Ten years ago

Benjamin Ramirez stared sullenly at the pamphlet for the Phoenix Police Academy his uncle had left for him. It wasn't that he had anything against police officers, aside from the fact that he was pretty sure they were all either the goodie-two shoes type or ex-high school bullies who just wanted an excuse to push people around for the rest of their lives. His uncle fell solidly in the first category. Weren't uncles supposed to be fun and let you get away with things like smoking a little pot behind the dumpsters after school? It wasn't like he was hurting anyone.

Of course, that didn't stop Uncle David from giving him an extended lecture about the danger of drugs, alcohol, and anything else that Uncle David thought was a "poor life choice." The lecture had ended with the suggestion that Ben consider joining the force after high school, which Ben found an odd and laughable leap in reasoning. Uncle David couldn't understand what was so funny.

But Ben couldn't give him too much crap for it. He hadn't told his sister, Ben's mom. Uncle David did have one redeeming quality, it seemed. That little piece of mercy came with a threat, though. If David caught Ben doing something like this again, he'd nail Ben to the wall this time.

The doorbell rang, momentarily startling Ben from his teenage rumination.

"Ma, the door," he yelled into the kitchen.

"Yes, I know, Benito." She appeared in the wall cutout by the kitchen sink. "Can you get it, please?"

Ben rolled his eyes.

"Don't make me ask you again, mijo."

Ben didn't bother masking the sound of his steps as he stomped over to the door. He opened it and to his displeasure, found Uncle David standing on the porch. He rolled his eyes again.

"What do you want now?" Ben asked.

"Benito, I need to speak to your Mama," he said with uncharacteristic sadness in his voice.

Ben made eye contact with his uncle and realized the man had been crying. He frowned. This was unusual. He opened the door wider to let Uncle David in.

The tension grew as Ben led his oddly quiet uncle to the kitchen. The man was usually so talkative that it drove Ben nearly insane. He didn't know what was coming. Had he done something else that his uncle had found out about? Was his uncle about to rat him out to his mom and get him grounded until graduation?

Ben delivered his uncle to the kitchen and debated between slinking back to the table to eavesdrop from a safe distance or staying to watch the drama unfold firsthand.

"Maria, sit down," said Uncle David, leading his sister to a chair by the kitchen counter. "It's Isabela. Some boys out on patrol this evening found her. She's dead."



Eight months later

"What do you mean, you're no longer pursuing leads on this case?" Ben demanded, holding the arm of his distraught mother. He glared at the police officer on the other side of the glass.

The officer looked mildly sympathetic as he said, "There's been nothing new on the case for months. There are no leads. The trail has gone cold."

"The people who raped and murdered my sister are out there somewhere, and you're just going to let them get away with it?"

Ben's mother burst into tears again.

"I'm sorry, I really am. There's just nothing left to pursue." The officer had the decency to look regretful now.

Ben seethed at him. He couldn't believe this. He couldn't believe the police were giving up on his sister's case so easily.

"We don't have the manpower to continue investigating cases with so little evidence. We're facing budget cuts already. I wish we could help you."

Ben continued to glare at the man as he comforted his grieving mother. He shouldn't have mentioned what those bastards did to Isabela before they ended her life. His mother could hardly bear the death of her daughter, never mind the agony she must have suffered before dying.

"Let's go home," he said to his mother. "They aren't going to help us anymore."

Just as Ben was turning to go, a familiar pamphlet by the window caught his eye. The same pamphlet he'd been staring at the night their lives were shattered. At first he pulled his gaze away, sneering at the slogan. The City of Phoenix Wants You. Then the idea suddenly didn't seem so appalling to him. Surely cops had time off to pursue non-work related activities. Who's to say an off-duty cop couldn't spend their time investigating cold cases? They certainly had the right training for it.

Ben looked back at the pamphlet. If no one else was going to look for Isabela's killer, then he'd have to.