Ceremony

by Paul Austin Ardoin

  “At least Annika Nakrivo’s okay,” Lesley said. “You’re the one who found her, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where do you want to start?”

  Bernadette pushed herself back into a sitting position. “Let’s begin with Nick LaSalle. Found anything else regarding payments?”

  “Nothing but that weird scholarship.”

  “Did you find the name of any individual behind the payment? Right now, we only have a shell company. A real person could be on the hook for murder-for-hire.”

  “Even if I found who initiated the scholarship, murder-for-hire would be tough to prove. The payment wasn’t made after Kymer Thompson’s death—only after the keylogger program was installed.” Lesley clicked on the screen again, running her finger under a date that appeared. “And that was back in October. Almost six months ago. Kymer Thompson died earlier this week, but there’s been no movement in Nick LaSalle’s bank account since then.”

  Bernadette closed her eyes. She needed some coffee. Or maybe sleep.

  “Did you—” Lesley began, then stopped and cleared her throat. “Did you know him very well?”

  “Nick LaSalle?”

  “No.” Lesley shook her head. “Curtis Janek.” Unlike Detective Dunn, she pronounced it correctly, with the Y sound at the beginning of his last name. “Had you worked together long?”

  Bernadette thought about Maura and Curtis and their hidden relationship, and how Maura would have to fight to keep herself under control because it would mean her job if she couldn’t. “Not that long. He’s worked for CSAB for a couple of years, but I was reassigned to his team a couple of months ago.”

  Lesley nodded. “I’m sorry. We lost an officer last year. Hit by a drunk driver during a traffic stop. I—I know how it feels.” She stared at her keyboard for a moment. “Do you want to see what I uncovered on Reverend Roundhouse?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s in good financial shape.”

  “Divorced a CEO, right?”

  “Yes. She gets a good chunk of alimony. Church coffers are full—a few big donors, even though the church is small.”

  “So she’d have no financial motive for killing Thompson,” Bernadette said thoughtfully.

  “I searched for signs that she was part of the bankroll. You know, for the scholarship. But nothing out of the ordinary for her accounts.”

  “What about payments for iboga plants?”

  Lesley nodded. “Yes, she bought seeds a few times over the last few years. What is it you’re looking for?”

  “Motive, I guess. It would sure help if we could locate that van.” Bernadette stretched her arms above her head. “Anything else?”

  “No. I’ll start on Annika Nakrivo’s finances tomorrow morning. And Eddie Taysatch’s too.”

  “Poor guy. Hasn’t woken up yet.” Bernadette stood. “I should go back to the hotel and get some sleep. I’m supposed to interview Annika Nakrivo in the hospital tomorrow.”

  Lesley locked her PC and stood up too. “Yes. I appreciate you coming back here. I know it’s late.”

  “I appreciate you staying so long.”

  “Are you kidding? It was great. I never get to research this much interesting stuff. I’m usually researching dudebros waving confederate flags who buy souped-up pickup trucks with cash after they get their meth lab up and running.” She coughed. “Sorry. I know you lost a colleague—that was, uh, not very professional.”

  Bernadette’s eyes lost focus, remembering Curtis’s body in the tank, then blinked and came back to the present. “It’s nice to be interested in the work you’re doing. Doesn’t happen very often.”

  “How long have you been a case analyst?”

  Bernadette snorted. “About three months.”

  “Oh—I guess I thought you’d been at CSAB a lot longer than that.”

  “Fifteen years, in fact.”

  Lesley blinked.

  “I was a full-fledged CSAB agent for a decade. Then I had too much to drink at the holiday party, and I dumped a bottle of wine over my husband’s head because he was banging the CSAB training instructor. My training instructor.” Bernadette ran her hand over her mouth. “I vaguely remember making a big, embarrassing scene. In front of my boss. And my boss’s boss.”

  Lesley stifled a laugh. “And you got demoted for that?”

  Bernadette hesitated. “I think I’d had it coming for a while, but after the wine incident, Maura couldn’t pretend everything was okay.”

  “You had it coming? What does that mean?”

  “Let’s just say I’d been off my game for a while.”

  “Are you saying you lost your mojo?”

  Bernadette straightened up and smoothed out her pantsuit. “Sorry. I’m sleep-deprived. Let me know tomorrow if you find anything of note.”

  Cursing herself for not keeping her mouth shut, Bernadette walked away from Lesley’s desk and out the door.

  Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

  Bernadette’s first thought: something’s happened to Sophie. She sat bolt upright in bed.

  The room was dark—the dream of her backyard in Virginia was fading. She sucked in a breath. Milwaukee. The Outsider Hotel. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. 3:48. She’d been asleep less than an hour.

  Buzz. Buzz.

  Bernadette groaned and looked at the screen.

  Kep.

  She answered, the growl in her voice overpowering the sleep.

  “What the hell do you want?”

  Silence for a moment. Was that the wind? Traffic in the background?

  “This better not be—”

  “I need a ride. Please.”

  “What?”

  “Can you—” Kep swallowed. Was that a break in his voice? “Can you come get me? Please?”

  Fifteen minutes later, Bernadette pulled in front of a brick three-story building in Walker’s Point. The car hadn’t fully warmed up yet, and she put her gloved hands directly over the vent, spitting out tepid air. She glanced at the sidewalk—it appeared to be empty. The only light was a neon sign in the shape of a martini glass ten feet above the street. A man stepped out of the shadows and limped toward the SUV. In the dim light, she could see it was Kep.

  “Great,” she murmured to herself. “My first assignment as case analyst, and Kep gets injured. Maura’s going to take me out behind the woodshed.” She pushed the unlock button.

  Kep opened the door, and the dome bulb shone its harsh light over his features. Bernadette recoiled—he had a black eye and the left lens of his glasses was cracked.

  “Are you okay?”

  Kep winced as he sat down. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You don’t want to talk about it?”

  Kep sank into his seat.

  How would she explain this to Maura? Broken glasses? A black eye? A limp? If Kep needed to go to the hospital, she’d find herself on the next plane to D.C., updating her résumé on her laptop.

  How badly was Kep hurt?

  Bernadette cleared her throat. “Do you need medical attention?”

  Silence.

  “Kep, do you need—”

  “No. I shook my head. I would appreciate a return to the hotel to salvage what little sleep I can get.”

  Bernadette clenched and unclenched her hands on the steering wheel. “Kep, I swear, I’m not letting you out of my sight for the rest of this trip.”

  Kep calmly reached up to his face with both hands, took his broken glasses off and placed them on his lap, then covered his face with his hands.

  Bernadette turned back to the road—they didn’t have very long before they were at the hotel. This was infuriating.

  Ugh. Were Kep’s shoulders shaking?

  Should she be more sympathetic? Kep had obviously had a rough night. But the more she tried to soften her words, the harder her heart felt. Kep had done this on purpose—he’d intentionally made her angry so she would leave him at the crime scene so he could do whatever he pleased. She w
as lucky he’d just gotten beat up—and not killed.

  At the red light turning onto First Street, she glanced over at him. His hands were still over his face.

  “What will you do about your glasses?”

  After a moment, Kep said quietly, “I have an extra pair.”

  She sighed and screwed her mouth up. Finally: “Come to my room tomorrow morning before you go downstairs. I can put some makeup on your black eye. It’ll keep Maura from asking questions.”

  He said nothing.

  They pulled in front of the Outsider Hotel in the valet area, and Kep opened the door and fled inside.

  Bernadette slammed her hand against the steering wheel and swore at the top of her lungs until the word became guttural, grinding in her throat. She stared out the windshield and caught her breath as the smiling valet walked up to the SUV.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Bernadette looked over at Maura, sitting at the conference table in the District 5 office. The lieutenant was staring at her laptop screen, dead-eyed. She’d put her makeup on that morning with a little too much color in her cheeks, her lipstick a little too heavy.

  Maura wasn’t the only one wearing more makeup than usual. Bernadette glanced at Kep; she’d done a good job hiding his black eye. He cocked his head as if Bernadette hadn’t saved his ass the night before—and even shot her a look after an almost imperceptible head tilt toward Maura: I told you so.

  Unbelievable.

  “I spoke to Lesley last night,” Bernadette said, turning her head away from Kep. “She ran some checks on Nick LaSalle’s financials.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Maura said. She sounded far away. “Did she find anything?”

  “No activity on his credit or ATM cards. And no payments or deposits into his bank accounts.”

  “Keep looking,” Maura said. “We’ll catch this bastard.”

  Silence at the table.

  “Are you satisfied with Nick LaSalle as the prime suspect?” Kep asked.

  “Not necessarily,” Maura said. “Whoever authorized that scholarship payment from Parr Medical—that will be the key to this case. Paying a hitman to kill a federal investigator has serious consequences.”

  “Miss Gill was able to get past the anonymizer,” Kep said. “We can now prove LaSalle installed the keylogger program on Kymer Thompson’s machine. However, we have yet to establish a link between that activity and the murder of Mr. Janek.”

  Maura shook her head. “I don’t want to hear it, Dr. Woodhead. You take care of figuring out how we make the case against Nick LaSalle stronger, and I’ll take care of coordinating the effort to find him.”

  “LaSalle may be in the wind,” Dunn offered. “If he had a car, he’d be able to cross the Canadian border. It’s been almost twelve hours since we rescued Annika—he could be across the border by now.”

  “We checked the trains and buses. We’ve run searches at the airports. No one matching Nick LaSalle’s name or description. No cash purchases from anyone even close.”

  Possibilities of how LaSalle could have eluded them flitted through Bernadette’s mind: falsified passports and ID documents. If LaSalle had shaved his face and cut his hair, he’d look like a different person.

  “Hey,” Dunn said, “did you see that crazy Delphi church is actually going through with their anchor ceremony tonight?”

  “I never thought it was off,” Bernadette said.

  Dunn plowed ahead. “Listen to this: ‘Come join Agios Delphi as we celebrate the dropping of the anchor for Kymer Henry Thompson.’ Call me crazy, but that sounds weird.” Dunn shook her head. “I give my email to those people to get me information about a murder, and they think they can put me on their newsletter list.”

  “We asked Reverend Roundhouse to invite us to that,” Bernadette said. “The last time we interviewed her in the chapel.”

  “When is the service?” Kep said.

  “Six thirty. In the Anne Askew chapel, of course.” Dunn practically spat the words.

  “I’m off to grab some coffee,” Bernadette said, standing and putting on her puffy purple coat.

  “Get me a refill, too,” Maura said, staring at the screen.

  “I’m not getting the coffee here—I’m heading to Colectivo,” Bernadette said.

  Maura looked up briefly. “Oh—then a large Americano.”

  “Same,” said Dunn.

  Bernadette took a deep breath to calm herself, then put on her coat.

  “I’ll be glad to come with you.” Kep jumped to his feet, grabbing his parka. “You could use the extra set of hands.”

  “I can use a drink carrier. Besides, I need some time to think. Walking is good for that.”

  “I’ll be quiet.”

  “I won’t be very good company.”

  “That’s never stopped me before.” He walked ahead of Bernadette toward the front of the building.

  They left through the double doors, Kep zipping up his parka as he walked outside. “Do you believe me now about Maura and Curtis?”

  “I’m still pissed off at you, if you couldn’t tell. You’re welcome for the makeup, by the way.” The air was cold; Bernadette wished she had her scarf.

  “The makeup has a high level of free isocyanates. It smells like paint, which is quite distracting. Fortunately, much of the scent has dispersed.”

  Bernadette stomped on an area of the sidewalk where the snow hadn’t been swept away. “I don’t care if you hate the way it smells.”

  Kep knitted his brows and glanced at Bernadette quickly before turning his head forward again. “Let’s move past it. I’m focused today on the reasons Nick LaSalle would kidnap Annika. Particularly puzzling is—"

  “Move past it? No.” Bernadette glared at him. “I don’t know what you don’t understand about our situation. I know you can be serious about this, but you’re treating the investigation like a mind game. I understand if you want to take calls from your P.I. about your son’s death, but not if you want to get drunk and provoke people into beating you up. These games are why case analysts quit rather than work with you. You goad them into making bad decisions.” She pointed at his chest without looking at him. “I could have been fired, Kep.”

  “But you weren’t.”

  “What if the guy who took a swing at you had a knife instead? Or a gun? You think after Maura ID’d you in the morgue, I’d get near an investigation again?”

  “You’re overreacting.”

  Bernadette turned on Kep, drawing herself up to her full height. “Did you do your research on me, Kep? I lost a partner in Wichita when the bust we made went sideways. I want to—” She paused. She wanted to get her mojo back, as Lesley had implied. She wanted to have a working relationship where she wasn’t being insulted in sixteenth-century verse. “I don’t want to lose another partner.” She stepped back, breathing heavily. “Even if you are the dumbest asshole I’ve ever met.”

  Kep’s eyes went wide behind his glasses.

  “Oh, you might have book smarts, my friend, but you don’t seem to understand that the ice you’re on is just as thin as mine.”

  Kep stood in front of Bernadette, blinking slowly.

  “CSAB puts months of effort and tens of thousands of dollars into training its people,” Bernadette said quietly. “Five case analysts, Kep. You’ve burned through five case analysts in two years. That’s at least a quarter-million dollars in training down the toilet.” She shook her head. “And sure, your close rate is fantastic. But it won’t be long until some bean counter above Maura starts making noise about what a poor investment it is to bring you on as a consultant.” She stuck her hands in her pockets. “I bet the only reason you’re still employed with CSAB is that they stuck us together to force me to quit.”

  “Maura wouldn’t do that,” Kep said.

  “Maybe Maura still has faith in me. Maybe. But I’ll wager a thousand bucks the higher-ups are using you to get my resignation letter.”

  Kep was quiet.

  Bernad
ette turned and kept walking, Kep following a step behind. That was a stupid thing to say to him, but until it was out of her mouth, she didn’t quite realize how screwed she was. If she stood up to Kep and his random insanity and vanishing acts, she’d drive a wedge between herself and the most successful investigative consultant CSAB had ever had. If she let him use her as a doormat, she’d get blamed for not being able to control him. And she needed to stick around to qualify for her pension—not to mention pay for Sophie’s college. She glanced over at him. “Hey, your limp is gone.”

  “Ice and elevation.”

  “Ice?”

  “There’s an ice machine down the hall from my hotel room. And the dry-cleaning bag can be utilized for a satisfactory makeshift ice pack.”

  He lapsed back into silence.

  For a moment, all she heard was the sound of their boots crushing the remnants of the snow on the sidewalk.

  “I wanted to be alone,” Kep said softly.

  “It doesn’t matter to me what you do, Kep. Go to a dealer and get some cocaine. Pick up a hooker. Whatever. But I’m responsible for you, and when you disappear, there is no excuse good enough. And I’ve been an idiot.”

  “Maura doesn’t care.”

  “It’s Maura’s ass on the line, too, Kep,” Bernadette said as they crossed Locust Street. “You think there won’t be an investigation into why Curtis went to Annika’s dorm alone? Into why Maura let him take the SUV? Maura’s got to be beside herself with worry that someone will uncover their affair. And you think now she’ll sweep your cute little disappearances under the rug?”

  Kep ran his hand over his beard. “My private investigator essentially fired me as a client.” He pushed his glasses back up his nose. “I don’t think I’ll ever know who killed my son.”

  Bernadette grunted. “So you decided to get drunk and mouth off to a random guy in a bar?”

  He didn’t respond. Bernadette felt a pang of guilt—but shook her head. She picked up the pace, and Kep sped up, walking right alongside her.

  After a moment, Kep looked up. “Didn’t we miss the coffee place?”

  “I didn’t want coffee. I wanted to get out of the office.”