A Shattered Lens

by Layton Green

  Elliot, a brawny redhead with a cleft chin and pointed ears, bawled as soon as Preach mentioned David. After calming the kid down, Preach learned no new information, except that David had not been involved with drugs. In fact, Elliott went out of his way to convince the detective of this.

  Why bring it up ? Preach wanted to know.

  “You know,” Elliott said, suddenly uncomfortable. “That’s what everyone thinks at school. That drugs were involved.”

  “And you don’t ?”

  “I know they weren’t. Not Davey. He drank a bit, sure. Who doesn’t ? But he wouldn’t touch drugs, not even when everyone else at the party—” he broke off, realizing he was talking to a police officer. “Anyway, he always said his mind was fucked up enough—excuse my language—and he didn’t want to go there.” He put his hand over his heart. “I swear, man. No one partied with him like I did. He was super clean.”

  Preach believed him. Or at least believed that David, if he was taking drugs, kept it from Elliott.

  “What about selling them?” Preach asked. “Making a little money on the side ? Even if he wasn’t using?”

  “No way, man. Why risk a future like his ? He didn’t really care about money, anyway. Not like that.”

  “What did he care about?”

  Elliott thought for a minute. “Girls,” he said, smiling as he wiped away another tear. “And football. That was pretty much it.”

  That was pretty much all he told you about, Preach thought.

  Except for his African American heritage and orange tennis shoes, Fisher Star was a clone of Elliott Jacobson: muscular, preppy, polite, easygoing but one-dimensional. He, too, was crushed by David’s murder. While he confirmed that Claire’s son never touched drugs, he had nothing new to add.

  By the time Preach returned to the office, just before 5 p.m., Ari still hadn’t replied to his text. Her silence had opened a sinkhole inside him that crumbled wider and wider with each passing minute.

  “Got a sec, Detective ?”

  Preach looked up from his desk and saw Terry Haskins standing at the entrance to the cubicle, carrying his vinyl messenger bag and offering a manila folder to the detective.

  “What’s this?” Preach asked.

  Inside the folder, he found three pieces of paper. The first contained two photocopied images: a credit card slip and a sales receipt, both from Domino’s. The second was a screenshot of Lisa Waverly dressed in a lacy nightgown on a website called Kixxxstarter.

  The final image appeared to be a snapshot of a chat board for NC State grads.

  “Check the dates,” Terry said.

  Preach found the time stamps and saw they were all from the same night. Or early morning, to be exact. “October 3,” he murmured.

  “Domino’s delivered a pizza to Lisa Waverly’s house at 12:30 a.m.,” Terry said. “The delivery driver remembered seeing them both dressed in bathrobes. He said they looked like they had just gotten out of the shower.”

  “Need I ask what Kixxxstarter is ?”

  “It’s the X-rated version of Tinder. Lisa posted a new photo—that one right there—at one fifteen in the morning.”

  “Her username is Hot for Teacher?” Preach said in disbelief, looking at the caption.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Preach shuffled to the third piece of paper. Halfway down the page, he saw the username BMorelandl in a string of scattershot commentary that included the upcoming Wolfpack basketball season, gerrymandering, and the best route to Myrtle Beach. He looked up. “Brett commented at 1:45 a.m. None of this proves they weren’t in the woods that night, but it’s kind of hard to squeeze in a murder between pizza, sex, and chat boards.”

  “My thoughts as well,” Terry said.

  “Even if they had the time, it would take a couple of stone-cold sociopaths to murder a high school kid, take him across town and dump him, then go home and carry on like that. I’ve seen stranger things, but . . .” He set the papers down with a sigh. “Regardless of the affair, I think Brett’s in love with Claire. And Lisa . . . I just don’t see her as a killer.”

  “You want me to stay on them? Or move to something else?”

  “Give them another shift, then check back in. Good work, Terry.”

  The junior officer tipped his wool cap and left for the night. After another hour of paperwork, Preach noticed the chief walk in. Before he could head her way, his cell buzzed, and he jerked his phone out of his pocket as fast as a gunslinger under fire. His stomach lurched when he saw Ari’s name.

 

  At least she hadn’t ignored him. He held the phone in his palm a few moments before he replied.

 

  Before he could process the exchange, Chief Higgins stepped into the hallway, curled a finger at him, and retreated into her office. Preach followed her inside and slumped in the chair across from her desk.

  “Do you mind?” he asked, picking up her yin-yang stress ball.

  Her eyebrows rose. “That bad?”

  “Just thought I’d give it a try.”

  “It beats alcoholism. I gave that a try once. Or twice.”

  Preach grunted. “I’m glad they were failed attempts.”

  “Oh, I was quite good at it. What’s on your mind?”

  As he caught her up on his research, she steepled her pointer fingers and tapped them against her mouth, making mmm-hmm sounds as she listened.

  When he finished, she said, “This Bentley character owns the development company that bought Carroll Street Homes?”

  “That’s right.”

  She unfurled her fingers to pick up a pen. “I was at Durham PD today.”

  “I thought you had a conference in Raleigh?”

  “I swung by Durham on the way home, said hi to a few people. I politic every now and then, you know.”

  He put a hand over his mouth in mock disbelief. “Say it ain’t so.”

  “I know, I know. The price of fame.”

  “What’d they have to say?”

  She rubbed her thumb against the pen, as if it were a replacement for the stress ball. “Los Viburos has been acting strange for a gang lately. Their activity is more methodical than usual. Durham thinks they might be taking orders from someone. As in, someone smarter than your typical gang leader.”

  “That’s odd. Unless they’re getting paid.”

  “Exactly. Gangs can hire out like any merc force. I’m not sure I’d ever turn my back on them if I hired them, but hey, that goes for the whole criminal world.”

  “Who does Durham think they’re taking orders from?”

  She leaned back in her seat. The setting sun in the window behind her mirrored the grease-fire hue of her hair. “They don’t know.”

  “I’m not sure I’d call the increase in crime at Wild Oaks methodical, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “No,” she agreed. “Unless maybe it is.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know. That’s your job.”

  He nodded, contemplative. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “So who do you have for this ? If you had to say right now ?”

  “I don’t really like anyone for it,” he said slowly. “At least not anyone in play.”

  “You didn’t like anyone for the last murder, either, if I recall.” She gave him a thin smile. “Except for one person.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “You think you’ll ever live that down?”

  “Not in this building,” he said.

  “Good answer. What about Claire? She seems the best fit so far.” The chief folded her hands on the desk and leaned forward. “I’ve heard about your past with her. Are you sure you’re seeing clearly, Joe? Do we need to bring in SBI ?”

  “I’m fine,” he said, more roughly than he intended. “There’s no motive. Why would a mother kill her son?”

  “Do you think mothers need different motives
from other criminals?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  The chief sat back. “It happens, you know,” she said after a moment. “Murder-suicides, mothers drowning their babies after they’re born, leaving them in dumpsters or hot cars.”

  “Those are usually mental health issues.”

  “Not always.”

  “Claire raised David by herself for seventeen years. I just don’t . . .” He cupped the back of his neck and let out a sigh, knowing his emotions were clouding his judgment.

  Instead of responding, the chief put a palm out, and he handed over the stress ball. On his way out he saw her kneading it angrily in her palm, over and over, as she stared out the window.

  A short while later, after showering and changing into jeans and a gray sweater, Preach arrived at Café Driade fifteen minutes before eight o’clock. On spring and summer nights, the patio of the little café on the outskirts of Chapel Hill was lit with strings of golden lights, the forest warm and thick all around. During law school, Ari used to virtually camp out here, and the two of them had spent many a weekend morning sipping coffee on the birdsong-filled patio or in the cozy stucco interior, ensconced in a book or a magazine, surrounded by local art and the smell of roasting coffee.

  Jimmy’s was his place, and Café Driade was hers. While they had enj oyed them both together, he knew her choice of venue was a statement.

  The night was chilly, so the interior was packed, and he couldn’t find an open table. He ordered a beer and hunkered down in his overcoat on the back patio, hoping a seat would open up. Ten minutes after eight, Ari walked through the back door holding a glass of red wine.

  “Hi,” he said, as she approached.

  “Hi.”

  “I’ve been waiting for a table. We can stand inside if you prefer.”

  “I’ll last for one drink.” She set her wine down and buttoned her knee-length, plum wool coat before she sat. Beneath the coat, she wore a cream-colored shirt, dark slacks, and black boots with high heels. She looked stunning, though he wondered if her extra makeup—she usually wore very little—was a statement of some sort.

  “How are you?” he said quietly.

  “Busy.”

  “I hear that.” He took a long swallow of beer. “Listen, Ari, I really wanted to see you. But I also wanted to run something by you. About work.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Yours or mine ?”

  “A possible connection between cases.”

  She swirled her wine, crossed her legs, and leaned back. “Work first.”

  Her guarded body language spoke volumes. He wanted to reach out and take her hands in his, but instead he told her what he had discovered about Bentley’s purchase of Carroll Street Homes. “Do you know anything about this ?”

  “I’d have told you if I did,” she said. “I do know he has multiple business interests.”

  “Are they legit?”

  “As far as I can tell. I’m sure if we dug deep enough we’d find irregularities, but his business empire isn’t our focus. What are you thinking?” “I’m thinking there’s a lot of noise around this trailer park,” he said. “I’m thinking David was a few hundred yards from it when he was killed.”

  “He was also close to his home. It could easily be a coincidence.” He took a sip of beer, the bare trees watching in silence from the forest edge. “Do you remember my favorite quote on coincidences ?” “Remind me.”

  “G. K. Chesterton said they’re spiritual puns.”

  The hint of a smile lifted her lips, quickly withdrawn.

  “Your opinion on Bentley stands ?” he asked. “That he’s bad news ?” She shivered into her coat. “He’s one of the most manipulative people I’ve ever talked to. Are you going to interview him?”

  “Probably. First I want to probe this angle a bit more. I have a feeling cornering him with what I’ve got right now would be pointless.” “You’re probably right.”

  “Durham PD mentioned someone might be pulling the strings of Los Viburos. You think it might be Bentley?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past him. Even if he is . . . what does this have to do with David?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  “Do you think he might have been working for him?”

  “Based on the people I’ve talked to, I’d have to say no. But you never know. And that second gunshot, the one to the head . . . it smacks of a gang.”

  Her eyes sparked. “What if he stumbled onto something in the woods that night ?”

  “Something unrelated that got him killed?”

  She nodded, and he felt the familiar tingling spread through him whenever they brainstormed a case together. He wanted so much to reach out to her, take her hands in his, but he knew she would pull away.

  “Maybe David went into the woods for some reason,” she continued, “or even to the trailer park. Is there a girl there he knows ?” “Good question. If he did go there, maybe he ran into Nate on his home turf, or even stumbled into a drug deal.” He was starting to like this line of reasoning. “Maybe he was with Claire in the study that night, and maybe she was too drugged up to remember. Maybe none of that was sinister at all, and I’ve been making all the wrong assumptions.”

  When he mentioned Claire, Ari drew back in her seat, and he instantly regretted it. They drank in silence for a few minutes, until the silence grew uncomfortable.

  “We could have had this conversation over the phone,” she said finally. “About work.”

  “You’re right. I wanted to see you.”

  “Why?”

  “To tell you I’m sorry.”

  She pursed her lips and said, “You’re investigating her, Joe. Have you considered the fact that you might have a duty to recuse yourself ?” “I’m not compromised.”

  “I would argue otherwise.”

  “Her son was murdered. She needs me.”

  As soon as he said it, Ari’s face crumbled, and he wanted to flog himself for his choice of words. While he fumbled for something to say, her expression hardened, and she drained the last of her wine.

  “That’s not what I meant” he said. “I’m the most experienced homicide officer we have. The case needs me. That’s all.”

  She stood. “I think it’s exactly what you meant.”

  “Don’t go.”

  “Why shouldn’t I ? You’ve already admitted you’re attracted to her.” “We can’t help who we respond to in that way. There are millions of people in the world who physically draw us. You’re so much more to me than a simple attraction, Ari. A universe more.”

  A teardrop formed in the corner of her eye. Her voice never quavered as she wiped it away. “I can accept that. And I don’t think you were cheating. But I do think you were flirting, and the main thing . . . I’m just not convinced you weren’t seeking something I haven’t been giving you. And that maybe I never can.”

  He said quietly, “What can I do to convince you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  As she started to walk away, he rose. “Ari.”

  She turned.

  “Stay with me tonight.”

  “I can’t, Joe.”

  As she moved out of the soft glow of the patio, swallowed by the night, he felt something break apart inside him, as if a foreign substance had just dislodged.

  And he knew in his heart that no matter what happened between them in the future, things would never be the same.

  27

  The next morning, as Preach arrived at the station with his cup of coffee from Jimmy’s, he saw Officer Wright stepping out of his car in the parking lot.

  “Detective” Bill said, hustling to catch up with Preach on the stairs. The burst of exertion made the older officer red-faced and a little breathless.

  Preach held the door for him, hoping Bill never had to chase down a criminal. “Did you find Nate ?”

  “Not yet, but I talked to someone at the trailer park.”

  Preach perked up. “Who ?”

  “I put the s
queeze on a high school kid I busted for meth last year. Piece of shit named Adam Krusky. Kid couldn’t go clean for a week if his life depended on it. Could barely keep still when we talked.”

  “He’s still a kid, Bill.”

  “Oh yeah? You know what kids are into these days? I swear, if I see one more goddamn punk covered in tattoos, standing on a corner and—”

  “Bill. What’d he say?”

  The older officer looked flustered and eager to please, as if trying to compensate for his earlier screwup. “He hasn’t seen Nate in a few days, doesn’t know why.”

  “I heard Nate has a gang of some sort. Do you know if that’s true ?”

  “He’s got a posse of white kids in the trailer park called the Rat Fuckers. Real classy, huh?”

  “And?”

  “According to Adam, after I threatened to haul his ass to juvie again, he told me Nate’s been pulling off petty crimes for years. Small stuff like hitting unlocked cars at night. But lately he’s been stepping up his game.”

  “Such as?”

  “The only thing Adam knew for sure—and he didn’t want to tell me—is that Nate’s running drugs for Los Viburos.”

  Preach whistled. “How sure are you about that ?”

  “Kid’s about as trustworthy as a pawn broker with the rent due. I believe him on this, though. He wants to stay out of juvie.”

  “Does he have any idea where to find Nate ?”

  “Nope. I get the impression Adam’s fallen out of favor. He did say Nate’s still seeing Alana.”

  “No surprise there. Good find, Bill. Stay on it.”

  The noose was growing tighter, Preach could feel it.

  Nate ran drugs for Los Viburos. Both Nate and the gang were connected to the trailer park. David and Nate had bad blood between them.

  Had Claire’s son, angry after their clash at home, gone to pick a fight with Nate at Carroll Street Homes? Had someone intercepted him on the way or met him at the park and taken him back to the woods? Had someone from the gang fired the head shot? Who had been the woman in the woods ? Alana?

  Preach felt sure he was still missing something that tied it all together. On a hunch he decided to pay a visit to his old pal Wade Fee. The two of them had grown up together and were inseparable until Preach’s senior year, when he had cut ties with his old crew, Wade Fee included, and joined a church. That led to his brief stint as a preacher, a few tough years as a prison chaplain, and then a period of soul searching that eventually led to the Atlanta PD.