Sally's Story: Overdose

	“Can you tell us anything more, Officer,” Sally interjected as she was led off. A shake of the head and a shrug were his only answer as Vincent started to trot to his car, pulling his partner along as he sped up.
	“No time to dally, Sally,” he shot, “this’ll be good experience so let’s pick it up!”
	“O-Okay!” Running along the concrete basin to one of the parking levels Vince fumbled in his jacket, hand worming between his badge and sidearm searching for the key to his service car. Finding purchase he held it in his hand as he dragged the robot behind him, rounding the concrete ramp corners deeper into the ground until he came to the dank “D” level where it was parked. Flinging his door open as Sally piled into the passenger seat, the engine roared to life as the car squealed backwards, la Fontaine’s tendency to drive ‘loosely’ becoming clear as Sally pulled her seatbelt tighter. Picking up speed and slowing down in time, he ascended the concrete spiral to street level, pulling out into the street as his hands clenched the wheel.
	“Where’s the scene again Sally?”
	“7th Northwest and Palm, Vincent - Beacon City’s west side.”
	“Perfect,” he thought, Sally already proving herself as the ‘notebook’ Crawley had mentioned to him. As the light ahead turned green he (safely) gunned the engine as he swung a left onto one of the city’s principal avenues, bound northwards for the beachfront apartments that had come to be a thorn in the side of the BCPD in the past years. The development was a hotbed for the stewing counterculture and more than a handful of officers had had to respond to the apartments only to be ambushed. Vincent breathed slowly, consciously as he steadied himself for whatever was coming as Sally hummed, oblivious, with the radio. As Vincent neared the dense brick complex he felt a pit growing in his stomach, the final left turn onto Palm a like a descent into hell as he spied a singular patrol car and a pair of officers securing the apartment door, not that anyone nearby cared enough to ogle.
	Stepping out of the vehicle Vincent approached the officer leaning on the trunk of the patrol car, Sally in tow as he nodded to the officer a floor above them, standing outside of the apartment. Vincent flashed his badge as he spoke with the officer, nodding to Sally to pay attention.
	“Detectives la Fontaine and... Sally, Ad Vice. What’ve you got?”
	“Victim is a young woman by the name of Maria Montemayor. First sweep we couldn’t come up with any ID unfortunately, and the coroner hasn’t arrived yet.”
	“What’s your best guess, officer?”
	“Overdose, easily - victim’s arm was pockmarked in numerous places.”
	“Any witnesses?”
	“Just the one,” he said, nodding to the brick wall behind him. Another young woman was sat against the wall, hugging her knees with her head down. “She’s the one who reported the body, claims to be the deceased’s roommate. Says she came back late this afternoon after spending the day working.”
	“Name?”
	“Eleanor Murphey, few years older than the vic.”
	“Appreciate it officer, we’ll be taking a look around. Come on Sally.” The pair made their way up the stairs and past the second officer to the derelict apartment beyond.
	“You okay to handle this Sally?”
	“Yes, sir!” Vincent recoiled a bit at her less than mournful temperament, earning a raised eyebrow from the cop flanking the flat’s door.
	“Okay then,” Vince returned as they pressed into the home.
	A narrow entrance led into a small apartment of a few rooms, the cluttered living room replete with tossed and wrinkled clothing, the musty smell of unwashed laundry assaulting the human detective’s nose. It was quickly overpowered by the all-too-familiar stench of decay, even its earliest stages enough to repulse neophyte officers and investigators. Vince coughed and cleared his throat before pressing forward to the couch in the stuffy room, passing the adjacent and open kitchen.
	“Alright Sally let’s look around. If we need to handle anything I’m depending on you, okay?” The robot nodded her affirmation as the duo swept the room, passing by the little placards marking possible evidence, all clustered around the derelict cadaver lying motionless past the sofa. The heat in the room was stifling and intense even for the time of year, the ever-present humidity leaking into the un-air conditioned home. Vincent was opposite the body, sniffing in the vicinity of the television and coffee table for any additional paraphernalia that could point in a helpful direction. His sweep yielded nothing but an outdated phone book which he carefully set aside with gloved hands.
	“You find anything Sally,” he said, rising from his crouched position.
	“Nothing yet, sir,” she was knelt beside the body, glassy eyes and an open mouth staring off at some indeterminate position. Sally gently tried to manipulate the rigid cadaver, brow furrowing as she pressed a finger into the livid arms, watching the blanching retreat.
	“What’ve you got?”
	“Judging by the progression of both rigor and livor mortis, the decedent has been dead a number of hours. Looking also at the ambient temperature those processes were likely quickened by a considerable factor. Cause of death is most eminently due to overdose,” she said, pointing to an abandoned spoon and syringe next to the deceased, a trio of placards accompanying them and the released bungee cord. “The body is angled in a way which suggests an upright seating arrangement, which is contrary to the position the body is in now, with the body leaning backwards and the head touching the wall.”
	“You suggesting the body was moved?”
	“Yes Vincent.”
	“Question now is by who, but take that down.”
	“Did you find anything of import Vincent?”
	“Nothing yet, just the phone book,” he said, making his way to the kitchen. He was surprised with how quickly she focused in, the seriousness of tone contrasting starkly with the cheery and overly-energetic robot he’d set up that morning. “I’m gonna check in the kitchen, see if there’s a stash sitting around here somewhere.”
	Sally picked up again and went to the room in the back of the house, a full bedroom across from the squalid bathroom. She popped into the half-open bedroom and began to stoop around for any helpful minutia. A dilapidated dresser with a mirror above faced the mattress laying on the floor that took up much of the room. A breeze rushed into the bedroom from an open window, tattered curtains fluttering in and out as the air heaved and sighed outside. Beyond the window palm trees swayed lazily along the coastal highway. Taking note she turned to the dresser, rifling through the drawers to no avail. Evidently the bedroom was not the nexus of any of the illicit activities in the household. Sally crossed the hall into the poor bathroom, checking around and beneath the sink and in the shower and pulling the lid off the toilet’s tank just in case. Beneath the sink was a worn hardcover book, a high school classic by any means, that Sally pulled out. Flipping through the pages a slip of paper fell out from its place wedged inside:

	*Maria,
	 Hope you enjoy this book I got you, its story is a lot like us! When you’re done with it maybe we can talk about it too? I’d like to hear all your ideas!
	 Love, Daniel*

	Sally flipped to the back of the book, the conspicuous stamp in the back giving the address of the book’s library of origin which she took note of before returning it, keeping the note. Making her way back to the kitchen she watched Vincent wave her over frantically, holding a small cardboard box in hand. As the little robot sidled up next to him he presented a small box of factory-made brownies. A local brand, he assured her, but very popular.
	“Now watch this,” he said, removing one of the wrapped pastries. Peeling the plastic off he snapped it in half only to reveal a small plastic baggie of white powder squished inside. “There’s something deeper here Sally.”
	“I would be inclined to agree, sir,” she said. "I've something to show-"
	"Hold that thought, Sally. Check over here." Vincent directed her to the kitchen garbage where he'd been digging. Rested on the counter above was a second syringe and spoon, blackened and scorched on the bottom. A still-wet cotton ball sat glued to the spoon that Sally now spun in her hand, examining each angle for clues."
	"Evidently our POI was having a stick himself. Something tells me he didn't realize the vic was dead until the high wore off, poor dumb bastard."
	"Sir, as I was saying," she said, producing the note. "There was something additional I found in the bathroom. I believe this is an excellent pointer to the individual who repositioned the body."
	“Damn good work, Sal! We’ll interview our witness and get on that right away.”
	“But- but the brownies, sir?”
	“Something tells me that our guy here is the one buying ‘em Sally. Let’s go have a chat with the young Miss outside first.”
	“Understood, sir.” Vincent lit up a cigarette as he whipped his gloves off, the pair making their way back outside to the ground floor to speak with the victim’s roommate.