by Sarah Blair
“Twenty-five years with the Bureau.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re a Fed?”
“Retired.” Mitch glanced back at the door. “Is my wife under that sheet?”
“Mr. Harris.” Delarosa took him by the elbow and directed him halfway down the hall. A tactic he’d used plenty of times himself. Put distance between the bereaved and the body of their loved one. Distract them. She lowered her voice. “I’m terribly sorry.”
He cursed into his fist. As much as he thought he’d prepared himself for this, he still expected to have more time. The hallway tilted. He moved to the antique bench by the elevator and sank down.
“Can I get you anything?” Delarosa asked. “Water?”
Mitch leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and ran one thumbnail under the other on repeat. His mind flashed back to a moment that felt like an entire lifetime ago. Hell, it basically was.
Straightening his bowtie on their wedding day. Deirdre chose teal and white for the colors. It was hideous.
“No, thanks.”
“Take your time.” Delarosa stepped back and leaned against the wall.
Mitch cleared the knot out of his throat and pulled a deep breath in through his clogged nose. His voice was gruff, no-nonsense. “Let’s just get this over with. I know you have questions.”
“I understand you were in touch with the housekeeper this morning?” Delarosa pulled out her phone to take notes.
Kids these days.
“She called right after I arrived at my office downtown. Around 8:00.” He recounted the events of the morning to the detective.
Delarosa typed in her notes. “You instructed her to contact emergency services?”
“I was on the line with the building manager at that point.” Mitch leaned his head back. The smooth wall felt cool on his bare scalp. “It’s not the first time something like this has happened. This is the fourth housekeeper I’ve hired this year. I didn’t think—”
Mitch sighed.
“Your wife had a history of this type of behavior?”
“Ex-wife,” he amended.
“Sorry, I thought you said wife earlier.”
“Married seventeen years, divorced three.” He shrugged and ran his thumb over the empty place on his ring finger. “She was more my wife than not. You married?”
“Twice,” Delarosa said. “This one’s a cop. He gets it.”
Mitch nodded. “She drank. Couldn’t stop. We tried everything. AA. Multiple stints in rehab. Vitamins. Meditation. Acupuncture. Eventually, I just needed some distance.”
“But you kept in touch?”
“I helped when I could. Mostly she was fine. Until she wasn’t.”
Delarosa twisted her lips together. “Was she ever violent?”
“On occasion. Throwing things, mostly. Had to replace quite a few dishes.”
“You ever fight back?”
“No.”
Delarosa made a note. “Forgive me for asking, but—”
“I was at my apartment last night in Chelsea. Alone.” Mitch stood and paced.
“Anyone who can corroborate?”
“There’s a bank across the street from the door of my building with an outside ATM. I entered around six last night, left at 7:15 this morning.”
“Thank you. We’re still waiting on the M.E. to make the determination on cause of death,” the detective informed him.
Mitch’s stomach roiled. “Better to cover the bases.”
“Exactly.” Delarosa turned her attention down the hall. “Excuse me for a moment.”
“Sure.” Mitch tasted the chalky antacids on the back of his tongue. He strolled down to the opposite end of the hall.
“What do you think?” Delarosa kept her voice low, but it still carried.
Mitch stared at his shoes and perked up his ears when he heard Tom’s voice.
“I can’t make a final determination until I get some X-rays back at the lab and order a tox-screen.” The medical examiner explained. “Multiple contusions, skull fracture, and angle of the body are consistent with a fall. I’m expecting to find damage in the C4 and C5 vertebrae. Depending on what her BAC is, and barring any other oddities that could come up in the tox-screen, I’m leaning heavily towards accidental death. No foul play.”
“All right,” Delarosa said. “Just had a chat with the Ex. Seems pretty consistent with what he said about her past behavior. Want to go have a word with him?”
“Will do.”
Tom appeared around the corner. He was a lot shorter than Mitch’s six feet, with shoulders hunched from years bent over corpses on autopsy trays.
“Mr. Harris, I’m the Medical Examiner, Dr. Fellows.”
Mitch shook his hand, playing along with the charade. It was better for everyone involved if their acquaintanceship wasn’t acknowledged.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Mitch asked.
Tom peeked around the corner and his shoulders dropped from around his ears. He kept his voice low. “Mitch, I’m so sorry. Hell, I didn’t even know you were married. I feel awful.”
“It’s fine. Work is work.” He dismissed the comment with a jerk of his chin. “So you think it was an accident?”
“Barring any surprises, that’s what I’m expecting to report.” Tom nodded.
“Time of death?”
“About twelve hours ago, give or take.”
Mitch shook his head. “She was alone. I could have—”
“Stop.” Tom gripped his shoulder. “It was instantaneous. She didn’t suffer. There’s nothing you could have done, I promise. It’s better you weren’t here.”
“Yeah.” Mitch understood what he meant. This way there were fewer questions. Still, the thought of her body in the floor all night made his stomach turn. “I need to see her.”
Tom glanced down the hall again. “We’re about finished here. Why don’t you go grab a coffee? Take a walk. I’ll let you know as soon as I get back to the lab. You can come by. It’ll be quieter. You can take your time.”
“Sure.” The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving his joints loose and his muscles shaky.
“Anyone I can call to meet you? Lake? Williams?”
“No. Thanks.”
Tom’s voice increased in volume and his demeanor shifted. “Again, I’m so sorry. If you have any questions you can reach me through the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner.”
“I appreciate it,” Mitch said.
Tom gripped Mitch’s hand in both of his own and pumped it up and down a few times right before Delarosa reappeared.
“Mr. Harris, I have no further questions at this time, but I’ll be in touch.” Delarosa offered her card and returned his driver’s license. “Here’s my number if you need anything. Do you have any family or friends in town you can call?”
“I’ll be okay. Thanks.”
“My condolences for your loss.” She shook his hand again.
Mitch tucked the card into his wallet with his license and headed back down the stairs. He informed Silvio he was going for a walk and took advantage of a break in traffic to jog across 5th Avenue into a bright and crisp Central Park.
The leaves were already changing into gold and fiery orange, dotted with patches of ruby here and there. Mitch allowed his feet to follow the path, not even thinking about where he was going. His body moved on autopilot. In his mind was nothing but white noise.
Static.
Thoughts pinged inside his head, but never managed any kind of coherence.
Inside the park, the crowds thinned into joggers and cyclists, with the occasional clip-clop of a horse drawn carriage. He found a bench and flopped onto it.
Mitch had no idea how long he remained there before his head cleared. It happened like a radio scanning through stations. Blurts of thought here and there, mixed and muddled, skipped through too quickly to grasp, a vague semblance of memories. Shouting, shattering moments, mixed with moans of pleasure, a burst of laughter.
S
he had a beautiful laugh, deep and real. It had been too long since he’d heard it.
The cool autumn breeze chilled his face, and he realized his skin was wet. He used the heels of his hands to clear the salty tears away and released a long slow breath through his lips. He grasped his head in his hands, leaning forward, practicing the relaxation breathing he’d learned years ago from one of the councilors he’d gone to with Dee. Eventually, his chest opened, the air flowed, and his body stopped shaking.
He had things to do.
One at a time.
Mitch coughed his throat clear. He stood. After testing his knees, he put one foot in front of the other, staying focused on that for a few paces, until he lifted his face and caught sight of the MET backed by a blue sky and fresh fluffy clouds.
He’d come farther than he realized. Now that he had his bearings, he felt more grounded. Training kicked in. He told himself what he’d told so many others over the years. Start with small decisions. Get through one moment, then the next.
It helped. His mind continued to clear. Nausea eased and he regretted abandoning his coffee and donut. He also regretted abandoning Lake the way he had.
Mitch took out his phone and selected the office number from the top of his favorites list. It rang a few more times than was necessary, but maybe Lake was taking a bathroom break.
“You’ve reached the Ghostbusters, this is Dr. Spengler speaking, how may I help you?”
Mitch allowed himself the smile. He needed it. Then he scrunched up his wide forehead and added some gravel to his voice, “Williams, how many times have I talked to you about answering the phone like that?”
“What’s up, Ch—uhhh, you?”
Mitch frowned for real. Something was up. “Where’s Lake?”
“She is indisposed at the moment.”
The edges of his vision turned red and his head started pulsing again. He really needed his blood pressure checked. “I don’t care what she’s doing. Put her on.”
“Hold please.” Huey Lewis and the News took over the line, singing about how hip it was to be square, instead of the Miles Davis he’d set himself. He made a mental note to himself to change all the passwords in the office again so Williams would quit messing with the equipment.
“Christ on a fucking bike.” Mitch massaged the crown of his head as he made his way back through the park. He was going to have to get his car and go back downtown to strangle his employee. Solitary confinement sounded pretty great right then.
Huey quit singing.
“—in a mood,” Williams said in the distance.
“Shh.” Then louder, and more terse. “Lake.”
Mitch swallowed his first response of What the fuck is going on down there?
He took a deep breath and let it out before he asked, “Everything all right?”
“Fine.” She was still upset. “What can I help you with?”
Everything about her life since her parents had been killed had taught her to distrust authority figures. Or, more accurately, that authority figures had no trust in her. Mitch had been working hard these past few years to help her reverse that worldview, and get her to be more open to working as a team. This morning had been a serious setback on that arduous trek.
Go easy, he reminded himself.
“Listen, Lake. About earlier—”
“I told you, it doesn’t matter.”
“Hey,” he admonished gently. “Let me finish.”
She huffed out a sigh.
“I’m sorry I spoke to you the way I did. You were trying to help, and I appreciate your concern.” He glanced around the park, breathing in the fresh air. “Something’s come up that I need to deal with, but I can’t share the details because I haven’t processed it all, yet. It’s going to take some time. I won’t be back in today. Can you handle things all right?”
“Yeah, I’ve got it.” Her tone was softer, and the tension in his head dissipated. “Whatever you need.”
“Thanks, Lake. I—” Mitch cut himself off before he accidentally said too much. His nerves were raw and all of his emotions floated too close to the surface. “I’ll be in touch.”
He ended the call before she could say anything else and headed up the path toward 5th Avenue.
Four
A deep-seated unease filled Sidney when she hung up the phone. What the hell was going on with the chief?
He knew so much about her own life already. But what did she honestly know about him? In the three years they’d been working together, she’d never even been to his home. Williams had photos of his family on his desk, but the chief didn’t even have so much as a plant. Then again, neither did she. Maybe they were more alike than she’d realized.
She leaned back in Mitch’s chair. Whenever he sat there, his frame filled out the seat and he belonged there, natural and perfectly comfortable. When Sidney sat there, the back towered over her head, and she hardly even filled out half the seat. Williams remained in the visitor’s chair glancing over the notes from Hutch’s case.
“Everything okay?” Williams lifted his head.
Sidney nodded. “He’s going to be out the rest of the day.”
“Fortune smiles on us all.” He winked and grabbed up the last donut. “Your Golden Boy’s got quite a story here.”
“He’s not my golden boy, and I know how it sounds.” Sidney sighed.
“Simplest explanation is usually the right one. Don’t go looking for a supernatural cause just because we know what’s out there.”
“I’m not looking.” Sidney put her feet down and walked a slow circle around the office while she pondered the situation. “There was no evidence to suggest a break-in. Nobody had a key to the apartment except, Hutch, his parents, and Peyton. His parents both have an alibi.”
Williams shook his head. “How do we know he’s not making this claw shizz up just so he can go for the insanity plea?”
Sidney gnawed the inside of her cheek and turned around to pace the other direction. “He wouldn’t do that.”
“All fairness, Lake, you said it’s been awhile since you were around the guy. How can you know for sure?”
“Because if he was pleading insanity his lawyer and PR agent would have him blubbering out his sob story on every network and social media platform available. They don’t want anybody to know the truth, because the truth sounds batshit bananas.” She flopped back into the chair. “What’s worse, the gossip mongers in those circles would prefer to speculate that he did do it. If the truth ever came out he thought it was an actual monster he’d be a pariah.”
“A rich-ass pariah.” Williams sipped his coffee. “What difference does it make what people think about him if he can go buy his own island?”
“But, he can’t buy his own island. Only his parents can. The rest of his trust fund doesn’t kick in until next year. Not to mention, Peyton was my age. She had another three years to go until hers was fully vested. If it was about money, he’d have done way better to marry her and wait. But that all depends on the arrangements in the prenup.”
Sidney made a note on a fresh piece of paper to find out about the details of their marriage arrangement.
Williams stared at her over the top of his tented fingers.
“What?” she asked.
“Never mind.” He suddenly found something about the bouquet of pens in the holder on the desk very interesting.
Sidney squinted. “Tell me.”
“You’re so laid back and normal. Sometimes I forget your grandfather’s a billionaire, and you’re basically American royalty.”
Sidney rolled her eyes. “I ain’t no fucking princess.”
Williams snorted. Sidney chalked up a mental point to herself.
“Are there any other suspects?” he asked.
“None that we know of.” Sidney waved her hand and made another note. “But that doesn’t mean the police don’t have any.”
“I know he’s your friend and all, but are you really going to sit on this?”
Williams shrugged. “If you don’t fess up, and shit hits the fan you could get nabbed for obstruction.”
Sidney shook her head. “What exactly is there to tell? He didn’t confess to anything other than maybe seeing a monster and hiding in the bathroom.”
“So, he’s a total coward. Even less of a reason for you to land in the Clink for him.”
“I’m not going to jail. My grandfather’s got a literal army of lawyers. Not because he cares about me, but because it would be bad for publicity. He only cares about the Lake Industries image.”
Alexander Lake had delivered the news to her that her parents were dead. Instead of comforting her like any other grandfather naturally would, he’d handed her a dress and told her to make herself presentable for the police who would be arriving to investigate.
Sidney shoved the memory aside with a jerk of her chin. “Besides, no one would believe me anyway. I’ve already been down that road. It’s a dead end.”
Williams stayed quiet for a moment before he carefully touched on the subject. “So . . . what exactly do you remember about what happened to your parents? I know it was a long time ago.”
Sidney nibbled the inside of her lip. The subject had come up vaguely before, but it was the first time he’d ever asked outright. “You haven’t read it all online?”
“Not your version.”
His face was open and kind. She could tell he wasn’t asking just for the gossip. More and more often, she found herself endeared to Williams, and she knew she could trust him. He teased her, and joked around a lot, but there was never any true malice behind it. He was always good-natured and helpful when she needed it.
She scrunched her nose, wanting to give him an honest answer, but there wasn’t much to offer. “It’s these short flashes in my mind, more feelings and instincts than anything really solid. I don’t know if that makes any sense.”
He gave her an encouraging nod and kept listening.
“It comes back more often in dreams. The same thing, over and over. Huge, glowing eyes. A heavy weight holding me down. I’m so scared I can’t move. Can’t even scream. Everything is dark, and I can’t see all of it. Just the eyes. Fur. Teeth. And then I wake up.”