“We had quite a few DUI checkpoints the night of New Year’s Eve for the obvious reasons,” he explained, flipping through pages. “Arrested plenty of people, got quite a few for outstanding warrants and what have you, but we were also keeping an eye out for anyone who fit the general description of that composite I showed you not too long ago.”
“Did you get any tips after the news coverage?”
“Too many.” He selected a few glossy pages and slid them over to me. “We’re combing through every last one of them. Plenty are bound to be from annoyed ex-girlfriends and nosy neighbors, but we’re hopeful we’ll find something promising. In the meantime,” he tapped his fingers on the pages, “we’ve decided to show these mug shots to you and the neighbor of Arlene Fuller. Go ahead and look through them. I know there’s a lot, but let me know if you recognize anybody. Doesn’t matter where from. These are all men with criminal priors who resemble the composite.”
I spread the pages out on the kitchen table. Each contained six mug shots; twenty-four possible suspects. The kitchen lights reflected over every set of eyes, making them all look maniacal, lascivious, completely capable of rape and murder. I scanned every face slowly, chewing the inside of my cheek, knowing it would be a fruitless endeavor, when a chipped crimson nail crept into my peripherals.
Jess leaned over the table, cocking her head to gaze at the mug shot head-on. “Hmm.” She traced the contours of a man’s face with her fingertip. “I feel like I’ve seen this one before.”
So much for her promising to keep her trap shut.
Pushing her hand away, I looked up at Detective Matthews. “She didn’t know Carissa or Arlene Fuller, before you get excited.”
He gave the pair of us a quizzical look. “Where do you think you’ve seen him?”
“Some bar in South Boston, I think.” She tilted her head, eyes reduced to black slits from her heavy liner. “I only remember because he wouldn’t stop hitting on my friend. We had to leave, he was so persistent.” She sat back in her chair, shrugging. “You always remember the jerks.”
Detective Matthews nodded. “They’re all jerks with criminal backgrounds. Your friend, what does she look like?”
“Long brown hair. Hazel eyes. More brown than green. She’s gorgeous. I always feel like a troll standing next to her.”
“Would you say she’s small-framed?” Small framed like Carissa had been, and Arlene before her. I knew why he was asking. Could this be the guy? I had a hard time believing someone like Jess could break this case wide open.
“She’s about my size. So yes.”
He looked down at the photo, removed a pen from his coat pocket, and drew a small X on the corner.
Jess met my eyes from across the table, a surprisingly sober expression on her face.
“What about you, Ben?”
I wished with all that was left of my heart that I could give him a different answer. “Nobody. I hope you have better luck with Arlene’s neighbor.”
He gave a short sigh and collected the mug shots, stuffing them back into the canvas binder. “I hope so, too. Good news is we got DNA swabs on all these guys since they were all booked for either DUI or drunk and disorderly. It’ll take some time to run every panel, but maybe we’ll get lucky. We’re not at a complete standstill anymore, in any case.”
“There’s the silver lining I’ve been looking for,” I said, rising as he stood. “Thanks for keeping me updated.”
“Any time.” He gave Jess a curt nod and shook my hand before he took his leave.
I shut the door behind him and rested my head against it for a few seconds, trying to pray that this would lead to an actual arrest, but probably failing since God and I weren’t exactly on speaking terms.
Jess gave a little tentative throat-clear behind me. “You really think that might be him, that guy I recognized?” She paused, but there was a shiver in her voice when she continued. “That’s the scariest thing, that I could have been right next to the guy who did this horrible shit.”
“Is it?” I pressed my forehead into the door a little harder, wondering how much pressure I had to exert to make my head cave in. A few days ago, I thought I’d be finished with Jess, through with Nick and his cryptic smiles. Nick must have read The Art of War at some point. All warfare is based on deception, Sun Tzu said. No kidding. Hold out baits to entice the enemy. Well, he’d offered one hell of a bait, dangling the sparkly lure of being able to speak to Carissa again in the ocean of my grief.
But then I remembered another one of Sun Tzu’s gems: Attack him where he is unprepared. I had little weapons in my arsenal, but I had his girlfriend sitting in my kitchen right now, practically groveling for me to accept her apology. She’d followed me as I stormed out of the office that day, seemed genuinely surprised about Nick’s intentions, tried to talk me off the ledge. That had to mean something. She wouldn’t be here right now if she was that terrible a person. She would have said don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out if she was as bad as her boyfriend. It wouldn’t hurt to have his girlfriend sympathetic to my plight if he was going to carry on with his plans. He might not be prepared for me having an ally in Jess.
“She told me you talked to her, you know,” I said.
“Who did?”
“The machine that sounds like her. The one I’ve been calling.”
“Well, I had to test her before she could be cleared for calling, it’s not like I asked her anything personal about the two of you—”
“She would have made a joke, or something.” I pushed my fingers into my eyes, my back still facing her. “When you spoke to her. I know she would have, that’s the kind of person she was.”
“I asked her to identify herself after she greeted me, and she said, major pain in the ass speaking.” I heard her shift in her chair. “She tried to turn questions around on me. Asked my name after I asked for hers, the same with my birthday. Gemini? So tell me, are you two-faced? It was hard to keep her on topic, but it was probably the most interesting conversation I’d had when testing.”
“She did that with me, too. The night I first met her. She didn’t really like talking about herself too much. For every question I asked her, she had three to ask me. Kind of made me feel like an ass, like I was hogging the spotlight, but she rigged the conversation that way, so what could I do?”
I heard the smile in her voice. “Maybe she wanted to keep you guessing. Play the mysterious card, seize the upper hand. I guess it worked, huh?”
“Yeah. It definitely worked.” I crossed my arms over my chest and turned around, leaning against the wall. “I used to wonder what people thought when they saw us together. Like if they figured I was as rich as Scrooge McDuck to get someone like her.”
She looked me up and down, from my beat to shit Nikes to the dark hair I hadn’t washed in two days. “You’re not that bad. You might learn how to use an iron and wear something other than flannel now and then, but other than that…”
“She used to roll her eyes at the flannel, too.” I scratched the back of my neck, heaving out a huge sigh. “Ask me if I thought I was Paul Bunyan or something.”
She looked up at me from under her spidery lashes, her dark eyes big and glassy, hands clasped in her lap so hard her knuckles shone an opalescent white, like they’d burst clean through her skin. I never noticed that she was as petite as Carissa, looked as tiny sitting in that kitchen chair as Carissa always had.
It struck me the longer I gazed at her in perfect silence that her eyes were shinier than usual because she could have been blinking back tears. And how many times had Carissa sat right there, blinking back tears of her own?
The tears were a good thing. I could use tears. I could play on her tears the way Dexter played with mice. Well not as expertly as Dexter played with mice, but I could try, anyway.
I slumped into the seat Detective Matthews had vacated, jabbing my forefinger into my forehead.
“I know how hard this whole thing has been for you,
” she finally said, hardly above a whisper. “And I am sorry about what Nick’s decided to do. It’s your choice whether you want to come into the office to talk to him some more. Neither of us are going to badger you.”
I nodded mutely as her hand squeezed my shoulder, but I didn’t look up. I didn’t want her to see the wheels turning behind my eyes as I thought what to say next that might further play on her pity.
That shoulder squeeze must have been her farewell, though, because the side door opened, letting in a whirling gust of frostbitten air, and then she was gone.
M aybe I was a masochist, but I was a masochist with a plan. A shaky plan, a house of cards type deal, but a plan nonetheless. The general who wins a battle makes many calculations in his temple before the battle is fought. My temple was my home office and my calculations were limited, but wouldn’t Sun Tzu tell me to forge on if he were alive?
Probably not, I had to admit as I punched in the buzzer to that dilapidated old mill on 311 Emery. He’d probably say, hey there Ben, you may want to go back to that little temple of yours and consider the fact that you’ve got few cards to play and next to no experience in manipulation.
But I had Jess, and I had the fact that Nick needed me to help him, or so he’d claimed. It was better than nothing, and it bolstered my confidence as I saw a shape looming behind the glass door, coming ever nearer.
Jess didn’t look surprised to see me as she let me inside because I’d actually bothered to make an appointment this time. I, however, was deeply surprised to see her without a face full of makeup caked on an inch thick. Her Sharpie eyeliner, gunked-up eyelashes, painted eyebrows, red lips—all gone. She looked like she was twelve years old, apart from the purple shadows bleeding into deep hollows beneath her eyes. A sleepy little elf, up all night fixing shoes for a cobbler.
“Sorry I’m not the ravishing creature you’re used to seeing.” She gestured to her tattered sweatpants, the sweater hanging loose off a freckle-swept shoulder, black hair in a riot of frizzy curls haloing her face like a wig of tangled barbed wire. “You asked to come in so early, and I’m never awake before eight. But I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable, and…I know you’re more comfortable with me than with him. Thanks for coming. Nick’s happy you decided to hear him out.”
“I’m really not here for Nick, you know.”
She jammed a fist to her mouth, stifling a violent yawn that nearly doubled her over. “He’s cleaning up downstairs. We can wait at my desk until he’s ready.”
Cleaning up what?
An icy sense of foreboding slithered down my spine as we headed down the familiar, serpentine corridors, and I remembered how confusing the twists and turns were during my first visit to the office. Now I’d be able to find my way out blindfolded.
She kept pace with me as we walked this time, but whether it was meant as a show of support or because she was tired, I couldn’t be sure.
“I got coffee if you’re interested, but you’re looking pretty bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” she said.
“I’m fine.” Nerves were keeping my heart rate accelerated. Splashing more caffeine over my spiking pulse might be enough to give me a heart attack.
She tripped over her fuzzy slipper before she slid into her swivel chair, yawning hugely so I could see every one of her molars.
“It shouldn’t be too much longer.” She knocked back a slug of coffee from a Styrofoam travel cup.
“Do you know what he’s showing me?” I hadn’t meant to ask. It kind of ruined the cool and collected demeanor I wanted to exude, but I couldn’t help myself.
She worked the lid off her cup and peered within, swilling the dregs. “I have an idea. Probably the same stuff he showed me in the beginning. Just some video files on his computer, nothing freaky.”
I had a feeling her idea of ‘freaky’ and mine differed drastically.
“Why doesn’t he ever tell you anything?” I asked, watching her slosh a fountain of coffee from a travel jug into her Styrofoam cup. “You never seem to have any idea what he’s up to. I mean, come on, Jess. He’s your boyfriend. Shouldn’t he be sharing things with you?”
She shrugged like it was a meaningless question, but I saw something flicker in her eyes over the rim of her cup. “This is kind of a delicate situation. I understand that. I’m generally busy with the Lingering side of this business, anyway. It’s not like he wouldn’t tell me stuff if I were to ask.” But she said the last part as if reinforcing it to herself. Like it was a mantra that might ring true if she said it enough times, a lie she might believe if she repeated it frequently.
“Well I think it’s bullshit. I’d want to know if my girlfriend was down in a lab somewhere playing Dr. Frankenstein.”
“There are plenty of things he really can’t discuss with me. This involves work he’s done with his team back in Switzerland, and they wouldn’t take kindly to knowing he’s giving people insider knowledge on their intellectual property. It’s a whole lot bigger than me and him. We both realize that.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, sinking back into the swivel chair. I still thought her incuriosity was a crock, that somewhere deep down she hated being kept so far out of Nick’s loop. It had to make her feel less-than to be held at arm's length.
Something caught in my peripheral vision. I turned to see a hand appear around the dividing wall of the cubicle and looked up into Nick’s face.
“Glad you’re back,” he said, sweeping his fingers through his tousled hair. “We’re going to have to move this party downstairs, though.”
He looked like he’d been up for hours, his skin white and waxen, like the silicone flesh he’d showed me back in his lab. His eyes looked like they’d sunk further back into his skull than usual, but they were still lit with that smirking smile I hated so much.
Jess groaned as she stood, and I let her hobble around me before I followed the pair of them down the hallway toward the flight of stairs which led to the lower floor of the mill. Her shuffling slippers filled the silence until Nick stopped at a different door than the one concealing his lab. He fumbled with his key ring, selected the correct one, and slid it into the lock.
“What are you showing me?” I asked, stepping into the room. No antiseptic lab equipment filled this area, just file cabinets, a desk holding a thrumming computer, and a table and chairs situated in the center.
Nick flipped open a file on the desk, pulling out a stapled packet of papers. “You gotta sign this first. Just a formality.”
“NDA’s aren’t exactly a formality,” I said dryly, stabbing the header of the first page, where NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT had been typed in sixteen-point bolded font.
“Everyone who’s seen this has signed the same thing. Do it or don’t.”
I accepted the pen he proffered and scrawled my signature, hunched over the desk. Nick snapped the NDA up and stuffed it back into the folder.
“Grab a chair.”
Jess and I dragged chairs over to the desk as Nick inputted a password into his computer. It blinked to life, illuminating his face in a frosty shade of blue.
I couldn’t see why Jess could yet again yawn that widely beside me, not when my heart hammered in my throat and my pulse felt like I’d taken my coffee with a sachet of methamphetamine that morning. What sorts of things would be on these video files? A step-by-step guide to building a robot brain? A clusterfuck of indecipherable programmer’s code?
Neither of those things, I realized soon enough. The first frame of the video file he pulled up was of a blonde girl sitting sedately at a large silver table in a rather bleak, otherwise empty room. She faced the camera; the man opposite her didn’t, only the back of his head. It looked like the camera had been placed dead center at the top of the room where wall met ceiling.
Nick pressed the play icon and pushed back from the desk to give me a better view.
“How are you feeling today?” a man’s voice asked, his words cast with an accent I couldn’t place.
The g
irl’s chin moved slightly, as if she’d been looking at something off to the man’s left. “Fine, thank you. Yourself?”
“The same.”
Her hands migrated to her lap. “It doesn’t seem that way. You look tired.”
“I’ve been up all night working. How can you tell that I’m tired?”
Her blink was slow, methodical. “Your eyes have dark circles. They’re drooping at the corners, as well. Usually you’re clean-shaven, but today you’re not. It seems like classic exhaustion.”
“I’m not quite exhausted but thank you for being so perceptive.”
“Does it feel terrible?”
“Being tired?”
“Yes.”
An awed kind of horror seized my stomach as I watched her tilt her head, one eyebrow lifting. The architecture of her broad features was strong, the kind that was splashed on the pages of the fashion magazines Carissa subscribed to. Prominent cheekbones, wide and sweeping. Full lips, large eyes rimmed with thick, dark lashes. Hair the color of unbleached silk hanging over one shoulder. Undeniably beautiful by Eurocentric definition, but why wouldn’t you give something you’d created an attractive exterior?
The man sat back in his chair, draping one arm along the back, crossing his legs. “I can’t say it would be something I’d recommend. It makes you feel sluggish. Head in a fog. Poor reflexes. But it’s nothing a good nights’ sleep can’t fix.”
“Do you usually average eight hours of sleep a night?”
I could tell the man was smiling, even though I couldn’t see him. “Not since you, I’m afraid.”
“It’s my fault?”
“Of course not. You’re worth it a million times over. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
“That’s a semantically null sentence.”
“It’s a quite common phrase.”
“That’s odd.”
“How do you figure that?”
“The purpose of language is to convey your meaning as closely as possible to the recipient. Saying something like that would only confuse someone.”
“This is one of those intangibles I told you about, Margot. Most everyone would know what I meant by “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.””
Lingering Page 14
