The Return

Prologue

Monday 12th June, 2018.

"Jesus fucking Christ, how long has she been here?" Detective Giovanni asked, leaning over the body.

He gently attempted to lift her left arm. She was in rigor mortis. That arm wouldn't move for the life of him.

He straightened.

Just great. He thought with a soft shake of his head.

It never got old. Seeing them like that. The young ones that barely knew what life was. It always left a dull ache in him.

He was at the back of the room. It wasn't a big class, at best it held twenty-something students at a time, and judging by the scribbles etched on the whiteboard it was a History class. A filthy one.

Where the hell were the janitors?

Plastic bottles and wrappers littered the floors, and papers and books were flung carelessly over the desks.

He wouldn't have found his way there ordinarily. It was six doors down from homeroom where he met up with the Lieutenant, a sharp right by the teachers' lounge and two doors from the emergency exit.

"Don't do that," Evidence Technician Penelope Selbourne said, her tone, gentle, a hand tenderly placed on his back. The damn woman needed a bell. He could never tell when she was walking up to him. "No te culpes a ti mismo, these kids... they will always be curious, they will always find a way. You can't protect everyone, Giovanni,"

He could try...

"Three hours." Medical Examiner Mark Pattison answered gesturing to the eerie blue tint on the girl's skin.

He had a gut-wrenching feeling in the pit of his stomach. Was that, guilt? Disappointment?

Music thumped through the walls, reverberating off the hardwood floors. "Can someone please do something about that fucking noise?"

He was silent for nearly thirty seconds taking in the scene.

When he heard from the Lieutenant what unfolded on West Jackson Boulevard, he was planning to round up some underaged drinkers and call it a night. Simple and easy.

He lowered his head. He was at a loss for words. A dead body was the farthest thing from simple.

The girl's body was slumped over a desk; arms folded beneath her head. She looked like she was taking a nap.

Jesus, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his pressed slacks. He was always clean-cut. A button-down and smart loafers kind of guy. Convinced he would get more respect out of looking like he belonged there.

"Got a cause?"

"Heroin overdose, I've seen it before. I always feel bad for these kids, you know," Mark said ripping off his surgical gloves.

With a flick of his wrist, Giovanni gestured to the team of EMTs waiting by the door to bag the body.

"I thought this was supposed to be a chaperoned event? I can't find one responsible adult that isn't boozed up." Douglas Giovanni had a dirty look on his no-nonsense face.

"Got any idea how this happened?" He went around the desk to the window and fiddled with the lock.

He couldn't be too careful.

He needed to know he ruled out all possibilities of undue influence.

There was no sign of forced entry.

No sign of a struggle.

Other than a couple of toppled tables and chairs by the victim, the room was untouched. Whoever did this either knew their way around the school or there was no one behind it at all. And Detective Giovanni was leaning towards the latter. He didn't know the girl in the glimmering yellow dress but it was quite unfortunate what she did to herself.

"She wasn't followed. My best bet is she got her hands on some heroin hit it a little too hard and..." Katherine Midwood was the crime scene technician. A doughy woman with olive skin and warm eyes to boot.

"Who put in the call?" Lieutenant Norman Lawrence impatiently thumped his boots on the hardwood floors. He wasn't getting any younger. In his early fifties, he could feel the years catching up with him. The sooner he could sweep this beneath the carpet the sooner he could confront Giovanni, Selbourne, and the rest of his team about his retirement.

"Some kid, Malcolm Kent, refused to give a statement. Says his Dad's an attorney, he's not willing to talk," Douglas said, his voice, hoarse, dry.

His jaw clenched. Teenagers needed level-headed adults to supervise their parties. Kids and drugs didn't mix and this was a perfect example.

Goddamn it! This is the school his wife wanted to enroll their daughter in?

He had a bitter taste in his mouth. Rowan was just about to finish middle school.

"Think he was her supplier?" Lawrence tossed the question in the air.

Douglas wouldn't put it past the Kent kid to get his hands on a stash of heroin. He didn't know how these kids did it, they always had their hands in places it didn't belong and now, a girl was dead because of it.

He needed to have a long talk with his wife Sienna.

"Don't doubt it, word on the street is, they were an item."

The stench of dried vomit lurked in the shadows.

He sighed.

Fuck!

He would have to explain to a pair of rattled parents what happened to their daughter.

He could already tell how it would play out.

A body was found slumped over a desk on prom night. Cause of death; an overdose.

It was a freak accident. A mistake that shouldn't have happened in the first place.