"A Broken Promise" Mystery Book 5

NYCPD
Precinct 33 roles

Precinct Commissioner: Ellen Ricks - 45 years old, female, worked at Precinct 33 for 20 years. Sexuality: Straight. Married.
Technical crime scene investigation officer: Jesse Brookes - 35 years old, male, worked at Precinct 33 for 15 years. Sexuality: Straight. Divorced
Medical examiner: Karen Elles - 56 years old, female, widowed, worked at Precinct 33 for 30 years. Sexuality: Straight.

Crime scene investigators:
Denissa Williams
Vivian Erickson - female, 32 years old, single, no nonsense, gets a bit irritable with Denissa, but the reason she's pretty tough on her is because she kinda has a crush on her. Sexuality: Lesbian
Jason Garcias [Formerly] {Now deceased}

Character card -

Name: Denissa Evelyn Williams
Occupation: Detective/Crime Scene investigator
Partner/Fiancé: Jason Garcia [Formerly]
Children:
Jacob - 9 years old, male, Responsible enough for Denissa to leave him in charge of watching his siblings
Rhea - 3 years old, female, quiet, twin to Carmen
Carmen - 3 years old, intersex, hyper, twin to Rhea
Hair color: Blonde to dirty blonde
Eye color: Hazel
-Currently widowed

Story: After the events of the last story, After recently going through the depression she had gotten after becoming widowed because her police partner, and her husband, Jason, ended up risking his life to save hers, Denissa struggles with the idea of being a single mother to her oldest son, Jacob, and her twin children, Rhea and Carmen, with the constant reminder that Carmen decides to want to talk to their mom about gender identity, and Rhea being the more quiet, less hyper kid, While also trying to raise a German shepard puppy she met just years before that she had named Sparks, training him to be a K9, but Denissa also struggles with trying to balance her job as a CSI officer at the same time. But perhaps maybe, She’ll find it in her heart to move on and eventually find someone else to help her with her struggles, just as Jason used to do.
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"Look, I need you to focus, okay?" Detective Denissa Williams said into the phone, her voice tight with tension. She was juggling a half-eaten apple in one hand and a notepad in the other, her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail that bobbed as she paced her tiny apartment. The only sounds were the scribble of her pen and the muffled sobs coming from the other end of the line.

"I know it's hard, but I can't come over right now," she continued, her hazel eyes scanning the clock on the wall. "The twins have a doctor's appointment, and I'm already running late."

Denissa took a deep breath and sat down at the kitchen table, the chair scraping against the linoleum floor. She'd had three hours of sleep, max. Her son, Jacob, had had a nightmare, and her daughter, Rhea, had woken up with a fever. The quietness of the room was shattered by Carmen's sudden burst of laughter from the next room, playing with their new German Shepherd puppy, Sparks. The irony wasn't lost on her; the hyperactive pup was the only spark of life in her otherwise somber world.

Her thoughts drifted to Jason, her former partner and the father of her children. His sacrifice had been a double-edged sword: saving her life had cost him his. The precinct had lost a hero, and she'd lost her best friend and confidant. She missed his calming presence, his gentle humor that could cut through even the darkest of cases.

SUMMARY^1: Detective Denissa Williams is on the phone, trying to balance her work stress with her role as a single mother to Jacob, Rhea, and Carmen. She's running late for the twins' doctor's appointment due to a restless night with sick Rhea and Jacob's nightmare. Carmen, the quieter twin, plays with Sparks, the new German Shepherd puppy, bringing some joy amidst the gloom. Denissa is haunted by the loss of Jason Garcias, her late husband and former partner, whose heroic act left a void in her life and at the precinct.

Now, she was on her own. A single mother and a CSI officer at Precinct 33, one of the busiest in the city. The job was never-ending, the hours unpredictable. The only constant was the cold, stark reality of her empty bed and the silence that filled the apartment when the kids were finally asleep.

"Denissa, are you listening?" The voice on the phone brought her back to the present. It was Vivian, her colleague, and the closest thing she had to a confidant at work. "We've got another one. Same MO as the last two."

Vivian's words sent a shiver down her spine. The string of unsolved homicides had the precinct on high alert. All the victims were young, all killed in a brutal, ritualistic manner that spoke of a twisted mind at work. And now, there was a third.

Denissa finished her apple in one bite, the tartness barely registering on her taste buds. She had to push aside her personal turmoil and focus on the job. The kids would be okay. She'd make sure of it.

Grabbing her bag, she called out to Jacob, "Hey buddy, I've got to go to work. Can you watch the twins until Grandma comes over?"
Jacob nodded solemnly, his eyes too mature for his nine-year-old face. "Yeah, Mom. I got this."

As she rushed out the door, Sparks's tail thumped against the floor, eager to follow. She crouched down, placing a hand on his head. "Not today, buddy. Stay with Jacob."
The puppy whined but obeyed, watching her with those soulful brown eyes that mirrored the sadness in her own. She had to get going. Time was of the essence.

The precinct buzzed with activity as she arrived. The smell of burnt coffee and stale donuts mixed with the underlying scent of fear and anticipation. The briefing room was packed, and the tension was palpable as they discussed the new case. Karen Elles, the no-nonsense medical examiner, was already there, her expression grim.

"Alright, people," Commissioner Ricks announced, her voice cutting through the murmur like a knife. "Let's get to it."

Denissa felt a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to find Vivian standing there, her gaze filled with a silent promise of support. They shared a brief nod before the briefing began.

The case was complex, with no clear suspects or motives. The victims had been drained of blood, their bodies arranged in bizarre, almost artistic poses. It was the kind of case that could consume you if you weren't careful.

But Denissa was careful. She had to be. For her children, for her colleagues, and for the victims. She'd find whoever was behind these monstrous acts and bring them to justice. It was what Jason would have wanted.

The briefing ended, and the team dispersed to their respective roles. Denissa headed to the evidence locker, her mind racing. As she pulled on her gloves, she felt a flicker of something new - a determination to not just survive, but to thrive in this harsh world without Jason.

The locker's metal door clanged shut behind her, echoing through the corridor. She took a deep breath and looked down at the pile of evidence before her. It was time to get to work.

The first step was to meticulously examine each piece, looking for any clue that might lead them to the killer. She'd start with the latest crime scene photos, her mind a whirl of analysis and strategy. It was a puzzle she was determined to solve.

As she studied the gruesome images, her thoughts drifted to Carmen and the conversation she knew was coming. How could she explain the complexities of gender identity to a three-year-old? The weight of her responsibilities pressed down on her, but she couldn't let it show.

Her eyes snapped back to the photo in her hand as she spotted something - a tiny, almost imperceptible smudge on the victim's wrist. Could it be? A fingerprint? Her heart raced as she called over Jesse, the technical crime scene investigation officer.

"Take a look at this," she said, pointing to the smudge. His gaze sharpened, and he took the photo from her. "Could be something."

Their eyes met, and she knew he saw the hope in hers. It was a small victory, but in the shadow of her grief, it felt like a beacon of light. Maybe, just maybe, this was the break they needed.

Jesse took the photo to the lab, leaving Denissa to ponder the implications. If they had a fingerprint, they had a tangible lead. It was a chance to bring some semblance of closure to the grieving families and perhaps even prevent another senseless murder.

The precinct was a flurry of activity as they awaited the results. Denissa tried to keep her thoughts on the case, but her mind kept wandering to the twins. Rhea's quietness had always been a source of comfort, but Carmen's hyperactive nature was a constant reminder of the energy Jason had brought to their lives.

When the call came back, it was anticlimactic. The smudge was just that - a smudge. No usable prints. The team's excitement dissipated, and the heavy silence that fell over the room was suffocating. Denissa's shoulders slumped, but she didn't let it show. They'd find another way.

Their attention turned to the other evidence. A torn piece of fabric, a single hair that didn't match any of the known parties, and a peculiar scent that lingered at each crime scene. It was faint, almost floral, but it was consistent.

"Could be from a perfume or a cleaning product," Karen suggested, her voice measured and calm, as always.

Denissa nodded, scribbling notes on her pad. "Or something else entirely."

The day dragged on, the minutes stretching into hours. Denissa's thoughts grew heavier with each passing moment. The doctor's appointment with the twins had gone well, but she hadn't had time to think about what Carmen had wanted to talk about. The job was relentless, but she couldn't ignore her child's needs.

Finally, the clock struck six, and she decided to call it a night. As she walked out of the precinct, Sparks's leash in hand, she made a silent vow to be there for her kids, to give them the life they deserved.

The chilly evening air hit her as she stepped into the parking lot. The neon lights cast a sickly glow over the asphalt, and the distant wail of a siren served as a stark reminder of the chaos that awaited her tomorrow. But tonight, she was going home.

The apartment was quiet when she arrived. Jacob had managed to get Rhea and Carmen to sleep, and she thanked him with a tired smile. Sparks bounded around her legs, eager for attention, but she had something else in mind.

Sitting on the couch, she picked up the photo of Jason that sat on the end table. His smile was bright, his eyes filled with life. "I miss you," she whispered, her voice cracking. "But I'll keep fighting for them. For us."

Tomorrow, she'd tackle the case with renewed vigor. Tonight, she'd hold her children close and whisper the same words into the darkness that Jason had once whispered to her: "We've got this."

Denissa tucked the twins into bed, the softness of their blankets a stark contrast to the horrors she faced daily. She kissed their foreheads and watched as their tiny chests rose and fell with the rhythm of innocent sleep. Carmen's question lingered in her mind like the scent of the crime scene, but she pushed it aside for now. There would be time to address it, to be the mother they needed, but not until this monster was off the streets.

Sparks curled up at her feet as she collapsed into the chair in the corner of the room. The house was quiet except for the occasional tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway. She stared at the wall, her mind racing through the details of the case. The floral scent, the meticulousness of the crime scenes - it was all so calculated, so personal. Whoever was behind this had a vendetta, and she had to figure out who was next on their list.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her from her thoughts. It was a text from Vivian: "Just found something on the fabric. Could be a lead. Meet at the precinct tomorrow?"

Denissa nodded to herself. A lead was exactly what they needed. With renewed determination, she stood, her hand brushing over Sparks's soft fur. "We've got this, buddy," she murmured, echoing her earlier promise to herself.

The next day dawned with the promise of a breakthrough. Denissa walked into the precinct, her step a little lighter. The scent of fresh coffee filled the air, and the early morning light cast shadows across the desks. The team was already gathering around Vivian, who held up the fabric with a magnifying glass.

"It's definitely not from a cleaning product," she said, her voice filled with excitement. "It's fabric dye. Unusual for a killer to be this... crafty."

Denissa leaned in, her eyes narrowing. "Where would someone get fabric dye at this time of night?"

"Maybe an artist's studio?" Karen offered, sipping from her ever-present mug of tea.

The room went silent as the implications sank in. An artist's studio could be a treasure trove of unique fibers and scents, the perfect place to blend in without raising suspicion.

The trio exchanged a look of grim understanding. They had a direction to go in now. It was time to dig into the local art community and see what secrets it held.

Denissa knew the conversation with Carmen couldn't wait much longer. As they worked, her mind kept drifting to the little girl who looked up to her with those big, questioning eyes. She'd need to find a way to balance her job with her role as a mother, to give her children the stability and love they deserved. Maybe, just maybe, this case could be the key to finding that balance.

Their investigation led them to a quaint part of the city, where art studios and galleries lined the cobblestone streets. The scent of paint and turpentine mingled with the aroma of freshly baked bread from the nearby bakery. It was a stark contrast to the gritty scenes they were used to, but it was also a reminder that evil could hide anywhere, even in the most picturesque of places.

They questioned the artists, their eyes scanning for any signs of nervousness or evasion. Each conversation was a dance, a delicate balance between extracting information and not causing alarm.

As they left the fifth studio, Denissa's phone rang. It was the precinct. Another body had been found. The MO was the same, but this time, the killer had left a message - a single word, written in the victim's blood: "Next."

Her stomach twisted. Who was the killer referring to? Her or one of her colleagues? The weight of the case grew heavier with each passing moment, but she couldn't let fear cloud her judgment.

"Let's go," she said, her voice firm. "We need to find this person before they decide who's next on their list."

Their search grew more urgent with each tick of the clock. As the sun began to set, they found themselves in a deserted alleyway, the shadows playing tricks on their eyes. The floral scent hung in the air, stronger than ever.

Denissa's heart pounded in her chest as she followed the scent, her instincts honed by years of experience. The alley was a labyrinth of dumpsters and graffiti-covered walls, a stark contrast to the quaint art district they'd just left behind. Sparks, now fully grown and trained, was by her side, his nose to the ground, tail wagging with excitement at the hunt.

They approached a nondescript door at the end of the alley, the scent growing stronger. Denissa signaled for Vivian and Karen to be ready. With a deep breath, she turned the knob and pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit studio filled with easels, paint tubes, and canvas sheets. The floor was stained with a rainbow of colors, but the most prominent was the crimson of dried blood.

Her stomach lurched at the sight, but she steeled herself and stepped inside. The room was empty, but the evidence was clear. The killer had been here, and not long ago. They had to be close.

As they combed through the studio, Sparks's tail stilled, and he began to growl low in his throat. Denissa followed his gaze to a figure in the corner, shrouded in darkness. She drew her weapon, her hand shaking slightly.

"Freeze! NYPD!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the space.

The figure didn't move. It was too still, too quiet. Sparks's hackles rose, and he took a step forward, ready to protect his handler. Then, the light hit the figure, and she realized it was just a mannequin, painted to look like one of the victims.

They'd been led into a trap.

Suddenly, the lights went out, plunging them into darkness. Panic set in, but she knew she had to stay focused. The sound of footsteps grew louder, and she could feel someone's breath on the back of her neck.

"You shouldn't have come," a whispered voice hissed, cold and eerie. "Now you're just like them."

Denissa spun around, her gun trained on the spot where the voice had come from. But it was too late. Something heavy crashed into her, sending her sprawling to the floor.

As her vision swam, she felt a hand grab her by the collar, lifting her up. The fabric tightened around her throat, cutting off her air. She fought back with everything she had, her nails scratching at the unseen attacker.

Sparks's bark filled the room, and she heard the sound of a struggle. Then, there was a sharp yelp, and the pressure on her neck released.

Gasping for breath, she stumbled to her feet, fumbling for the light switch. The room flooded with light, revealing their assailant lying on the ground, unconscious.

It was a young man, no older than twenty-five, with wild hair and piercing eyes. He was dressed in all black, his clothes splattered with paint that matched the dye on the fabric from the crime scenes.

"We've got him," she rasped into her radio, her voice hoarse from the near-strangulation. "But it's not over yet."

The interrogation was intense, but the young man remained eerily calm. His name was Marcus, and he spoke of his "masterpieces" with a disturbing fondness, claiming he was cleansing the city of those who didn't understand true beauty. His words sent shivers down Denissa's spine, and she found it hard to believe that someone could be so detached from humanity.

But as they dug deeper, they discovered that Marcus was just a pawn in a much larger, more twisted game. His twisted admiration for the art of death was inspired by an anonymous online group that glorified violence and control. They had groomed him, feeding him ideas and praising his work, turning him into their perfect weapon.

The case grew more complicated as they traced the digital footprints of Marcus's handlers. The internet was a labyrinth of encrypted messages and fake accounts, but Denissa and her team were determined to bring them to justice. They worked tirelessly, piecing together the puzzle while juggling the responsibilities of their personal lives.

At home, Denissa found solace in the warm embrace of her children and the unconditional love of Sparks. Carmen's question remained unanswered, but it was a reminder of the life she had to preserve outside the precinct walls. She held her twins closer, their small hearts beating a rhythm of hope against her chest.

Days turned into nights, and the pressure mounted. The group had gone silent, leaving the city on edge. Denissa could feel the tension in her shoulders, a constant knot that seemed to tighten with every dead end they hit. But she didn't let it show, not in front of the team, and certainly not in front of her children.

One evening, as she sat at the dinner table with Jacob, Rhea, and Carmen, the silence grew heavier than usual. Carmen finally spoke up, her voice small but determined. "Mommy, I have something to tell you."

Denissa took a deep breath, setting aside her fears and the weight of the unsolved case. She looked into her daughter's eyes and saw the reflection of Jason's courage. "What is it, sweetheart?"

Carmen took a moment, her little chest puffing out. "I think... I think I might be a boy."

The words hung in the air, a soft echo of the battle Denissa faced every day. But in that moment, she knew what she had to do. She wrapped her arms around her child, holding her tight. "It's okay, baby. We'll figure it out together."

The next morning, refreshed and resolved, Denissa returned to the precinct with a new sense of purpose. The case wasn't just about catching a killer anymore; it was about protecting the innocence of her children and the future of the city.

And as she sat down at her desk, surrounded by the cold steel of her workplace, she realized that she wasn't alone. Vivian and Karen were there, their eyes filled with understanding, and Sparks lay faithfully by her side. They were a team, united in the face of darkness.

And together, they would bring the monsters to light.

The digital hunt led them down a rabbit hole of encrypted messages and dead ends. Marcus was only the tip of the iceberg, a pawn in a game orchestrated by minds much more twisted than his own. Denissa's resolve grew stronger with every piece of the puzzle they uncovered. This wasn't just about finding a killer; it was about dismantling a network that preyed on the vulnerable, turning them into killers.

Days turned into weeks, and the nights grew longer. The floral scent of the crime scenes lingered in her nose, infiltrating her dreams and her waking moments. She found herself looking at her colleagues differently, wondering if any of them could be connected to the shadows that loomed over their city. But she couldn't let paranoia win. Not when there was so much at stake.

The twins' fourth birthday approached, and Denissa knew she needed to keep her promise to Carmen. It was a conversation she'd put off, lost in the whirlwind of the case. But the love in her children's eyes was a beacon that guided her through the darkest of days. So, she took a deep breath and sat them down, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Mommy, I'm a boy," Carmen said again, looking up at her with a mix of hope and fear.

Denissa took both twins' hands in hers. "I know, sweetie. And it's okay. We'll figure it out together."

The relief on Carmen's face was palpable, and Rhea's quiet nod of understanding was the most eloquent speech she could have given. They were young, but they knew their mother was strong enough to face any challenge.

On the night of their birthday, as they sat around the tiny kitchen table, the precinct called again. Another body, another message. "Last." This time, the voice on the other end of the line was cold, final.

Denissa felt a chill run down her spine. Was this the end of the line for them? For her?

But she couldn't let fear win. She had to keep fighting, for her children, for her job, for the memory of Jason. She kissed their heads and promised to be back soon.

The case was reaching a boiling point. The digital breadcrumbs led to a figure known only as "The Artist." The name sent a shiver down her spine. Who was this person that could manipulate and control like a puppet master?

The team worked around the clock, following every lead, turning over every stone. Sleep became a luxury, and food was consumed in bites stolen between reports and interrogations. The precinct was a maelstrom of stress and exhaustion, but they were close.

And then, finally, a breakthrough. The Artist had slipped up, leaving a trace of themselves at the last crime scene. A fingerprint, not on a victim, but on a discarded coffee cup. The database matched it to a name: Alex Hartwell, a once-celebrated artist whose career had been ruined by a scandal involving the exploitation of young talent.

The raid on Hartwell's apartment was swift and decisive. Denissa's heart pounded as they kicked in the door, Sparks at the ready. The room was a chaos of paint and canvas, a mirror to the chaos in Hartwell's mind. But there he was, in the center, a man whose face was a canvas of madness.

The Artist was in custody, the network of darkness slowly unraveling. Denissa felt a weight lift from her shoulders, but she knew it wasn't over yet. There were others out there, others who had been led down this path.

As she stepped back into the precinct, the smell of the alleyways and the sound of sirens a distant memory, she thought of the promise she'd made to her children. The fight for justice didn't end with Hartwell's arrest. It was just the beginning.