The Omega Device (The Ha-Shan Chronicles Book 1) Read Free

“Sit-rep.”
    “Sir?” Bryce asked, confused.
    Russell's instilled military training always took over, either through habit or for easing jumpy colleagues. It seemed to work well enough most times.
    A horn blasted in the distance and crawled through the alley, “Situation report; what do we know?”
    Bryce pulled out a notepad and began reading, “Asian male. Approximately thirty-five years old. No wallet or ID. Three gunshot wounds to the chest. A few scattered shells here and there.” The officer pointed to the ground beside a second group of OCFs. He shifted toward the body, “Large caliber. Likely a rifle. There's also a few stray rounds embedded in the brick above the blood smear. Three near the top.”
    Russell reconstructed the victim's death in his head; a faint imagery played like a video. He saw ammunition divot the bricks, the body fall back with fresh wounds, then slide to the ground beside the dumpster.
    “So the victim slides, dies immediately or is paralyzed and can't move. He bleeds out. Otherwise, we'd have found him elsewhere.”
    The question was meant to test the rookie. Russell knew the assessment was correct, but Bryce's response would show the type of man he was. Too many greenies had only been taught what to think, not how.
    Bryce answered astutely, “I'd say so, but you're the vet on this one, sir. If I had to guess, I'd say a drug-deal gone bad, but we can't know anything 'til the coroner's office runs the B-C tests.”
    Russell nodded. Bryce was respectful, but uncertain, passive. Russell let it lay, too unsatisfied by the knot in his stomach.
    The high-powered flashes from OCF cameras flared around him, “Any signs of gang activity?”
    “Not so far's we can tell, sir,” Bryce admitted. “Place doesn't seem to be a usual haunt.”
    Russell watched the OCFs step away to allow their photographer closer to the body, “Get reports from the local businesses. Ask if they've seen a man fitting this description in the last day. Pull any external surveillance from the surrounding buildings and find out if he was with anybody.”
    Bryce scribbled into the pad and turned away from the scene. Russell stepped for the body, crouched beside the photographer. The victim lay slumped against the dumpster, head on his right shoulder, tattooed arms at his sides, palm up. His hands were ashen black, boots caked with mud. It was obvious he'd come from outside the alley, probably chased there.
    The more Russell saw, the less a drug-deal theory fit. Most gang-deals ending this way involved the victim face down, shot dead after trying to run, or otherwise drug into cover and left where they lie once cold.
    Gang activity was out of place. Moreover, such monikers were usually Homicide write-offs. Russell wasn't ready to write this one off yet.
    He spoke to an OCF beside him, “Two days since the last rain?”
    The man answered with a tenor, “Sounds right.”
    He bounced an idea off him, “Long time to be caked up with mud.”
    “Maybe, but the temp's keeping things half frozen at night, 'n cold during the day. Might not've  evaporated yet.”
    “Must've been running for a while then.” He turned his head to the gray-haired man, “Any mud in the alley way?”
    “No sir, just on his shoes.”
    Russell's eyes narrowed. He spoke at a languid pace, “Have your boys test the residue on his hands and cast his shoes. Get someone to search any nearby greenery. If there's anything to help there, we could use it.”
    The OCF photographer nodded, “Sure thing.”
    Russell eased upward, “When OCF's ready, ship the body to the P-D's coroner with a rush-order. I'd like to get a jump on this A-SAP.”
    The man stood beside him, “We'll send him now. They'll do an analysis on the body and blood. The department'll let you know in a few hours. B-C might take 'til tomorrow, but I'll make sure it's rushed.”
    “Thank you.” He turned with a final thought, “Tell Bryce to search for the foot-prints. Send one of