Gin smiled, for real this time. She decided to follow her instincts, as she should have from the start. “You know, Tuck … that apron is appropriate. You really are an amazing dad. Especially considering you’re doing it alone.”
“I’d like to take credit … but the truth is there’s a whole network of people looking out for Cherie. She’s fine on her own for a few hours at a time, but Mrs. Hill comes three afternoons a week to keep her company and make sure she’s doing her homework. And those meddlesome cousins of mine are constantly coming down on the weekends to make sure I’m not screwing up. And … there’s you.”
“I—I only do what any friend would,” Gin stammered, as he gazed at her with an inscrutable expression. And then, because the conversation was leading into a direction she wasn’t sure she was ready to go, she said briskly, “So that was some news conference today. Want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Yeah, well, that’s why I asked you to come over. Sorry about that, by the way—I would have asked you to meet somewhere more civilized, but Cherie—”
“No need to apologize,” Gin said firmly. “You know I’m fond of her.”
“Okay. Uh, well, I was hoping to get out in front of this with you—” Tuck glared past her at a fixed point on the wall, tipping back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “And Wheeler was hoping it wouldn’t come up, I mean, the part about me, which was probably naïve on her part—anyway, I would have rather been the one to tell you … ah, hell.” He let the chair legs slam down on the floor in exasperation as Gin realized that he was embarrassed. Not an emotion she’d ever seen him display before. “This damn investigation. I didn’t do anything wrong. And for some reason it’s been really bothering me that you might think I had.”
“Oh,” Gin said. She wasn’t about to admit that she’d wondered, not now. “Is there … anything more you can tell me?”
“Unfortunately not,” Tuck said. “Truth is, I’m not surprised by the suspension. I figured it was just a matter of when. I was just hoping that it would all wrap up before it caught up with me.”
“You’re not making a lot of sense. The other day you said you felt like you were under close scrutiny by Captain Wheeler,” Gin said. “But I thought you were just worried that you wouldn’t make it past the six-month provisional period. And besides, if you haven’t done anything wrong—”
“Yeah. Right. But that’s the part I can’t really discuss. So I guess admin leave is preferable to getting canned, since if—when—I’m reinstated it means I’m permanent.” Tuck picked up his beer and took a long swallow. “Anyway, I can’t say much more right now, not even to you, even though I’d like to. All I can say is, there’s more to the story than what you’re probably hearing. And I’d like to ask for your trust.”
“Tuck—are you in trouble? I mean, leaving aside the question of what you did or didn’t do, are you being forced out? Does someone have it in for you?” Gin knew she shouldn’t ask—and that he wouldn’t tell her anyway. But if he lost his job, that would mean he’d most likely move. Which was something she definitely didn’t want to happen.
“Depends on what you consider trouble. I’ve still got a paycheck coming in, and if I end up getting let go, I’ve got some savings. And as far as public perception goes—well, I’ve never won any popularity contests. The people who think I’m guilty of something now, already thought so before.”
“It’s just that … I was talking to Katie Kennedy. She seems to think the IA investigation goes deeper than people think.”
“Really?” Tuck asked impassively. “How so?”
“Well, she said there’s a theory that whoever was behind the copper thefts last year might have been assisted by someone in the department. One of the officers. And that he got greedy and decided he could make more money by switching from copper to guns … and maybe even drugs.” She adjusted her skirt uncomfortably. “Look, I’m not asking you to confirm that.”
“Gin. Do you seriously think I could be involved with all of this? I mean, I’ll admit that the timing doesn’t look too good for me … if I really was behind the copper thefts, or this gun business, but they couldn’t put together the proof, it could have made sense for them to ship me out here to the hinterlands while they investigated. But I’m giving you my word.”
“Hinterlands?”
“The more remote part of the county. Whatever. Look, that’s all I’m going to say about it, for now. When I was up in the city the other day, HR had me sign all kinds of paperwork that I’m pretty sure forbids me from talking about anything to anyone ever again. I’m probably violating that by sitting here shooting the shit with you.”
“Tuck!” Gin said, alarmed. Now that she’d made a decision to trust him, she wished he was doing more in his own defense. “You seem to be awfully cavalier about all of this. If talking to me could truly threaten your job, then—”
Tuck shrugged. “I can handle it.”
Gin stared at him in disbelief. “How, exactly? I mean, I get that your charisma and charm have probably kept you out of trouble until now—”
“Hey,” Tuck objected, his mouth twisting up in a grin. “No need for sarcasm.”
“—but I do know something about local politics, and even Captain Wheeler won’t be able to help if this goes too far. Not to mention she’s got some pretty lofty ambitions. What makes you think you can count on her support if popular opinion goes against you?”
“I said I’d handle it,” Tuck drawled, his jaw set.
Gin was all too familiar with the sort of male stubbornness that set in when some men felt cornered: like a trapped wild animal, they’d lash out at attempts to help while digging themselves further and further into trouble.
“No,” Gin said, “that’s ridiculous. I understand you can’t tell me the details, but you can let me help. There’s got to be something I can do to clear your name, at least in the court of public opinion.”
“Ha. Yeah, well, I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of me—all I care about is getting my damn job done. The longer I’m sidelined, the worse it’s going to be for the department—we’ve already been playing catchup with the caseload since Sheriff Crosby’s death, and an interim chief isn’t going to help matters.”
“You’re going to have to trust Wheeler on that one,” Gin said. “Mom says she has confidence in Morgan King. He can keep the admin side running while you’re away. And as for your current caseload … well, maybe I can help.”
Tuck raised one eyebrow skeptically. “Look, we always seem to get here—you defending Crosby after he brings trouble on himself. His mother’s death is—sorry to say—pretty open and shut. It’s the John Doe case that’s really going to suffer. I’d like to pin this on Bruce, but the truth is that we’ve got so little to go on, with their backlog, it’s just going to fall through the cracks. And I hate to see that.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “Turns out I’m kind of attached to this place, and I’m pretty goddamn unhappy to have mangled corpses popping up, even if it isn’t on my watch.”
Gin rolled her eyes. “What did you think I meant when I said I could help?”
Tuck regarded her steadily. “Yeah? Why would you want to do that? Seriously, Gin, you did your thing, I’m sure you were thorough, but unfortunately whoever hacked up our guy is just a few steps ahead of you. But more importantly, why do you care? It’s not like you don’t have other cases of your own, other things to do with your time. And if I understand your contract, you get paid whether the killer’s found or not.”
“Humor me,” Gin said in a steely voice, but as the silence between them stretched into a staring contest, she realized she was going to have to offer him a little more. Like the truth—at least part of it.
“Okay, you win,” she said, relenting. “I have my own reasons for wanting to see this one through. Something happened when I was in the theater—when Stephen was making his examination. I had a—a—well, I guess you could call it a flashback of sorts. Without
going into too much detail, the, uh…” For the second time in a day, her voice broke as she described the mutilated wrists, the moment it had brought back, from her time in Srebrenica. She tried to stay as dispassionate as possible, but by the time she had finished explaining in as few words as possible, Tuck had reached for her hand.
And she didn’t pull away.
“I don’t know how you got through it,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t even begin to tell you how I admire your guts. Your generosity.”
Gin shook her head impatiently. “Then don’t. Just trust me instead. I think what I need—what would help me the most—is to stay focused on finding out what happened to this guy. Because, see, the worst thing for all of us in Srebrenica wasn’t dealing with the bodies.” She closed her eyes, remembering. “It was the families who were desperate for answers. For closure. For a chance to bury their dead with all the love and respect they deserved.”
Tuck said nothing; when she opened her eyes again, he looked thoughtful, his eyes clouded. “I don’t have to tell you that you can never bring them back.”
“No. But I can give the families—not what they want, nobody can do that. But maybe a little of what they need.”
They sat in silence for a moment, Gin’s hand cradled in Tuck’s large one. Finally he cleared his throat. “Gin … I don’t think—it can’t be healthy, to keep reliving the trauma of losing your sister, over and over.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do,” Gin said sharply. Then she took a breath: he was only trying to help, and she knew that he couldn’t—no one could—understand what she and her family had gone through: the years of torment and waiting, not knowing what had become of Lily. This was what she wanted to save other families from.
“I’m sorry I reacted like that,” she said, trying again. “It’s just that—look, I’ve seen more cold case victims than you ever will. As frustrating as it is to be unable to identify them or put together what happened to them when they wind up on my table, it’s a walk in the park compared to what their loved ones are going through. I mean sure, there are people in this world who have no one—who die alone, with no friends or family to their name. But it also happens that people simply disappear, and that means that there are mothers and fathers out there, siblings and spouses, friends and children who will never know what happened.” She swallowed hard. “It happened to us. So I know how it feels.”
“Gin—”
“No, please let me finish,” Gin said, not looking at him. “I thought I was doing good work in Srebrenica, trying to bring justice to those who were butchered. But I think the most important thing we did, looking back on it, was to bring the families a little peace. That John Doe on my table—maybe his family has no idea that he ended up like that. Maybe they’re not even aware his body went missing. But if not, then they need my help. So I’m going to keep on this, whether you approve or not. But you might as well help me out. For both of us.”
Tuck simply stared at her for a long moment. “Damn, girl,” he finally said. “I think you’re more stubborn than me. All right. I’m in.”
Gin’s shoulders sagged with relief; she hadn’t been aware how invested she had already become. But before she could respond, Tuck held up his hand warningly. “Let’s get one thing straight, though—no going off half-cocked on this. I may have my wings clipped, but I’m still a cop and you’re still a headstrong woman who’s as short on common sense as you are easy on the eyes. No offense. So the deal is, you don’t make a move before checking with me. Got it?”
Gin knew he was baiting her, but she didn’t miss the smile tugging at his mouth. He needed to be involved as badly as she did.
“I’m not making any promises,” she said crisply. “But I will do my best to keep you apprised, as long as you do the same.”
“No promises from me either,” Tuck said, holding her gaze. “So I guess we’re going to have to trust each other.”
He reached for his laptop and spun the large screen on his desk so that Gin could see: an aerial view of a wooded area. He tapped the screen for emphasis.
“Okay, let’s start with this. Bruce and Liam went out and interviewed the man who owns that cabin. Or rather, the cabin belongs to a Mortimer Walker, but considering that he’s almost eighty years old, the guy Bruce talked to is more likely to be his son, Keith. He’s a recreational hunter from Pittsburgh who mostly uses it on the weekends. Single guy, in his early forties, owns his own business. I looked him up and couldn’t find any red flags: no priors, no outstanding parking tickets, lots of friends, active online—he even signed up for an online dating site using his real name. I mean, who does that? Guy’s an open book. He was cooperative, apparently genuinely wanted to help, but he couldn’t give them anything solid so they concluded it was a dead end. I learned all this right before I officially got escorted out, so as you can imagine, there goes any access I have to information.”
“They’ve got the case now, and you’re not even allowed on the sidelines … is that the deal?”
“Yeah. Bruce is probably sticking pins in his voodoo doll of me right now—best thing to happen to him all year, not having to give me anything. What we need is access to this guy—just a chance to feel him out, get a sense of what he knows. Only the minute I show up he’ll know something’s off, since they already talked to him. And if it got back to County…” He drew his finger across his throat.
“So you can’t even talk to him informally, off the record.”
“Uh-uh. And we’re not likely to get anything else out of Jonah. As of eleven this morning, when I walked out the door with my ass handed to me, Jonah Krischer’s father had threatened a lawsuit naming not just Jake, and me, and Garrett Liu, but everyone all the way up the chain including Wheeler herself. Nobody thinks he’d get any traction—that video Jake took was about as clear as it could be—but there’s a chance the judge won’t allow it in if this goes to trial. A pretty good chance. So now they’re treating Jonah like a dead end.”
“But his story doesn’t add up all the way,” Gin said, trying not to get stuck on the possibility that Jake was going to be involved in a lawsuit. “He says he was running down there and ‘just happened’ to find the body. But he would have had to have deliberately removed at least some of the branches to be able to even see it. Why would he do that?”
“He said he saw the plastic trash bag sticking out…”
“Yes, but that doesn’t make sense. Why would that have caught his eye? It’s black, it blends in with the dirt. And there was other debris in the creek, anyway. He was running along, passing food wrappers, water bottles, that broken tackle box, but none of that caught his attention. He didn’t even mention it, right? So a piece of black plastic, that would have probably faded into the background even if the branches weren’t there—I just don’t believe it.”
“It would if it seemed out of place,” Tuck said. “A bag from a fast food joint, you’d expect to see that. But a large black trash bag? Why would it be out in the woods?”
“Tuck, I’ve run there dozens of times. You’re moving too quickly to process or even notice something like that—unless he’d literally stopped long enough to search for something out of place.”
“Are you suggesting that he put it there himself?”
“I’m only suggesting that he didn’t find it the way he said. Beyond that—I’ve got no idea. But it’s a loose thread that seems significant.”
Tuck said nothing for a moment, frowning. “I’ll give you that,” he finally said. “It does seem unlikely. If it was me, I’d lean harder on the kid, maybe lock him in a room with nothing but a stack of religious tracts and the Dreamgirls soundtrack on an endless loop until he remembers something. But I doubt Bruce will make the effort. Listen, are you sure there was nothing else from the autopsy? Nothing that could give us a place to start?”
“Nothing stood out.” She went over the main findings of the autopsy, including her opinion that the brittleness of the bones meant that the
body had been in a dry environment for quite a while. “There were a few things that might point to a condition called acromegaly,” she conceded. “But it’s non-life-threatening and even if the John Doe had it, he may not have known.”
“So, you got squat.” Tuck got up from his chair and started pacing. “Which is even more reason to be following up other leads. I keep coming back to the guy who owns the cabin—maybe he saw something that he didn’t think was important at the time, maybe he could take a look at the photos and see something that we’re not.”
Gin thought for a moment. “You can’t talk to him,” she said slowly. “But what about me? I could use an assumed name, so he couldn’t trace it back to the department.”
“Oh, right. You going to go knock on his door, pretend you’re selling encyclopedias? It’s a little harder than it looks, Ace.”
Gin bit back a retort, but Tuck’s casual dismissal had the effect of emboldening her. “You said he’s dating, right? Well, I’m single. What site was it?”
Tuck raised his eyebrows. “Why, which one are you on? Never mind, forget I asked.” He tapped at his keyboard for a moment, and a dating profile came up featuring a bearded man in a Pirates ball cap with laugh lines and an appealing smile.
“He doesn’t look like a killer,” Gin observed. “Okay, let’s create a profile for me and see if I can catch his eye.”
Tuck stared at her. “Are you serious? This isn’t an episode of Scooby-Doo, Gin. I agree there’s nothing overtly threatening about him, but you’re not even—”
“Are you going to do this, or do I need to go home and do it myself? It’s just a date—in a public place, okay? A chance to feel him out, which is what you said you needed. And meanwhile you can take on the prescription drug abuse angle and see what you can turn up. And then we can meet back here at the clubhouse and compare notes.”
“Clubhouse?” Tuck echoed, shaking his head, but he was already typing. “Do me a favor, send me a selfie—a sexy one, if you’ve got it.”
In the Darkest Hour Page 12