Julia Taber was stuck in Yorkville traffic at the corner of 3rd and 90th Street. The clock on her dashboard read 7:35. She had an urgent meeting at 8:00 which she would get to barely on time. Then her hazel eyes fell on a fresh orange sign outside Naruto Ramen, her favorite restaurant which read: “New: Boba milk tea.”
***
Julia strode into the 23rd precinct of the New York Police Department 15 minutes late, happily slurping up boba with a big pink straw. Her cropped brown hair bobbed in rhythm to a tune only she could hear.
Captain Picclin looked up from his briefing with that eye twitch that Julia suspected was becoming permanent. It started shortly after she began calling him “Captain Pickle.” He was a grey gentleman in his late 50’s with a messy crop of long hair and a thick beard.
The cluster of officers in attendance looked up. When they noticed her, several rubbed their temples. One rolled her eyes and sighed. A senior officer took a dollar from a young male rookie.
“In short,” Captain Picclin continued, his face twisting like he was eating a pickle, ergo the nickname, “we are declaring the subway bombing investigation cold.”
He shot a weary glance at Julia.
“That means it’s in your department now, Julia. Are there any..”
“Woohoo!” Julia cheered, literally skipping over to Picclin’s desk where a stack of case files waited for her eager hands.
“Wait, hold on now,” the captain objected.
But it was too late; she was skipping to her office to crack the file.
Julia was a cold case detective. She handled the cases where after two years of active investigation every lead was exhausted and no convictions or arrests were made. She had an impressive track record and incredible patience, having already solved an arson, a theft, and a murder in the 6 months she’d been (officially) working for the department.
She threw herself into a full 360 in her spinny chair. The 24-year-old detective had six monitors behind a long, curving desk. They were precisely at symmetrical angles and exactly the same size. It made a glowing fishbowl around her so she could lock into her work.
She spun her mouse and attention to the leftmost monitor. This one only streamed music. She listened exclusively to K-pop, J-pop or Country. She pulled up ‘How You Like That’ by Blackpink and let the algorithm do its thing.
Julia heaved the thick file onto her desk and wagged her finger.
“Alright mister, spill. You’re hiding someone. There’s no expiration date on a murder case.”
Nothing could have prepared her for the first picture. She froze. Charred black stains. Fragments of bodies. It wasn’t the gore that bothered her. No, she was analyzing bullet casings and blood stains since she was 14. In a violent rush this picture pulled her 8 years into the past.
***
She could smell the acrid smoke as it stung her eyes. She witnessed bodies in scattered piles. Half-melted stanchions bent at unnatural angles.
“Where’s dad?”
Her heart hammered in her chest. She combed frantically through the debris on the bank floor for any sign of him. Then she saw it.
“No.” Her strength left her legs as she collapsed to the floor. She wailed until there was no air left in her burning lungs. Her father’s tie pin lay on a charcoal heap, the symbol of a sword with wings smudged from the explosion.
***
She startled back to the present. Her eyes were blurry and leaking. She took a shaky breath.
“None of that,” she scolded herself. She weakly imitated her father’s deep and gentle voice: “You keep that pretty smile on, girlie.”
She wiped a sleeve across her eyes and drew a quick sob. She looked down and saw her father’s tie pin. Despite Captain Pickle’s insistence that she didn’t need to wear a tie, she did anyways. It reminded her that she was carrying her father’s legacy.
“Let’s go get some justice.”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
She flipped the photo over and began reading through the complete set of documents. July 12, 2019 a bomb went off on the 77th Street stop on the subway’s Green Line. Eight dead, twelve injured, 23 witnesses. No active leads. The theory initially was that the perpetrator was caught up in the explosion. The one piece of evidence that called it into question was that the explosion originated from a lunchbox from an eight-year-old boy. It was a stretch to believe he was the criminal mastermind, which meant the murderer was most likely still at large.
This case drained a lot of the department’s resources because it held an unsettling detail. A flash drive was found in a red circle on the subway floor shortly after the explosion. On it was a simple .wav file of a scrambled voice recording that repeated a date: “Ten..Twelve..Twenty-twenty-two.” An ominous prediction for what was suspected to be a future attack. It was the department’s number one concern, and security at the subways in New York tripled.
Well, the dreaded date 10/12/2022 came and went. That was two months ago. That explained the meeting today to officially de-escalate it to ‘cold’ status.
After scanning through the rest of the witness reports, she flopped the file dramatically down on her desk.
“First things first, let’s play a game.” she said.
Julia pulled up the subway’s security footage from that day on her middle monitor.
“I spy with my little eye, something…”
She scanned the crowds with years worth of people-watching experience under her belt. People were truly fascinating to her. She watched the boy, Kyle Inkliff walk up to the yellow line, one hand in his pa’s and the other on his Pikachu lunch box. Then the explosion.
Rewind, she combed through it again, but tracked someone different. Hours passed. Many different people. Rewatching the same explosion. And then…
“Wha-who are you, mister?” The image showed someone in a thick blue winter coat in a small corner of one of the feeds. First there was his clothes (who wears a thick coat in the middle of summer?) But he was talking to this older lady. Her eyes grew wide and she talked animatedly a second before he left. Two minutes later, the bomb went off. She was one of the victims. Donna Amberthy.
Julia sighed.
“I wish you could tell us what you seen, Grams. That would definitely be a hot lead.”
A churning in her midsection made her pause. Julia checked her wristwatch.
“4 O’clock?! Guess I should get some lunch.”
***
One tasty bowl of pork-belly ramen later, Julia sighed with contentment. It was a good day, all things considered. She didn’t want to admit it also weighed heavier on her in an unusual way. This was her first case that brought back her own dark memories, and that made it hard to focus on the job.
She shook her head and got up from the table. A strong whim pulled at her, one she indulged many times before.
***
She stood in twilight at the 77th street memorial. She often went to visit the graves of the deceased from cases she worked on. It gave her a quiet place to think about the details of the case. Something about being near the dead churned her mind towards the secrets they held. She traced the eight names on the grey stone and her finger found Donna’s. The slow, sad tune of ‘Raymond’ by Brett Eldredge came in through her ear buds.
“Donna, I wish you could tell me what you know.”
She waited a while in the relative quiet with thoughts and faces turning over in her mind. The song was on the line “Until she can see his face again, I’m gonna fill in the best I can.”
She was about to leave when suddenly, static filled her earbuds.
“Wha-? That’s different.”
She turned her earbuds off and on again. Nothing, just the lone drone of the static. Julia checked her watch. It still showed the song was playing. Pause, unpause. Still static. She moved her hand up to put her earbuds away, thinking the problem was a low battery. But then…
A low voice. An elderly voice. It sounded like it was coming from far away, as though through an old telephone.
“No, no,..” it was saying, “This isn’t right. I’m… not supposed to be here.”
“Hello?” Julia asked. She looked at her smart watch. No one was calling. She looked around her and took an earbud out. The memorial site was empty. A chill ran down her spine.
In spite of how creepy it was, a crazy, wild idea filled Julia’s mind. It was irresistible.
“Are you Donna?” Julia asked.
Static.
“Yes..that, that is my name. Was my name. Who..Who are.. child? Why.. why am I here? I should not be here…”
Was this really happening? Could the dead spill what they knew? Julia lit up with excitement. She pressed Donna for more.
“Do you remember the explosion at the subway? The bomb that went off?”
Silence.
“I remember…that day, a bright light..”
“Yeah and just before that - you were talking to someone in a thick blue jacket; do you know who that was?”
Muffled mumbling.
…”hair.. I must go back now…”
Julia panicked, not wanting Donna to leave yet. There was more she needed to know.
“Wait. Don’t leave! What did you say?”
“He…the boy I was talking to, had red hair…”