by Steven James
“Yes. But that wasn’t the worst of it. When I was ten, I played the role of being eight, and then when I was twelve, I played a ten-year-old. So my handlers did everything they could to make me look younger for the parts, but they made me dress like I was eighteen for the premieres. You can’t begin to imagine the things grown men said to me when I was twelve and out of earshot of my parents.”
“I can guess.”
“Yeah, I doubt it. You’re too much of a gentleman. Anyway, every woman in Hollywood tries to look twenty-five. The teens do, their moms do too.” She paused. “Pat, I have a question for you. If it’s too personal, just say so. I’ll drop it and I won’t ask about it again.”
“Alright.”
“Can you tell me about her?”
“About who?”
“The woman you’re seeing.”
Curious, I said, “What makes you think I’m seeing someone?”
“Maybe I’m assuming too much, but I have the sense that if you weren’t in a relationship you would hold my gaze longer when you look at me. Am I right?”
“Possibly.” I swirled my beer around for a moment in the bottle. “I have been seeing someone, yes. Since May. Her name’s Christie.”
“So, it’s serious, then.”
“That sounded more like a conclusion than a question.”
“I think I know you pretty well. Even when we were together at the Academy, I got the impression that you wanted to find someone to be with long-term. The way you treated me, I could tell you weren’t the type of guy to be unfaithful to your woman. Maybe I didn’t appreciate it as much back then, but I do now. It makes things a lot less complicated when you know whose arms you’ll be going home to at night.”
“Is your life complicated?”
She pointed to one of the kitchen chairs. “Just me and ole Horace here. Seriously, though, not since the divorce. Not anything long-term.” She took a slice of orange, and might have edged forward a little on the couch. “So, what does this lucky woman do? The one you’ve been seeing since May?”
“Graphic designer. She recently got a promotion.” It seemed like a strange thing to mention, and I wasn’t sure why I added that last part.
“That’s nice.”
“Yes.”
I was about to say, She’s lovely and quirky and fun and brings out the best in me, but didn’t end up saying anything.
“Is something long-term in the cards?”
I looked at Sharyn out of the corner of my eye, as if to say, Wasn’t this going to be one question?
“I’m sorry.” She rubbed her head in a self-reprimand. “I know. It’s none of my business.”
“Christie has a daughter who’s fifteen. That makes the cards a little hard to read.”
“Oh. A teenage daughter. Wow.”
“We get along okay, but I don’t even pretend to understand her. She’s a bright girl. Perceptive and inquisitive, but also a bit opinionated.”
“Imagine that. A teenage girl with an attitude,” Sharyn said lightly. “I’m glad I was never like that.”
“Is that so?”
“Don’t expect to understand her, Pat. Women are a timeless enigma to men. It’s part of our charm. But when we’re teenagers—well, then you’ve got an enigma wrapped in adolescent angst. Is her dad in the picture?”
“No. I don’t think she’s ever met him.”
“That’s too bad. A dad is . . . Well. It’s important for a girl to have a dad in her life. There’s a lot of research on it. It’s pretty conclusive. It’s one of the reasons I want Kevin still involved with Olivia.”
A moment passed.
“I’m glad you found someone,” she said. “You deserve to be happy.” She raised her bottle. “Here’s to finding the right person.”
After a slight hesitation, I tapped my bottle against hers. “To finding the right person.”
We drank to the toast.
Another moment drifted by.
I noticed for the first time that from where I was sitting I could catch the scent of her perfume. It was light and airy and inviting, and when she looked my way, I didn’t avert my eyes as quickly as I had been doing.
++++
“Listen,” Pat said. “Let me just say I’m sorry.”
Sharyn looked at him curiously. “Why? What are you sorry for?”
“For ending things the way I did. Back when we were dating. Back at the Academy. It was abrupt. Out of the blue. It wasn’t fair to you. I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”
“The timing wasn’t right,” she said, but she wasn’t really sure if she believed that was the case at all.
“There were times over the years when I thought you might call,” he said.
“You asked me not to.”
“Yes, you’re right. That’s true.” He seemed to evaluate what he was going to say next. “And you never asked why I broke things off.”
She felt her heartbeat quicken. It was hard sitting here with him, so close to him. She wanted so badly to pat the couch beside her leg and invite him over, but she didn’t.
“I couldn’t see how it would have helped,” she said softly. “I had the sense that asking you to explain it would have made it tougher on you, and that was something I didn’t want.”
“That’s why, Sharyn.”
“That’s why?”
“Why I broke things off—because I wanted what was best for you.”
“And so you ended things?” She noted a touch of tightness in her voice. It might have sounded like anger, but it wasn’t. It was more a sense of loss, of regret over what might have been. “Shouldn’t that have been more of a mutual decision?”
“I thought that the longer we were together, the harder it would be when we were inevitably pulled apart.”
“Pat, it’s supposed to hurt when two people who love each other are pulled apart.”
Yes. She said it. She meant it. She had loved him. And from every indication, he had loved her as well.
“That’s part of the deal,” she went on. “But that’s not the kind of pain we need to be protected from. There are no guarantees in a relationship, but that’s the risk of intimacy, of what it asks of you.”
“Yes,” he said. “I suppose it is.”
“You said ‘inevitably.’”
“Inevitably?”
“That we would inevitably be pulled apart. Why’d you think it would be inevitable?”
“Life. Assignments. Just the way things go for new agents after graduating from the Academy.”
“It wasn’t me?”
“No, no. Of course not. It wasn’t you.”
“Did you look for me?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “A couple of times over the years. I took note of your assignments, where you were working. I was curious if our paths would cross at a conference or something. You?”
“I thought of you once or twice.” And with that, she let a smile escape. “I read your book: Understanding Crime and Space: Geospatial Investigation Theory and Techniques.”
“So you were the one.”
“The one?”
“Based on sales.”
“Ha. It was good. Didn’t agree with everything.”
“So that means I at least got a few things right.”
It was a way to spend time with you, she thought but held back from saying it. Instead, she said, “Hey, listen. About the earrings and the necklace. I can get rid of them if you’d like. I don’t need to keep ’em.”
“It doesn’t feel right for me to tell you what to do with them, Sharyn.”
Despite the fact that he was in a relationship, she didn’t feel like she could just let this moment pass and drift away like she’d let things drift away eight years ago.
Do not say it, Sharyn.
Y
es, you need to. You’ll regret it if you don’t.
Before she could argue herself into doing something sensible, she said, “Earlier today, you told me that most people get rid of the remnants of a relationship because it makes it easier to forget, easier to move on.”
“I didn’t mean anything by that.”
“Maybe that’s not what I wanted.”
++++
Her stare was intense, unswerving. Unnerving.
I looked away.
And then I looked back. In that moment, I could tell that neither of us had a good sense of what to say, and that both of us probably wanted to say more than we should.
“I’ll go grab us some more oranges,” she said awkwardly, even though the bowl wasn’t nearly empty yet.
++++
Ever since Mannie had left earlier, Blake had been keeping an eye on the morgue’s entrance. He was almost ready to give up on Dylan visiting it when he saw a man agilely climb over the fence of a nearby property and head toward it.
In the shadows, Blake couldn’t tell if it was Dylan or not, but then the man glanced around to make sure he was alone before pulling out a lock pick set and leaning in by the door.
Blake phoned Mannie. “How far away are you?”
“I’d say about ten minutes.”
“Is the place ready?”
“Yup. Should be all set.”
“Alright. Get over here. It’s time for you to meet my brother.”
57
While Sharyn was in the kitchen, even though my phone’s ringer was off, I saw the screen flash with an incoming call from Christie with those two telling words beneath it: Accept. Decline.
Sharyn was rooting through the fridge in the next room over.
I picked up the phone.
For a fraction of a second my finger hovered over the wrong icon, then I tapped Accept.
“Hey.”
++++
Sharyn felt that tingle, the subtle, rising tinge of desire, that nudge to go one more step.
Everything so far had remained pretty much on the friendship level, simply platonic, until just a few moments ago when there was the hint that this might go so much deeper.
Here he was, at her place. Here, now, at this time of night.
Along with an orange, she took out another bottle for herself and called over her shoulder, “Pat, would you like another beer?”
++++
Sharyn’s voice was loud enough for Christie to hear on the other side of the line. “Who was that?” she asked me.
“The woman I’m working with. She’s an agent at the Field Office here.”
“You two are working late.”
“Trying to make some headway on this thing.”
“This thing?”
“This case.”
“Right. Of course. Is that where you are, then?”
“Is what where we are?”
“The Field Office. You said a second ago that she’s an agent there. Is that where you two are working?”
Sharyn stepped through the kitchen doorway holding two beers. “I didn’t hear if you wanted one,” she said brightly. “I figured I’d just bring a—”
I waved her off and she looked aghast, as she realized that for whoever I was talking to, hearing her voice wasn’t going to be a good thing. She quickly returned to the kitchen.
“Not at the moment, no,” I told Christie. “We’re not at the Field Office.”
“Where are you?”
“Christie, we’re just looking over some files.”
“But where?”
You’re not a good liar. Just tell her.
“We’re at her house.”
“Her house.”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“This isn’t what it seems like.”
“You’re just going over some files, trying to make some progress on this case.”
“Yes.” And then I reiterated, “That’s it. That’s all.”
“And having drinks.”
“A couple beers, but—”
“Do you know where I am, Pat?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at the airport.”
“You’re still at the airport?” This afternoon Tessa had said that her mom was flying somewhere, and all I could think of now was that her flight had been delayed. “Tessa told me you were leaving. Try Jodie if your flight was canceled, maybe she—”
“Not JFK, Pat. Detroit.”
“What?” I felt the bottom drop out of the moment. “What are you talking about? You’re here? Why are you here?”
“I came to see you.”
“How did— I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It was last minute. I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Booking a last-minute flight must have cost a fortune. Where did you get that kind of money?” Even as I said the words, I realized how out of place and even moronic they must have sounded, but I was still recovering, still trying to figure out what to make of all this.
“Ralph set it up,” she told me. “He was worried about us after he talked to you earlier today. He called and offered to let me use his frequent flyer miles to come be here with you. I told him no, that was kind, but that we would be alright. But then he went ahead and booked the ticket anyway. He can be a bit strong-willed.”
“Yeah.” I winced. “Is this because of our anniversary? Three months?”
“It’s because we’ve been having some rough spots lately. He cares about us. I care about us. I was hoping that if I was here we could smooth things out. I know you’re on a case, but you’re always on a case. This way I can encourage you.”
My first reaction was anger. It shifted quickly from being directed at Christie for not telling me, to Ralph for not warning me, and finally to myself for being here at Sharyn’s this late when I should’ve been just about anywhere else in the city.
It didn’t make any sense to be angry at Christie or Ralph. He’d given her the miles because he was my friend, because he wanted things to work out between us, and it must’ve been a lot of miles for him to book a flight the same day.
“I’ll come pick you up,” I told Christie. “Where are you staying?”
“I was kind of thinking that I could . . . Well, it doesn’t matter.”
“Stay with me? Sure. Yes. Of course.”
“You weren’t going to stay with her tonight?”
“Sharyn? No, of course not. Why would you say that?”
“Sharyn?”
“Agent Weist.”
“Is this the same Sharyn Weist you used to date back when you were at the Academy? The one you told me about that day we went to the shooting range?”
“Christie, I’m not spending the night here.”
“Of course it’s the same Sharyn, right? How many Agent Sharyn Weists could there be out there?”
I understood why she was upset, I just didn’t know how to solve things.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier that she would be here?”
“I . . .”
“You could have told me you’d be working with a woman you used to be in a relationship with.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were flying here?” I blurted out stupidly, and immediately regretted saying.
“Because I love you,” she said. “And I wanted to do something special for you.”
I had no idea what to say. I was striking out every time I opened my mouth.
“Listen, Christie, I’m getting my keys. I’m coming to get you. We’ll talk all this through. We’ll sort everything out.”
“I think I need a little space right now. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Where are you staying?”
But it was too late.
She was already off the line.
++++
From where Sharyn was standing in the kitchen, even though she wasn’t trying to listen in on Pat’s conversation, she couldn’t help but hear his end of it.
A hot wash of guilt swept through her.
She waited until she was certain the phone call was over. Then, at last, when she heard Pat moving around and the sound of his jangling keys, she returned to the living room. “Pat, I’m so sorry.”
“You heard that?”
“Enough of it. I shouldn’t have had you over.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“The woman you’re seeing—she’s here? In Detroit?”
“At the airport.”
“Oh, Pat.”
“Flew in to surprise me to patch things up. Looks like I might’ve made an even bigger rip in the fabric.”
“What can I do?”
“Nothing. I need to go. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
“Would you like me to call her? Assure her there’s nothing going on between us?”
“I already did, and if she can’t trust me, it’s already too late to fix things. Hearing from you isn’t going to help.”
Then he gathered his papers, thanked her for dinner, and, without another word, left for his car.
58
In the basement of Grandshore Medical Center, Blake indicated for Mannie to head down the south hall to cover the other exit, then he approached one of the doors to the room where the autopsies were performed.
He’d thought that his brother was the only other one on this floor, so he was surprised to hear two voices inside the room.
Yes, one was Dylan’s. The other was male as well, and sounded filled with urgency and fear. “You said no one would find out,” the person exclaimed. “You said film it, upload it, and they wouldn’t be able to find me.”
“You shouldn’t have answered the phone,” Dylan told him. “You should’ve just stuck with the graffiti and making the calls.”
“I did everything you asked me. I told the kids when to be at the house.”
“They went early. They went a day early.”
“Why does that matter?”
“If something didn’t matter,” Dylan said, “I wouldn’t have asked you to do it. Do you still have the phone?”