by S. E. Harmon
“Et tu, Brute?”
He didn’t look sorry in the least. “Your mother recommended that brand in particular.”
Limiting my coffee intake was a good way to get piping hot green tea dumped all over your lap, and his twinkling eyes said he knew that well. It was just too damned bad I needed everything he had south of the border.
“I see you’ve started the timeline,” he said, looking up at my board. “What else have we got?”
Four faces were suddenly looking at me, hands poised over various devices to take notes. Nick and Tab both had the notepad app open on their phones, while Kevin had a stylus poised over an iPad. And then there was Danny.
I stifled a laugh at his old school legal pad and pen. While he was an undeniably smart man, he had a well-known, love/hate relationship with technology. He was the only person I knew under eighty who missed phones that only made calls.
I moved out of the way of my board, so they could see what I’d written so far, and then brought everyone up to speed—background info about Mason, short summaries of each suspect—everything I had learned from burying my nose in a dusty box for over five hours. No one could say I wasn’t thorough. Judging from a wide yawn Nick didn’t bother to hide, I was very thorough.
Done taking notes, Danny capped his pen and stuck it behind his ear. He leaned back in his chair. “The best friend, the brother, the mother, and three ex-wives. Interesting list of suspects. And that’s if his killer is on that board at all.”
I rather hoped he or she was. Maybe it was ghoulish to hope one of those smiling faces was our killer, but perfect-stranger homicides were a beast. Without threads tying the victim and perpetrator together, the odds of solving a crime were reduced dramatically. By my estimation, it was part of the reason serial killers flew under the radar so long.
Nick’s phone buzzed and he checked the screen with a frown. “It’s Tom. He works at BCI as a prison guard. Looks like Lottie Hereford’s killer just got out of jail.”
There was a moment of silence that no one seemed to know how to break. My jaw tightened involuntarily. “We always knew that was a possibility.”
“Did we?” Nick’s tone was thick with derision. “We did a lot of work to put that scumbag behind bars, and now he’s walking free. Maybe he’ll sue the department next. As a consolation prize for murdering your girlfriend and her kids, here’s two-point-five mil.”
“Sometimes the bad guy gets a walk, Gonzalez. You should know that by now.” My level of bristliness approached porcupine. “It’s certainly not the outcome I wanted.”
Nick’s eyes were hard. “What you want doesn’t seem to be working out too well for the PTU.”
The silence was back and better than ever. He wasn’t saying anything we hadn’t all thought. The challenges of our unit were unique, and they weren’t going away anytime soon. There was nothing I could say to reassure him or make things better. And suck it up, buttercup was never a crowd pleaser.
In the end, I didn’t have to say anything at all. Nick looked almost immediately contrite. “Shit. I’m sorry.” He ran a hand through his dark hair. “I know it’s not your fault.”
Kevin’s usually sunny face was a dark cloud as he stirred his coffee vigorously. “That was pretty shitty, Nick. We’re supposed to be a team. Lying that at his door—”
“I’m not. It’s just that… I keep seeing those crime scene photos in my fucking head.”
So did I. While Lottie was being murdered, her nine-year-old had been trying to block the closet she hid her little brother in. I couldn’t imagine hearing the screams, the brutal violence of her mother’s murder, and knowing she was next.
I swallowed. “You think I don’t?”
“Look, I said I was sorry. What do you want, an affidavit signed in my blood?” Nick sighed as he rubbed at his eyes. “I’m just frustrated. Tired.”
And maybe a little hungover.
Judging from the tic in Danny’s jaw, he was also reining in words that were probably better left unspoken. I gave him a warning look. We were already on tenuous ground by working together and being in a relationship; we didn’t broadcast it, but we didn’t hide it, either. It wouldn’t be productive, or professional, if he charged in and defended me like a Rottweiler every time someone looked at me sideways. Besides, I didn’t need a guard dog.
I had teeth of my own.
When he finally spoke, his words were measured and clipped. "You want out, Nicky, you know what to do.”
“I don’t want out,” Nick mumbled.
“Good. For all of you who remember why we get our astoundingly tiny paychecks, let's get started.” He pointed at Tab. “I need you and Nick to go through the financials of everyone on that board. See what kind of estate Mason had and who got what.”
Tabitha nodded. She stood and smacked Nick on the back of the head. He ducked sheepishly. “Let’s go, Mr. Personality.” She smiled to take the sting out of her words. “I’m going to get a few greasy donuts in him, and we’ll get started.”
Nick nudged my shoulder and sent me an apologetic look as he passed, and I gave him a nod that I hoped conveyed “no hard feelings.”
Danny turned to Kevin. “I want to know everything about Mason’s routine. I want to know where he went on a daily basis and what he did when he got there.”
Kevin sent him a jaunty salute. “Check.”
My crowded office emptied rather quickly and before I knew it, it was just the two of us. I looked over at Danny and he was clearly still a little pissed. “Thank you for not defending me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That may be the strangest reason someone has ever thanked me.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I do. Trust me, it wasn’t easy. I love Nick, but I briefly considered jettisoning him out that window.”
“We’re all equals on this team, D. Except you, who’s a bit of a dictator,” I teased, just to get him to smile. It didn’t work. “Nick gets to have an opinion, even if we don’t agree with it.”
“Well, I don’t,” he said fiercely. “I don’t care what he says. Or Tate. We did good work on the Hereford case. If it doesn’t stick, that’s not all on you.”
“You’re just saying that ’cuz you’re fucking me.”
Finally, he gave me that half smile I loved so bloody much. “Yeah, maybe a little bit. And because when someone hurts your feelings, I want to do unspeakable things.”
“That’s unexpectedly sweet, coming from you.”
“Unexpectedly? You know I have a sweet side.”
“It’s a little… underdeveloped,” I said tactfully.
“How do you figure?” He sent me an offended look. “I’m romantic as hell.”
I snorted. The last time he wanted to have sex, he’d strutted into the kitchen wearing nothing but socks and a smile and asked, ‘How ’bout it?’ When I reminded him of that, he sent me a blank look. “I’m not seeing the problem.”
“Other than the fact that I hate having sex with socks on?”
“The floor is cold.”
“We need rugs.”
“I don’t want dusty rugs on my hardwood floors.”
My. A strange word for my mind to lock onto. Interesting nuance, probably something he didn’t even put thought into, but I was an investigator—nuance was my life. I said we and he responded with my. I couldn’t help but think that was purposeful.
Fortunately, this was neither the time nor the place for such a discussion. Frankly, I wanted to get back to my whiteboard. “Don’t you have someplace else to be?” I prodded.
“And they say subtlety is dead.” Danny gathered his files and coffee cup and sauntered toward the door. “I’d like to remind you that you were into my brand of romance. Very into it, in fact.”
My face warmed. “I don’t remember any of that.”
“Good thing I do, huh?” He paused in the doorway. “I believe your exact words were, ‘I’m all about that action.’ Then you bent over the sink and asked
me to fill you up with… what did you call it again?”
The flush spread to my neck. “I have no idea,” I said crisply.
“Oh, that’s right.” He snapped his fingers. “You said fill me up with that big fucking d—”
“Out!”
I threw a pack of Post-its at the door just as it closed, and they bounced harmlessly to the floor. Laughter sounded on the other side, making my lips quirk in return. Cheeky bastard. It would be a very long time before I begged him to do more filthy things to me.
Well, at least aloud.
Chapter 5
Mason didn’t show up again until late the next day. He drifted into my office and plopped down in one of my guest chairs, looking even more substantial than before…so real in fact, I was almost surprised the chair didn’t move.
He didn’t say anything, and I was in no hurry either. I continued to navigate his computer while gnawing on a Fiber One bar—one hand for the mouse, the other hand to brush away errant peanut butter and granola crumbs.
Disappointingly, his computer search history was rather innocuous and mostly work-related. I couldn’t say the same. In the event of my death, I expected Danny to throw my laptop on the interstate… in the name of love. And make sure a semi hit it doing eighty.
Mason sighed, sending a cool breeze across the desk and over my skin. I shivered. “I don’t suppose that face means you’re any closer to solving my case,” he mused.
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Well you can’t do worse than that idiot Reynaldo.”
I had to admit, the previous lead detective had missed a few steps. He seemed convinced Mason had just taken off and worked the case with that in mind. In my experience, missing persons just showing up unharmed was more the exception rather than the rule.
“Tell me you have some secret files on your computer,” I said, scrolling through his inbox. Companies were still sending him spam. Bed Bath & Beyond was determined to give him twenty percent off, murder be damned. “No one on earth can be this dependable and boring.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. I’m a dependable and boring kind of guy.”
Dependable and boring guys don’t usually vanish without a trace. I decided not to comment on that. I asked something more benign instead, for fear of him disappearing again. “What about work? Did you have any troubles there?”
“Not really. I owned a bakery.” He shrugged. “We went on Cupcake Wars, you know. Came in second.”
“What?”
“Cupcake Wars,” he said. “We came in second because Luke forgot to put—”
“Did you owe anyone money?” I asked impatiently. “Any shady investors?”
“No and no,” he said. “The bakery was doing well, and I enjoyed my job.”
“That’s something I don’t hear too often,” I said, continuing to click through his email folders. They were neatly organized and properly labeled. “Did you always want to own a bakery?”
“Always. Even as a kid, I complained that my Easy-Bake Oven didn’t have enough power.”
“That’s often the case when you cook with a lightbulb.”
He smiled. “Creating treats that people raved over became an addiction. There’s nothing quite as incredible as turning simple ingredients into edible art. And you can never replicate them again in quite the same way.”
I glanced up at him with a small smile. This was a side of Mason I hadn’t seen yet, and his face was bright and animated as he warmed to his topic. “You loved it.”
“Much like you love your career, I suspect.”
He wasn’t wrong. Maybe it was a little strange to love a job like mine, one that constantly put me in contact with the worst humanity had to offer. But I never had to wonder if I was doing something important. Bringing closure to people whose lives had been torn and scarred was important. Speaking for people who could no longer speak for themselves was important. It was all we had left to offer the dead. Maybe love wasn’t the right word after all because I didn’t always love my job, but I considered it an almost sacred duty.
An old email caught my eye in the folder labeled Social. I read aloud, “Help us celebrate the launch of SinglesMingle.com. Are you looking for companionship, or maybe the love of your life? Your destiny awaits.” I cocked an eyebrow at his suddenly flushed face. “Did you sign up for this?”
“It was a promotional email for one free week,” he said defensively. “Was I supposed to let that go to waste?”
Talk about opening up the suspect pool to a bunch of randos. I frowned. “Did you meet anyone?”
“A few people. I thought one of them could’ve turned into something serious, but I was wrong. Six months wasted on John.” At my expression, he rolled his eyes. “Don’t believe me. Go ahead and waste your time if you want.”
“John? So you’re bisexual?”
“No. I’m gay.” He gave me a rueful smile. “Just figured it out a little late, is all. Three marriages too late. Guess that’s why a dating site seemed so appealing. Starting over can be intimidating.”
“Better late than never I suppose.” I scrabbled for my marker, ready to write the name on my suspect list. “Do you have a last name for this John?”
“Smith.”
Talk about the letdown of the century. I jammed the cap back on the marker with a huff. “You never got his real name?”
“That was his real name. Or so I thought,” he said defensively.
Christ. I squinted at him for a few moments, trying to figure out if he was serious or just pulling my leg. People that naïve didn’t just walk around, did they? Surely they were kept in a kangaroo mama’s pouch for their own safety, right?
“Mason,” I finally said.
“Yes?”
“You went out with him for six months and you never once thought John Smith was an alias?”
“Why would I?” He looked at me blankly. “I mean, why would he use a fake name?”
Hell, maybe we were on the wrong track after all and he wasn’t at the bottom of the lake. Maybe someone just turned him into a fucking Care Bear. Maybe right this moment, he was on some little girl’s shelf with a smiley face patch glued to his belly.
I shook my head. “Never mind.”
Nothing for it but to put John Smith up on the board in all his fake-ass name glory. Mason watched me suspiciously as I wrote. “What are you writing?” he asked. “I don’t want you bothering Car… John.”
I paused in the middle of drawing a square with a question mark. I eyed him suspiciously. “You found out his real name, don’t you?”
“He didn’t do this.”
“Spill,” I said sternly.
“Carter James,” he finally said. “He’s a doctor in Miami. He has a practice with his wife… plastics, I think.”
My eyebrows nearly shot off my forehead. “He was married?”
“I didn’t know that at first,” Mason snapped. “When I found out, I broke it off immediately.”
“How did he take it?”
“He had… a bit of a hard time letting go.”
“How hard?”
“Showing up at my work and home type of hard.” At my frown, he made an exasperated noise. “It wasn’t like that. You have to understand, Carter is the kind of guy who isn’t used to hearing no. He comes from old money, he’s handsome, talented… everything he wants, he gets.”
“Sounds like a real prince,” I said dryly.
“No, no, I’m not describing our relationship properly.” Mason shook his head in frustration. “There was no way he could hurt me. He may’ve been a scumbag, but he was… kind. Gentle.”
I ignored him as I wrote JAMES, CARTER on my board in small, neat print. He huffed. “You’re wasting your time.”
“It’s my time to waste.” My tone was sharp. “You should’ve told me. When you hide things, you hinder my investigation.”
Mason didn’t respond, but he looked hurt, green eyes swimming with unshed tears. He wouldn’t look at me ag
ain as he disappeared. I winced. Yeah, I should’ve figured that wouldn’t go over well.
Despite Mason’s reservations, I wasn’t ready to give up on the Carter James angle. At some point they’d stopped communicating through the Singles Mingle website and begun emailing one another. I did a keyword search and found the emails stashed away in a folder labeled Recipes.
“Sneaky bastard,” I muttered.
I clicked on a few at random, feeling like the worst sort of voyeur. They talked about all manners of things over that six-month period, things you would talk about when you’re falling love. After a particularly steamy email from Carter to Mason, I glanced up guiltily, almost expecting Mason to be standing there.
I flipped forward to their last email, from Mason to Carter, and widened my eyes.
I thought I loved you, but turns out I didn’t even know you. I don’t want to hear from you ever again.
Did Carter responded to rejection with murder?
A quick Google search later, I had the contact information to his office. When I called, the secretary patched me through to his wife, who then informed me that he was on vacation. I wondered if Carter James was really on vacation, or if he was hiding out so he wouldn’t have to answer any uncomfortable questions. Either way, it was an exercise in futility. He was about to learn I could be stubborn as a terrier when I set my mind on something. In my head, I all but barked.
I leaned back in my chair, mulling over the possibilities. This was the part of the investigation I disliked the most—when the things we didn’t know far surpassed the things we did. I had no delusions that Tate would be impressed with our progress.
My meeting with her still weighed heavily on my mind. To be fair, she hadn’t told me anything I didn’t know. Our department didn’t have much more time to find our groove. She was getting pressure to shut it down and reassign us. I had to face facts.
Our squad was about to be just as much a part of the past as those ghosts.
Chapter 6
By Thursday, the dive site was a lot less lively. The fourth day of searching was never quite as pleasant as the first. Tempers frayed, morale got low, and someone inevitably started grumbling about better ways to spend resources. I was all too aware that they couldn’t search forever.