Pretty Dead

by Anne Frasier

  Hoffman gave her a long look, then replied, “Yes.”

  Elise turned to Sweet, whose only movement since she’d stepped into the room had been a slight turn of the head. “I’ll get everything to you by tomorrow.”

  Then she left, David on her heels.

  “Elise.”

  She ignored him and kept walking, down the hall to her office.

  David followed her inside. She slammed the door, spun around, and without a hiccup, shoved him, a hand to each of his shoulders—the kind of attack she’d never launched on anyone until recently. First Jay Thomas, and now David.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Elise demanded. “How long have you known? Was it something you and Hoffman cooked up?” With each question, she shoved.

  “Stop.” David didn’t fight back, and that annoyed her even more. And he’d been uncharacteristically quiet in Hoffman’s office. That annoyed her too.

  She shoved him again. Not like a cop, but like some kid in the school yard.

  “I said, stop,” David said.

  She shoved.

  In an exasperated movement, he grabbed her, spun her around, and pressed her face to her desk, her arm pinned behind her. He didn’t apply much pressure, just control. She could continue to fight him, but the undignified position reset her brain.

  “Ass,” she muttered, her mouth against the morning’s folded newspaper. “You ass.”

  “It wasn’t my idea,” David said.

  “Bull.”

  “Hoffman asked me what I thought about her decision to bring your father in. I told her you wouldn’t like it.”

  She believed him, even though Hoffman had called the conversation she’d had with David a discussion. Even though she’d made it sound as if he might have played a part in Sweet’s presence here today. But Elise had never known David to lie.

  “Did you get eight down?” David asked.

  It took her a few beats to realize he was talking about the crossword puzzle under her nose. She laughed. Bless her own heart, she laughed. Leave it to David to defuse a tense situation.

  “The last passenger pigeon,” David said. “That was the clue.”

  “You’ll have to talk to the guy with three names.”

  “Are you gonna quit shoving me?” David asked as he loosened his hold on her.

  Elise nodded, and he released her. She straightened, rotated her shoulders, and adjusted her neck. Then, without looking at him, she walked away.

  CHAPTER 17

  Vic Lamont.

  It didn’t sound like a real name. What it sounded like was one of those names Hollywood studios gave their actors back in the fifties. But you could bet David had done his research on his ex-partner. Birth name. Parents were Lois and Harvey Lamont, second-generation United States citizens, Victor’s French grandparents having immigrated in the late 1800s. Lamont himself was known to toss some French around, but David always suspected he knew about ten or twenty words, total. And now the ass was droning on and on about the killer’s profile.

  It was the morning after the meeting about Jackson Sweet. Fifteen minutes earlier Major Coretta Hoffman had introduced Lamont to the room—a crowd made up of about twenty officers plus Jay Thomas Paul and Jackson Sweet, Sweet standing against the wall in the back of the room, hands in his pockets, Jay Thomas sitting next to Elise. Jay Thomas and Elise occupied the front row, smack in the center, like a couple of good students, while David sulked in the back, yesterday’s unfinished crossword puzzle braced against one knee, the printed profile Lamont had supplied abandoned on the floor beside David’s chair.

  If David were to pick it up and look at it, he knew it would say the same stuff Lamont was going on about. Killer was a white male, about thirty years of age. Probably had a couple years of a trade school but dropped out before he finished. Blah, blah, blah. Profiling 101. And then Lamont went on to embellish his description, from the way the guy dressed to the kind of movies he watched and the kind of books he read and the kind of car he drove.

  “Chevy Caprice. And as far as personality traits—this is a guy people made fun of, someone who would never in a million years attract the attention of the women he’s killing.”

  And everybody ate it up. Just ate it up. David wanted to kill someone himself.

  He’d tried to get out of coming to the briefing.

  “Just grab a copy of the profile for me,” he’d told Elise when they’d discussed it earlier in their office.

  She’d given him that look that said she didn’t want to get all bossy on him. And then Hoffman had sent him a text, telling him she’d see him there.

  Coretta didn’t know about Lamont. Didn’t know about the history he and David shared. Why? Because when David had applied for the job at Savannah PD, he’d left out that stuff, of course. And David was pretty sure he wasn’t going to tell her now either. Which went to show just what kind of relationship he had with the major.

  Not wanting to make things worse than they already were, he’d come to the briefing. But he’d taken a seat as far from the podium as possible and only glanced up once or twice, enough to note that Lamont hadn’t gotten fat and bald the way David had hoped. He was trim and in shape, and he seemed to have a full head of dark brown hair. But there was still time for hair loss. Always time for hair loss.

  “David.”

  The sound of Coretta’s voice cut through his childish thoughts. He looked across the expanse of people seated in front of him to lock eyes with Coretta, while trying to ignore the man standing beside her. “Yes, Major?”

  “Do you have anything to add to Agent Lamont’s profile? Or anything you want to add to the conversation?”

  He sometimes wondered if she went out of her way to publicly humiliate him in order to squelch any rumors that they might be sleeping together.

  “No.”

  He looked back at the crossword puzzle. Eight down: The last passenger pigeon.

  What the hell did that mean? Last passenger pigeon?

  Extinct?

  No, that was seven letters. He needed six.

  “Are you sure?” Coretta asked. “I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been busy jotting things down.”

  David reluctantly tore himself away from the folded newspaper. Coretta was waiting. Damn, he could get himself into some messes.

  His gaze tracked to the left, enough to take in the crisp jacket, the white shirt, the maroon tie. There was that clean jaw, plus that rigid and unreadable expression on Vic Lamont’s face. Old-school FBI. David wanted to jump to his feet and shout, You fucked my wife! Instead, he tucked his pen behind his ear and leaned back in his chair.

  He was pretty sure he was the antithesis of Lamont. And maybe that was his reaction to his days in the FBI. Rather than crisp and tidy, David’s white shirt with the turned-up sleeves was rumpled, and his jaw needed a shave.

  He nodded as he gripped the newspaper with both hands, hands that were shaking a little. Just a little. “Eight down. Do you know the answer to eight down?”

  Lamont’s demeanor shifted slightly. Taken aback. Confused. “Eight down?”

  “The last passenger pigeon. And it’s not ‘extinct.’ Too many letters.”

  While he said this, David kept his eyes on Lamont. Never blinking, never wavering. And he sure as hell didn’t look at Coretta. He didn’t want to know what kind of expression she had on her face. And he sure as hell didn’t look at Elise, who was probably at this very moment furrowing her brow and shooting him a harsh warning.

  He and Lamont didn’t break their gaze. It was like high noon and each was waiting for the other to draw. And while they waited, time spread across the floor. Not only spread, but moved backward. David recalled when he and Lamont had worked cases together while Lamont was sleeping with Beth. If David followed the thread all the way to the beginning, Lamont could actually be indirectly blamed for the death of David’s son.

  Lamont told Beth he wanted her, but he didn’t want a kid. So Beth took care of th
at little problem.

  A hesitant voice broke the silence. “Martha.”

  That came from the guy with three names.

  “What?” David asked.

  “The last living passenger pigeon was Martha.”

  The tension broke, and David pulled his gaze away from Lamont to focus on Jay Thomas Paul. “Martha?”

  “She died of old age in 1914 in the Cincinnati Zoo. Some people said she was twenty-nine.”

  David plucked his pen from behind his ear and bowed his head to scrutinize the paper in his hands. He filled in the squares. “I didn’t know she had a name.”

  “Oh yeah,” Jay Thomas said, eager to share his knowledge. “She’s famous.”

  Somehow talk of the last passenger pigeon, along with the presence of Lamont, someone from David’s old life, someone David had talked and joked with before Christian’s death, someone who’d played a role in that awful thing, no matter how unwittingly—all of those things took the time that was now spread across the floor and folded it back on David.

  A beautiful son with golden hair that smelled of soap and childhood filled David’s head, and his arms felt the weight of his child as he’d carried him to his bed at night and tucked him in, leaving the night-light on because Christian was afraid of the dark.

  I’m scared, Daddy.

  David would always reassure him that there were no monsters in their house. No monsters.

  In truth, the monster was down the hall, asleep in her bed.

  “I was asking what you think about the case, not about today’s crossword puzzle,” Coretta said. And man, was she mad.

  “Believe me, you don’t really want to know what I think.”

  “Yes, I do. We all do.”

  “Okay.” He adjusted his ankle on his knee. “I think the profile is bullshit. That’s what I think.”

  A few gasps. Mouths dropped open. A fresh wave of irritation flashed across Coretta’s face. “Okay, this meeting is over unless anybody other than Detective Gould has something to add.”

  People got to their feet, clutching and folding the profile that had been supplied to them. David was almost out the door when Coretta put a hand to his arm, stopping him. “My office,” she said.

  Yeah, they should probably break up.

  “I’m not sure what’s going on with you.” Coretta grabbed a package of crackers from her desk. “But I can guess. You’re jealous of Lamont.”

  “Jealous?” David blew air out his nose.

  “He’s an FBI agent. A profiler. You used to be an FBI agent and a profiler.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “So just shut it off.” She couldn’t get the package open. She gave up and tossed it down on her desk, then said with anger, “You can be so childish.”

  “I try.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” He swept up the crackers, tore open one end of the package, and handed them to her.

  Her anger evaporated so quickly, he wondered if she’d really been mad in the first place or merely doing her job. “Will you stop by tonight?” she asked, smiling as she accepted the open crackers.

  His phone announced a text message. He checked the screen: Elise.

  “I’ll make a low-country boil,” Coretta said. “You bring wine.”

  “You just said I was childish.” Had his voice sounded a bit petulant there?

  She abandoned the crackers, circled the desk, and pressed herself against him. “I like immature men who act like boys.” She unzipped his pants and stuck her hand inside, grabbing him.

  He let out a gasp. “Isn’t that a bit like pedophilia?” he asked, holding his breath while he spoke.

  She laughed. “You’re darling.” Her laughter faded, and her expression became serious. David was pretty sure she wanted sex. Right now, right here.

  He held up his phone with the text message. “Gotta go. Detective Sandburg wants to discuss Lamont’s profile with me.”

  She backed off, and he quickly zipped his pants before she got any more ideas.

  “That’s adult of you.” She sounded disappointed.

  CHAPTER 18

  Alarm set, Elise stepped out the back door. Gripping the handle of her briefcase, insulated coffee mug tucked under her arm, she removed the key from the lock and hurried down the steps in the direction of her car and the small parking spot next to the garage. Audrey was already off to school, and even though the day had hardly begun, Elise was running late.

  A movement in the shrubbery caught her eye. And there she went again. All reflex and no thought, she dropped the mug, lid flying, coffee splashing her black slacks as she pulled her weapon.

  Another trembling of branches and Jackson Sweet emerged, a backpack draped over one shoulder. “I’ve gone over the case files,” he said in a deadpan voice, as if he’d stepped through an office door instead of emerging from greenery, as if his stalking behavior weren’t in any way unacceptable, “and I’d like to talk to you about a few things.”

  She exhaled and returned her gun to her shoulder holster. “What are you doing here?”

  “As I’m sure you already know, I’ve been trying to catch up with you.” His voice was thick with his low-country accent. Like hers, but stronger. “At the police department, and last night—knocking on your front door. You don’t seem to be all that willing to talk to me.”

  No surprise. At the Savannah PD, she’d ducked into the restroom and also done an about-face to head for the stairs when she spotted him coming her way. Last night when he knocked at the front door, she’d turned off the porch light.

  “I’d suggest anything you want to discuss you discuss with David Gould or Major Hoffman,” Elise said.

  “You’re the head of homicide.”

  Elise was still trying to figure out how Sweet had managed to insinuate himself in her life. “You went to Major Hoffman, didn’t you?” she asked. “You suggested she put you on the case.”

  “So what if I did?”

  “I don’t know what you’re doing or why you’re doing this. You and I—we don’t have a relationship.” She thought about picking up the mug, thought about going back inside and getting more coffee, but gave up on both ideas. She’d get the mug later. She’d get coffee at headquarters. “We will never have a relationship,” she said. “And I want you to leave Audrey alone. I don’t want you hanging around her school, waiting for her to get out. Do you understand?”

  “A grandfather taking his granddaughter out for tea—that’s harmless.”

  “Nothing about you is harmless.”

  “I plan to keep seeing her.”

  “Then I’ll get a restraining order.”

  He smiled. “You have no grounds.”

  “I know people.”

  His smile faded. He understood she would do whatever it took to keep him away from her child.

  “So you don’t want to hear any of my theories?” he asked.

  “Talk to David. Talk to Major Hoffman. Stay away from me. And stay away from my house.”

  “I don’t blame you. I really don’t, but this is more important than your hatred of me. Lives are at stake. A killer is out there. Can’t we put our history aside, at least for now?”

  “David. Major Hoffman.”

  “I admire your unwavering dislike. I’d probably feel the same if I were in your position. You’re tough. Like me.”

  “I’m nothing like you. Nothing. We wouldn’t even be having this conversation if I’d died in that cemetery where I was left as a baby. All because of you. It’s hard to let go of that kind of history.”

  “I’m sorry it’s made you so bitter, but believe me when I say your heritage and what happened to you have made you the strong woman you are today.”

  Elise let out a snort. “So I should thank you?” She looked down at her black slacks and coffee splatter. “I have to go.” She hit the “Unlock” button on her key fob and charged for her car.

  He followed.


  Opening the door, she tossed her briefcase across the console to the passenger seat.

  “Wait, Elise. Please wait.”

  She’d planned to hop in the vehicle and not give him another glance as she pulled away, but the desperation in his tone caused her to hesitate.

  “There’s something I need to tell you.” He planted his hands on the hood of the car and looked into her eyes, seeming to come to a decision. “What I’m about to share can’t go beyond you,” Sweet said. “No one else can know. Not David or Audrey or Strata Luna.”

  She almost rolled her eyes. This was where he’d tell her he had another family somewhere in Mexico. Or this was where he’d make up some wild story about being chased by a band of zombies.

  He circled the car to stand three feet from her. He checked behind him, then leaned in close. “I was recruited. By a secret government organization.” He paused for her reaction. He didn’t have long to wait, because his “revelation” was more ridiculous than she could have imagined.

  “Oh my God.” Why hadn’t she driven away when she’d had the chance? “Can’t you just tell the truth for once in your life?” she asked. “It’s not like you have anything to lose in this relationship. Why not just tell me you have a wife and family in another part of the country, or whatever it is you’re hiding?”

  “I’m trying to tell you.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Please. Two minutes.”

  She blinked. “You told me you left to protect me. Now you’re saying that was a lie?”

  “Oh, there was that too. Listen, I want to help.”

  “Why?”

  As he spoke, he placed a splayed hand against the hood of the vehicle. “What kind of question is that?”

  “You want to know what I think? I think you’re using this case to hang around me.”

  “I like to stop bad men from doing bad things.”

  “That’s funny, because as I understand it, you are a bad man.”

  “It takes a bad man to know a bad man.”

  No argument there. “You’ve killed people.”