“Hey,” Connor called out.
“What?” Mark swung around. He sounded annoyed, because he was annoyed. No, he was downright pissed at himself. For being wrong about Brian Talbot. For taking his anger out on Annie.
Pissed that another father had killed his own kid. Pissed that those kinds of monsters existed out in this world.
Fucking pissed that he’d let his sister down.
“You okay?” Juan asked.
“He fucking killed his own daughter! No, I’m not okay!”
* * *
Mark got home, fed Bacon, texted Annie another apology, and showered. The hot, sudsy water washed away his sweat but not his frustration. It wasn’t like they’d really had an argument. No one had raised their voice. She’d been upset. He’d been upset. She’d asked him to leave.
He’d left.
Oh, hell, he’d screwed up. Or had the real screw-up been getting involved to start with? He wasn’t cut out for relationships. Was that why he’d done it? Had he subconsciously sabotaged what Annie and he were building? Hadn’t he been afraid of wanting her too much?
But fuck! He was beginning to sound like Murdock.
The temptation to pour himself a glass of whiskey bit hard. He even went in the kitchen and stared at the cabinet where he kept the stuff that got him through tough times.
He didn’t open that cabinet. He opened the fridge, poured himself a glass of milk, parked his ass and his laptop at the kitchen table, and decided to do something constructive—combing through the Jenny Reed file and preparing his notes to present to Juan and Connor.
The information in the file had him taking notes every few minutes. Several different family members were interviewed. It appeared the whole damn family had gone on the camping trip. The notes, taken by an Officer Raffin, stated there were sixteen Reed family members there. He started his file by noting all of those whom he’d interviewed. It even listed Francyne Roberts. But Mark noted right away who wasn’t listed as being interviewed—JoAnne or Annie Lakes. Why?
He started reading. There were discrepancies in the different family members’ statements. One said they realized five-year-old Jenny was missing around six. One said eight. One said the kids had been playing in the woods, another said they were playing by the lake.
Which was it?
Officer Raffin noted the discrepancies and even wrote SDFR, which was standard for “Something doesn’t feel right.”
He also had names and addresses and notes on his interviews with a few bikers who’d camped at the park. Ruffin stated all the bikers willingly cooperated. That clearly meant the officer’s suspicions were not aimed at them.
Mark continued to read the Reed interviews. Again, there were discrepancies. Raffin even circled those passages.
A few pages in, Mark read about the interview with the young Francyne Roberts: Child, age six, not helpful. Child appeared traumatized. When asked where her cousin went missing, she claimed she didn’t remember. When asked if Jenny went into the lake, she claimed she might have. The second child, Annie Lakes, who had also been with the missing cousin, is not present. I was told she fell and had to go to the hospital to get stitches in her knee. Will follow up on interview with her and her mother later.
“Fuck!” And there it was. Another piece of the puzzle. Another piece of the truth. Annie had gotten that scar at the lake and not from a bicycle fall. Maybe Murdock was wrong about how accurate dreams were. Why had her mother lied to Annie?
Mark turned to the page in the file, but there wasn’t one. All he found was an envelope resting inside the back of the manila folder.
Where were the notes on the interview with Annie and her mom?
He opened the envelope. A photograph fell out. A photograph of a little blond girl with big blue eyes. A photograph of innocence.
Jenny Reed smiled and looked right into the camera. A knot formed in Mark’s throat. Normally, it was the pictures of the dead ones that gnarled his chest. Then again, she was another dead girl. A girl that from now on, he would refer to as the victim, because saying the name hurt too much.
It didn’t even matter that it had happened twenty years ago.
It didn’t matter that he’d been eleven at the time.
He stared at the image. The fact that she looked like Annie made it hurt that much more.
“Who hurt you?” he said aloud. “Who let you down? Who…didn’t protect you?”
And there it was, the voice from his past. Don’t go, Mark. Please. I’m scared. What if Daddy comes home yelling again? Who will keep me safe from Daddy, if you go?
It had been a fucking party. He’d traded his sister’s life, hadn’t been there to protect her, for a few fucking beers and a chance to get laid.
Milk wasn’t cutting it. He went to the cabinet where he kept his whiskey.
* * *
“How many classes did you agree to teach in the fall?” Isabella asked as she pulled up in the college parking lot.
“Seven.” Annie stared at her phone, at Mark’s text, unsure what to text back. She’d been so upset, she hadn’t even heard it come in.
He’d been wrong. But so had she.
The whole thing was wrong. They should have never gone out. Now, wouldn’t it be best to…Oh, heck, she probably shouldn’t have taken her car to Mark’s friend and taken advantage of his offer.
Isabella said something, but Annie hadn’t heard it. Instead, she offered, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Isabella parked.
Annie reached to the floorboard for her purse and briefcase holding the papers she needed to grade. She should’ve done them last night, but she’d been too busy having sex.
Could something that had felt so right have been a mistake?
And speaking of mistakes, why had Annie thought dredging all this up would help? It was making things worse. Fran was missing. Annie’s mother might not ever speak to her again.
Annie reached for the door handle as Isabella touched her arm. “You okay?”
She hadn’t told Isabella about the mess, because she hadn’t come to grips with it. “My mom let herself in my apartment this morning.”
“Did you talk again?”
“Mark was there.”
“Ohh…” Isabella said it like it was a good thing. Followed by, “Ohh,” like it wasn’t. “What happened?” A smile lit up her eyes. “She didn’t see him naked or anything.”
“He had on his boxers, but the thing is, she knows he’s the cop investigating Jenny’s disappearance.”
“How?”
“Yesterday he went to interview my aunt about my cousin Fran being missing.” Annie slumped back in the car seat. “He thinks my mother is behind Jenny’s murder. And he didn’t tell me any of that until this morning.”
“He told you that?”
“He called her a suspect.” She swallowed back tears. “How am I going to live with myself if my mom goes to jail? I was nuts to start this relationship.”
Isabella took her hand. “Hey, in all this time, all these years you’ve had that dream, you never suspected your mom to be the bad guy, did you?”
“No. Recently I’ve started to suspect she’s hiding things but not—”
“Then believe it. Hold on to that. I’ve met your mom. She’s not a murderer, Annie.”
* * *
Mark walked into his office at noon. He had two hours before the Harden interview. Both Juan and Connor were gone. Probably out to lunch.
He dropped into his chair, almost missing it. Putting his gun in the drawer and his phone on the desktop, he snatched a pencil. He rolled it between his palms as he stared at his phone. Annie still hadn’t called or texted.
That was fucked up. He was fucked up. Fucked up for starting this. And even more for being an ass.
He tossed the pencil across the room, wishing it had made a bigger crash to fit his mood. But hell, he had work to do. And getting to the bottom of what happened to Annie’s cousin was his work. He hadn’t wan
ted this case. Annie had brought it to him.
His mind went to the Reed report. He had questions. He rushed out of his office, hitting the edge of his desk in his haste, and went to seek answers.
The obvious place to find them wasn’t the wisest lead to follow right now, but he didn’t care.
He walked into his sergeant’s office. Brown sat at his desk, a Big Mac in his hands, French fries on a napkin, and ketchup on his tie.
“What’s up?” Brown asked.
Mark dropped his ass in the chair. “Did you read the morgue report on the Talbot victim?”
“Not yet. Why?”
“It’s pointing us to the father again.”
Brown dropped his burger and it fell apart. “I told you I liked that bastard for this.”
“I know. I was wrong.” Mark hated admitting that. “Anyway, we found Johnny Cash. His real name is Johnny Harden and he’s coming here. I talked with him yesterday. He swore he could still identify the guy who rolled the barrel into the lake.”
“He can swear all he wants. But he admitted to being drunk, so his testimony won’t impress a DA.”
“Why? His testimony was what led to us finding the body.”
“I see your point, but they’ll question it.”
Mark leaned into the desk. “I don’t give a shit what they question. He’s a good witness.”
Brown lifted his chin up and sniffed. “You’ve been drinking?”
“A couple at lunch,” Mark lied. “I’m not due in until two.”
“Then leave. Get some coffee, I can’t have you here like this.” Brown put his hamburger back together. “Out! Come see me after the interview. And be sober, damn it!”
Mark ignored the order. “Did you know an Officer Raffin?”
Brown frowned. “Yeah. He worked here when I hired on. Why?”
“Remember our case I called Sheriff Harper about?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know it was our case. Is it?” He took a bite of his lunch. Another glob of ketchup landed on his tie.
“It turned out the kid went missing here. Raffin is the one who looked into it. I read the report and I have questions. Is he here?”
Brown swallowed. “Retired. I saw him last year at a little coffee shop down the street. He’d lost his wife and was moving into an assisted living home. He has to be eighty, but he sounded good.”
“You have his number?”
“No, but I remember where he said he’d moved to. My mother-in-law used to live there. It’s called Retreat Living. By the old library on Macon Street.” Brown frowned. “Now, get your ass out of here and don’t come back until you’re stone sober. Being drunk on the job is what landed you in the Cold Case Unit!”
“And I’ve been happier ever since,” Mark said.
Brown’s scowl was enough for Mark to realize he’d pushed it.
“I’m leaving.”
* * *
Mark snagged the old Talbot case file Juan had been working on and walked to the coffee shop, now sober enough to realize he’d been stupid to have driven to work. He’d never done that before. Nothing about today was normal. Somehow, he needed to train Bacon to hide his keys when he drank.
He ordered a Venti espresso then sat down at Annie’s table.
An old man sitting at a nearby table lowered his newspaper and nodded at him. Mark nodded back.
He opened the case files, swallowed two aspirins with his first sip of coffee, then started reading. As he read, something kept bugging him. As if his mind was about to connect some dots that hadn’t been connected.
He continued poring over the files. What was bothering him?
The bell over the door rang, Mark looked up.
Annie walked in. Their gazes met. Seeing her sobered him quicker than the coffee he’d consumed. He smiled. The fact that she didn’t smile back almost made him frown. He popped up and motioned for her to join him.
She lowered in the chair, he eased down in the chair beside her.
“Hey,” he said.
“I can’t stay. I have a class.”
“I called, left a message, and texted. I’m—”
“I know.”
“You’re angry,” he said.
“I’m not…I’m worried.”
“About?”
“This.” She waved a hand between them. “It’s messy.”
“I’ll admit it’s messy.” He leaned in, remembering thinking he might have subconsciously sabotaged this himself, but right now he hated himself for it. “But can I say it’s also friggin’ great?”
She lifted her chin. “Have you been…drinking?”
He emotionally flinched. “I had a few at lunch. Annie, I don’t want to lose this.”
“I don’t either. But there’s the case and then there’s us. I’m not sure we can keep them separate.”
He chose his words carefully. “You’re right. We can’t. But we can accept that I’m doing what you wanted me to do. My job is to find answers. And yes, some of those answers might be difficult for you to accept. I don’t like that, don’t like hurting you, but I’d like to be there for you whatever happens. And this morning…I should have handled it differently.”
Her frown said she didn’t like his chosen words. “You really think my mom did this?”
He had to be honest. “I think she’s lying about something.”
“Have you found anything else out?”
He hesitated. “We found the Missing Persons file on Jenny.”
“And you didn’t tell me about that either?”
“It was found this morning.” He decided not to add that there might be some stuff he couldn’t tell her. Thankfully, he hadn’t found anything that crucial, yet.
“And?” she asked.
“A cop interviewed everyone at the camp. There were discrepancies in their stories.”
“What did my mom say?” The pain flashing in her eyes sent guilt lapping around his sore hung over soul.
“Your mom wasn’t interviewed.” He should stop there, he wanted to stop there, but she’d hear this later. “It stated that she’d been there, but had left because she’d taken her daughter to the hospital to get stitches.”
Annie’s eyes grew moist. She reached down and touch the scar on her knee. All his pent-up anger suddenly found a target. Annie’s mom. How dare she hurt Annie like this!
Annie buried her teeth into her lip before she spoke. “But it doesn’t mean…she’s responsible for what happened to Jenny.”
“You’re right. But I think she knows who is.”
Annie blinked as if to hold back tears. One collected in the corner of her lashes. “Could she…go to jail for that?”
He wished he could offer her the answer she wanted. “I can’t say without knowing the details.”
She looked away. “I have to get my coffee. My class starts in ten minutes.”
“Let me get it.” He popped up, ordered her coffee, dropped a five-dollar bill, then sat down while they made it. He put his hand on hers. “Don’t push me away. I’m not a dick, even though I behaved like one this morning.”
He saw hesitation in her eyes. “I was upset, too,” she said.
A weight lifted off his chest. “I work late tonight, but tomorrow, how about you come to my place?” He smiled. “Bacon’s been dying to meet you.”
His attempt at humor fell flat.
She nodded.
He leaned in and kissed her, not thinking about his whiskey breath or about being in public, until it was too late.
They called his name for her coffee. He popped up and delivered it to her. The up and down made his head pound, but he didn’t care. He deserved the pain.
She stood up. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He touched her cheek, wanting to pull her against him. Wanting to take the hurt away, the hurt he was partly responsible for.
She turned to go, and he caught her arm and moved in to whisper. “Don’t forget to be careful. Whoever is responsible for Fran Rob
erts’s disappearance could just as easily try to make you disappear.” Saying it made his gut clench. “Do you want to stay at my place?”
“No. I’m staying with Isabella for a few nights.”
“Okay. I’ll call you later.”
He watched her walk away and, right or wrong, he realized how much he wanted her to stay in his life.
Chapter Nineteen
Annie had finished her class and had an hour to kill before her next one started. Feeling drained emotionally and physically, she’d decided to grab another coffee and a pastry.
She’d just gotten seated when Fred walked to her table.
“Mind some company?” he asked.
“No.” She waved at the chair, determined to not let her mood rub off on the sweet old man.
He eased down. She noticed he seemed to be moving slower. “You okay?”
“Hunky-dory,” he said.
“You finish the crossword puzzle today?” she asked.
“Yup.” He frowned. “You don’t look okay. You didn’t look okay when you met with the famous detective.”
“Oh.” She didn’t have words to explain, so she just said, “It’s fine.”
“You seeing him?”
She hesitated and decided not to lie. “Yeah, kind of.”
“Can I kind of give you a little advice?”
“Yes.”
“Be careful.”
“Why?” she asked.
“He’s a cop.”
“You…don’t like cops?”
He looked at his mug and turned it, before lifting his gaze. “I used to be one. Cops make lousy boyfriends. And husbands.”
“I don’t believe that. I’ve heard you talk about your wife Gertrude.”
“She was my fifth wife.”
“Wow. Seriously?”
“Yup. Finally wised up. It’s mostly the job’s fault. It damages you. But then you have to look at the reason why most of us become cops. Some join the force because they like playing God. Some because they feel like they owe God something. Point is, cops come with baggage.”
“Don’t we all?” Annie asked.
Don't Close Your Eyes Page 18