“They found freshly disturbed dirt about two miles from Josey’s dump site. CSIs are on scene. They pulled a plastic bag out of the ground.”
“Tell me they got the knife,” Fletch demands. “Blood-soaked clothes?”
“Knife. The missing phone. A pair of plastic three-XL coveralls, still sticky with blood. A ball cap. And Josey’s car keys.”
“Fuckin’ A.” Fletch slaps the laptop closed and tugs the cords from the side port. “We’re gonna head out and meet up with CSIs now. Clay will drive, and I’ll watch footage while we’re moving. Arch, you and Banks go to the George Stanley and see if something shakes loose with the mom.” He hugs the laptop to his chest and circles the table. “We’re cornering this motherfucker. We’re gonna tie him up nice and tight, then we’re putting this case behind us and going back to our designated corners.” He stops by the door, hesitating with his hand on the knob as he looks from me to Drake. “We’re close, so I’m gonna need you to put all that shit back in the bottle. Drake, you be a water cooler if that’s what it takes. Water coolers don’t talk, they don’t argue, and they don’t escalate an already tense situation. Clay.” He barks the boy’s name and makes him jump. “Let’s go.”
MINKA
Raquel
Boss, I’m not saying you hurt my feelings or anything, but I waited for you on Tuesday because you wanted me to pull your blood.
You stood me up.
Then you said you’d come find me yesterday. That didn’t happen either.
Now it’s Thursday, so…
Guilt pulses in my chest due to my poor communication skills, but I lock my phone without replying and study the shiny steel elevator doors in the George Stanley lobby. I loiter by the front desk and wait for Sylvia’s arrival. But while I’m here, I can’tnotsee the horde of media crews battling each other for space on the sidewalk outside. They shout their questions and point their cameras this way.
Harrison stands guard by the revolving glass doors, mercifullyinsidethe cool air and out of the burning sun. He looks ready to go to war, to drop bombs on heads and destroy expensive cameras if a single reporter takes even a single step wrong. Fortunately, he won’t have to. Because, although the George Stanley is a city-owned building, it’s not a publicly accessible space, which means reporters don’t get to come in without being slapped with trespassing charges.
“They’re really excited about the Gloria Donohue stuff, huh?” Exhaling a tired sigh, I push away from the front desk and wander forward, stopping on Harrison’s left. “They really want me to go out there and make a statement about that case in New York.”
“I strongly suggest you don’t.” He doesn’t wrap his hand around my arm, but I catch the flex of his fingers. The readiness, just in case. “They keep citing the Freedom of Information Act, but that doesn’t mean they can demand a statement from you, Chief Mayet.”
“I have no plans to go out there.” I look straight down the barrel of a camera pointed this way and know, despite the tinted glass fronting this building, they’re probably gettingsomething. Grainy, maybe. Dark. But something. So I turn on my heels and give them nothing. “Do they approach you when I’m not with you, Mr. Harrison?”
He casts a wary glance toward the revolving doors, then he spins and follows me toward the unmanned front desk, where Sophia’s crew removed the old computer and plopped a new one down, but haven’t even peeled the plastic off the side. “They approached me once.” He stops in front of me and uses his broad body to keep me off the news. “Just one time. And then they realized their cameras mysteriously stopped working, their recorders somehow went on the fritz, and they didn’t have proof of the promises I’d made to disembowel them if they came near me again.”
Piqued, I bring my eyes up to his.
“My threats were quite graphic and could’ve gotten me in trouble with a judge. It sure is too bad their method of proving such an incident occurred malfunctioned when they needed it most.”
“Shame.” Snickering, I peer across as the numbers above the elevator illuminate and make their way down. From five to four. To three. To two. It blows past one and stops in the underground parking garage. “Looks like my next meeting has arrived.” I step away from the desk and cross the sparkling lobby floor, then I tap the call button so that on her way up, Sylvia Ryan will stop here, and I can join her. While I wait, I glance over my shoulder and watch my guard’s beady stare burn the dozens of people outside. “Mr. Harrison?”
He peels his eyes from the windows and brings them across to me. “Yes, Chief?”
“Has my husband asked you to keep notes on my health today?”
Confused, his brows wing high. “Chief?”
“Water intake. Coloring in my cheeks. If I look weak, or sick, orstressed, or like I might be bleeding in a way I shouldn’t. Has he asked you to ask me how I feel every twenty minutes?”
A gentle smile crosses his lips, but he drops his gaze and shakes his head. “No, Chief. He hasn’t. But, uh…” He brings his eyes up again. “How are you feeling?”
I cough out a fast snicker, but as the elevator dings its arrival, I school my features and refuse to show a grieving woman my smile. “I’m well, thank you, Mr. Harrison.” Turning to the thick steel doors, I wait as they open and meet the red-rimmed, dangerously puffy gaze of a woman whose entire world was stolen from her this week. “Sylvia Ryan?” I step into the elevator and select the second floor. “I’m Chief Mayet. I’ll take you to your daughter.”
Weak, she swipes her nose with a handful of tissues fisted in her hand. “Thank you.”
I tip my chin in farewell to Harrison, and as the doors close, I study the woman’s reflection in the shiny exterior.
“You look a lot like her, you know?”
She weeps.
“Or, well… she looks a lot like you.”