Queenpin

I

Thunder ripped across the sky, raindrops splattering across the frosty windowpanes of the precinct.

It was late. I was often one of the few who worked into the late hours of the night, but it was what made me so damn good at my job. I was twenty-eight, one of the best detectives in my city, and I wouldn't have traded it for the world.

My fingers flew over the keys, recalling the story of Josephine Geller, a twenty-three year old woman who'd been murdered by her ex-boyfriend just a day prior to when she was supposed to meet her estranged father. My team and I had cracked the case the day earlier. Now came the paperwork.

"Still here, Weldon?"

I turned my head towards the Chief's door, which had promptly been closed only seconds before. The blinds that covered the small window trembled with the force of the swing. Chief Fletcher was an African American man in his mid-fifties, who, much like myself, was a chronic workaholic. His hair, once a charcoal black, was now peppered with silver, and he wore a thick waterproof coat to shield him from the torrential New York rain.

"You know me, Chief," I replied with a crooked smile. "The precinct's quieter at night."

"Don't I know it," Fletcher admitted, returning my loose grin. "Isn't your girl waiting for you back at your apartment? You should go home to her. You never keep a woman waiting."

"Anna? She understands," I assured him. "Besides, she'll probably be asleep by the time I'm home. I'd rather wrap up the paperwork on the Josephine Geller case as soon as possible."

"A damn shame, what happened to that young woman," Chief Fletcher sighed. "Alright, Weldon. Finish your paperwork, then get home. We've got big wigs from the state coming in tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," I promised, offering the Chief a sideways salute. "See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, Weldon," Fletcher waved, disappearing down the hallway. I listened until I heard his footsteps echo down the hallway and beyond the door leading out of the district building.

I leaned back in my seat, a deep exhale escaping my lips as I peered at my computer screen. I rubbed my eyes, blinking as I returned to my work, scanning the last few paragraphs to recollect what I'd been writing before the Chief had interrupted me.

White, Caucasian female, Josephine Marlette Geller, 23, killed by blunt-force trauma to the head on November 22nd, 2016.

I scrolled down.

Trauma to the torso and arms suggest defensive bruising. Autopsy revealed that the DNA of Samuel Jacob Deacon, 24, was discovered underneath the victim's fingernails. Records of domestic disturbance calls were traced back to Geller's residence. The 911 calls made by Geller were claimed to be directed towards the abuse she sustained at the hands of then-boyfriend, Deacon. Deacon was arrested before on multiple charges of domestic violence and armed battery, as well as drug trafficking.

I returned to the keyboard, continuing my takedown on Samuel Deacon. Guys like him made me sick. Josephine Geller had been a bright, beautiful girl. She'd been a student at NYU. Interviews with her friends and family had revealed that she wanted to be a teacher.

But Samuel Jacob Deacon had ruined that dream.

After a few minutes of typing, I took a moment to glance at my watch. It read one thirty-four in the morning. I looked back at my screen, cracking my knuckles before saving the rest  of the document, shutting down my computer, and putting on my coat. Josephine Geller would have to wait until tomorrow.

I gathered my shoulder bag, slinging it over one arm and walking down the long corridor to the parking lot. To my dismay, the rain hadn't stopped. Typical for Brooklyn.