Julia finished dressing by snapping her dad’s pin onto her tie. An unexpected tear trickled down her face as she recalled something her dad had told her.

She was about 8 years old and he was tying his tie, snapping the pin in place.

“Daddy? What does that pin mean?” she asked with wide eyes.

“Well Juleberry - that was his favorite nickname for her- this sword represents the truth that cuts through the lies. Sometimes when I ask people questions they will lie to try to cover up the truth.” He put his jacket on. “My job as a detective is to find out what’s real.”

She closed her eyes and let the ache of his absence wash over her. That’s when she noticed the clock.

“Oh no..” she groaned.

The clock already showed 7:50. She counted on being late for work.

***

She walked into the 23rd Precinct at 8:21am. That didn’t even include stopping for boba. She needed caffeine though, so she resigned herself to the company coffee pot. She’d settle for black coffee this morning, as bitter as her mood.

She dragged herself to her desk and barely sat down when her cell phone rang.

“Hello?” Julia answered. She winced as she burned her tongue on the hot coffee. Captain Picclin’s voice rang through.

“Good morning Julia. No doubt you want to keep trailing the subway case, and I’m sure you’ll be able to work that in today, but Kelli is out sick this morning. Knowing her, that probably means it’s worse than your common flu. We have a fresh homicide in West Hempstead and we need forensics on it ASAP.”

Kelli was the on-site forensics expert for Precinct 30. She was good too. She could eyeball the precise angle a bullet entered and exited a wound, accurate to within .03 of a degree. Julia wished she could learn more from her someday. For now though, she would do her best to fill her shoes. Without complaining this time.

“Yes Captain, consider it good as solved!”

Julia tried to inject a little more enthusiasm than she felt, but that helped perk her up a little more as she heard the captain fumble a bit for his words.

“I uh…ok Julia, I appreciate you doing this.”

*Click*

***

Julia stood over a body on the corner of Woodfield Rd and Hempstead Avenue on Long Island. The victim was identified as Idris Carver, a six foot, five inch tall African American male. He had one clean bullet wound to the back of the head.

Checking his file showed that he was connected to the Crips and had a record of violent assault and grand theft. He also spent several years of his life on Rikers Island, an island prison on the East River between the Bronx and Queens.

Julia whistled to the tune of ‘More’ by K/DA as she calculated where the bullet would most likely be by measuring the angle at which Isdras fell, and the angle of impact near the base of his skull. Walking back about 50 feet, conveniently there on the sidewalk just beyond the caution tape, was the fatal bullet.

Using gloves, she carefully placed it into a sealed bag, then into an airtight case. She would drive it over to the lab, but first she wanted to try something…

Julia hovered over the body.

“Isdras, this sounds crazy, I know, but I’d like to talk to you.”

She waited. Maybe she had been crazy and imagined Donna Amberthy’s voice. She also didn’t know how she managed to do it the first time. Maybe it was a once-in-a-lifetime-thing.

But then the static sounded in her earbud. An electric spasm shot down Julia’s spine.

“Wha, who, wha…who’s this? How am I…back here?” The voice was deep. Unlike Donna’s faint voice, his sounded clearer.

“Isdras, my name’s Julia Taber. I’m investigating your death. Can you tell me what you know about your killer?”

The static lasted for longer than a minute. She was afraid he might already be gone.

“Yeah…I know ‘im. What’s it to you?” he snapped back.

“Look, I’m just trying to get you the justice you deserve.”

“Justice…heh, that’s funny. You cops think you know what that is. You bust us up, take us away from our families, even when we didn’t do nothin’. Jes for bein’ associated with someone who did. You beat us up in jail an’ leave us to die there. You call that justice? Nah…If that’s justice, you can smoke it yourself.”

Julia was stunned, not knowing what to say. Her dad had been a part of drug raids before. Had there been people who were taken away for just being associated with criminals? Something about that felt very wrong.

“Don’t you want your family to know the truth about what happened to you?” Julia asked.

“My…family?…My only family is my lil’ sister. She…she got out of Hempstead. Went to college. I think she’s workin’ as a ER nurse even. Nah…she won’t miss me. She cut ties years ago...”

Isdras paused for a minute, then continued.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

“Tell you what, I’ll…cooperate. The person you’re looking for, his name is Angel Nelson.”

***

“Gotta love technology these days,” Julia said as she applied for the warrant to apprehend Angel Nelson from her cell phone. It also let her work from Starbucks, where she could get a caramel macchiato.

She couldn’t exactly say that her evidence for probable cause was “someone dead talked to me”, so she put ‘ballistics evidence’ on the warrant. It hadn’t finished processing in the lab, but she was confident in what the results would show.

The warrant could take a few hours to get the judge’s stamp of approval, so until then she had some time to work the other case. She sorted the list of 12 suspect redheads for the subway bombing case alphabetically. Ten of them were Irish with a ton of ‘Mc’s. There was a McCarthy, a McClosky, a McMahon, a McGee, a McMenamy, and even a McDonald.

“E-I-E-I-O,” Julia said to herself, “Who’s down for a game of Guess Who?”

Ian McCarthy had exited the Green Line well before noon, so it was less likely that he had been the one in the thick blue jacket.

Samuel O’Brian had never entered the green line that day.

Derek McClosky worked grounds maintenance in Central Park.

Mac McMahon sparred at his favorite UFC gym.

Brennan McDonald, at 2:35pm, was at his place of employment, McDonald’s.

“Bet he gets all the jokes,” Julia said.

A ping from her cell phone notified her that the warrant was approved.

“Alrighty, looks like I’ll have to pick this up later.” Only seven more alibis to sort through.

She tossed her cup into the trash can and hopped in her car. Destination, the 23rd Precinct. Time to pick up a buddy to apprehend the suspect.

***

Julia was secretly glad that she hadn’t run into Officer Greaves. Lauren Loveless, a Deputy with the Department, when asked to go with her simply said “Sure.”

Lauren had both perfect blonde hair and curves. When she first joined the force she got the attention of many of the single male officers. That was, until they discovered her deadpan personality. She hardly talked. Heck, Julia didn’t remember a time when she saw Lauren smile. She always looked like her mind was far away. She never complained, and did the job with the minimum effort required.

Now Julia stood behind her in front of Angel’s home address, both of them with their hands on their guns. They knocked. They heard shuffling by the door. It creaked open.

Julia’s hand was halfway up to her mouth before she stopped herself. There, framed in the doorway, was an African American lady with tight grey curls and a walker. The expression on her face was painfully familiar. It was the same expression Julia wore the night her father died.

“Oh, Come in, officers.”

She had a gentle voice and walked as slowly as she talked. She hobbled her way across a floor littered with several newspapers and paper cups. She swatted a few magazines off the couch and motioned for the officers to sit.

“How can I help you today, officers?”

It looked like Lauren was going to let Julia do all the talking. She didn’t mind.

“Well, miss…”

“You can call me Ginga, sweetheart.”

“Ok, well miss Ginga, we’re looking for Angel Nelson. Do you happen to know where he is?”

“Sweet Angel…” The elderly lady’s hands began to shake. “I guess…I guess he’s an angel now…”

She picked up a tiny photo framed on her table and stared at it for a long time.

Just then, Julia got a ping. It was the results from the ballistics lab. She would open that later.

Ginga turned the frame to show the officers. The picture was of an 8-year-old boy smiling and wearing his backpack.

After each word her voice trembled even more and tears began running down her sunken cheeks.

“This is Angel. He is no longer with us.”

“What do you mean, ma’am?” Julia’s eyes grew wide.

“A bullet took his life three days ago. His brother Raymond and his friend Isdras got caught up in a turf war. Angel was running, and ran right in front of Isdras’s gun. He was trying to get away.”

She drew a desparate sob.

‘“Raymond, oh my soul, Raymond, even though he and Isdras have been like brothers, he’s just so angry. I told him, “Raymond, if you live by the sword, you will die by the sword. I’ve already lost one grandson. I don’t want to lose you too.” I hope, I pray he listened, that they can embrace each other again one day.”’

An unsettling panic wormed its way into Julia’s mind.

Wait, so Angel was the little brother? He couldn’t have shot Isdras, but Isdras himself called him out by name. Was it Raymond who shot Isdras? but then that means…”

“Thank you ma’am, that’s all we needed.” Julia said. And then, after a pause, “I’m so sorry you’ve lost so much.”

Julia stood up to leave. Lauren raised an eyebrow, the most expression she’d shown all day. She quickly followed Julia out the door.

Julia’s eyes were on the ballistics report as soon as she stepped into the police cruiser. Sure enough, the report confirmed her fears. The shot was fired from a Ruger 3600. Possible owners connected to the target: one name. Raymond Nelson.

***

Julia was afraid that she was going to get in major trouble for naming Angel instead of Raymond on the warrant. Thankfully, the judge was satisfied when she explained that she had been tipped off earlier that day that it was Angel who committed the murder. Of course she left out who had given her the tip.

After Julia called it in, Raymond had been spotted and taken into custody at the Sand Box Motel in New Jersey, after which he was locked in a holding cell. The District Attorney approved formal charges against him for Isdras’s murder, despite Ginga’s insistence that she would not press charges. Thinking about her living in that house alone…

Julia shook her head. These past few days had really taken an emotional toll on her. She still had something important she needed to do today though.

Isdras’s body was already moved, so she didn’t know if it would work, but she stood where his body had been hours before, questions burning in her mind.

“Isdras! Why did you lie? Why did you say it was Angel instead of Raymond?”

In her ear buds his voice sounded farther away now.

“So you know, huh…Look… I ain’t gonna snitch on a brotha’. Raymond and I grew up in the projects, hustled together, were in and out of Riker’s together. When he lost his lil bro… that was my lil bro too. Lookin’ back on it, the hustle wasn’t worth it. I lost the only family I ever had. Much as I wish, I’ll never get a do-over…I have forever to play it back in my head over and over again…I can’t stay here anymore…My time is up.”

The static went silent.

***

A dark thought plagued Julia’s mind as she returned home in the shadows of dusk. She’d made a dangerous assumption, thinking the dead wouldn’t lie. But wait, couldn’t that also affect the subway case? Julia voiced her fears into the night.

“What if our suspect’s hair isn’t red at all?”