by Emily Bishop
“Ben! You’ll want to see this!”
James’s voice echoes from the stairwell, and I leave the liquor shelf behind as I stride back toward the staircase. I turn off the light on my way up, this time taking the stairs two at a time in my rush to get back up and see what James has found. He’s not at the top of the stairs, so I walk around the side. When I find him, his back is to me, but he’s clearly looking at something.
“What is it?” I ask
I’m not allowed to get excited. I can’t help the tingle in my belly at the thought of a clue, though. Please tell me that it’s something that can guide us in the right direction. James turns and holds out his hands. In them is a long, sharp hunting knife.
I stare at it.
“Found this in the captain’s area, tucked beneath the steering wheel,” James says. He holds the knife out to me, and I take it. I turn it around in my hands and survey the weapon, and my mind works furiously.
I know this. I’ve seen it somewhere before. I wrack my brain for when that was, and a memory surfaces. The first night I went to Naomi’s restaurant, I walked in on Skippy harassing Katie and Naomi. She was about to approach him, but I saw the knife in his belt and knew I had to do something.
This is that knife.
Photographic memory coupled with my training—yeah, I recognize it. I’m sure.
“This is the weapon Skippy had on him that night at Naomi’s when we walked in. Remember?”
I hand the knife back to James, using a handkerchief so as not to smudge any prints. I’m trying to include him more, make him feel more appreciated and useful. Clearly, I’ve been slacking at that, and I want him to feel like a valued member of the team. He turns it around in his hands much like I did, and his gaze combs over the blade, the hilt.
Finally, he nods. “I remember it, too. It’s clear now that Skippy wasn’t telling the whole truth. We’ve got him.”
“Let’s get back to the station and put out an APB on our new suspect.”
“You got it.”
We hop off the boat and stride down the dock in unison. I’m glad to have James feel more like a partner than a disgruntled employee. In this moment, I feel better than I’ve felt in a long time at my job. We have a solid lead, evidence, and I have a partner that I can trust to be resourceful by my side.
“Great find, by the way,” I tell him. Appreciation is never a bad thing.
He nods as he opens his car door. “Thanks. It was a lucky find. Let’s hope that it will get us the information we need. Skippy knows how to play this game, and he isn’t talking either.”
The corner of my lip twitches, and I slide into the driver’s seat and turn on the ignition.
“Oh, he’ll talk. He’s not going to have a choice.”
21
Naomi
Paul and I are shelling and deveining the shrimp as music plays. Today I’ve opted for something a little more relaxing—light jazz music. I’m still freaked out over the night before. When I woke up this morning, for a small moment I forgot that I’d had my house invaded by a brick. Then I saw my locked bedroom door, and it all came back.
The least they could have done was leave a note. At least then, I would have some idea what the purpose was behind such an act. Perhaps it was to scare me, to remind me that I’m being watched.
To remind me that Jordan wants Ben out of my life, and he wants me back in his own sordid, messed-up world.
I pull the legs from another shrimp and toss them into a bowl as the music plays, and my mind reels. I’m contemplating what message Jordan was trying to send when Paul clears his throat.
“It’s almost time to open. I’m surprised Katie isn’t here.”
I frown. Why isn’t Katie here? She always comes early to try the daily specials and prepare the dining room. I wipe my hands on a cloth and step out into the dining room to look out the front windows for her. Come to think of it, I got so distracted by Ben last night and my own general fear that I forgot to check that she got home OK.
I am officially a terrible friend. My chest fills with worry as I look up and down the street for my friend, my only waitress. We can’t open without her. Beyond that, I need to know that she’s all right.
I walk back to the kitchen and meet Paul’s curious glance.
“I’m not sure where she is. I texted but she hasn’t answered.” I bite my lip. “I think I’m going to head down the street to her place and make sure everything is OK. Can you hold down the fort? We can’t open without a server, so we’ll keep things shut down until we both get back.
Paul nods. “I can make a sign. Just send me a text when you know and I’ll hang it up.”
Did I mention Paul is the best?
“Thank you,” I breathe.
I don’t waste time. I step out without my jacket, and I rub my arms to block out the cold sea breeze as I walk with purpose down the sidewalk. A blast of frigid air blows up my green cotton dress, and I shiver but press on. Katie’s apartment is situated in a quaint waterfront cottage. There are two apartments in the little building, one on the first floor and one on the second, with its own set of stairs. I approach the whitewashed building and hold my breath.
Please let there be nothing wrong. I’ll never forgive myself if there is.
I leap up her front porch steps until I’ve reached her door. I contemplate knocking, but I can’t help myself. I’m too worried to delay a moment longer. I reach for the knob and turn it. The door presses inward, unlocked.
I thought Ben told Katie to lock her door when she got home last night. Did she forget? I push the door inward, and I’m about to call out Katie’s name when my voice catches in my throat.
Katie’s living room is a cozy little parlor right in front of me. Also right in front of me is Katie, tied to a chair and gagged. Her hair is in complete disarray, and she’s wearing the same outfit she was last night. How long has she been tied up like this?
“Katie,” I breathe. I rush to her side and immediately begin working on the knot tying the fabric around her mouth. It’s tight, and my fingers ache as I fight to free my friend. She mumbles something through the fabric, and I lean back to look at her.
“What?” I ask.
Her eyes dart to the side, and I follow her gaze.
Skippy walks in from the hallway. When he sees me, his eyes narrow.
“What are you doing here? This is a romantic morning for me and my woman. You shouldn’t be here.”
I glare at him and step in front of my friend. It’s not like I can protect her well, being a small woman myself, but I have to try. What is the saying? She may be little, but she is fierce? I have to find a way to keep this guy occupied until I can come up with a plan.
“If this is how you do romance, your love life could use a bit of work,” I say.
Keep him distracted. That’s the name of the game. Behind me, Katie’s terror radiates outward. Guilt stabs at my heart. This is all my fault. If I’d been more transparent with Ben, maybe we could have found a solution sooner.
Maybe we could have put Skippy and Jordan behind bars together. This whole scene could have been avoided.
Skippy takes another step forward, but he stops at the edge of the living room. “You were warned about this. You should have backed off and let things take their natural course, but you didn’t, and now I get Katie as a consolation prize for your failure to cooperate.”
“Those are a lot of big words. You learn those from Sesame Street?”
Skippy snarls, and his crooked teeth are a dull yellow. I hope to god that he didn’t touch Katie with that disgusting mouth. I can only hope at this point, because I don’t know.
Oh god, I don’t know.
“You think being witty is going to get you out of this situation? You’ve got another thing coming. You should have listened to Jordan and joined us. It’s too late for you now.”
“You know, this reminds me of another time when you told me that Katie was none of my business,” I say, dragging o
ut the conversation. I don’t know why. It’s not like there isn’t an inevitable ending to this situation. I glance down at Skippy’s hip and realize that his hunting knife is no longer there.
What is he using as a weapon then? Is there a gun in his back pocket, maybe beneath his shirt somewhere? I have to keep a wary eye out. Perhaps I have caught him unarmed, and that gives me some kind of advantage.
Who am I kidding? I have no advantage but time. And that’s running out fast.
“I was right. It’s even truer now because we’re not at your restaurant. You have no power here.”
“You might be right. But I am still Katie’s friend, and she doesn’t look too thrilled about this situation, so I’m going to have to ask you to leave, since she’s not exactly able to at the moment.”
“I can kick your ass, you know. I’m not afraid to beat a woman who deserves it.”
I hold my stance steady, and I keep my eyes on him. I will not let him see my terror. I will not. “Oh, I don’t think you want to do that. What will Jordan say when I run to him and tell him that his piece-of-shit lackey beat up the woman he loves?”
Skippy scoffs, but I can tell I’ve hit a nerve. A bead of sweat develops on his brow at the mention of Jordan’s wrath. “You’re not his girlfriend. You want nothing to do with him, dumbass bitch.”
“That’s what you think,” I say, thinking fast. “Jordan and I have been a thing for a long, long time. I don’t think he would be too thrilled with anything that displeases me. And this? This displeases me a lot.”
The drop of sweat travels down the side of his cheek, and he swipes it away as he continues to glare at me. I’m confusing him, muddling his mind. If I don’t have brute force, I do have one excellent tool in my belt.
Skippy is an idiot.
“That’s not true. I saw you the other day. You told him to leave you alone.”
I shrug. “We fight. Don’t all couples? I can tell you that we did make up fairly recently though, and that I’ve got a bit more say than you do when it comes to Jordan.”
For the first time since I arrived, doubt colors his eyes. His gaze darts from side to side as he considers what to do, and I get my first rational idea since walking in.
My cell phone. It’s in my back pocket. If I can keep him distracted enough, I can reach back and try to dial for help. It’s going to be tricky, but Skippy is really, really dumb. If I can get him worked up enough, there’s a chance I can get a call out and keep both of us safe until help arrives.
It’s the only chance I have.
“When did you make up?” he asks.
I reach my hand around my back and look up at the ceiling, like I’m contemplating the question. My mind is in two places at once. My fingertips grasp the edge of my phone as my mind whirrs with some kind of backstory to feed Skippy.
“Last night. He came to my place late and we had a good talk. I realized that I was being an idiot running around with that stupid cop. Jordan has always been the love of my life. I’m glad to have him back with me.”
I tug the phone out from my pocket and unlock it with my thumbprint. Now comes the hard part. I have to figure out a way to navigate the screen without being obvious about looking at it.
“That’s impossible. Jordan was with me last night.”
Fuck.
“He may have been with you, but he finished the night with me. Unless you’re suggesting that you were the one in bed with him last night?”
That works. I glance down as though I’m embarrassed to have admitted to sleeping with Jordan. I tap the phone icon on my screen, but if I look down for too long he’ll get suspicious, so I look back up. I can’t rush this. I can’t afford to make a mistake.
“I don’t believe you. Maybe we should call Jordan and ask him.”
Panic fills my lungs, but I force out a breath that comes out as a giggle. “Go ahead, but I doubt he’s going to be thrilled to be woken up for such a bullshit question. We were up until the wee hours of the morning, after all.”
I maintain eye contact with him so that he thinks I’m telling the truth. Everything in me wants to glance back down at my phone, to scroll the small distance to Ben’s name, or even get the keypad option up to dial 911.
At this point, anyone else walking by will help. Maybe screaming will be a good option if I can’t get a call through in time. Or maybe I can manipulate him out of this. I have to try. I can tell the thought of displeasing a grumpy Jordan is less than appealing to Skippy.
“Let’s say I believe you. That doesn’t take away the fact that Katie is mine. If you’re loyal to Jordan, you’ll respect his wishes. He promised her to me!”
“Mm, well, why don’t we ask Katie what she thinks,” I say, and I kneel down by my friend. I glance down and paw through my phone. There’s Ben’s name...
“Hey, what the fuck are you doing?”
He steps closer and sees the phone in my hand. His expression crumples into rage. “You tricky bitch! Drop that phone right now or you’re dead!”
“I’m calling Jordan!”
“Fuck you! Drop the phone, or I’ll shoot!”
He pulls a gun out from behind his back, and my whole body goes cold with fear. I stare up into the barrel of the weapon, and I know one thing for certain.
I’m going to die.
22
Ben
James and I arrive at Skippy’s trailer. The building is long and dilapidated, made entirely of silver metal. I turn off the engine and walk up to the front door. I bang on it with my fist as loud as I can, and a dog barks in the distance.
This isn’t exactly the best part of town. There are two sides to every village, and this one happens to be on the other side of the tracks.
When no one opens the door, I slam my knuckles against the plastic front screen another time, and the dog from another trailer goes ballistic.
“Skippy, this is Ben Warburton. I have a warrant to search the property. If you do not open this door, I will take it down by force.”
Silence echoes around us. Even the dog backs down from the authority in my voice. When more silence ensues, I have no choice but to make good on my threat. I step back and kick my foot into the door. The feeble material bends against my strength, and the door tumbles inward.
The stench that comes out of that room is enough to send bile up my throat.
It’s a combination of spoiled milk, weed, unwashed clothing, and general… stink. I step on the flattened door and enter, and it takes everything in me not to cover my nose and mouth. There is garbage everywhere, and the place looks like the inside of a sardine can.
How can anyone live like this?
My eyes scour the perimeter. There’s no sign of Skippy hiding anywhere, though it’s entirely possible that he could be tucked beneath any of the massive piles of discarded beer bottles or laundry. I kick at each of them with my boot as I look for some kind of evidence.
It’s clear that Skippy uses this place for sleeping, drinking, and drugs. I pull open a few drawers, but they are empty save a few plastic spoons and knives.
Yep. This place screams Skippy.
I step out to find James staring up at the place, his hand shielding his eyes from the morning sun.
“Find anything?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. If there’s anything in there, we’ll need the man himself to tell us where it is. I’m not going back in there without a hazmat suit.”
James smirks up at me as I make my way down the stairs. “That bad, huh?”
“Let’s just say I’ll need a good shower after this to get the stink of being inside off my clothing. Let’s go find this dirty bastard.”
James makes no protest as we slide back into the cruiser and take off toward town. My eyes are peeled for anything suspicious, and I get the sudden sensation that I should visit Naomi.
Something’s not right. My instincts have helped me save my men time and time again, so I listen to them. I turn the cruiser in the direction of Naomi�
�s place.
Flashes in my mind. Skippy threatening Naomi. Katie. And now he’s not home on the day we find evidence that links him directly to the threat. Unquestionable events which place him on the boat, at the scene of the crime.
A theft that had to have taken place in the past week, after he first harassed the girls in the restaurant. My heart thuds.
Does that even make sense?
I haven’t had another report of theft since the first where I cuffed my girl.
“Where are we headed?”
“Naomi’s restaurant. Maybe she might have information.”
“You think she’ll talk?”
“I do,” I say.
I understand where his doubt is coming from, but it doesn’t block my irritation at his statement. I say nothing else as a feeling of dread settles in my belly, and I press my foot on the gas, speeding up. When I park in the lot by her place, the tires screech.
“Ben, what’s going on? Do you have a lead you’re not telling me about?”
He can sense my urgency, which isn’t hard to do given the speed I used to get us here.
“Maybe. Let’s find out.”
I step out of the car and approach Naomi’s place. I tug on the glass door, but it’s locked. I look at my watch and realize that it’s lunch time. The place should be open. I bang my fist against the door, and Paul walks out from the kitchen. When he sees me, he picks up his pace as he meets us at the front door. He unlocks it and opens it, but I don’t step inside.
“Paul. Where’s Naomi? Why are you guys closed?”
Paul shrugs, but his eyes are dark with worry. “She left a little bit ago to find Katie. Katie never showed up for her shift, so I’m holding court until they get back. Naomi told me to keep the place closed until they do.”
It’s enough to get my heart pumping hard. I could feel that something wasn’t right, but now I know it in my bones.
“James, follow me,” I say, and then I bolt down the sidewalk. The sound of blood rushes in my ears, and I focus on each step as I tear down the street toward Katie’s cottage. I have to do a little calculation in my mind. I watched her walk home last night, but I wasn’t focusing on specifics.