Murder Is A Hate Crime - Paula Bernstein Books

Hannah Kline Mystery Series Book 8

Detective Brenda Jordan is called to the scene when a body is found murdered in a homeless encampment. Her examination reveals an unexpected finding that suggests the murder was a LBGTQ hate crime.

With her partner on vacation, Brenda is in charge and on her own. She must identify the victim, and track the killer. As she delves into some of the darkest corners of Los Angeles, she uncovers a conspiracy that threatens her life and forces her to confront her feelings as a closeted lesbian in the LAPD.

You can buy Murder is a Hate Crime at the following online bookstores: Draft2Digital.com

Excerpt

Murder is a Hate Crime
Chapter

Detective Brenda Jordan’s cell phone rang at 5:45 AM. Her girlfriend, Marcy, groaned, rolled over and put a pillow over her head.

“Jordan here. Hold on,” Brenda said. She tiptoed out of bed and took the phone into the bathroom, so she could talk without further disturbing Marcy, who was not a morning person. Brenda was not supposed to be on call until 7:00 AM.

“What’s going on?”

“Dead body, probable homicide at Pico and Sepulveda, under the freeway, the dispatcher said. “Detective Rodriguez has his hands full with a home invasion in Bel Air and asked if you’d take it.”

Brenda rolled her eyes. No detective liked to catch a murder case an hour before going off duty, but Rodriguez was a good guy and rarely took advantage of his fellow detectives. If he’d said he was tied up, it was probably the truth.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Brenda said.

She’d taken the precaution of leaving her morning clothes in the bathroom the previous night, so she wouldn’t wake Marcy when she dressed. Marcy worked for a Santa Monica architectural firm, and her work day began at nine. Pulling on pants, a turtleneck and a jacket, Brenda washed her face, brushed her teeth and ran a comb through her blonde bob. As she left the bathroom and closed the bedroom door behind her, she noticed that Marcy had fallen asleep again. Removing her gun and shoulder holster from the safe in her hall closet, Brenda grabbed her keys and headed for her car. It wouldn’t take more than ten minutes to drive from her Culver City apartment to the homeless camp.

When she arrived, she was pleased to see that the officers who found the body had already installed crime scene tape and were keeping onlookers away. She didn’t recognize either of the patrolmen, and assumed they were among the new batch of cadets who had recently graduated. She exited her car and pulled out her badge.

“Detective Brenda Jordan. What’s the story?”

The tall, round face, cop with neatly cut black hair, introduced himself. “Alberto Figueroa, Ma’am. We found the homeless camp deserted except for one dead body. His head is bloody, so I’m assuming homicide.”

Brenda pulled on a pair of paper shoe covers and latex gloves, and slipped under the tape. “Have you called the evidence team, and the coroner yet?” she asked.

“No Ma’am.”

Brenda wasn’t quite used to Ma’am. It made her feel elderly, but compared to those two twenty-year olds, thirty-five was probably ancient. “Go ahead and call them. I’m going to take a look.” She glanced around the homeless encampment. “Where is everyone?”

“They probably cleared out to avoid talking to the police.”

“They’ll be back tonight. It’s supposed to rain again,” Brenda said.

Brenda swept the ground with her flashlight, -walking carefully so as not to step on anything that looked as if it could be evidence. The victim appeared to be a middle-aged black man. Curly hair with a receding hairline was slicked back with gel. He had a full beard, which was well groomed, and she could see clotted blood on the pavement under his head. Grasping the blanket with two gloved fingers she folded it back to inspect his clothes and to search for a wallet. He was wearing jeans and a worn, black leather jacket. The pockets she could reach were empty. Brenda unzipped the jacket, revealing a white T shirt. There was no sign of blood. He hadn’t been stabbed or shot, at least not from the front. She’d wait until the medical examiner arrived and turned him over to check his back.

Wondering if he’d been beaten, she raised the T shirt, looking for bruising. What she found instead were two flattened breasts.

Brenda quickly replaced the jacket and blanket, not wanting to interfere with the body’s temperature.

“This may be a hate crime,” she announced. “This guy is trans.”