I took a photo of the back of Raymond's neck before leaving, making sure the tiny puncture mark was clear, then sent it straight to Grace. And before I walked out, I told Raymond I'd try to get him into protective custody. He didn't look convinced, and honestly, I couldn't blame him.
And God bles Grace, she replied seven hours later. Her message was short, clinical, and annoyingly expected. I'd need official authorization, either from the court or the prosecutor, to access the full lab results and request a retest. Of course. Nothing in this system moved unless you shoved it forward with paperwork and patience, two things I tolerated only when necessary.
I'd deal with that tomorrow. Right now, I needed food. So I got back to my office, dropped my jacket over the chair, and loosened my tie just enough to feel like I was off the clock, even though I clearly wasn't.
"Natalie," I called out.
A moment later, she appeared at the door with her tablet in hand, looking far too awake for someone who worked with me.
"Yes, boss?"
"Chinese," I said, flipping open a random file. "Something greasy. Preferably something that makes me question my life choices."
She raised an eyebrow. "So… your usual order?"
"Exactly."
Her fingers moved quickly across the screen. "Noodles, dumplings, and that orange chicken you pretend not to like?"
"I don't pretend," I muttered. "I fully regret it every single time."
"And yet," she said, already turning away, "you keep ordering it."
"Consistency builds character."
She paused at the door, glancing back at me. "Rough day?"
I didn't look up from the file. "Define rough."
"You're thinking too much," she said. "That's never a good sign."
"That's literally my job."
She gave a small, knowing smile. "Food'll be here in twenty."
"Make it fifteen."
"Not how delivery works."
"Then threaten them."
She shook her head and walked off. I leaned back in my chair, eyes drifting between the file in front of me and my phone on the desk. Other cases filled the pages. Theft. Fraud. Predictable problems with predictable endings. Boring as hell.
My gaze settled on my phone, on the image I had sent to Grace. A single puncture mark. Clean and precise. Not something random, it's clearly something intentional.
The next morning, I went back to Evelyn's office to make the request. Retesting, full lab access, all of it. I wasn't naive enough to think she'd just hand it over, but trying cost me nothing. If she said no, I had other ways. More annoying ways.
I walked into the District Attorney's office with a grin that wasn't entirely friendly. A few heads turned. A couple of eye rolls followed. My reputation here was… consistent.
I knocked once on Evelyn's door and stepped in without waiting. And I saw Cooper was already there, leaning slightly over her desk, mid-conversation. He glanced at me, then exhaled like I had just ruined his morning.
"Oh, hi there, detective," I said casually.
"Harold, stop coming here," Evelyn replied flatly.
"Come on," I said, dropping into the chair beside Cooper. "I thought you liked me."
Cooper didn't bother replying. He just straightened, glanced at Evelyn. "I'll call you."
She gave a short nod, and he left without another word.
Now it was just the two of us.
Evelyn leaned back slightly, arms crossing. "What now?"
"I want a full toxicology retest on Raymond Gilmore," I said. "Extended panel. Not your standard screening."
Her expression didn't change. "Denied."
"That was fast."
"Because it's unnecessary."
I tilted my head slightly. "Unnecessary, or inconvenient?"
"We already have clean results," she said. "No drugs. No alcohol."
"Standard screening," I corrected. "You and I both know that doesn't cover everything."
Her jaw tightened just a fraction. "We're not reopening lab work every time a defense attorney has a theory."
"This isn't a theory," I said calmly. "It's a possibility backed by physical evidence."
"What evidence?"
I leaned forward slightly. "Injection mark. Back of the neck. Clean puncture."
For a second, she said nothing. Then, "That proves nothing."
"It proves enough to look again."
She shook her head once. "Even if I entertain this, what are you suggesting? That someone drugged him, framed him, and planted a head in his car?"
"I'm suggesting you don't actually know what happened," I said.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "We know enough."
"Do you?" I leaned back again, watching her. "Because from where I'm sitting, this case is too clean in the wrong places and too messy in the others."
"That's your interpretation."
"That's experience."
She let out a slow breath, clearly done entertaining this.
"No retest," she said firmly. "You want it, you go through the court."
I smiled.
"There it is."
"I'm not playing games with you, Harold."
"Neither am I," I said, standing. "I gave you the chance to do this the easy way."
She didn't respond, so I adjusted my jacket, heading for the door. "Now we do it the long way."
I paused just before stepping out, glancing back at her.
"And trust me," I added lightly, "you're going to hate that version a lot more."
Then I left.
"Fuck," I muttered under my breath as I stepped out of Evelyn's office, the word barely contained behind clenched teeth.
That meant court. Motions. Delays. Paperwork stacked on top of more paperwork. And with Raymond's arraignment not even scheduled yet, I was looking at days—maybe longer—before I got anything useful.
I exhaled slowly as I walked out of the building, the cold air hitting harder than it should have. I was reaching for my car door when I noticed him. Cooper stood right in front of my Tesla, leaning casually against the hood like he owned it, a cigarette between his fingers.
"I thought you quit smoking," I said, more out of habit than interest.
He took a slow drag, then exhaled to the side. "I thought you'd stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."
I gave a faint smile. "We're both disappointing people today."
He didn't smile back.
"Whatever you're planning," he said, voice low, "drop it."
I paused, keys still in my hand. "Why?"
He flicked ash to the ground, eyes fixed on me. "Because I just found something."
I tilted my head slightly. "You usually open with something more dramatic."
"CCTV," he said. "Raymond walking into Elena's apartment fully conscious."
For a fraction of a second, something tightened in my chest, but I didn't let it show.
"People tend to walk into places before bad things happen," I said lightly. "That's how doors work."
"It gets better," he added. "Timestamp lines up perfectly with the estimated time of death."
I nodded once. "Convenient."
"It's not convenient," he said flatly. "It's clear."
I met his gaze. "Clear things have a way of getting… complicated."
He studied me for a moment, like he was trying to decide whether I was bluffing or just stubborn.
"You still think he was drugged?" he asked.
"I think I don't like coincidences," I replied.
Cooper took another drag, then dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his shoe.
"I can send you the footage," he said. "Save you the trouble of pretending this isn't what it looks like."
I raised an eyebrow slightly. "You're offering to help me now?"
"I'm offering you a reality check."
I smirked faintly. "Generous."
He didn't react.
"You watch it," he continued, pulling out his phone briefly, "and then you tell me if you still want to run this 'he was unconscious' angle in court."
I slipped my keys into my pocket. "Send it."
He gave a short nod.
"Don't take too long," he added. "Because the more you dig into this…" He paused, just long enough. "…the worse it's going to look for your guy."
I opened my car door, glancing at him one last time.
"We'll see," I said.
But as I got into the car—for the first time since I found that injection mark—something didn't quite sit right anymore.