I WANT TO FORGET

SAMARA

The stench of a corpse hung in the office. Sipping her morning double espresso without sugar, Samara watched as Ronda bent over the naked corpse of a middle-aged man, carefully inspecting the dead body. There was a large blunt knife cut in his neck.

"Seven centimeters," Ronda slapped her medical gloves as she took them off and made a note of something in her paperwork. "I have some tuna sandwiches if you want some with your coffee," she said looking at Samara and taking off her glasses to reveal her long eyelashes and pure blue eyes.

"Are they from the refrigerator of the dead?" Samara asked with a smile.

"All refrigerators have the same cold air," Ronda retorted with a soft smile.

"Good morning," Garrett stepped into the morgue. "Samara, honey, is there a single morning when you don't look like you just stepped off the cover of a magazine?" he said as he approached. His shirt clung to his muscular arms and highlighted his athletic figure, his wide white smile accented the fiery gaze of his dark eyes.

"How sticky," Samara sighed and rolled her eyes.

She might have gone out for wine with him after work if he was at least a few inches taller than her and ditched that scuffed leather briefcase. Despite his goofy smile and sweet comments he made to every woman he met, Samara loved working with Garrett Mendez, he was about the only police officer with whom the pre-trial investigation was quality and fast, and the case went to trial, so she was glad that Lt. Gaunt made him her partner.

"Hi, Garrett," Ronda smiled as she fixed her strawberry blonde hair, which was falling in large curls.

Garrett's eyes immediately froze on the corpse and he cupped his mouth.

"To the sink, to the sink," Ronda ordered monotonously. Garrett quickly ran to the sink and threw up.

"It's not for nothing that Kallin calls you a puke bag," Samara snorted, emptying her coffee cup.

"How funny," Gareth muttered as he washed his mouth. - We have a call.

"Let's go," she said as she stood at the sink next to Garrett and leaned over to the mirror to apply her signature red lipstick.

"The murder happened in Seaside Park, near your home," Garrett said as they walked through the door. - The girl was found by a witness.

It was the first time the crime had been committed so close to her home - Seaside Park was just across the street from the prestigious residential area of Hostile, described in tourist brochures as "a mini corner of paradise in the harsh haven of Hostile". The most influential businessmen of the city, judges, prosecutors, or simply those whose family passed down old money from generation to generation lived in the seaside slope settlement - not everyone could afford to live on the seashore, in a spacious white-roofed house with large terraces and showcase windows.

The entrance to the main street of the Pajūris šlaita district was blocked by police barricades, in front of which journalists were already crowding, and the blue and red beacons of the police crews were reflected in the puddles on the road surface. There were several policemen standing at the checkpoints, and their silence was like a shield against the inexhaustible questions of the journalists, who shouted so loudly that Samara could hear their voices even before she opened the car windows.

As Samara's car approached, one of the officers raised the barrier and with a subtle nod recognized her iconic vehicle. Bright red, gleaming from a distance as if fresh from the showroom, the seats were upholstered in white leather, a symbol of her status in the community.

Samara parked the car and got out. There was an uncomfortable chill of the beginning of autumn, mixed with the smell of rain, making the skin shiver and telling that the last signs of life in the fading heat would soon be drowned in autumn melancholy.