This is my third turn with Ronovan Writes and the Friday Fiction prompt. Basically Ronovan gives us a one word clue to utilize in building a story. Perhaps I am taking the easy way out, but I decided to give my established character, Detective Sophie Marceau a new series within this weekly challenge. I invite you to check for previous chapters in the links that follow this week’s story. This chapter follows the theme of: Caught
Tom turned his head quickly to look at Sophie who never offered a compliment easily, especially to someone she barely knew. But here they were surveying the scene of a crime where a stockbroker was murdered outside the gates of a horse track and the unlikely had just happened before his eyes.
Sophie caught his gaze and quickly communicated through her crystal-like emerald eyes for him to cool it. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts and saw her expression ease in response. Sophie had her eyes fixed now on the newcomer and gave Penelope Crenshaw, the medical examiner a quick nod to give her some time with the young woman. Penelope slid her arm through Tom’s to lead him away as Sophie began to speak to Casey Ritter, the new addition to Penelope’s team.
“What do you see unique about this?” Sophie asked. She listened as the early-twenties something young woman began to analyze her recent find. She was impressively methodical as she established parameters to isolate the type of material, weave, color family and more possible identifying qualities. The girl seemed not to be baffled at all about what she saw, even withdrawing a magnifying glass from a nearby satchel to squint at a particular oddity.
This is familiar,” she said looking up and toward nothing particular as she allowed her mind to sift through the memories to isolate why she recognized something on the scrap.
Sophie waited patiently, enjoying the process through the young woman and her meticulous nature.
“There!” Casey said pointing in the distance. Sophie spun one hundred eighty degrees to look down a long pathway toward the stables where the live stock was contained. Casey took off half-jogging down the lane with Sophie trailing behind a few seconds. Both were somewhat winded when they stopped a quarter of a mile later to see an array of racing team logos on banners over their horse’s stalls.
Casey’s face was screwed in thought as she looked between a trio of logos, trying to decipher what her trained brain had signaled about the scrap of cloth. Sophie was glad it was just them standing here, because Tom’s process was to pester you with questions that actually inhibited your thought process instead of moving it forward. She could see a similarity in Casey to her own processes. She watched the girl’s eyes, seeing her mentally eliminate on e of the three options. She could identify the change because Casey now gravitated only between two logos, a multi-lined graphic of a racing horse and another with a rose wreath around a black horse image.
Casey dropped her head, staring at the evidence bag which held the scrap of paper she had secured before and then she studied the logos again. Once, twice, three times she did this. Then her eys narrowed on the scrap before she quickly fixed on the first logo. Sophie could feel the hair on her arms bristle as Casey’s smile grew.
The young woman snapped her head toward the stall for Grumman’s Racing and made a bee-line for a group of men huddled nearby. As she approached the five employees looked at her questioningly and then when she had covered another ten feet of ground one of them broke free and took off in a sprint.
“Tom!” Sophie shouted as she gave chase. She could see the guy running, but felt like she had little hope of keeping pace. Just before he cleared a corner of the barn area to make a dash for the parking lot a blur from the left tackled him to the ground. When Sophie drew even she stifled a laugh as she watched Casey twist one of the man’s arms behind his back. With her other arm she pulled his jacket up to show a section that was torn just below the team logo. She allowed Sophie to help her hand cuff the fellow, stand him up and then she pulled the evidence bag from her pocket and compared the sample to his jacket.
“It’s a match!” Sophie said.