Dark Streets, Cold Suburbs

by Aimee Hix

  Adam and I chatted about innocuous topics while we ate. Theo practicing the narration for his latest video was a pleasant hum interrupted occasionally by the kitchen timer’s ding. He’d begin filming after Adam left for classes at the dojo. They had it worked out to a science and that made me jealous. Seth and I couldn’t figure out how to coexist long enough to watch a movie without fighting and they managed two businesses and a life in this tiny house.

  I caught Adam smiling at me in concern and realized I was frowning thinking about Seth and his stubborn refusal to not act like a jackass in response to my stubborn refusal to not act like a jackass first. “What are you thinking about? Your poker face is usually better.”

  “I don’t have a poker face where Seth is concerned. I’ve never had one,” I said.

  It was true. I had a stoic, take-no-shit face for days on any other topic. So much so that the district attorney had brought in a consultant to teach me empathetic facial expressions while giving my testimony on my last case. The concern was I looked more like the sociopathic defendants than a victim of their actions.

  “You’re upset with him?” It was phrased as a question but we both knew the answer.

  “I can’t really get into his special assignment because I literally know nothing about it other than it’s special training and it’s not here.”

  He nodded. “Let’s look at the pictures you brought.” That was the best thing about Adam—he didn’t expect you to go around and around on a topic.

  We began clearing the table until Theo shooed us out of the kitchen, taking the plates from us, giving Adam a soft, loving smile. Jeez, was everyone determined to prove how much healthier and emotionally stable their romantic relationship was compared to mine? Thinking of the photos of Damian Murphy reminded me what real dysfunction looked like and I felt better.

  I spread out the photos on the table as best I could then shuffled them into monthly piles, oldest on the bottom, newest on the top. Even as crappy as the selfies were, they showed a clear, steady progression that to my untrained eye did not look natural.

  Adam pointed to a photo. “There’s an unmistakable sign. His skin. In the older photos, his skin is really clear but in this later photo, he’s got obvious cystic acne. He’s at an age that acne wouldn’t normally be kicking into high gear. That alone would be a tip off to me if I saw it in the gym, but the musculature is indicative too.”

  I didn’t know anything about steroid use other than what four years in high school would give one.

  “His personality changed too. A normal guy to a moody, secretive, angry, we’re pretty sure stalker.”

  Adam nodded. “Anabolic steroid abuse has physical and emotional effects. I’ve seen all of those behaviors in individuals using.”

  And that left me with no idea how to proceed. I had a maybe confirmation on a semi-professional basis that Damian Murphy had been using steroids, but that didn’t give me anything I didn’t already have except an ego boost that I had good hunches. Yay, me.

  Nevertheless, I texted Jan about my conversation with Adam and I couldn’t resist bragging about my doggie bag of eclairs, which was actually a gorgeous turquoise blue box with Theo’s logo on the side. He’d insisted I was helping him by testing out the new merchandise before he offered it on his website. I agreed because I’m a giver.

  Then he pressed an actual doggie bag into my other hand. It was full of organic, homemade dog biscuits for Fargo. Clearly, the day she’d spent with the two of them had gone well. I wasn’t sure, but I thought he teared up a little when he told me they were a special recipe he’d designed with her as his inspiration. He’d never teared up over me. I was slightly disgruntled, but then I strapped the box of eclairs into the passenger seat and thought about having them later and all was right with my world again.

  Aja had periodically texted me throughout the day and I’d ignored it because kids should pay attention in school. And I was tired and busy. When I got home and pulled them up I saw that she’d been investigating at school, trying to track down people Damian had still been friends with when he died.

  I was alternately proud, because it was a good lead, and pissed, because it was a dangerous lead. We had no idea who he’d been getting his steroids from and criminal enterprises—especially drug dealers and manufacturers—got testy when you started poking your nose into places they’d rather stay nose free. I penciled in a lecture about Nancy Drewing without training and reluctantly placed the box with eclairs in the fridge. I thought better of it and put a note on the side of it that it was for dessert and no early snacking was allowed. I slashed the W on the note at the bottom as a warning. If I could resist, then everyone could. I was, by far, in possession of the least amount of self-control in the family. Yes, counting the dog too.

  I grabbed the laptop Ben had set up for me. It had the case management software, solitaire, and a single internet browser. When my brother gave it to me and insisted on doing a training session, I was disabused of any notion that he thought I could handle anything more technical than microwave popcorn. Humbling to say the least. The less on the machine, the less I was likely to break anything, he said. I reminded him, only half jokingly, that I was more than capable of breaking bones.

  He reminded me that I’d already broken two laptops in less than a year. Which was stupid because I’d dumped over a cup of coffee on one of them and that had nothing to do with the programs. I had given the last one a virus while investigating one of those cheating spouses hookup websites. You know, those spam emails for the hot, bored housewives in your area looking for action. It was so serious that he’d had to scrap the machine’s operating system and quarantine it from the other computers. He said, but I don’t think that’s a real thing.

  I uploaded my notes about Damian’s suspected steroid use and flipped over to the cold case. I’d reviewed Jan’s notes from her interviews with the family. The mom was understandably distraught. Mandy had been home for her first break in her freshman year of college. She’d likely worried about all kinds of things happening to her daughter at college and never once thought she’d be in danger at home.

  The boyfriend had seemed sincere. He was unsure about his alibi, which was sleeping in until he didn’t know when and then hanging out at home. As alibis went, it was vague and totally normal. That was a normal life. He’d never expected to need an alibi so he’d turned down a movie with his friends. A movie wasn’t a great alibi either, so at least he’d saved the ticket price.

  The brother had been hiding something, Jan’s note read. She couldn’t pinpoint what her issue was with him during the interview, it was just a feeling that he wasn’t being entirely honest. His alibi, like the boyfriend’s, seemed organic but was totally unverifiable—people had seen him, they just couldn’t say when.

  I sensed Jan’s frustration with the lack of clarity in the case. She was a young detective on her first homicide case, which felt all-important. I’d lived with the insecurity and hunger that first case generated. Never knowing if you were doing it right and desperate to make sure you did it all by a book that doesn’t exactly exist. Sure, there were legalities that needed to be adhered to, but how you got from point murder to point arrest was a moving target.

  I could see why she wanted me to go without the statements at first. She was a new detective and wanted to see if she’d done it right. A newbie reviewing a newbie’s case. Except I had an advantage she never got in her career—the ability to learn from her.

  Fargo picked her bored head up from the floor and heaved a great sigh. How the dog had learned to guilt me so effectively I had no idea, but I was being a bad dog owner. I swept all the paperwork into the correct folders on the table and saved the case files. I shut the laptop and the click caused Fargo to jump up and run at me.

  “Yes, puppy girl, we’re going out. Do you want to run?”

  Fargo stretched her whole body out, long front and
back legs splayed, then popped up and ran to where her leash was hung up.

  “Okay, just let me get changed.” I dribbled off clothing as I walked from the table to my room, collecting them as I went. The basement wasn’t by any means a private suite what with the pantry and laundry room, not to mention the panic room work Dad was having done, but during the day when school was in session and Dad and I were home alone, it might as well have been a deserted island. Still there was no reason it needed to look like a crime scene, or worse, porn.

  I quickly put on workout gear warm enough for the day but nothing that I’d need to take off. I grabbed Fargo’s training vest and leash. She began to jump when she saw them come out and I had to give her the command to settle down. So much energy that needed to be run out each day—from both of us. While I was thinking about it, I texted Adam that I’d see him at the dojo that evening and got back a smiley face emoji in response. The man was totes adorbs, as Aja would say.

  I couldn’t do a hard, exhausting run with Fargo like I probably needed to do so I jammed earbuds in and found a running mix moderate in tone and beat. That’d give me enough motivation to keep us moving and still allow space in my brain for turning the cases this way and that.

  As we ducked into the trees and onto the pedestrian path, I caught sight of Seth’s parents’ house. I wondered for a scant second if they knew where he was and then pushed my angsty emotional crap to the back where it belonged. Seth was in training and we’d deal with what we needed to when he got back. I wasn’t exactly counting the days. I missed him but not having to deal with our emotional mess, part of my own emotional mess, was a nice break.

  In Damian’s case I had a possible motive to consider in that he was likely involved in at least one criminal enterprise. In Mandy’s case, there was no motive that seemed good enough. The sudden enmity with the brother was so vague and unremarkable I had a hard time imagining it escalating to murder. There was still the element that it was an accident and maybe he panicked. I just didn’t know enough about him, but my gut told me no.

  We had reached the county park and I stopped at the bathrooms. Fargo sniffed around the trees and the sidewalk separating the parking lot from the building. I dug the travel bowl out of her vest pocket and filled it at the water fountain. We both slurped water, her from the bowl and me from the fountain, then flopped down on the grass. It must have been naptime because the swings and play equipment were empty. There were a few elderly couples meandering from their car to the paved path in the opposite direction from the dirt packed path I intended to take around the lake. I calculated that it was a little less than five miles and decided to only take it halfway then cut through the woods back to the bike path and home.

  I checked my laces and shook off the bowl, collapsing it and stowing it away again.

  “You ready, girl? No yanking the leash to go after vermin, okay?”

  She smiled up at me, her tongue lolling out of her mouth. She looked eager to get going so we set off at a slow trot until I saw how the path had fared during the winter. The county wouldn’t have gotten the chance to inspect the whole trail and it was likely one of the snowfalls we’d gotten could have dislodged weak tree limbs. I didn’t want either of us tripping and getting injured. I decided to take her to the dog park instead, so we turned back and headed for home. I mulled while we trotted along at a slower pace than either of us wanted.

  Damian Murphy had been beaten to death and while he’d been a bigger guy than most his age, we didn’t have any information that he could defend himself. It could have been ridiculously easy for someone to kill him despite his size. That person didn’t even need to be amped up on steroids either. Not that I believed his death wasn’t related to steroids.

  The search and destruction at Aja’s house was all I needed to know that Damian had gotten involved in something more than just personal use. That was a where the hell is my product search if I’d ever seen one. I mean, I hadn’t, but I was smart enough to get the basic gist of it. Say I’m a bad guy and I’ve gotten bad guy stuff hidden I need to pick up from bad guy partner or henchman—I tear the place apart until I find it. Unless I knew where to look. Then I waste no time getting that spot accessed and when I don’t find what I expect, I throw a hissy fit and punch a hole, or half dozen, in the wall.

  Maybe I needed to check out this attempted MMA club first hand. Which meant I needed to visit my old high school. Oh, joy. I could revisit all the fun times I had with my now dead best friend and the boyfriend who I am currently angry with and who wasn’t my boyfriend at the time despite the fact that literally anyone who watched us together—including actual people we were dating—couldn’t deny we wanted to be together. We even got an honorable mention in his senior superlatives as Best Couple … even though, again, we weren’t dating. I mean, the yearbook staff saw it.

  Mr. Kelly was still the principal and he would have been the one who shot down the MMA club. Rightfully so. A club that endorsed teenagers hitting each other in the face would not have gone down well with parents. Which begged the question, how were these kids explaining their injuries to their parents? I got plenty banged up just sparring with a partner who was either inanimate or professionally dedicated to ensuring I remained uninjured. So how was Damian Murphy explaining his bruises and injuries and failing grades his senior year to his parents?

  More questions than answers was the gig. Didn’t mean it didn’t piss me off.

  Instead of entering the house when we got home, I piled Fargo into the back seat of the truck, clipping her harness to the seatbelt.

  “Wanna go for a ride, puppy? Let’s go see Ben and Aja.”

  Her ears popped straight up at the sound of their names and just as quickly sagged back down. We were told we could tape her ears up but I liked that they were floppy. Her ears matched her goofy smile. She was going to be a big dog and as much as Ben wanted her to be the perfect guard dog, I wanted a running companion and snuggle bug. Yes, she could be both but either way I wanted her to look innocuous because scary dogs were scary. And she was a sweetheart.

  I texted Ben and Aja both, a group text they’d jointly set up on my phone at dinner the previous night, and told them that the dog and I would come to pick them up. I managed to be only minorly hurt when Aja’s reply indicated she might be more excited about showing Fargo off to her friends than me. I mean, how many teen girls have dogs? Tons. How many teen girls have their own crime-fighting, near-ninja, decently-IQed private eye? That’s a pretty small club.

  Student parking was fairly empty already. Seniors had priority over the lottery-based spots, and they were anxious to be anywhere but high school. Wait until they hit college if they thought high school was a drag.

  Ben would have had his own car, too, if Seth hadn’t gone behind my back. Instead of fixing the cut coolant line in my old car, he had it crushed into a brown cube. He’d argued that there was more wrong with the car than the plastic tubing—that it had over two hundred thousand miles on it and should have been retired long before; that it had bad memories. I was just miffed that I had to go shopping with some ATF smarty pants to get Ben some technical whosiwhatsit when I had a perfectly brilliant, free, present to give him—a very used car.

  I pulled into a spot and got Fargo out, technically breaking like four different health code violations about animals on county property, and slapped her Working Dog vest on. You didn’t even need any kind of special certificate or license to get the vest online. Then again you could buy just about any kind of weapon you wanted to so I didn’t feel much guilt about fudging my dog’s bona fides.

  She trotted happily with her tongue lolling out of her goofy mouth, ears flopping as we picked up speed.

  Aja had gathered a group of girls to adore Fargo and, puppy princess she was, lapped up the attention and affection.

  Ben had been talking with a kid through the window of the only bus still on the grounds. I didn’t thi
nk much about it until I heard the shouting.

  “Screw you, Daniel,” Ben yelled

  As the bus pulled away, Daniel or someone, hollered out the window, “Dude, get over it. She’s doable.”

  Aja rolled her eyes but Ben dropped his backpack like he was going to go after the person. Who was on a bus. That was driving away.

  “Teenage boys, ugh, all hormones, no brains, right?” Aja said.

  “Testosterone is the stupidity hormone.”

  I knew the kid had been talking about me. I wasn’t under the impression that I was some kind of model but I was older and I had a fit and toned body from the months of intense workouts. I was also wearing workout clothes that left only the shade of my skin in question. I hadn’t even thought about the workout clothes when I made my impromptu decision to visit my little brother’s school.

  A regrettable faux pas on my part. I always tried to minimize the embarrassment I put Ben through publicly because I remembered being his age and just how easy it was for the hot red flush to rise up the face, something we both got from Dad. Once Ben had become a teen having a much older sister, especially one who was a cop, had been a hard pill to swallow. He loved me, he just didn’t always like his friends and me in the same place.

  I leaned in close to him. “Sorry, Benj. I needed some info on the MMA club and I didn’t think.”

  He nodded.

  I pulled back and gently punched Ben on the shoulder. “And here is a prime example of it. Can you imagine if that kid had used a word other than doable, Aja?”

  I figured I’d get him some White Knight mileage with the gathered group of teen girls. Just because I wasn’t into a guy riding to the rescue and saving me from the evil of the world didn’t mean others didn’t or that it was even a bad thing.

  “Oh, he did,” Ben said, pushing me back, a little rougher than I’d punched him. Good. He needed to work out the aggression in a positive way. A more positive way than running after the bus and trying to start a fight with another dumb teenage boy.