QR Code Murders: Fiery

What Yawquisha liked to see most was the connection between the departments. Though some of it was strained or even close to being nonexistent, the Delaware state detectives and the FBI actually built a better rapport. She edited like the devil. Streams of footage flowed through her camera lens into the editing software. Those connections could be seen with every angle and shot that she produced.

She saw Kim and mockingly hailed her car. Kim grinned. The pair was back together but still in Greenville. Kim hungered for the city. She wanted to sink her teeth in the cases and chew over the suspects and find whoever was committing the crimes…but she had to deal with the people whose median income per household was $240,000. She had no qualms with the rich or thought they were eating the poor. She knew that the poor and middle classes were honorable but not to the point of extreme virtues. She instead looked at each individual with the light of their own capacity to make their own way in life.

Yawquisha videoed her driver.

“Detective Jergensen, what has been the most fulfilling aspect of your profession?”

“I get to catch the bad guys,” she sneered.

“C’mon, there’s more to it than that.”

Kim stopped and thought for a moment. “I get to protect my home state. I enjoy the knowledge of being a good cop and always striving to be the best one that I have the strength to be,” Kim explained.

“Now, was that so hard?”

Kim giggled.

When the car came to a rest at a residence that looked like a mini castle, she turned her laughter into a severe look. A face that looked like steel and could be just as sharp. Yawquisha followed her subject into the house. It was another robbery. This time, the perpetrator left clue after clue. The detectives conferred. Yawquisha kept her distance. Yet, she kept the camera rolling.

Kim walked over to the victims. They were stable. They spoke in hushed tones. Their mouths moved like it was slow motion. What they had to say seemed of great importance and that it could lead to a break in the case. Kim folded her hands and walked slowly. She then bent down to the ground. She looked like a catcher. She used a pen to pick up an earring.

“Ma’am, does this belong to you?” Kim asked.

“No, that’s not mine,” Sally Sandoval said. She was slightly plump but still boasted fit feminine features: ample bosom, long slender legs, and shapely thighs. Her husband, Pablo Sandoval, an attorney, was just the opposite. Time had not spared him. He had scrawny legs, with liver spots, and gray hair that made its way around his head and made an archipelago of it.

Kim continued to walk around the place where the actual break-in had taken place. It was like trying to fit a puzzle piece onto a chess board. They were all pieces, but it didn’t make sense in this context. Something just didn’t seem right about any of the robberies, especially this one. Once Yawquisha’s batteries got low, she switched them out like changing a magazine on an M16. Now she was ready to continue shooting. By capturing the entirety of the front of the house and the back, the twenty-two-year-old could make sense of the fact that the Sandoval’s were loaded and that this might have been personal. The other Greenville capers might have been by known associates as well.

Kim shook hands with the detectives and shared compassion with the victims. In her mind was a fiery windstorm that kicked up against her consciousness. In her mind she saw that this was a male, about six feet tall, and someone that these folks must’ve known.