White Night

Chapter 11

Connors rested her head against the headrest of the car. She was about to blow someone's life apart and not even the early morning sun shining through the windshield could warm her today.

Death notifications were the worst part of a cop's job. Worse than the discovery of a rotting corpse or taking down a violent suspect. Ross had offered to deliver the news, but she was the lead investigator. It was her responsibility.

The victim's identity had been confirmed. John Weston was a 28-year-old IT specialist who lived with his mother. He had no business being at a construction site in that area of Greenpoint late at night—no one did.

Joseph's Coffee Shop was listed as Mrs. Weston's residence. Situated in the older part of Williamsburg, it was benefiting from the hipster's discovery of the area and the insane property prices in the city pushing out all but the super wealthy, a group that included her new partner...

A deep sigh filled her chest, then slowly escaped her lips. She couldn't delay it any longer. Pushing the car door open, she nodded at Officer Ramirez standing next to his radio car. A uniformed officer was helpful during a death notification, but from his stony face she knew he wasn't looking forward to this either.

The metal shutters were pulled up, but the door to the shop was still locked. It was early even for a coffee shop, but death notifications only waited for confirmation of identity, not for a reasonable hour. Connors peered through the glass, catching movement on the inside.

A larger woman in her late thirties or early forties stood behind the counter, fussing over the display cases. She was too young to be Mrs. Weston, who according to her driver's license was sixty-four.

Connors knocked on the glass door and pressed her shield against the window. The occupant looked up but didn't hurry herself, flapping a hand at Connors casually and continuing to arrange the trays inside the display cases.

Seriously? She shook her head and looked at Ramirez as she returned her shield to her hip. Ramirez pounded the door this time, and the woman slammed the display case shut and stomped over to the door, glaring at them with dark eyes from under a mountain of brown frizzy hair. After pulling the bolts back and flipping the sign to "Open," she moved back to the counter without opening the door for them.

Connors pushed the door open herself and the aroma of coffee and baked goods filled her lungs. Usually finding it a refreshing change from the street stench of exhaust fumes and garbage, she almost choked on the scent today, her upcoming task twisting her insides and fueling the rising tide of nausea in her throat.

The coffee shop was an eclectic mix of old décor and shiny new equipment. Mrs. Weston had spent some money recently, probably trying to keep up with the young crowd demanding the newest coffee creations. Old black and white tiles made up the floor of the shop, while a formidable wooden counter took up most of the space in the small store.

Even the baked goods were a random mix of traditional homemade cakes and buns alongside fat-free, gluten-free, taste-free muffins. There was almost no seating, but no one had time to sit down and drink their coffee anymore, anyway.

"Is Mrs. Weston available?" Connors asked.

"Who wants to know?" snapped the woman behind the counter.

"NYPD. I'm Detective Connors and this is Officer Ramirez." She moved her jacket to reveal the gold shield on her hip again, but the woman continued her glare unfazed.

An older, thinner woman came from the back room of the shop and deposited a tray of fresh baked cakes on the counter.

"Mrs. Weston?" Connors asked, still showing her shield on her waist.