by Jasmine Walt
“Came up empty on the eyes.” She grimaced at her choice of words. “They took swabs from the chest wounds back to the lab, just to be sure.”
Brennan looked around the small apartment. The stereo systems, the gaming console, the furniture, even the kitchen appliances—they didn’t feel right. It meant something, he was sure of it.
When he was younger, setting off on his own without help from his family, his apartment had been terribly rundown. He could barely afford to live in the city, and it was only once his parents had passed away that he had lived in anything more than a glorified closet. His apartment now wasn’t exactly a palace, but it was nothing to sneeze at. And it had taken him years and some amount of chance to reach that point.
“Bishop, how old was our victim?” he asked.
“Twenty-four,” she supplied. “Why?”
“Because,” he said, gesturing to everything in the room, “I don’t think our victim bought all of this on his own.” As he said it, he felt in his bones that he was right.
And everything in this apartment felt very, very wrong.
2
The Tower loomed ominously in the darkness.
Jeremy Scott crouched low, peering from the tall grass just beyond the old fort’s crumbling outer wall. There was no other term for the monument that stood before him. Illuminated intermittently by the moon peeking through the clouds, the Tower appeared black against the already dark backdrop of the mountains behind it. The range of peaks surrounded the entirety of his father’s valley. The central, rounded structure literally towered over the rest of the fort’s meager surviving structures.
He hissed in discomfort as one of the long blades of switchgrass sliced a fine cut along his cheek. Kneeling as he was, his face was in the thick of the slender, dangerous plants. He had worn long sleeves and jeans for the express purpose of pushing the grass away, but he had moved too suddenly without thinking.
He took careful strides through the grass as he made his way toward the fort. It was the closest he had ever been, only ever seeing faint glimpses of it from the trail as he passed by with his father. His birthday had been last week, though, and this was his personal celebration.
In daylight, the fort might have been less intimidating. As it was, the rusted iron bars that rimmed the decrepit entrance looked like grasping metal claws in the moonlight, an image which did little to put Jeremy’s worries to rest. He took a deep breath and grasped one of the metal bars, using it for leverage as he pulled himself up from the ditch that surrounded the fort.
Small rocks crunched beneath his feet as he entered. He squinted to see in the dim glow from the moon; husks of low, squat buildings greeted him from the shadows. The nearest one looked like an old storage shed, with fragments of broken pots and tools lying scattered on the ground. One of its large, wooden support beams had long since fallen, and the structure looked ready to collapse beneath its own weight.
A gust of wind suddenly rose from the west, and Jeremy shied away, covering his eyes from the dirt that swirled in the air. A booming crack resounded from one of the shed’s other support beams, and the stone wall closest to him gave way with a grinding groan of protest. Jeremy jumped away just as the entire building caved in. Dust and dirt threatened to suffocate him, and he coughed severely as he moved away from the cloud that slowly drifted outward from the rubble.
That, he thought, was awesome.
It was a shame nobody had been around to see his nimble dive away from the collapsing shed. Little enough happened in the valley that Jeremy took every opportunity to seek excitement. Their ranch was fine for a weekend getaway from the city, but in the case of staying for the entire summer, he very quickly ran out of things to do indoors. While his sister could content herself with imaginary friends and playdates by the pond, Jeremy needed more activity. It was the very reason that he was wandering around in the valley after dark, very much against his parents’ wishes.
A large figure on horseback was silhouetted against the imposing Tower, and a broken sword was held aloft toward the starry sky. Jeremy slowly approached the stone soldier, admiring the statue even as he paced around it from a wary distance. From hooves to hilt, the statue was nearly fifteen feet tall, and a low, empty basin encircled it. The blade of the sword had broken off and lay in stone shards beneath the horse’s raised forelegs. There was a plaque attached to the statue, but it would have been too dark to read even if the words hadn’t been worn away by the elements.
A soft rain began to fall. Jeremy found it harder to see as the moon and stars were obscured by incoming clouds. He looked up wistfully at the Tower; this was the closest he had ever been, and now a fast and fierce storm was coming into the valley. If he did not turn back now, there was a good chance that he would be caught in the worst part of the deluge.
Reluctantly, he turned away from the Tower and jogged to the fort’s entrance. The ditch that surrounded the fort was now lined with a thin layer of mud at the bottom, and Jeremy realized that it would soon be a full-on moat—without a drawbridge to cross—once the rain started falling in earnest. He slid down the dirt wall and scrambled up the far embankment, spurred on faster as the raindrops grew bigger and more frequent.
Switchgrass tugged at his long sleeves and jeans as he rushed to beat the storm home.
3
“Jesus Christ.”
Bishop bridled. “Brennan, little respect, okay?”
“Jesús Cristo.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Now who’s cursing?”
The weekend had been full of nothing but dead-ends and false leads, and the stress was getting to Brennan. The rain had persisted all throughout, lingering until dawn broke on Monday, clouds parting to reveal a warming early sun hanging low under an azure sky. Of course, the view would have been better from one of the corner offices. The police station had a generally open floor plan, with little regard for the detectives’ personal space. The only divider was a low wall of opaque glass and plaster which separated the working detectives and the hallway along which offices and the elevator were situated. On the other side of the desk farm were separate rooms for interviews and observations.
Ordinarily, Bishop was able to handle a lot more verbal sparring with Brennan, or at least hid her frustration better. Working in the boys’ club that was the Odols Police Department, she had to be thick-skinned to survive. But Brennan recognized that going in on her religion was a low blow; he was backing off just as footsteps approached from the elevator.
Sam McCarthy, a former detective turned private investigator, sauntered into the desk farm at exactly the wrong moment. Lean of build and crowned with a short crop of curly hair, the sharp-tongued redhead put the “ass” in “sass”, and his horribly failed relationship with Noel Bishop had in no way bettered her view of him.
“Morning, Detective,” he said cheerily to Brennan before turning to Bishop. “And good morning to you, too, Detectess.”
Her glare would have warded off a cobra, but Sam’s grin remained intact. “I’ve already had too much masculine bullshit to deal with today,” she scowled. “Why are you here?”
“Language, please,” Sam said, feigning shock.
“I know, right? She’s on a roll with that today,” Brennan remarked. Bishop sent him a dark glare.
Sam leaned a casual hand against her desk. “Can’t a fellow just be courteous and drop by to see his friends at work?”
“If we were friends, I could believe that, but since we’re n—”
“I can’t have other friends in the department? Arthur here, of course, and then there’s the Chief…” He started listing off names, counting one on each finger and cycling through both hands before starting over. “And Wallace, down in the morgue…”
Brennan sighed. “All right, stop antagonizing her, Sam. Were you able to find what I asked for?”
Sam smirked and turned his back on Bishop, who was quickly turning red in the face. The wooden armrests of her chair groaned
beneath her white-knuckled grip. “Have I ever failed you?” He dropped a thin manila folder onto Brennan’s lap and casually availed himself of the last stale donut from the box on a nearby desk. He took one bite and scowled, then tossed it clear across the room. It landed in the trash bin with a smooth swish of plastic.
Brennan, meanwhile, looked through the folder. It wasn’t much, but Sam had compiled some useful information on Zachariah Nettle during the weekend. He reached for the donut box only to find empty air, and his stomach gave a loud grumble of protest.
“Detective?”
“Hmm?” Brennan looked up and caught Sam’s expectant eyes. “You’ll receive payment the usual way.”
“I always insist on cash, Arthur, you know that.”
“And I always pay by online deposit. Now get out of here before Bishop trades in that grip on her chair for one on your neck.”
Sam glanced back at Bishop, whose poisonous glare had lost none of its bite, and grinned madly. “I miss our little tête-à-têtes, Noel,” he said. “Perhaps we should split a bottle of Chardonnay and smooth things over.”
“Get out.”
“Ah, I remember now, you’re a rosé sort of girl. We’ll talk!” He called out that last part as he disappeared behind the partition. A moment later, they heard a ding as the elevator was called for. Bishop turned to level a stare at Brennan. Though it no longer held the vast arctic iciness she held in reserve for Sam, there was still a measure of anger behind those eyes.
“How are you still friends with that pig?”
“He’s not a pig, remember? He left the force years ago.”
She sighed wearily. “God, you two are impossible.”
“Hey, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t take His name is vain. It’s a personal kind of thing for me, you know?”
Bishop’s eyes became harsh slits.
Brennan cleared his throat. “How about we get some breakfast?”
The proposition came unexpectedly, and for a moment Bishop’s anger subsided. “Breakfast?”
“Yeah, it’s something I do most days. Silly little thing, food, but my body seems to like it.” The moment was punctuated by another grumbling of his stomach, louder than the first.
“I know what it is,” she said evenly. “But your impersonation of Sam is improving. For a moment, I thought he hadn’t even left.”
Brennan stood, picking up the folder Sam had given him. “So your answer is…?”
Bishop sighed. “Yeah, I’m coming. I’ll never say no to a free meal.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Who said I was paying?”
4
“Where did you go on Friday?”
Ellie’s voice startled Jeremy out of his daydreaming. It had rained for the better part of the past two days, and he was going stir-crazy in the house with only his kid sister around as company. She was on the cusp of being a teenager, yet Ellie still acted like a girl half her age. It could be cute and endearing sometimes, but only in small doses.
Everything in moderation.
Jeremy rubbed at his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play stupid,” she said, small hands on her hips. “You snuck out after Mom fell asleep. Where did you run off to?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, and you can’t prove otherwise.”
Ellie bit her lower lip and frowned at him. “I’m almost thirteen,” she said proudly. “You don’t have to treat me like a child.”
Ah, so today she’s being mature. I wonder how long that will last. Jeremy sighed. “I’m not trying to patronize you. I just don’t want you tattling on me again to Mom or Dad.”
She moved a finger across her chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Stick a needle in your eye?”
“Hmm.” She considered it for a long moment. “No, not that far. I hate needles.”
Jeremy weighed his options. There was always the risk that Ellie would break her promise and run her mouth off like she usually did. However, if he kept her in the dark, she could simply run to their father and say that Jeremy was keeping a secret from her. An indirect tattle, but with the same end result. Telling her outright at least had the added benefit of some peace and quiet from her incessant questioning.
“I went to the Tower.”
Ellie wrinkled her nose. “That place is dirty and old. Why would you want to go there?”
Because being cooped up in here with you is driving me crazy. “It’s the coolest thing we’ve seen since coming out here,” he said instead. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about what’s out there?”
“Mom said we’re supposed to stay close to the house.” She reported the cardinal rule with an adopted voice of authority. It was a voice he had heard before, and one which signaled that she might flip on her vow of secrecy.
“Look at me,” Jeremy said. “Do I look hurt? Everything is fine, I promise.”
She still appeared unconvinced.
Jeremy frowned and looked directly into her eyes. “If I promise not to go back there, will you promise not to tell Mom and Dad?”
Ellie chewed her lip for a few seconds before nodding.
“I promise to stay away from the Tower,” he said solemnly. He felt bad lying to his sister, but it was the only way to make her keep quiet. Besides, he was still mostly being honest with her. The Tower wasn’t dangerous, and it was the most interesting thing they had seen in the valley.
“Good,” Ellie said, nodding again. “Do you know when Mom is getting back today?”
“No idea.”
Even though the two of them were home for the summer, their parents still had busy work schedules that kept them in Odols. While his mother was able to return to the valley ranch most nights—whenever she wasn’t staying late to host some fundraiser she’d organized—Jeremy’s father typically stayed in their large city apartment except for the odd weekend visit. This hadn’t been one of those weekends.
Ellie hid a yawn behind her hand and stood unsteadily, her long, black hair wafting silkily in her wake. “I’m going to go take a nap.”
“Don’t let the Sleepers get you,” Jeremy teased, a grin tugging at his lips.
In an instant, Ellie became her much younger self. “I’ve been a good girl,” she said, her voice childish and sweet. “They won’t come for me.”
“Good girls keep promises.”
She nodded sleepily. “Cross my heart,” she repeated, “and hope to die.”
Jeremy watched her until she rounded the corner, then listened attentively. Once he heard her door shut, he sprung up from his seat by the window and retrieved a small pack that he had secreted away beneath the cushion. Inside was enough food for the trip to and from the Tower, plus an umbrella, in case the rain decided to start again. He wrote a note to Ellie, telling her that he had gone to roam around the orchards and read, and left it on the kitchen table for her to find.
Jeremy opened the door and squinted. The clouds had parted, and sunlight shone from a light-blue sky above. His mood was greatly improved by the change in weather, and he was upbeat about returning to the Tower during the full light of day. He set off boldly, eager to start the hike that would take several hours, and he followed the southward trail away from the ranch.
5
Driving in the city was never enjoyable.
Traffic was a nightmare, any given hour of the day. Taxis were belligerent, swerving madly in and out of spaces just wide enough to squeeze by if they suspend any sense of self-preservation. Pedestrians walked out in the street whenever they liked, crosswalk or not, and the sidewalks were more like temporary auxiliary lanes for cars.
The OST was hardly a better option. Odols Shuttle Transit wound in a wagon wheel circuit beneath the city, leading to all the different sectors in the fastest way possible. It was the preferred mode of transportation for many in the city, which was precisely why it had become as dirty and crowded as the streets above.
Brennan, having worked in the city for years,
was aware of all this. Most of his social life took place within one shuttle stop of the police headquarters. He lived in an apartment less than a block from the station, and the diner which he and Detective Bishop were now sitting in was one of his local favorites. The walk was a short but healthy addition to the day.
Especially for an aging detective subsisting on stale donuts and coffee.
The Box Car Diner had the typical morning crowd. Coffee drinkers at the counter chatting up the head waitress. A pair of blue-collar workers grabbing a quick breakfast before work. There was a family of four in the corner. The children eagerly scribbled on the backs of their menus with crayons.
Bishop was still irritated from before, though the walk had released some of her tension. Her need for food was also a mitigating factor, and Brennan knew it would soon be a non-issue. It was hard to be angry on a full stomach.
“How are you doing?”
Bishop looked up at him with tired eyes. “How do you mean?”
“I mean with everything that happened between you and Sam.”
“Sam and I aren’t anything anymore. I just wish he’d stay out of my life.”
“He’s my friend, Noel.” Brennan sighed. “Look, I’m not asking you two to get back together—”
“Lord knows that’ll never happen,” Bishop muttered.
“—but there must be some way you can bury the hatchet. Call a truce. What happened, happened, and we can’t go back and change it.”
“Nobody’s asking you to do anything, Brennan. You aren’t a part of this.”
He held his hands up. “Sorry, poor choice of words. You can’t change the past, is what I’m saying. But he’s my friend, and he used to mean something to you, too. And we both know he’s damn good at his job.”
“I’m damn good at my job, too,” she said, her voice hard. “And I don’t appreciate you treating me the same way he does. You’re my partner, Brennan. We’re supposed to trust each other, but that’s hard to do when you act like a jackass.”