“No….” Flu’s eyes bulged as he watched the family cheer for the dive team. “No.”
Flu ran along the perimeter of the lake, cutting through the crowd of spectators, as he tried to shield the family from the sloppy search-and-recover mission. Even though Wilma Reynolds had been submerged for almost a week, her family must’ve been in such denial of her passing that they thought it was plausible she could still be alive.
“Get them out of here!” Flu flailed his arms in the air as he ran along the bank. Deep imprints of his shoes sank into the loose gravel as he continued to yell. “You have to bag her first,” he muttered.
The news reporter snapped her fingers several times at the camera operator and spoke into the microphone as soon as the camera was on her. The cameraman stood close in front of her and panned the camera across the lake, recording the cheering family who waited to embrace their loved one.
I gave the responding officer one last look and jogged around the lake, following Flu’s prints in the gravel. The diver had reached the boat, and he passed Wilma Reynolds’ body to his partner in the red windbreaker. He wrapped his hands around Wilma’s arms and lifted her into the boat before helping the diver out of the water.
White streaks of water rose across the lake’s surface as the boat’s motor kicked on and the boat made its way to the dock where the family, news crew and two officers stood. The officers gently pushed the family back from the dock once they saw the body hadn’t been bagged. Flu pushed his way through the officers and the news crew as he ran down the dock toward the boat.
“Get them out of here!” he barked at the officers.
The responding officer and I were close behind Flu as the three of us ran down the short dock. The officer assisted his partners in keeping the family and news crew from seeing the decomposed body.
“Sir,” the officer said. “You and your family need to step back. Let the officers do their job.”
Flu stood at the edge of the dock, the soles of his shoes covered in soot and pebbles, and he glared at the diver, who was taking off his flippers. The boat continued to bob in the water as the dive team bagged the rotting corpse of Wilma Reynolds. The moldy smell of decayed, water-logged flesh burned in the back of my throat and made my eyes water. A faint taste of raw sardines soaked in oil crept over my taste buds as I took in quick breaths, trying to shield my nose from the stench.
“What were you thinking?” Flu hollered at the diver. “You are to bag them underwater. Never break the surface with an exposed victim.”
“I’m sorry, Captain. He’s new,” the man in the red windbreaker said sheepishly.
“I can’t believe this.” Flu sighed as he threw his hands down to his sides. “If the family sues us, it’s coming out of your pay,” he snapped, then walked up the dock toward the now grieving family.
The rubber soles of my shoes squeaked on the dock as I followed Flu. He pushed past the cameraman as the reporter shoved the microphone in Flu’s face and asked him a series of ill-mannered questions. He ignored her and continued walking.
“Sergeant Evans,” she said as I walked past her. “What’s it like to be back in Mirror Woods with another dead body?” She stood in front of me with the microphone a fraction of an inch away from my mouth. The cameraman stood alongside her and pointed the camera at my face.
“Have a little respect for the deceased,” I said as I grabbed the lens and twisted it in my hands. The camera shifted from the man’s grasp and fell to the ground with a loud cracking sound.
That’s going to cost me, I thought to myself as I followed Flu to the coroner’s van.
CHAPTER | THREE
“CAPTAIN,” ABRAM SAID as he walked into Flu’s office. “We got a name for the second victim.” He slapped a rolled piece of paper against the door, interrupting my conversation with Flu. A sudden pop echoed through Flu’s office as the paper-smacking sound ricocheted against the metal doorframe.
Flu pushed his chair away from his mahogany desk, a cluttered mess of case files, legal pads, and crumpled napkins from several days’ worth of lunches. The wheels of his office chair skidded along the tile floor as he stood up and took the paper from Abram’s hand. It crinkled as Flu unrolled and smoothed out the sheet of paper. He looked over it several times and nodded, then handed the sheet to me.
It featured a woman’s picture in a square box—along with her name, address, and date of birth. Her long blond hair wildly framed her face, and her sparkling blue eyes reflected the flash from the camera. Her age, height, and weight were also listed.
“Fionna Michaels,” Abram said. “Reported missing in late July by her boyfriend. She’s local. Her boyfriend’s number is on the report if you need to talk to him.”
“Thank you. Good work,” Flu said. “Send this to me in an email.”
“I already did, sir—I printed this off for your convenience.” Abram said, much too pleased with himself.
“Evans, I’m putting you on lead. Abram, send this information to Evans,” Flu said as he sat back down in his chair.
“Certainly.” Abram nodded and left the room.
“Go home, Evans,” Flu said. “I’ll finish up the Reynolds case.”
I waited until I was sure Abram was nowhere within earshot before I turned to Flu. “I was thinking about the videos....” I said. That was the truth, but it wasn’t the whole truth. Really, I just didn’t want to go home. Not yet, anyway.
We had returned from Mirror Woods less than an hour ago, and I wasn’t ready to call it a day. After the mishap with the dive team—and then bagging the evidence, which concluded the death was an accidental drowning—I was too wired to go home.
“What about them?” Flu asked.
“Something seems… off. Why would someone send us the videos but not the identities of the people in them?”
“Pride,” Flu simply stated. “Whoever this is wants to create a cat-and-mouse game. He’s proud of what he’s doing, and he wants to flaunt it in our faces.” Flu paused before he motioned for me to close his door. I leaned back, pressed the tips of my fingers against the edge of the door, and pushed it closed.
“Since you’re here,” he said, “there’s something you need to know. I haven’t made this public, and no one aside from Abram knows.” Flu paused again, as if searching for the right words to reveal his big secret. “The videos are being addressed to you.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Aside from the obvious reason?” Flu answered.
After the Lathan Collins’ case, I had become the most well-known detective in the city. If Flu was right about pride being the sender’s motivation, then addressing the videos to me added a bit more flavor to the meal.
“Why haven’t you told the rest of the department?” I asked.
“I don’t want anyone to get carried away. We have some of the best officers around, but even the best can be tempted by the media. We can’t let these videos get out to the public.”
“I understand,” I said. I completely agreed with Flu. The less attention I received, the better. “Is that all?”
“Yeah,” Flu nodded, curiosity suddenly striking his face. “How are things at home?” he asked with a shift in the tone of his voice.
“Fine,” I quickly said.
“Uh-huh,” he said, as if he was humoring me. Flu knew me well enough to know when I wasn’t being completely honest with him. “I noticed your panic attack in the car today, when we were headed into Mirror Woods. If things aren’t so good at home with Abi, that could be the reason—”
“Things are fine,” I snapped.
“After everything that happened, it’s a lot for one person to go through. Are you still seeing that psychologist?”
“I don’t have time to see one now,” I cut in. “I went through the mandatory sessions and was given the all clear.”
“Find the time,” Flu said, “before the time finds you.” He paused before locking eyes with me. “How many divorces have you seen in all your year
s as a cop? Too many, I’m sure. And it’s all for the same reason. This job can cost you everything—but only if you let it.”
I nodded. Flu was right—I just didn’t want him to be. In the twenty years I’d been in law enforcement, almost all the divorces within the department were due to the officer putting the job first. But that was part of the job; it had to come first.
“We’re fine,” I said, shrugging off the thought. “Somehow it’ll work itself out. I have too much going on at work.”
“Don’t use your job as an excuse to let the people you care about slip away.”
I let my eyes drift toward the floor. So much had changed in the course of a year. Sometimes I wondered if I made the smart choice coming back to work. Maybe Abi and I should have moved to Pittsburgh when her family suggested it. We could live in her brother’s basement—insects and all.
“How could a town this small change so much in a year?” I asked. It was mostly rhetorical. But for some reason, I wanted to hear Flu’s answer.
“Maybe it isn’t the town that changed,” he said.
I should have known better than to seek understanding from Flu. Although I knew his intentions were good, I didn’t want a boss-turned-friend lecture from him. “I should get home,” I said and stood from the chair.
“Think about what I said,” Flu said, making no attempt to back off. He was on a mission, and he was going to make sure I heard him loud and clear.
“Yes, Captain,” I mustered as I walked out of his office.
As I drove home, a fluorescent mauve hue coated the cloudless sky as the sun sank past the horizon. From the busy intersection that raced with cars traveling in all directions, I turned onto my street that had all the quiet and calmness of an abandoned church. The streetlights hovered over the beat-up brick road, and an elderly woman walked down the sidewalk. She clutched her purse that was tucked under her arm as she shielded it from potential would-be thieves.
I pulled into the driveway and sat in my black Jetta as it ran idle. With the car’s air conditioning still running, I was able to tolerate the stifling humidity that lingered just outside the door.
My modest two-story Victorian-style home sat in the middle of the yard, and it looked rather welcoming as I gazed out the window. The paved walkway that led to the front door was a shade darker than the light-gray siding, and the burgundy shutters coordinated well with the weather-beaten brick chimney. Along the front of the house, a small flowerbed contained purple sage blossoms and black-eyed susans swaying blissfully in the shallow breeze.
I shut off the engine and opened the door. The sweet scent of freshly mowed grass filled my nose, and a thin layer of sweat instantly formed under my arms as the scorching heat beat down on my face. I took a deep breath and walked along the path leading toward the front door. My body immediately cooled as I reached the shaded section of the front porch, and I quickly opened the door.
Sheer white curtains draped along the large window in the living room. The thin slats of the wood floor stretched vertically through the living room and led toward the back of the house, which is where the kitchen and home office were. Under the window, crushed potpourri sat in a glass jar atop a long and narrow console table. An oversized white doily dangled off the sides of the table. Just in front of the table was a tan suede couch with dark red pillows. The large flat-screen television on the opposite wall stood on top of a small entertainment center with a DVD player and cable box resting on the shelves below.
“You’re home?” I said, shocked to see Abi on the sofa.
Abi sat with her feet curled under her legs and her hair wrapped in a tight braid that fell over her left shoulder. “Yeah, I got home about an hour ago,” she said.
“Oh,” I nodded. “That’s right. You met co-workers for dinner,” I reminded myself. She had told me of her plans several days ago, but it had slipped my mind until now.
“Just one co-worker,” Abi said. “How was your day?” she asked as I closed the front door behind me. A coy smile slipped from her lips.
“You saw?”
“It’ll be on the eleven o’clock news too.” Abi held in a laugh. “My favorite part was Flu,” she added. There was no doubt that she knew about the mishap with the dive team this afternoon.
I didn’t have to guess how comical Flu looked as he flailed his arms in the air and frantically hollered at the dive team. I had hoped the news crew would show some mercy and not air that part. Apparently, after my clash with the cameraman, mercy was not their style.
“Am I in it?” I winced. I already knew the answer, but confirmation was the salted dagger I was missing in my side. Abi’s lips contorted into more of an apologetic smile as she slowly nodded. It wasn’t just because of the media attention I had received from the Lathan Collins’ case that I didn’t want to appear on the news. It was also because having footage of law enforcement destroying private property, such as a news camera, didn’t sit well with the administration or with the public.
“You looked really good,” Abi said. That was one of the great things about Abi. Deep down, I knew she was mad at me—maybe even more than mad—but she wasn’t going to kick me when I was down. No matter how tempted she was.
“Thanks,” I said as I walked into the kitchen.
Light-colored wood cabinets with glass doors formed an “L” shape that hung above the gray-speckled countertop. The black gas stove and matching microwave reflected the sun that peeked through the window on the opposite wall. White subway tiles covered the wall space between the cabinets and the countertop. I walked toward the refrigerator and grabbed a beer from the full six-pack on the bottom shelf. I held one by the neck and lifted it from the pack. The sharp sting from the cool bottle nipped at the palm of my hand.
I reached into the drawer adjacent to the dishwasher and picked up the bottle opener. The metal clacked against the glass as I snapped off the cap. A refreshing tsst sound escaped from the bottle, and an almost translucent layer of smoke fogged around the bottle. I clenched the cap and bottle opener in my hand and placed them on the granite countertop as Abi walked into the kitchen.
I took a sip from the bottle. The foam bubbled in my mouth as the cold liquid washed over my tongue and down my throat. The back of my head tightened slightly as I took another gulp, the suds building in my stomach. I twirled the bottle between my fingers as drops of condensation pooled around the base, and I looked at Abi.
“I thought you were going to Pittsburgh” I said.
“I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”
I picked up my beer, which was still more than three-quarters full, and I walked past Abi as she stood in front of the stove. Walking past her was the only way out of the kitchen, and I knew if we stayed in the same room much longer, it would turn into a passive-aggressive argument. My shoulder grazed hers as I walked toward the office.
With the sun setting and the curtains drawn, the lamp cast its light over the wood floors as dark shadows hid in the corners. My department-issued laptop sat in the middle of the oak desk, which took up the entire right corner of the room. The modem and router, tucked under the desk, cast a soft green glow. I pulled back the chair, and its wheels rolled smoothly along the plastic floor protector.
I sat down and opened the laptop. I thought tonight would be as good a time as any to start researching the videos.
If only it was that easy.
Although access to my work was less than a foot in front of my face, it was the furthest thing from my mind. I wasn’t able to concentrate—not with the thought of Abi being mad at me. I was surprised she hadn’t called me out on my behavior. She usually did by now, but maybe she was tired of being the one to make the first move.
Abi walked into the office. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I matched her tone, but I didn’t look at her.
“I don’t want to leave for Pittsburgh with you mad at me,” she said
“I’m not mad at you.” I turned toward her. Abi leaned against the doorway and cross
ed her arms. Her lips dropped into a subtle frown as she looked at me, her blue eyes full of worry.
It was impossible to feel nothing when I looked at her. She was beautiful—no amount of trauma was going to change that fact. But the emotions were missing. My arms ached to hold her, but my heart fell hard into my stomach, like a bowling ball dropped off a cliff. Whatever wall I had built around my heart couldn’t crumble with just one look from her.
“I’m sorry,” I said and lowered my head. “I want you to go see your family. I know how much they mean to you.”
Abi walked farther into the office, her pant legs rustling together. “Everything okay at work?”
“Yeah.” I hesitated. “I was assigned to a new case.”
“Is that what’s getting to you?”
“Partly,” I said. She was right. There was something getting to me—eating at me—but I didn’t know what it was. It was as if there was something living inside me, like a carnivorous parasite and I was its host. But instead of devouring me in one gulp, it took one morsel at a time, digesting me at its leisure before taking the next bite. “It’s this case, it’s work, it’s the entire town of West Joseph,” I said.
“I thought you liked it here?”
“I did.” I shrugged. “I do.”
“Maybe you just need time to adjust?”
“It’s been a year,” I said as I leaned back in the chair.
“Have you thought about talking to someone?”
“I did.”
“Maybe you should go back,” Abi suggested.
“You sound like Flu.” I rolled my eyes.
“Maybe he’s right,” Abi said sternly. “He knows the stress of your job more than anyone.”
“I know.” I sighed. “I’ll look into it.”
But I already had.
Dr. Tillman and I had been meeting monthly since the incident with Lathan Collins.
The initial six sessions did nothing to help my emotional detachment from everyone—and Abi was receiving the worst of it. I was constantly agitated. I barely slept; when I did, my dreams were so violent and vivid that the strength it took to survive them made it feel as if I hadn’t slept at all.
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