by Lisa Worrall
“And you have evidence to support that theory?” Scott said sarcastically.
“Rachael was a soccer mom with three kids,” Ally replied. “And Jack coached little league, for God’s sake.”
“People get addicted, it’s not unheard of.” Scott shrugged again. “I seem to remember Jack had quite the habit back in high school.”
“So did you,” Matt countered.
“What?” Will stared at Scott, open-mouthed. And the hits just keep coming.
“Everybody smoked in high school.” Scott’s response was dismissive.
“Yeah,” Matt replied. “But they don’t shoot up with a speedball strong enough to take out The Rock.”
“Like I said. People get addicted.”
“C’mon, man.” Will could feel Matt’s frustration. “We’re talking about Rachael and Jack here. You know them.”
“No, I don’t,” Scott said coldly. “I don’t know them, or you.”
“Three days before she died, Rachael came to see me. She was hysterical. She thought she was being followed.”
Will could tell Ally was desperately trying to remain calm, but the tension in her shoulders and the tightening of her jaw showed what a mammoth task that was.
“And Jack?” Will asked. “Did he think he was being followed, too?”
“I don’t know,” Matt replied. “He sent me a text on the Tuesday saying he needed to talk to me about something important, and we arranged to meet up on the Friday night.” He sighed heavily. “His wife found him in his car the following morning.”
“What did the police say?”
“That addicts often suffer from paranoia.”
“They’re not wrong,” Scott said coldly.
“They were not addicts!” Ally snapped.
“The police obviously thought they were,” Scott countered, jutting out his chin. “There must have been evidence to lead them to that conclusion.” His sardonic gaze flitted between Matt and Ally and, when neither of them spoke, he prodded for an answer with a sarcastic, “Was it drugs?” He drew out the last word and Will shot him a glare that he boldly ignored. Whatever ancient issue there was between Scott and his sister, it was big enough for him to not even consider normal social niceties.
“Look—”
“Was it drugs?” Scott barely let Ally finish the word.
“Sco—”
“Was it drugs?” He cut Will off, too.
“Yes, you asshole!” Ally all but screamed at him. “It was drugs!”
“There you—”
“At both scenes?” This time it was Will’s turn to interrupt.
“Yes.”
“What did they find?”
“Heroin, cocaine, syringes, etc.”
Will nodded slowly. “I’m guessing they weren’t particularly interested in anything you had to say after that?”
“And neither are we,” Scott said firmly as he pushed back his chair and stood up. “We’ve got work to do.” He turned on his heel and stormed from the room without another word, leaving Will staring at the closed door in stunned silence. A silence that stretched between the three of them until Ally said.
“Will, is it?” He nodded. “I know you’re my brother’s partner, but I’m guessing from the way he defers to you that you’re a whole lot more than just his co-worker, am I right?”
“We are partners, yes,” Will replied, leaning back in his chair. “In every sense of the word.” He watched them both carefully, waiting for what kind of reactions the remark would have. But there were none—other than an understanding nod from Matt and a soft smile from Ally.
“I’m glad he has someone,” Ally said, the sincerity in her voice not an affectation. “Someone he can be himself with.” She grinned, the twinkle in her eye the same as Scott’s. “He can be a handful, but I’m guessing you already know that.”
“He can and I do,” Will replied, returning her smile.
“But you didn’t know about me.” It wasn’t a question.
“No,” Will shook his head slowly. What else could he say? She wasn’t stupid.
Ally nodded, the sigh that flowed from between her lips was heavy and stank of regret. “Don’t be too hard on him,” she said softly. “He’s angry, hurt, and he has every right to be.”
“What happened between the two of you?” Will asked, knowing she wasn’t going to tell him, but unable to stop himself from giving voice to the question.
“That’s his story to tell.” Ally grabbed Matt’s hand and they stood up together. “It was nice to meet you, Will. We won’t waste any more of your time.”
Will was probably going to regret this. “Wait!” Scott was going to kill him, but… “Give me their names and addresses and I’ll look into it.”
“What about Scott?”
“You leave Scott to me.” Will hoped it came out a lot more confident than it sounded in his head, but there was no way he was going to let Scott’s sister walk out of this room never to be seen again. He did know Scott and he knew that, whatever the reason he’d kept his sister’s existence a secret, it was too painful for him to share. Right now, Will wasn’t sure what hurt the most. The thought of Scott in the kind of pain it must take to bury feelings that deep, or the knowledge Scott hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him.
Will escorted Ally and Matt out of the interview room and through the department, but Scott was nowhere to be seen, not that Will was surprised. At the elevator, he exchanged numbers with Ally, who promised to text him the victims’ details, then waited until the doors closed behind them. He sighed heavily as he turned on his heel to head back to his desk, only to let out a yelp when he came face to face with Scott.
“What the fuck?” Will cursed loudly. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Come on,” Scott said, pressing the button to summon the elevator. “The owner of the building in the village is going to meet us at Petersen’s apartment.”
“What?” Will stared at him in disbelief. “Wait… what?” His long-lost sister had turned up out of the blue and Scott was behaving as if the last forty minutes hadn’t happened. “You want to go now?”
“You got somewhere else to be?” Scott barely gave the doors time to open all the way before he’d stepped inside the metal box. The doors began to close, and Scott stabbed at the button to open them again. “What’re you waiting for?” he snapped. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”
The ride to the village was taken in silence—one secured by a single steely glare from Scott—much to Will’s consternation, because he wanted to talk. Sweet Jesus, he wanted to talk. There were so many questions sitting on the tip on his tongue and bouncing around his skull, each one vying for priority, he was afraid to breathe too heavily for fear they would spill out. How could he sit there and not say a word? How could he think it was okay to sit there and not offer any kind of explanation? Will was used to a stubborn Scott, a brooding Scott, even an asshole Scott, but this Scott, he was new and, for the first time in their relationship, Will had no idea who he was.
Scott pulled into a space outside the building and killed the engine. The tension hung in the enclosed space like a thick fog, filling Will’s nostrils with the acrid stench of desperation. His or Scott’s, he couldn’t tell. Not that the exact knowledge would have made any difference to the jangling of Will’s nerves. A jangling that was not helped by the sudden slam of the driver’s door, signaling that Scott had gotten out of the car while Will was lost in his own thoughts. Will sighed heavily, opened his door and stepped out onto the sidewalk, closing the door behind him. Scott pointed the key fob at the car and pressed the button to engage the central locking, then turned on his heel and headed toward the brownstone where a heavyset man in his fifties waited.
Will joined them at the steps that led up to the big black front door and stared up at the majestic building. It was a beautiful piece of architecture, big bay windows on the first floor, with an upper and lower level. Her reddish stone was a little worn in some places
, sure, but still one hell of a dame. He could only imagine the stories she had to tell.
“Detective Harrison?”
Will ignored the clipped tone with which Scott said his name and smiled at the older man. “Will Harrison,” he said, holding out his hand. “It’s a beautiful place you have here Mr…?”
“Gary Walters,” he replied, shaking Will’s hand firmly. He looked up at the building and smiled proudly. “Yeah, she’s a beauty.”
“Have you owned the building long?” Scott asked, taking out his notebook and pen, flipping it open to a fresh page.
“I grew up here,” Walters said, indicating that they should follow him up the stone steps. “My parents left it to me when they passed, but I couldn’t bring myself to live in it,” he smiled ruefully, “too many memories, you know? But I couldn’t part with it either, for the same reason, so I had it converted into three apartments about twenty years ago.”
“When did Petersen rent the apartment?” Scott asked as Walters opened the front door.
“About three years ago,” Walters replied, stepping into the hall.
Will followed him in, and Scott closed the door behind them. “Three years?” Will frowned. “Did you have much contact with him?”
“Not too much,” Walters admitted. “Rent’s paid on time. Always seemed like a nice fella.” He stopped at the door about halfway down the hall. “This is it.”
Will exchanged a glance with Scott when, after a few moments, it was clear Walters wasn’t going to open the door without prompting. He opened his mouth to ask him why when the door opened from the inside and they came face to face with a very pretty, very petite, but very confused blonde. She stared at each of them in turn before she got to the only face she recognized.
“Mr. Walters?”
“Hi, Mrs. Petersen,” Walters said with a bright a smile. “Is Mr. Petersen home?”
Will eyes widened. Mrs. Petersen? He looked at Scott, who was obviously thinking the same thing.
“No,” she replied, crossing her arms. “He’s at a conference in Buffalo, why?” Her gaze flitted from Will to Scott and back again.
Scott’s gaze pleaded with Will’s as the silence between the four of them became deafening. Now you want me to talk! Yes, of course, a part of Will wanted to give Scott the finger and let him deal with this shitshow on his own, he was only human—but, of course, he wouldn’t. The last thing this poor woman needed was to be told not only was her husband dead, but he wasn’t really her husband, by foot-in-my-mouth Turner. Was Will being a little harsh, maybe? A little unfair? He really didn’t give a shit. And another thing, when he was arranging this little meeting with Walters, why the hell had Scott neglected to tell the man his tenant was dead! Will reached into his pocket and pulled out his I.D., quickly unfolded it and held it up for her to see.
“Mrs. Petersen,” Will began. “I’m Detective Harrison and this is my partner, Detective Turner. May we come in?” She looked at him, confused. He gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile, because he was about to make one of those nightmares a reality. “Please?” he said softly. She nodded and stepped back to allow them entrance into the apartment.
Scott nodded at Walters. “Thank you, Mr. Walters. We’ll take it from here.”
“You want me to stay?” Walters asked, his gaze suddenly concerned as it flitted between them and Mrs. Petersen.
“No, thank you.” Scott’s tone left the other man in no doubt that his presence was no longer needed. “You’ve been very helpful.” Scott ushered Will into the apartment and closed the door behind him.
They followed the second Mrs. Petersen into the living-room, and she motioned to them to sit down as she perched nervously on the edge of an armchair. “What’s this about?” she said, clenching and unclenching her hands in her lap.
“Mrs. Petersen.” Will had no idea where to start. There was so much more to this than telling a woman her spouse was dead. In this moment, he would have quite happily killed Tristan Petersen himself. “Mrs. Petersen, I’m very sorry to tell you that Mr. Petersen was the victim of an assault last night.”
“Oh, my God!” Her shaking fingers flew to her mouth. “Is he okay?”
Will shook his head. “I’m so sorry. He didn’t survive.” He watched the blood drain from her face, and she collapsed against the cushions. No matter how many times he delivered this news, it never got any easier. Then again, if it did, it was probably time to get out.
“What happened?” she asked once she’d regained some composure.
“Tristan was stabbed,” Scott replied. “It appears it was a robbery gone wrong.”
“Someone broke into his room?”
“His room?” Scott echoed.
“At the hotel.” She stared at Scott as though he was stupid. “In Buffalo.”
Scott shot him a look that screamed help and Will once again took the lead. “Mrs. Petersen—”
“Tiffany.”
“Tiffany.” Will desperately sought for the least hurtful way he could say what he must, but there wasn’t one. This was a band aid he did not want to rip off right now and he just couldn’t do it. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Fuck!
Tiffany Petersen blinked in confusion and her brow creased as she stared at him. “I-I don’t understand.” She shook her head vehemently. “It’s a mistake. It’s not him. My husband is at a finance conference for the bank in Buffalo. He’ll be home on Friday.”
Will shook his head. “I’m so sorry.”
“Momma?”
Will and Scott turned toward the voice and Will’s heart sank. A little boy, no more than three-years-old, stood in the doorway, a teddy hanging from his fingertips. Scott mumbled beside him and Will didn’t need to be a mind reader to know that it wasn’t something you’d hear in church. He watched the little boy run to his mother and clamber onto her knee, pretty much the same way Christopher Petersen had done last night. Anger simmered in his gut. What the fuck, Petersen? Will turned his attention back to Tiffany and tried to ignore the sleepy gaze of her son. He was at a loss for words and shot a pleading look at Scott. Thankfully, he took the hint.
“Tiffany,” Scott said, keeping his tone even. “Is there someone you can call to be with you?”
Tiffany nodded. “My sister.”
“Why don’t you call her now, and we’ll wait with you until she arrives.” Tiffany nodded again and stood up; the little boy clasped in her arms. She left the room and Scott rounded on Will. “Who the fuck was this guy?” he kept his voice low so Tiffany wouldn’t hear him. “I was expecting a piece of ass on the side, not another family.”
“There’s one thing I know for certain,” Will replied, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s one hell of a motive.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, hoping it would somehow alleviate the thump behind his eyes. It did not. “We’ll get Tiffany to the precinct tomorrow and—”
“Tomorrow?” Scott frowned. “Why tomorrow? We need to get her down there—”
“Seriously?” Will hissed, between gritted teeth. “We’ve just told that poor woman her husband is dead. I’m not going to drag her downtown and grill her under a hot lamp!”
“I—”
“Tomorrow! We are going to let that girl in there grieve for at least a few hours before we wade through the shit-fest that used to be her life,” Will ground out.
Scott dropped his gaze, a blush highlighting his cheekbones. “I didn’t think. I’m sor—”
“Not thinking appears to be a bit of a theme,” Will muttered. He could have done it under his breath if he’d wanted to, so Scott didn’t hear, but quite frankly he didn’t want to.
“Will—”
“Not now,” Will snapped, getting to his feet as Tiffany walked back into the living-room, tears streaming down her face and her son on her hip. “Did you get through to her?” he asked. She looked as though she was going to collapse at any moment, so he quickly ushered her towards the couch, where she sank dow
n against the cushions.
“She’s… on her… way… half an…hour.” Tiffany managed to get the words out between sobs. “You won’t… go?”
“Of course, not. Scott will go and make us some coffee.” Will glared at Scott, who got up and headed into the kitchen without a word.
Almost an hour later that they finally left Tiffany Petersen’s home, having agreed she would come down to the station tomorrow morning, and Will was still not in the mood to chat. He strode ahead of Scott and stood silently beside the passenger door, waiting for him to unlock the car. Not in the mood to chat and not in the mood to drive. There was way too much going on in his head for Will to be able to concentrate on the road and taking out a couple of senior citizens wasn’t really on his to-do list. Although it would top off today spectacularly.
As soon as he heard the beep from the central locking, Will yanked open the door and all but threw himself into the car, slamming the door behind him. He settled back against the seat and buckled his belt, ignoring Scott, who muttered under his breath as he slid into the driver’s seat. Will glanced at the clock on the dash and closed his eyes when he saw it was almost five in the afternoon. He was suddenly exhausted, as though he’d run a marathon… uphill.
“Are you seriously not going to talk to me?” They’d been driving for five minutes when Scott huffed out the question. Will turned his head to look out the window, and Scott said sarcastically, “I’ll take that as a yes.” Sarcasm Will could deal with, it was the irritation behind the sarcasm that he found a little difficult to swallow.
What the fuck does he have to be irritated about? Nobody lied to him. Nobody kept secrets from him. Just exactly what-the-ever-loving-fuck gives him the right to be fucking irritated?
“What do you want me to say, Scott?”
“I don’t know,” Scott snapped. “Something… anything. The silent treatment is driving me crazy.”
“Aw, poor Scottie.” If he were so inclined, now would have been the perfect time to punch Scott right in the face. He didn’t, but if he said he wasn’t sorely tempted, it would have been a lie.
“Will—”