Halsey - Colors
"Everything is blue, his pills, his hands his jeans"
•••
I was in the car of Detective Stephen Holder, a former narcotics detective who was the new addiction to the homicide team at the Seattle police department. He was my new, unlikely partner, and first we wouldn't get along mostly, because of Holder's rude ass behaviour, but after a while and a few solved cases, I started to actually really like him, at least, we started to tolerate each other, which was a good sign.
It was raining and we were working on a new case together. The "usual" stuff.
A girl was raped, then murdered and her body was found near the police department, actually. Me and Holder were trying to hunt her murder down the past month. So far, with little results. That guy was amazing at leaving absolutely no trace.
Today, however, I sat inside this car and watched over a suspicious guy since 5 AM this morning. He was accused of raping a girl two years ago, but was let go because there was just too little evidence.
Yet his file fitted with the recently murdered girl, so me and Holder decided to go around houses, taking a look at his relatives, the usual stuff again.
One thing I really couldn't stand about Holder, was that he kept comparing me and my work to his old partner, Sarah Linden, who retired a few years back.
"But Holder, I'm not Linden." I said this sentence just too many times, and I got really tired of his endless complaining.
Sometimes, I would hear a "...but I wish you was..." under his breath, which made me wonder why he didn't follow her wherever she went.
"Ok so how long we've been here for now? It's starting to get really, really boring, Davidson."
I rolled my eyes "you wanna solve that case or not? We're close, I can feel it." I muttered, knowing that this tall, skinny guy next to me would have a go on you for saying that.
"Eh, you said that many times before. And many times before you said that."
"Shut up, Holder."
I watched him pulling a face, lighting up another cigarette. Which was struggling me with each time he grabbed the lighter from his pocket as I quit smoking many years ago.
And almost every time, he would ask me the same, dull question.
"...want one?" I shook my head in disgrace, just like every day, wondering when he'd finally understand the definition of
"No, Holder, I quit smoking and don't plan on starting again any time soon."
"No, thank you." I pushed the cigarettes he had just offered me back into his face. He smiled.
"Ya know, girls like you can't say no. You will give in one day."
"Oh really? Girls like me? So tell me, Holder, what am I like?"
Our little conversation were suddenly interrupted by our suspicious guy, Frank Turner, returning to his loft.
"We've gotta go, Holder." I spoke opening the door
"You sure that's a good idea? From what I've heard that guy's highly dangerous."
I chuckled making my way over the busy street "you scared, eh?"
He looked down to me "ain't nobody scared of this." He grinned pointing to his gun
I rolled my eyes "move."
Surely, it wasn't the best idea to knock on the door of a dangerous rapist in the middle of the night, but we had waited all day for his return and who knows if it wouldn't be too late tomorrow.
