Already Gone: Detective McDaniel Thrillers, #4

By Axel Blackwell

This is Book 4 in the Detective McDaniel Thrillers series.
The series is best read in order. Please consider reading Book 1, Hold Back the Night, before enjoying Already Gone.


A Friday night screaming match turns deadly.

Levi Riley and Jayda Bloom broke up over a year ago, but still live together in the same small house with their little girl, Chamomile. It's a tense arrangement not helped by Jayda's drug use and her new boyfriend's frequent visits. One Friday night, an argument turns physical and the tensions boil over into bloodshed.

The following morning, a neighbor finds the front door ajar, the house trashed, and a puddle of blood soaking into the bedroom carpet. Detective Darren McDaniel and his partner, Brent Vanderwyk, quickly determine it's a case of domestic violence turned deadly. But both Levi and Jayda are missing – as is the little girl.

As the detectives plunge into the hunt for a suspect, a body and a missing toddler, the case becomes increasingly bizarre. The couple have ties to money laundering, drug trafficking, organized crime, and even darker secrets. As much as Levi and Jayda hated each other, plenty of other people had reason to want either or both of them dead.

With their suspect list steadily growing, and the missing toddler's time slipping away, McDaniel and Vanderwyk race against the clock, piecing the puzzle together, hoping to save little Cami before her time runs out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Axel Blackwell
• Release date: Nov 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223862437

Book preview

Chapter 1

Da! Da! Da! Da! Da! Chamomile Bloom chanted as she splashed her tiny pink fingers in the bath. Her cornflower blue eyes squinted nearly shut against the spraying water and flying suds. Tiny bubbles clung to her lashes. Her big round cheeks flushed with her excitement and the warmth of the bathwater.

Dada’s watching sports, Cami, Jayda Bloom said, with a beleaguered sigh. She was all pale skin and dark hair, thin but not fit. Long bangs slipped out from behind one ear and fell across her face. She wanted to brush it back, but suds coated both her hands. She curled up her lower lip and tried to blow the hair away.

Chamomile stopped chanting Da Da, stuck her lips out like her mom, and blew a slobbery raspberry. This immediately delighted her. She burst out laughing and went back to slapping her palms on the water. She trilled her lips, spraying baby slobber over and over until her face turned a shade redder.

Jayda chuckled. She looked to the bathroom door. Beyond it, the low tones of an announcer’s voice beat like a metronome, calling out the movements of a bunch of self-absorbed boy-men who got paid way too much money for playing with balls.

Levi was out there watching them play with their balls. Jayda snorted derisively at the thought. Maybe that would be a good line for her to use to kick off tonight’s fireworks. She would have to give it some more thought. But that was for later.

Last she’d seen him, Levi was slowly sinking into his butt-crater in the recliner, methodically working his way through a six-pack. She didn’t expect him to interrupt her, but she locked the door, just in case.

Chamomile decided it was time to change things up. She combined her two-sound set, chanting, da-da-da, then spitting loudly through her pursed lips. Da-da-da pbbbbb! Da-da-da pbbbbb! Da-da-da pbbbbb!

Jayda laughed out loud, surprised. That’s right, Cami, Dada pbbbbb!

Having assured herself that Dada pbbbbb wasn’t going to interrupt, Jayda went to work. She stepped up on the edge of the tub, lifted the end of the shower curtain rod out of its cup, and slipped off the plastic endcap.

Chamomile stopped splashing and chanting, amazed. She looked up at her mother in wonder. Jayda cherished the moment of quiet. But for toddlers, wonder comes and goes in a breath. By the time Jayda had pulled the long thin wire out of the hollow curtain rod, Cami was back to spitting and verbalizing, as raucous as ever.

Jayda hopped down off the tub and squatted between the toilet and sink, where the heating duct came through the floor. After another quick glance at the door lock, she popped the grate off the register. The wire from the curtain rod had once been a coat hanger. Straightened, with a hook at one end, it was now a kit-grabber.

Jayda slid the kit-grabber deep into the duct, hooked her prize, and pulled it out. She spread the kit’s contents on the sink surround. There wasn’t much powder left in her baggie, but there was enough for tonight, and that’s what mattered. In just seconds, she had the lines cut on the mirror. A minute later, it was all up her nose. Enough coke to light her up, balanced perfectly with enough heroin to smooth out the rough edges.

And there was definitely about to be some rough edges.

Jayda hurriedly stuffed the pieces of her kit back into their bag. Behind her, Cami had stopped her wild ruckus and was now babbling and burbling. Jayda turned just in time to see the toddler do an exaggerated imitation of her mother, snorting a palmful of bubbles up her nose.

Oh, my god! Chamomile Bloom, no! Jayda scolded, but couldn’t help laughing. She knew that was totally inappropriate, but it was hilarious, too. No, Cami, she said again, through the giggles. If Da-da pbbb sees you doing that, he’ll slap you silly!

And there it was, the brilliant idea she had been searching for all night. She wouldn’t need to come up with the perfect line to get under Levi’s skin. All she needed to do was let him find her kit and he’d start the fight without any help from her.

Cami watched her, wrapped in a moat of suds, her big blue eyes questioning, confused. She lifted another heap of bubbles toward her face, trying to read her mother’s reaction. Should she snort the bubbles or not?

Don’t do that, baby, Jayda said, giggling and half baby-talking the words. Don’t do that. Mommy’s silly. Let’s get you out of there. Get you all dried off and go play with Kitty. Kitty was a furry stuffed ball that vaguely resembled an owl. Cami couldn’t sleep without it. Why she had named it Kitty, nobody knew.

Kitty! Cami shrieked and slap-splashed the water. Kitty!

Jayda put the final touch on her master strategy. She tapped just enough baby powder into her baggie to make it look right – about six-hundred dollars-worth, she figured. She left the baggie, the straw, and the rest of the kit scattered across the countertop. Then she went to work getting Cami out of the tub. The way Levi had been hitting those beers, she figured he’d need to make a toilet trip before she had finished putting the toddler to bed.

She quickly rinsed the suds off Cami, yanked the tub plug, and hauled the little girl out. Cami kept wanting to play while Jayda toweled her off, but Jayda’s mind was on other things, humming along at a quick clip and picking up speed as it went. Once she had Cami wrapped up in a towel, she unlocked the bathroom door and carried the squirming bundle across the hall into the tiny bedroom.

She closed Cami’s door a little louder than necessary, just to make sure Levi knew the bathroom was available. It was all a matter of timing now. Her pulse was quickening, vision sharpening, and everything was good. The fuse was lit. The game was on.

She had felt almost overwhelmed with anxiety all day, but now all she felt was anticipation. She just had to make sure she got this baby to bed before things went wild.

Halfway through Goodnight Moon, Jayda realized she was speed reading and running the rocking chair like it was the needle in a sewing machine. Cami sat on her lap, looking up at her with a mix of curiosity and humor. She had one thumb plugged deep in her mouth. The other hand clamped Kitty to her tiny torso.

Whew, Jayda chuckled, swiping her dark locks out of her face. We are going to have some fun tonight, Cami Bloom.

Boom, Cami said. She smiled, but it was a sleepy smile.

Jayda smiled back. That’s right, baby girl. Boom. She took a deep breath, settled herself more comfortably in the chair, and focused on slowing down. Rocking slowly. Reading slowly. Breathing slowly. It seemed to be working, but the last four pages felt like she was reading one of those fat dusty paper-bricks they hide at the very back of the library.

When she finally finished the last page, she reached over and clicked off the lamp. The room settled into vague dimness. Two nightlights still glowed. Jayda lowered Cami into her crib and tucked her in, standing over her, patting and shushing her into a doze.

As the toddler tottered on the edge of sleep, Jayda gently peeled her fingers off Kitty. Cami’s sleepy-slit eyes opened, just a little, but her mouth stayed firmly sealed around her thumb. For now. Jayda turned and set the owl doll on the changing table directly across from the crib where Cami could see it.

She might as well have set a time bomb.

She pulled the door almost closed behind her when she stepped into the hall. Levi looked as if he had not moved since before Cami’s bath. The six-pack by his chair held five empty bottles. The sportscaster was announcing a commercial break. Jayda had just an instant to worry that she’d hear Levi snoring. If he had drunk himself to sleep, she would have to work a lot harder to get him moving.

Before that worry was fully formed, he spoke, in his maddeningly bored voice. I flushed your shit. His eyes didn’t leave the screen. Neither of his hands moved from the armrests. One of them held the last beer bottle. You don’t bring that shit into my house, and you don’t bring that shit around my kid.

Jayda had hoped that was what he’d do, but she was still just a bit amazed. If it had been coke, as he must have believed it to be, rather than baby powder, he was blithely mentioning, Oh, by the way, I just flushed half the month’s rent. If it had been real, her outrage and fury would have been instant. As it was, she had to work her way up to it.

She thought she would be able to manage that.

What! she gasped, then stammered, then blurted, You what?

He didn’t move, didn’t even turn his head away from the erectile disfunction ad on the television.

What did you do? she shouted at him.

When he still didn’t reply she started mumbling oh my god, over and over under her breath. She turned, with a horrified huff, and stomped into the bathroom. All the various pieces of her kit were at the bottom of the trash can. The little baggie was empty.

Jayda half squeaked, half shrieked. She dove into the garbage can with both hands, ripping the contents out and salvaging the pieces of her kit. Oh my god! Levi! Holy shit, Levi! Where is it? What did you do?

In the other room, the tv volume went up several notches.

Levi! she shrieked. Levi!

When he still didn’t answer, she grabbed the trash can, ran into the hall, and flung it at him. Levi, answer me! What did you do with my powder?

The can bounced off the top of the chair, then clattered across the linoleum in the kitchen.

Jesus, Jayda, you’re making a mess. What is your problem? Levi said. He had finally taken his eyes off the tv, at least. And now you’re bleeding. He scoffed and shook his head.

A small bead of blood ran down her finger, must have nicked it on something in the trash. She laughed to herself and thought, oh, you have no idea. Out loud she said, My problem? What’s your problem, asshole? Huh? What did you do with my powder?

I told you. I flushed it. Just like I told you I would. He reached down beside the chair, pulled the remote out of its holder, and cranked up the tv volume a little bit more.

You had no right! No! Right! she shrieked. That was my personal property!

That’s fine, Jayda. Whatever. I don’t want to get into it tonight.

You don’t want to get into it? You don’t want… You shouldn’t have flushed my powder! That was my property. My personal property! What gives you the right to flush my property?

Jayda, I’ve told you a hundred times. His voice was still enragingly serene. You keep that shit out of this house.

She was feeling it now. No need to pretend or try to wind herself up. This was the real deal. You told me? What are you, my dad? You get to tell me things? This is my house, asshole. I live here, too. I pay rent, too. You don’t get to just tell me what I can bring in my own house.

In the little bedroom, Cami had started to cry. She’d escalate to a full-blown wail in a matter of minutes. Jayda felt the warm glow of triumph lighting her high. This was going perfectly, just a little more and he’d be ready to leave.

I can when it affects my daughter, Levi said as if reasoning with a child. You endanger my daughter, you’re damn right I’m gonna flush your shit. You’re lucky I didn’t flush you down with it.

I didn’t endanger her. There’s no way in hell she can get to my stash…

You left it on the fucking bathroom sink, Levi said, finally starting to move.

He was thickly built, with solid muscles and a dark workman’s tan. There was power there, under his ridiculous We’re the Tree People t-shirt. Jayda felt a spark of excitement that probably should have been fear, but the wave she currently rode had shorted out her fear circuitry. She needed to get him angry, but not too angry. The line she walked was very fine, and it was vital she didn’t push him too far.

He sat forward, ready to stand if the urge took him. What the hell do you think would have happened if that fat cps woman showed up? You know how fast they’d take Chamomile away if she found that shit?

It’s Friday night. cps isn’t gonna show up here. I’m gonna fucking flush you. You asshole. You have no right to flush my personal property down the toilet!

Levi came back at her with something disengaged and dismissive. Jayda didn’t even hear what he said. It was probably stupid anyway. She was riding the wave. The anger was intoxicating. She threw another barb at him about his lazy ass and he came back with the predictable bs about working hard all day and just wanting some peace when he got home, like it was her fault he didn’t go get a better job.

After that, she stopped hearing much of what he said, and, she realized, she really wasn’t paying much attention to what she said either. The words came out of her mouth like machine-gun bullets. Bam, bam, bam. The baby was screaming. The duplex neighbors pounded on the wall that separated their kitchens. And Levi was finally starting to pay attention.

They went around in circles. Jayda did end up using the line about watching the men play with their balls. It wasn’t that inventive, but that didn’t matter. It was petty and demeaning and she could poke him like that all night if he wouldn’t get out of that chair. He kept turning up the volume until it drowned out the screaming baby, but Jayda could get in his face and keep right on screaming at him, tv or no.

When the limp dick commercial came on again, she teased him about that, too. They only play commercials they think you need to see. They wouldn’t be showing you this if you didn’t need it. When he finally stood up and stuck a finger in her face and raised his voice she chided, Oooh, the Zen master rises.

The neighbors were banging on the wall again. Fuck the neighbors. They’d had plenty of screaming fights of their own. Cami was screaming her head off. Levi tried to move in that direction, but there was no way in hell Jayda was gonna let him off that easy.

Oh, now you’re gonna act like a daddy, just so you don’t have to pay attention to me? She moved in front of him to block his way to the hall.

I’m not the dumb bitch that shoots up while you got a baby in the bathtub, he said, trying to move around her.

No, you’re the dumb bitch who flushed my personal property down the toilet!

Oh, we’re back to that now?

What do you mean, ‘back to it?’ We never left it! You think it’s okay to flush my stuff? I’m gonna flush your stuff. She juked around him and snatched the remote off his recliner’s armrest.

I’m flushing this remote. She bolted for the bathroom.

Levi moved to block her. You’re being a child, Jayda. You’re being twelve. Give me that.

Jayda ran back to the far side of the recliner. When Levi made a half-hearted attempt to chase her, Jayda hooked around the chair and made another dash for the bathroom from the other side. She almost got past him, but Levi lunged out in front of her again. This time she slammed into his chest. It was like running into a brick wall. Jayda might even have bounced off and fallen on her ass except he grabbed her by the arm and held her up.

He lifted her to her tiptoes, so they were eye to eye, then growled, Grow the fuck up.

That close to him, feeling his hard muscles against her body, seeing his anger, feeling her own anger, and her adrenaline, and the pounding rush of the cocaine, Jayda felt terrified, aroused, thrilled, all the way fully alive.

He was holding her by the arm with which she held the remote. He reached to take it from her, but she grabbed it with her other hand. She leaned way back and held it out of his reach. When he lunged for it, she pirouetted away, dangling by the arm he still held. They twirled around the room like that for several rotations.

Jayda chanted some singsongy thing about his limp dick and kicked over any furniture that came within kicking distance as they spun. Eventually, as she felt them losing balance and about to collapse, she flung the remote as hard as she could. She had no idea which direction it went, but glass shattered somewhere. Jayda laughed out loud as the two collapsed into the coffee table.

Somebody’s foot cracked into the tv stand, and it tottered. The announcers were screaming about a goal or a touchdown or something. A laughing fit had taken Jayda so hard she could barely focus. The announcers’ screaming cut off instantly as the television toppled off its stand, yanking its cord from the wall.

Levi rolled away from the half-collapsed coffee table and caught the tv before it crashed to the floor. Caught it with his face, actually. Jayda knew she should get up, but seeing Levi get smacked in the face by his own television was just too funny. She was laughing so hard it felt like she’d been gut-punched.

That tv… she said, between brays, that tv is dangerous. She rolled up onto her knees, gasping for breath between laughs. tv endangers our daughter. Better…flush it down the toilet!

Levi was rolling around on the floor, trying to get out from under the tv and set it upright without damaging it. His upper lip had split, and blood showed at the corner of his mouth.

Glass! Jayda said, scooping two of the empty beer bottles out of the box. Glass is dangerous! Better…flush it down the toilet! She flung the bottles in the general direction of the bathroom. They bounced off the wall but didn’t shatter. That was okay. There were more in the box.

She reached for another bottle, but his voice stopped her.

Jayda! he boomed, loud as a shotgun blast. She felt the percussion against her skin. She turned and saw him standing. The tv sat on the floor beside the ruined coffee table. A vein pulsed on the side of his neck, another at the center of his forehead. Enough, he said. I’m out.

That tingle that should have been fear ran through her again. That was it, what she needed, the moment of truth. She felt the grin spreading involuntarily across her lips. And yet, now that she was so wound up, she couldn’t seem to turn the energy off.

A baseball bat rested against the wall behind the door. It looked dangerous. She crossed the room in three bounding steps and snatched the bat. Better…flush it down the toilet! she cried triumphantly, waving the bat over her head.

Shame, though, she mused in a mock pout, bringing it down to examine it. It’s the only stiff wood in the house, you limp dick loser! It was the most hilarious thing she had said all night. She laughed so hard she doubled over and nearly fell.

Levi’s hard hand clamped around her wrist, his grip powerful enough to crush her bones if he’d wanted to. In her mind, with her eyes, with the jut of her chin, she dared him to do it. Maybe it was the drugs or the adrenaline, but at this moment a broken wrist didn’t worry her at all.

But then he wrapped the fingers of his other hand around the bat, just above hers. Maybe the bat hadn’t been her best idea of the night. That tingle racing through her veins turned chilly. The fear she should have felt five minutes ago surfaced, quickly overshadowing all other sensations.

With a snap of his wrist, he popped the bat out of her hand, as easily as she had taken Kitty from Chamomile.

The bat dangled by his leg. He stared straight into her defiant face. With no television and no screaming, the house felt suddenly way too quiet. Only Cami’s exhausted sniffling broke the silence.

Levi tightened his grip on her wrist, grinding the bones and numbing her fingers. His nostrils flared with each inhale. His jaw muscles bulged. The vein above his brow pounded, pounded, pounded.

She’d finally pushed him too far.

Chapter 2

Just over a year had passed since Detective Darren McDaniel and his partner Brent Vanderwyk pulled local tabloid Vlogger Madison Castillo out of the dark, wet coal mine deep beneath the city of Bellingham. Since that time, Ms. Castillo had appeared on several cable news outlets, and written a New York Times best-selling novel loosely based on her harrowing encounter with the Sloppy Copy Killer.

During the weeks following the book’s release, both detectives had been bothered by other reporters calling for their reaction to the book. McDaniel always told them the truth, I haven’t read it. That flurry of activity had died down earlier that summer, and Castillo had left McDaniel’s mind, for the most part.

This Saturday morning late in August, however, as McDaniel drove his unmarked Tahoe through the irregularly ordered streets of Bellingham, he recognized Castillo’s high, excited voice. His radio had been turned down to a mere murmur, but even at that volume, Castillo’s fiery energy was hard to ignore. He turned the radio up.

The piece was a replay of a nationally syndicated news program. Castillo argued with the anchor and his esteemed expert guest about the likelihood of another Corona wave. McDaniel wondered, just briefly, how being kidnapped by a serial killer qualified Castillo to participate in that discussion, but he quickly let the quandary go. Answers to questions like that usually evoked irritation rather than enlightenment.

He smiled to himself as he cruised through downtown. The sun had been up for hours, but the city was just coming awake. The sky hung sepia-tinted and still, colored by a rash of forest fires in Eastern Washington.

Castillo sparred energetically with the expert and a cohost who had apparently been called in for backup. They argued about whether the new wave, if a new wave did show up, should be called covid-19 Two-Point-Oh, or if it should just be changed to covid-20.

Darren was relieved to hear someone finally addressing that most compelling of problems. He hoped all parties could come to a mutually acceptable agreement. Castillo was actually fun to listen to when she wasn’t talking about him.

He turned off State Street and pointed the nose of his Tahoe up Maple, then turned again onto one of the many steep, narrow roads in an older sector of the city’s downtown residential area. McDaniel saw his destination about six driveways up the hill and to the left. He also saw Vanderwyk’s personal vehicle, a silver Toyota Tacoma, parked at the curb.

McDaniel didn’t usually arrive after his partner. He guessed there must be donuts on offer. Several other vehicles McDaniel recognized lined the street. He wondered just how many officers had been roped into this mess.

On his radio, Castillo was in fine form, her voice fast and sharp, jackhammering all those who stood against her. Victims of the first wave had it far worse than anyone who might get it later. We had none of the benefits of the science we now know. We had no idea, would this be a plague that killed us all? I don’t think that it is equitable to equate what we went through then with what people might experience in future waves, she argued.

The fact that the 19 in covid-19 signified the year the virus had been identified didn’t seem to sway Castillo at all.

When someone says, ‘I am a covid-19 survivor,’ that means something, she countered, but in future waves…hmmm…mmm, ’cause what we know now is so much more than what we knew then! And that is why it is not okay to equivocate the first outbreak with anything that happens later. That is why we need to call any future wave the covid-20…or 21, or whatever.

McDaniel pulled into the last parking space in the driveway as her argument reached a crescendo. He put the Tahoe in park and waited until she finished to kill the ignition. In the quiet that followed, he heard the rise and fall of voices in conversation, somewhere just out of sight. Vanderwyk’s was among them.

The house was a small two-bedroom, dating back to the 1940s, with a white-trimmed porch, just big enough for a rattan chair and an ashtray table. The exterior was cedar shake, painted dark blue. And the roof was shot.

Griggs had lived here for as long as McDaniel had known the man. As far as McDaniel could remember, the roof had been shot that entire time, but for some reason, it needed to be replaced this week. Griggs had strategically planted hints and rumors that he intended to do the work himself, which was absurd on its face. The man was pushing sixty and hadn’t been particularly energetic when he was half that age. But the rumors made their way to the Welfare and Recreation Department, and within days, a crew of able-bodied officers had been recruited to help the retired detective.

It was a scam. McDaniel figured most of them knew it. But, it was also an excuse to get together with a bunch of guys and drink somebody else’s beer while working alongside each other on a meaningful and challenging project, without being criticized for it. For cops, that was a rare opportunity.

McDaniel slipped out of his Tahoe and headed into the backyard. A huge green dumpster had been hauled in through the alley and parked right up against the house. Some of the guys were already on the roof, poking at the old shingles but not yet really working. Everybody else, McDaniel guessed there were ten or twelve guys, gathered around a table Griggs had set up with pastry boxes and coffee urns.

McDaniel made eye contact and nodded to his partner from across the patio. Brent Vanderwyk licked pink frosting off the fingers of one hand while dexterously holding a chocolate-frosted donut and a Styrofoam coffee cup in the other. He grinned and nodded back.

I want to thank you all for coming, Griggs said, stepping through the rear door of the house onto the patio. His short gray hair bristled like porcupine quills. The morning sun highlighted the whiskey blooms on his otherwise pale, lined face. I didn’t think I was gonna need any help, but I guess I was wrong. He held up his left arm, displaying the splint on his wrist. Doctor says I’m not supposed to use it for the next six weeks.

This was immediately greeted by jeers and catcalls from the off-duty officers. There were crude comments about how he might have injured the wrist, and inquiries as to whether he could still drink with both hands at the same time.

McDaniel edged his way through the crowd, moving toward Vanderwyk, shaking hands and chatting with the other officers as he moved. A young man with short, bright-red hair yelled, Sandbagger! at Griggs. It took McDaniel a second to recognize Officer Murphy without his uniform and patrolman’s hat.

Yeah, yeah, Griggs waved them off, a good-natured scowl animating his grizzled mug. Y’all had no problem eating my donuts, did you? And I’ve got pizza coming around noon.

And beer? Murphy called. A murmur of support and snickers followed.

For some reason McDaniel never figured out, he and Murphy always seemed to clash. McDaniel ducked around behind him while his attention was on Griggs. He slipped between two other guys and finally made it over to Vanderwyk.

Griggs’ scowl turned irritated. Of course, beer, he snapped. What kind of question is that? Now, like I was trying to say, I appreciate y’all being here, but you better get to work. There’s three layers of shingles up there, and they need to be gone before the new material gets delivered.

Get some water in you, a deep voice boomed from the center of the crowd. McDaniel thought it had to be Mills, a barrel-chested black officer who had recently been promoted to sergeant. It’s gonna be hot as hell up there by noon. You need to hydrate.

I better not have anybody getting heatstroke on my roof, Griggs added. I don’t put up with that horseshit.

Hey, what’s going on, B-Dub? Vanderwyk asked with a huge, chocolate-frosting-tinged grin. He extended his free hand to McDaniel. B-Dub was short for bw, which was short for the Brody Whisperer, a ridiculous reference to McDaniel’s brief detail to the fbi.

He had been sent to their Bellingham Field Office, ostensibly to analyzed copious writings compiled by Brody Winter, aka the Sloppy Copy Killer. In reality, the reassignment to an fbi basement cubicle had been a sort of political three-card monte. It had allowed the police commissioner and the chief to honor McDaniel’s efforts on the Sloppy Copy case on one hand, and, on the other, temporarily relieve him of duty and remove him from the department.

That separation, they felt, had become necessary due to the rising tensions between McDaniel and his command staff, especially his direct supervisor, Lieutenant Osen. His banishment to the basement had been a way to hide McDaniel until some of that pressure had been defused. At the end of his ninety-day reassignment, he had been quietly reinstated where he belonged, on the department’s Major Crimes Unit.

Fortunately, Vanderwyk seemed to be the only one still using the B-Dub nickname. McDaniel looked at Vanderwyk’s extended hand and offered his elbow instead.

Oh, yeah, gotta watch out for the virus, Vanderwyk chuckled. He was slightly overweight, carrying thirty or forty pounds he didn’t need, but stretched over his six-foot eight frame, it barely showed. A person was more likely to notice his wooly white hair, pale complexion, and ubiquitous goofy smile.

That, and I just watched you suck frosting off those fingers, McDaniel said.

Oh, right, Vanderwyk said. He wiped his hand on his work jeans, then stuck his elbow out and bumped McDaniel’s. I got us on the same team, the Backside Bros.

The what? McDaniel asked

Mills is captain of the Front Men. He’s got mostly all patrol guys, Vanderwyk explained. We didn’t get enough detectives for even teams, so we got two patrol guys with us, but the Backside Bros is mainly detectives. You, me, Wooten, Corbett, Chavez.

Why are we on teams? McDaniel asked.

Competition makes it more fun, Vanderwyk said. We’re all going down to the Archer next Friday night. Loser team picks up the tab.

Competition makes us work faster, McDaniel said. I guarantee it was Griggs’ idea, but he would have got someone else to propose it.

You’re probably right. But either way, we end up at the Archer. So, I’m not complaining, Vanderwyk grinned.

And somebody thought it would be a good idea to pit detectives against patrol? McDaniel asked. Those guys are all younger…

Classic brains over brawn, Vanderwyk interrupted, lowering his voice and leaning in close. He took McDaniel’s elbow and turned him away from the crowd toward the side yard where four huge cedars towered over the property. Check out the trees. Those poor saps are gonna be sweating their balls off all morning working in full sunlight. Then, just as the sun is about to hit our side of the house, boom, the trees will put us in the shade.

Brilliant, McDaniel said, utterly unenthused.

Not just that, either, Vanderwyk said. "The dumpster is back here. They’ll have to haul their shingles up and over the peak. All our