Coming Home (Detective Dahlia Book 1)

by Laurèn Lee

  Hayden's phone vibrated loudly on the table where he'd set it after showing me his photos from Seoul. Annoyance etched itself into his flawless skin. He glanced at the Caller ID and rubbed his temples.

  "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I have to take this, but we'll pick up where we left off once I come back?" He massaged the top of my hand with his thumb.

  I nodded. "Sure, no problem.”

  Hayden gently kissed my cheek. I closed my eyes, immobilized by his touch. Then he stalked off toward the exit in the back of the club as though he owned the place.

  If there were ever a sign, this was one of them. If Hayden was out of the country during Callie’s murder, then he couldn’t be the one responsible. Every moment I wasted on a false flag was another moment to let the real killer slip away. I finished my glass of wine, opened my phone and ordered a Lyft.

  Eighteen

  The next morning, I pored over my laptop and scoured Callie's Facebook profile again. A mug of steaming coffee sat beside me. My hands shook as I held the mug. After a few sips, I put it back and rifled through my purse. At the very bottom were two small containers. I twisted the tops off and let the clear liquid burn the back of my throat before I turned back to my computer.

  I remembered the events from last night and truly believed Hayden could be my guy. I mean, women feared him, and he was in a position of power. But if those photos were recent, and his story wasn't a lie, he wasn't even on the same continent during Callie's murder.

  He could have lied to you.

  I sighed and opened a new tab in my internet browser. I typed in the web address for Google and then searched "Hayden International Real Estate Keygate.”

  I didn't know his last name, but I hoped this would be enough to pull something, anything up on him. Sure enough, in less than a second, dozens of search results populated before my eyes. I clicked the Images tab on the search engine's site, and photos of the handsome man I met last night graced my computer screen. I clicked on one picture, which I recognized to be the same he showed me outside a famous landmark in Seoul. The image brought me to his company's website. Underneath the photo was a caption and a description of the landmark and the estimated value of the property he sold during his trip to Seoul this past week.

  Unless Hayden was an evil genius, he couldn't have been the one who killed Callie. I'd fallen down a rabbit hole that happened to be a dead end. Now I had to pull myself out and find another avenue to investigate.

  Callie's death was constantly reported on. It was all over social media, the five, six and eleven o’clock news, and in all the papers of the surrounding counties. In such a small town, where things like this almost never happened, death was a big deal. Then, when you threw in homicide, it would likely be the story of the year. My phone alerted me when the local paper, The Keygate Daily, posted their articles online. I devoured anything with a mention of Callie. In a small town like this, nothing was kept a secret, so if there were any hints of progress in the investigation, it would easily make its way into the Daily.

  The latest article read:

  The investigation of a homicide in Keygate grows stale.

  Late last week, deputies responded to a call requesting a welfare check. Upon entering the home of Callie Jacksun, officers reported the woman was deceased, and the medical examiner determined the cause of death was homicide by strangulation.

  Sergeant Morton has confirmed no suspects have been taken into custody at this time.

  "We are doing everything we can to find out who did this. We want to bring justice and peace to Callie and her family," Sergeant Morton said.

  If you have any information about the murder of Callie Jacksun, please call our tip line or send an anonymous text to the number below.

  As much as I wanted to know who the Keygate PD talked to already, if anyone, I knew I couldn't interfere in their investigation. However, it didn't technically stop me from working on my own. I couldn't pull myself away from this. My heart ached to know what happened to the little girl I once knew. I wanted to look into the eyes of the person who watched the life slip away from her. In law enforcement, you can't catch every single bad buy, but it feels damn good when you catch one.

  I re-opened the tab of the site where Callie solicited men for phone sex or whatever she happened to advertise. As much as I wanted to learn more about the site and how it worked, revulsion seeped into my mind to think of Callie on here talking to grown men. I scrolled to the top of the page to see a few different sign-in options. One read Partner Login and another read User Login.

  So, you couldn't partake in all the site's features without a user ID and password. Made sense—if people wanted to pay to watch, or whatever, they needed an account.

  I sipped my vanilla caramel coffee while on the front porch. A soft breeze ripped through my disheveled locks, and a sweet floral aroma wafted through the air. An idea came to me. If a person needed a login name to utilize all the features, then somewhere, somehow, there had to be a database storing this information.

  If only I could access the users, I could narrow it down to potential suspects. I nibbled on my lip as I removed my laptop from my lap and set it on the table beside me. I stared at my cell phone, unsure of what to do next.

  Ultimately, I perused through my contacts, pressed “Call” and put the phone to my ear. Several rings echoed until a husky voice picked up.

  "Elle?" a man said.

  "Hey, Jake. Long time no talk. How are you?" I bounced my leg up and down as I chomped on my cuticles.

  "What do you need?" he asked knowingly.

  "Are you still, uh, you know, using your skills for good?" I cleared my throat.

  "You know it, cutie." Jake yawned.

  I glanced at my watch. It was eleven in the morning. However, for a guy like Jake, that's well before he'd typically get out of bed.

  "I need your help," I said.

  "Whatcha got for me?”

  "I need you to access a list of accounts, the users' locations, and even IP address if possible,” I told him.

  "Easy. From where?”

  The pressure in my chest receded a bit. This could work; it could really work. "There's this site…" I trailed off.

  Jake snickered on the other end of the line. "Your man cheating on you? Want to see what he's doing online?”

  My blood turned cold at Jake's inclination. He didn't know what happened to Zac, and I didn't have it in me to correct him. I would have chosen that scenario a million times over than what I was currently dealing with. If only…if only.

  "Actually, this is for professional use," I said smoothly.

  "Got it. No problem. Anything else?”

  "I need to know which users interacted with a certain girl. I'll text you the link to her profile.”

  Jake yawned again. "What's so special about this one?”

  "She's dead.”

  "Oh, shit. Okay, I'm on it," he said.

  "Thanks, Jake. I really appreciate it.”

  Jake ended the call without a goodbye, which was typical for him. Jake and I met our freshman year of college at a frat party off-campus. He studied computer science, and me, criminal justice. That night, after several red solo cups of keg beer, we danced, laughed and made our way back to his dorm room.

  I closed my eyes to picture that night, to feel the full extent of the memory. We sat on his bed, his hands intertwined in my hair. Our tongues danced together sloppily while one of his hands rested on the small of my back. I didn't mind. He seemed like a sweet guy. I assumed he would take it further, but he surprised me by stopping when I pulled my striped tank top over my head.

  "I want to take it slow if that's okay?”

  Shock slapped me across the face. I thought all college boys were wild sex addicts. Jake had proven me wrong. That night, we fell asleep with his arms wrapped around me. The smells of stale beer and his aftershave permeated the air as I drifted to sleep. After that party, I wondered if I could be with a guy like Jake: cute in a nerdy kinda way,
crazy smart and hilarious. We probably would have dated if I hadn't met Zac the very next day.

  As life would have it, Jake and I stayed friends, but there was always that tiny spark between us, the fluttering feeling of “what if?” But he'd always respected my relationship with Zac. Over the years, he'd helped me out with a few shady investigation tactics. Mostly hacking into computers or databases I otherwise wouldn't have access to.

  I was a good cop, but sometimes even the best needed a little help when the trail went cold.

  And right now? Callie's murderer was still out there, living his life while she lay in the morgue. I knew without a shadow of a doubt, if I found out who the perp was, I’d have a hard time not killing him myself.

  Nineteen

  I spent the majority of the day glued to my laptop. I studied Callie's online profiles for any hints or clues as the sun dipped below the horizon. Throughout my time on the porch, sifting through various web pages, my mom brought me snacks, glasses of water, and a few tidbits of conversation.

  "What are you working on?" she asked.

  "Just stuff," I replied.

  My mom looked to the left in the direction of Callie's house where yellow and black police tape lined the property. A sadness swept over her face, having lived in the same house on the same street since before I was born. She'd also witnessed little Callie growing up. She saw Callie riding her tricycle up and down the street as a child and then watched as she progressed over the years to an adult bike.

  I wasn't the only one with an aching heart.

  My mom's gaze returned to me. "Are you going to find him?”

  "Doing my best.”

  "Good. I visited with Callie’s mother yesterday. Seeing her in so much pain is just awful. Makes me fearful of what I’d do if I ever lost you." She turned away and wiped her cheeks.

  I gulped, and my mom went back into the house.

  What my mom didn't know was that all throughout the day when she brought me drinks and snacks, I also sipped from a separate water bottle filled with vodka. I couldn't always get away with a lie, but I'd mastered the art of hiding my intoxication. Not that I had many to hide it from since I only started drinking heavily after I left the force.

  By seven o'clock, I was thirsty for more than lukewarm vodka. Reluctantly, I closed my laptop. Carrying it under my arm, I brought in other dishes from the porch, complete with crumbs from pretzels and zucchini chips.

  "Any plans for tonight?" Jack asked. "Your mother is making chicken Fresca for dinner."

  "I think I'm going to go out, actually. Meet up with a few old friends.”

  Jack and Jose to be exact.

  My Jack smiled. "Have a great time!”

  Standing in my childhood room with my nearly-empty duffel bag before me, I realized I was quickly running out of clothes. After all, I'd only planned to stay for Carin's funeral and then go back home. To my new home.

  As carefully as I could, I tiptoed to my mom's closet. I opened the door while simultaneously listening for footsteps. When I felt confident the coast was clear, I flicked on the closet light and browsed through my mom's belongings.

  I found an older teal and tan plaid shirt which roused colorful memories from my childhood. I remembered my mom wearing that shirt while pulling me in a cherry-red wagon up and down the street. Despite her exhaustion, she delighted in my giggles and kept going for as long as she could muster.

  Without a second thought, I grabbed the button-up top. I could match it with a pair of jeans and my nude flats. Easy peasy.

  I applied light makeup while I sipped the last few drops from my water bottle. I'd carried a smooth buzz throughout the day, but after staring at the face of a dead girl, I needed something harder.

  With one more quick glance in the mirror, I decided it'd have to do.

  I crept down the stairs, hoping to slip out of the house before my mom could see my borrowed top. Instead, she climbed the stairs as I descended them. She did a double-take when we met in the middle of the second flight.

  "Cute top," she said with a smirk.

  Color rose to my cheeks. “Thanks!"

  My mom shook her head and continued on to the bathroom. "Have a nice time.”

  "I will, thanks," I called back.

  That was one perk of being almost the same size as your mom, the ability to share clothes like sisters. Except, of course, my mom rarely borrowed something from me.

  I patiently waited outside for my ride. I'd asked for Sandy again through the app. She seemed friendly enough, and I knew by requesting her, I wouldn't run into anyone I knew from school trying to pick up extra cash. Not that I wouldn't see someone at the bar, but at least they wouldn't be driving me there.

  "Ah, you again!" she said.

  "Me again." I raised my hand awkwardly.

  "You're quite the social butterfly," Sandy said as she glanced at my destination on her phone mounted to the dashboard.

  I didn't reply. Not because I didn't want to socialize with my driver, but because I didn't have it in me to admit that I wasn't a social butterfly at all. That, in fact, I was going to the bar by myself so I wouldn't have to drink alone in my childhood room. Not sure which scenario was more pathetic.

  After a few minutes, we arrived out in front of the bar where Noah and I got cozy together not too long ago.

  "You just let me know if you'll be needing a ride home, okay? Here's my cell," she said.

  "Thanks," I mumbled.

  I stepped out of her car and waved toward her. Once she drove away, I turned my body toward the bar's entrance. Half of it was inside, while a second bar stood outside on a patio lined with bricks on the floor. Several high-top tables with chattering patrons filled my view. I didn't recognize anyone quite yet, but it was only a matter of time. Not that I cared what others thought about me. I was long past caring.

  I stepped onto the patio and glanced around. Considering I left with Noah that night, and it didn't end so well, I would keep to myself this time. Have a few or several drinks, then go home, alone. And this wasn't technically drinking alone because I was surrounded by others.

  I lingered by the crowded bar, and once I caught a couple paying their bill, I scooted closer. I snagged one of the seats as soon as they got up. Bar-side seats were limited real estate at this time of night. The couple, nearing their fifties, smiled jovially as they walked away hand in hand. I couldn't help but wonder if I'd have someone by my side at that age. Or would I grieve Zac for the rest of my pitiful days as life passed by? It certainly felt as though that might be my fate.

  Noah, he was a special circumstance. We had history. Besides him, I couldn't imagine anyone else in my life or letting another touch me. As much as I pined for another man's embrace, part of me also resented the thought. I was promised to Zac and only Zac. How long would that promise last? Because it was meant to last forever.

  I sat upon the stool and pulled out my credit card, hoping to catch the attention of the twenty-something blonde bartender. Loose waves reached the small of her back while several butterfly tattoos graced her forearm. Her eyeliner was raccoon-like, and I attempted to stifle my smile. One day she'd regret those. Or part of me was just jealous that I didn't live with such wild abandon any longer. All I knew was that I needed a stiff drink, like yesterday.

  "Red Bull and vodka, please," I asked.

  "Coming right up," the bartender said, exposing the stud sparkling in her tongue.

  Out of the corner of my eye, someone stole the stool beside me. I held my breath, wondering who would want a single seat at the bar? Was someone trying to pick me up?

  "Hey, stranger," the man's voice said smoothly.

  Twenty

  I looked over to see Officer Renlee smiling at me. Releasing the air in my lungs, I smiled back.

  "Hey. What are you doing here?”

  The bartender brought me my drink and snagged the card from the marble bar top. "Open a tab?”

  I nodded.

  "The same as you, I suppose,"
Renlee said.

  Renlee wore a plaid button-up, the same as me. Except his clung to his tight biceps. His messy, dirty blond hair grazed his forehead while his cheeks appeared flushed. Besides seeing him outside of Callie's house, I hadn't seen Renlee since high school. Time had been good to him.

  Without an audible request, the same bimbo bartender brought Renlee a Bud Light. She winked at him, to which he smiled weakly in return. Even back in school, when a few girls crushed hard on Renlee, he was oblivious.

  He clinked his bottle against my glass. "Cheers," he said.

  “Cheers." The coolness of the cocktail spread from my mouth, down to my throat then belly. Then the warmth of the booze settled with a familiar sense of relief.

  "You meeting someone?" Renlee asked.

  "Actually, no. Just wanted to get out of the house," I said.

  I waited for any sign Renlee knew what I'd been up to the past few days. Did he know I'd been to the Hens' Den? Was he aware I had a hacker friend looking for all of Callie's online clients from that abhorrent website?

  "Same," he said. "Rough week.”

  Renlee tipped his bottle back for several seconds. It seems as though I wasn't the only one desperate to numb the reality of life tonight.

  "Any, you know, leads?" I set my glass atop the bar to hide my unsteady hands.

  Renlee sighed and then finished the rest of his beer. He nodded toward another bartender who brought him a second. I studied Renlee's features. When you went years without seeing a familiar face, you couldn’t help but notice how time had re-constructed the person you once knew. The hardness of manhood etched itself within the faint creases along his jawline and under his eyes. The job would do that to you, age you faster than you'd like.

  He scooted closer to me with lowered eyes. "You know I can't discuss an open investigation, Elle.”

  I hung my head a bit, trying to hide my disappointment. "Yeah, I know. My bad."