Lake Effect on the Scajaquada Expressway

Gathering Evidence

When Detective Kyle Edwards arrived on the scene he found not one but three officers down. Two of them, known collectively as The Ginger Brothers, were sitting up holding ice packs to their heads as EMTs, uniformed officers and the crime scene crew surrounded them. An ambulance gurney was being wheeled past him with his partner, Detective Mike McQuaid, laying on top with an oxygen mask over his face.

"Shit! Mickey? You ok?" he gently touched the arm of the unconscious man under the blanket before him. "He's been beaten, real bad detective. We're taking him to Buff General," the EMT told the shocked man before him and continued to wheel the prone detective from the apartment.

The officers and personnel left in the apartment grew quiet as if in deference to Kyle's fallen partner. "We'll figure this out Eddy," Ginger 1 stood up shakily and reached down to grip the shoulder of his fellow police officer. "We were just as surprised as Mickey Q was when we got here after hearing the call. Whoever the bastard was caught all three of us off guard. Isn't that right Aaron?" he asked turning toward Ginger 2, who looked up dazed, awareness slowly crossing his features. "Yeah, yeah, Brenden and I ain't gonna rest until this asshole is found." He nodded to Ginger 1 then looked toward Kyle. "We'll get him, Eddy."

"Jesus fuck, it's Kyle, not Eddy!" he muttered, then asked "How the fuck did they get the jump on all three of you? What the fuck..." his voice petered out as he turned away from the two towards the window, where the glass and puddle of milk still lay on the rug. EMTs helped the Ginger Brothers up and slowly led out them of the apartment.

Kyle turned back to the apartment and looked about him. What had once been on the walls and shelves was tossed about and disheveled. Pillows were pulled from the couch and thrown without thought, books lying with their spines split, and yet Detective Edwards noticed something else. Other than the upheaval that whoever had assaulted the men had caused, the apartment was spotless. No overflowing ashtrays lying on the floor near the barcalounger. As a matter of fact, no barcalounger at all. None of the beer bottles or cans that Mickey Q had so proudly collected through the years were lining the shelves, which had made the apartment look to Kyle like the home of a frat boy or football player who had never outgrown their hard-partying ways and decorating taste. "I'll be dammed." He chuckled. "He literally cleaned up his act." The thought of his injured prone partner, after all, that he had overcome since drying out in recovery, worried Kyle as he turned back to the window.

His slight dark figure stood still, head bowed. A cough came from behind him and he turned to see CSI Supervisor Matt Puslowski standing off to the side, dressed in his disposable jumpsuit. "Find anything?" he asked the slightly taller, and much wider man in front of him.

The Supervisor shook his shaggy head no, "No new fingerprints, no fibers. Just the three officers down and their blood everywhere." He gestured to the blood spatter that dotted two of the walls and the window.

Kyle turned toward the window and zeroed his gaze in on the blood. A sparkle of reflected light caught his eye and he took a step forward and looked up. A floor above him, at an angle, he could see the glint of a camera lens through the blinds covering the other apartment window. He pointed quickly, "There!" he shouted while the Supervisor came forward to see what he noticed.

"Jones!" the Supervisor barked as a similarly jumpsuited subordinate ran forward. "Get to that apartment. Take some uniforms with you. Find out what they saw." Jones looked up and counted the windows from the farthest wall to determine where the apartment was, then turned and motioned to two uniformed officers, "You're with me." then the three rushed out the door.

Do You See What I See?

The door to apartment 9G stood open, with the two uniformed officers standing outside, taping an X across the doorway with yellow and black crime scene tape. No neighbors poked their heads out their doors, as most folks were at work this time of day. Detective Edwards ducked under the tape and walked into the empty studio apartment.

Empty except for the powerful camera and lens on the tripod pointing out the window. A few cords lay on the floor nearby, as if they were once plugged into something. Supervisor Puslowski faced the detective as his team worked about the room, searching for evidence.

"Do you see what I see?" he nodded to the wall behind the detective. Edwards turned and let out a slow "Holy shit!" and a whistle as before him was a wall plastered with multiple pictures of Detective McQuaid. There were photos of Mickey Q drinking coffee outside the Five Points Bakery, Mickey Q walking along Canalside, Mickey Q in his car looking toward a house, Mickey Q, still in his car, talking to a recognizable figure who was leaning in to talk to him.

"Is that Lucky?" Edwards asked as he leaned in and pointed to this last picture. "Sure is, and that's the house where Lucky and Mandy live. You know Mandy is Mickey Q's ex-wife don't ya?" Puslowski asked as he walked forward to stand next to Edwards, scanning the wall in front of him. Edwards shook his head in the negative. "You don't know a lot about your partner do you?" Puslowski scoffed as he turned from the wall and directed his crew to bag and tag the pictures.

"It's almost a year now, and actually less than that if you consider he was in drying out for a couple of months. Add on the fact that the old bastard is a wall of stubborn, and yeah, I don't know shit about him." Edwards stated defensively, his hands on his hips and chin jutting out.

Puslowski raised his eyebrows and turned back to the room. "No fibers or fingerprints here either. Whoever hit those three sure knew what they were up to."

"You think this stalker person is the one who went after them? I dunno," Edwards gestured towards the picture wall and shook his head, a puzzled look on his face. "Why would you stalk someone, then knock him over the head, ransack his place, then knock out two other officers? It doesn't make sense. None of this does." Inwardly he began to wonder who called in the 911 and how the officers were able to surprise the intruder. Things weren't adding up.

"These cords. What could they be for?" he asked Puslowski as he knelt near them lifting them up.

"Listening equipment maybe? Seems kinda sophisticated if ya ask me." Puslowski returned.

"Do a sweep of Mickey's apartment. See what you can find." Edwards shook his head, then went out the door.

As he left the building, ducking under the crime scene tape that uniformed officers out front lifted for him, he saw the TV and print reporters and cameramen clustered on the sidewalk waiting for anyone they could pounce upon. Their questions hit him like a wall as they shoved their microphones and cameras into his face. He held up his hand to guard his face against their onslaught and tersely yelled out "No comment!"

He noticed one of them standing back from the crowd, taking pictures, then pushing the camera behind her as she quickly typed something into her phone. She was quieter than the others and almost as dark as he was. He caught her eye as she looked up at him and she nodded. Her name was on the tip of his tongue, as he had seen her at other crime scenes, though she had been very aggressive then like the press corps were being right now. It was her quiet that caused him to continue to study her as he climbed into his car. What the hell was her name? Kit? Kat? Right, Kitt Osborne, from that online mag Buff-Lo Down.

She and Mickey Q had gotten into plenty of yelling matches before he'd gotten clean. He hadn't seen much of her since then. His radio squawked and he heard the dispatcher ask for him. "This is Edwards, over." He answered back. Captain Coffey was requesting he meet up with her at Buff General to get a quick briefing from him and an update on Detective McQuaid's and the other officer's condition. "Roger, I'm on my way."

He put the car in drive as Kitt Osborne watched him drive away. She slid her phone into her backpack with her camera and walked over to her bike. She settled the backpack better on her shoulders and mounted the bike for the 10-minute ride to Buffalo General.