the ambulance, beeped, and rolled down Ebony’s window.

Z, what are you doing? Ebony said, wiping the spray from her face as the ambulance window lowered. I’m getting soaked over here.

You’re not going to melt like the Wicked Witch of the West, so pipe down.

What’s eating him, she wondered, turning toward the EMT? Nice night, huh, Rowley? We received a 10-54. What’s the story?

Dunno. We just arrived and the ladder trucks are tied up, Rowley replied, looking around at the storm. The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth deepened, matching the craggy voice that revealed too many cigarettes and too much whisky. We received a call that a body’s trapped in a storm drain. We were just about to investigate when you showed up.

Where? Over there? Zander asked. He jutted his chin toward a trench beyond the grassy strip separating the highway from a strip mall where a Starbucks mermaid presided. That’s not a storm drain, it’s a ditch or swale.

Doesn’t make much difference what it is. We’re here to investigate somebody stuck in it, so let’s not quibble about technicalities. Who called it in? Ebony asked.

The person in that Jeep. Rowley gestured toward a dark Jeep parked up on the grass with its hazard lights flashing. Dispatch told them to remain inside their car until we came to speak with them. We’ll do that while you investigate. He smirked.

She recognized his gloat. He was volleying the dirty work back into their court. Just you wait, she thought. We’ll see who ends up in mud up to their chins.

Sounds good, and we’ll signal if we find anyone. Tell the witness we’ll need a statement later. Come on Eb, let’s go.

All right, let me change my shoes and grab my jacket and a flashlight. Ebony shrugged on her yellow rain parka, tugged on the hiking boots she’d stowed in the back seat, and joined Zander outside the car. The wind whipped her face, pelting it with rain, and stinging her exposed skin as if it were sleet.

I can’t imagine anyone surviving exposure to this storm for very long. We’d better book, Ebony said.

She tightened her hood around her face and trod head-on into the wind. Her boots sank into the thick muck as she slogged toward the edge of a deep trench. The howling wind lashed at her anorak as her flashlight swept along the swale, searching for evidence of life. The trench appeared to run a hundred yards along the edge of the parking lot and was shoulder deep, approximately five feet deep, and four feet wide. A curtain of fog engulfing both ends blocked her view of its full length, and a swift current of runoff rushed by in the section beneath her feet.

There was something sinister about the ditch.

Look, the walls have started to collapse into the bottom and the water’s rising. And the weather’s probably washed away any clues suggesting a downward tumble, Ebony said, leaning over the ditch for a closer inspection. We’d better find our victim fast before—

Watch out! Zander yelled, grabbing her arm and yanking her backward. At that moment, the earth shifted beneath her feet as the rim of the trench crumbled and slid away.

Damn, that was close. The whooshing of Ebony’s pulse throbbed in her ears as she stumbled backward. Thanks, you almost had two people to rescue.

Hey, just be careful, he said. She must’ve looked startled because he followed up with a timid, You okay?

Ebony wiped away the water dripping into her eyes and nodded. Fortunately, the darkness would mask the flush of embarrassment creeping across her cheeks. Yeah, I’m good. But there’s nothing here. Let’s split up. I’ll move toward the eastern end, and you head west. We’ll see what we find. She trained her beam on his waterlogged Italian loafers, now caked in mud. Be careful. It’s slippery. Especially in those fancy kicks.

He ignored her as he trod away, leaving her to move on. She flicked her beam into the trench and inched her boots along its muddy lip. The close call had set off an alarm in her head—one false step and she’d be trapped with the victim in the watery trench below, so she proceeded with care. She could be impulsive, but never reckless.

Ebony squinted at the blinding reflection of her light on the water’s surface and scanned the scarred walls of mud. In this section of the trench, almost a foot of water had collected. It wasn’t deep enough to cover a body, but it could serve as a grave for a drowning victim.

Her cellphone buzzed in her pocket, and shielding it with her body, she glanced at Zander’s text. Find anything? She texted the thumbs-down emoji and returned the phone to her anorak.

With each step, the rushing sound intensified. About ten yards ahead, a security lamp overhung the parking lot, casting a wide circle of amber light on the rain-soaked ground. Toward the perimeter of the glowing ring, something caught her eye. A sparkling mound glistened from within the depths of the ditch. From her location, it was impossible to determine its identity, but the mass appeared to be sucked into a violent whirlpool circling the drain beneath the overpass leading to the parking lot.

A fight-or-flight rush of adrenaline seized Ebony, thrusting her toward the glittering object. Her feet skidded across the slick grass, unable to gain traction, as her mind switched to rescue mode. The distractions of the cold, the rain, and the danger had vanished like the mist rising into the raw air. Every fiber of her being focused on one goal—saving a life.

Her mind flashed through the rescue and recovery protocols she’d learned at the academy—identify the victim, safely reach the victim, remove objects trapping them, assess their condition and leave the extraction to the experts. Neither she nor Zander were certified in trench rescues, and thankfully, Rowley and his partner, Lulu, were there to do the heavy lifting.

Reaching the edge, Ebony dropped to her knees and fixed her beam into the trench. A body lay half-submerged in the swirling current. The person lay on their side facing away from her, their arms and legs bobbing in the soupy water like buoys in a turbulent sea. Their gender was indeterminate because of the darkness, the diffused lighting, and the current.

Hey, can you hear me? Ebony shouted. She hoped she wasn’t too late. She didn’t want anyone dying on her watch tonight.

There was no reply.

Ebony flopped onto her stomach, digging her boot’s toes into the earth. She dangled over the edge of the culvert, extending her hands toward the lifeless body. She strained to reach them, but they were too far away.

Sir. Madam. Help is here. Can you hear me?

She thought she heard a low, guttural groan, but it could’ve been the wind or the downpour or her imagination. Then she heard it again, more clearly this time, and a leg twitched.

Oh my god, Ebony thought. Not dead. They’re alive.

Hold on. Help will be right there. Hold on!

Jumping to her feet, Ebony waved her arms and her light at Zander and the paramedics to get their attention.

Over here!

As