When Fates Align

by Isabelle Richards

  Peter looks at Max. “You were on the scene. What can you tell us?”

  Max closes his laptop and sets it on the coffee table. He vividly describes Lily’s body. “When we left, they were focusing on some .22 slugs they found in the wall. They couldn’t find a bullet wound, but the body was still hanging on the wall when I left.”

  Isla scoffs. “These guys wouldn’t show up to a hit with a .22. They’re rifle guys. AR 223 or AK 7.62. If they’re carrying a pistol, an FN 57. If there was a .22 there, it had to be hers.”

  I shake my head. “No. I’ve got a Heckler and Koch 45, two Sig Sauer P226s, and a Blaser F3s. They’re in safes in the bedroom and the office.”

  “I take it they didn’t find the gun?” Richard asks.

  “Nope. The guy left nothing behind. Based on…” Max takes a deep breath, pinches the bridge of his nose, and closes his eyes. “Based on what he did to her, he needed to come with supplies.” He blinks a few times then coughs. “Accelerant was used, but the sprinklers came on before too much damage could be done. From the looks of things, it appeared she was alive when she was lit up.”

  Nigel holds up a hand, stopping Max. “Gavin, you shouldn’t be here for this. Knowing this won’t do you any good. You’re just torturing yourself.”

  “She was tortured,” I say quietly. “She didn’t have the luxury of leaving the room when they were chopping off her fingers.” I take a deep breath and swallow hard. “I can handle it.” I’m not sure why I feel the need to stay. They’d probably be more productive without me, but I can’t let myself leave. Hiding from the truth feels cowardly. Those were her last minutes. She faced pain and agony because I wasn’t there to protect her. At a minimum, I deserve having to hear about it.

  Max looks at his notes. “There was no sign of robbery. The living room and the hallway off the kitchen were the epicenter. Oddly though, in Gavin’s office, study, family room, back hallway, and sitting room, every picture of the two of them was smashed.”

  “That doesn’t really fit,” Richard says.

  “Maybe some sort of message? That they crushed you?” Peter suggests. “It’s possible they’re coming after you next, Gavin.”

  Isla taps her thumbs on the table. “For once, I agree with the Neanderthal. Either the whole place would have been burned to the ground, or they wouldn’t have done anything at all. They wouldn’t waste their time smashing picture frames. There must have been a struggle or something. I wouldn’t waste time on it.”

  Nigel makes a gesture indicating he wants to move it along. “Let’s leave that for a bit. Roger, you’re up. What did you see on the security footage?”

  Roger taps his laptop. “This is what I’ve ascertained so far.” He digs a laser pointer out of his bag and points it at the screen. “This yabbo”—he points at a man smoking—“was sniffing around the building for a good two days before. At first I thought he was a pap, but he’s not.” Roger taps on his keyboard. “As you can see here, two days ago, it was raining. The bloke’s got an umbrella, looks unassuming. Using the brolly to cloak him, he moves each camera just a bit, so we can only see the tops of people’s heads. A guard would have to be paying close attention to notice.” He taps on the keyboard again. “Moving ahead to thirty minutes before the sprinklers and alarms go off…”

  Lily comes on the screen, and I gasp. I can’t see her face, but she’s wearing the sweater I took to the cleaners last week. Something about her seems off. The way she’s walking… something just doesn’t seem right. She enters the back entrance of the building, and the man follows her. Bile rises in my throat as I watch, knowing she’s walking to her death.

  “Why did she leave the apartment?” Max asks. “We told her to stay put and pack. Where did she go? What could she possibly have been doing?”

  I’m flummoxed. “I spoke to her before I went into my meeting. She never said a word about leaving. She teased me about how hard I am to pack for because my wardrobe’s too big.” I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “What time did she leave?”

  Roger threads his fingers behind his head. “That’s the strange thing—I couldn’t find her leaving. You and Max leave at seven thirty, and the front door doesn’t open again. I checked the log on your security system, and it doesn’t show the door opening until now.” He clicks on the laptop, and the screen switches to Lily putting her keys in the door.

  “If she doesn’t leave, then how do you have her coming back in the building at 11:24? Unless she has magical powers, this is a very different situation than we first thought,” Peter says.

  “Could they have created a loop?” Isla asks, sounding impressed. “It would have been clever. A bit more clever than I’d expect out of them, if I’m being honest. But it’s not outside the realm of possibility.”

  Roger says, “Here’s another thing that doesn’t add up. They cut the feed the moment that bloke goes into the building. Why go through the trouble of hacking into the system and creating the video loop just to cut it when Lily returns? They could have just looped him out. Cutting the feed draws attention to him. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “You said you watched the door after the time Max and Gavin left. Could she have left before them that morning?” Richard asks.

  “No,” I say quietly. Images of that morning flash through my head, and my head falls into my hands. I feel as though someone’s punched through my rib cage and is grabbing my heart, squeezing so tightly they’re digging their nails into the tissue.

  Richard keeps pushing. “Are you sure? Maybe she snuck out when you were in the shower?”

  “I assure you, she was in my flat when I left.”

  Peter holds a finger in the air as though a brilliant idea just hit him. “Maybe—”

  “Dude,” Max says, “he fucked her senseless. Anyone within a block radius could hear.”

  Isla rolls her eyes. “And you called me tactless.”

  Max sneers at her. “It’s better than talking in circles.”

  “So the footage was hacked,” Peter says, bringing the discussion back on point.

  Roger furrows his brow, looking unconvinced. “Still doesn’t explain why they cut the feed later. No one with the hacking skills to loop someone out would take the easy way out hours later. It’s ass backwards.”

  Nigel finally chimes in. “I’m less worried about that and more worried about finding him. In the two days he scouted, did you get one decent look of him?”

  “Not from these cameras, but the punk smokes like a chimney. I figured there’s no way he was keeping a carton in his cargos, so I hacked around to the security cam in the corner shop and found… him.” Roger taps his mouse and pulls up a picture of a man, probably six feet tall, with a shaved head and patchy facial hair.

  “Jose Luis Soto,” Isla says with a raised eyebrow. “It makes sense. He’s got a thing about crucifixes. Said if he didn’t become a hit man, he would have become a priest. He also has an affinity for angel dust. Says it helps him feel closer to God when he kills his victims.” She pulls out her mobile and scrolls around. Peter laughs, and she looks at him over the edge of her iPhone. “Don’t look so surprised. It’s more common than you think. I just emailed you his picture and known aliases, Nigel.”

  Nigel types. “I just sent it to the rest of you.”

  Peter taps on his iPad, reviewing the file. “Besides his special connection with the Father, what else do we know about this guy? Anything that can help us find him?”

  Isla crosses her legs. “Jose’s an up-and-comer in the cartel. Over the last six months, he and about five others orchestrated a coup led by Rafael Martinez. They singlehandedly took out all of the senior members of the cartel who didn’t see eye-to-eye with them on the direction they should move the cartel. Rafa’s now running the show, and Jose is one of his top executioners.”

  Max elbows me. “Rafa’s the guy Lily’s ex was laundering money for. They knew each other during their college days. I got to know him a bit when I was undercover in Tucs
on. The dude’s a tool, but a tool with ambition.”

  Nigel closes his laptop and puts it in his bag. “Roger, see what you can track down on him. If he’s still in the country, we’ll find him. Everyone else, start working your contacts.” He stands and puts on his jacket. “Isla, come with me. Let’s put your Interpol badge to good use scaring the shite out of some lowlifes.”

  She shrugs into her jacket. “You know my badge is all show. Interpol is investigative only. I can help other people make arrests, but personally, I can’t do shite.”

  Nigel smirks. “They won’t know that.”

  I stand to follow them. “I’ll go with you.”

  He shakes his head as he slings his bag over his shoulder. “Sorry, mate. Stay here and try to get some sleep. You’re going to need it.”

  “Fuck off, Nigel. I can’t sleep, and I can’t just sit here and do nothing. I’m paying you, so I’m coming.”

  “I thought you were paying me to find a killer, not to keep you occupied,” Nigel snaps. He sighs, and his face softens. “I know this is hard, but if your goal is really to make them pay, you have to let me do what I’m good at.”

  “But—”

  Isla interrupts me. “Whoever did this knows who you are. If they spot you, they’ll run, and we might never find them again. Or worse, you’ll get us all killed. I know you’re a smart man. Start thinking with your head rather than your hurt, or you’ll end up getting all of us killed.”

  “Make sure he doesn’t do anything crazy,” Nigel says to Max before he and Isla leave.

  Max sits next to me on the sofa. “Come with me to the airport. Bronson said he’ll drive us, and you and I can hammer out all our shit on the way. I’m not leaving with you and me at war.”

  “Then don’t bloody leave,” I retort.

  He runs his fingers through his hair. “After the shit I saw today… seeing her like that… I just can’t…” He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. He exhales a shaky breath. “If I stay here, I’ll dive into the bottom of a bottle and probably never come out. I won’t do either of us any good. If I go, I can bury myself in work. I can direct all of this… pain into something. It’s how I deal.”

  “But you lost your badge. What are you going to do?”

  He taps his fingers on the arm of the sofa. “The FBI will have no choice but to bring me in as a consultant, and Greene, Sully, and I will work our fingers to the bone to bring these guys in. I have a case built against them there; I just need to get the go ahead.” His fingers curl into a fist. “After I show them these crime scene photos, I’ll get that fucking green light, and we’ll get them.” He slings his messenger bag over his shoulder and grabs a bottle off the bar. “We’ve got to haul ass. I’m just barely going to make it as it is.” Max points at Bronson. “Let’s roll out.”

  Reluctantly, I follow them.

  Once we’re settled in the backseat of Bronson’s SUV, Max spins off the bottle cap and takes a swig. He coughs. “What the hell kind of vodka is this?”

  “It’s gin.”

  He looks at the bottle and raises an eyebrow. “I hate gin, but this shit’s not that bad.”

  “You probably only drink shitty American gin. That right there is the best gin England has to offer. Not the most expensive, but the damned best.” I take the bottle, take a swig, and hand the bottle back. “Wish you’d grabbed the scotch though.”

  He snorts. “You’ll survive. Your house may not have any food, but it seems like you have scotch to spare.” He takes a drink then hands me the bottle. “So how do you know these guys?”

  I explain our history, sharing a few mission stories that I probably shouldn’t, especially with an American, but I give fuck all about propriety right now. He needs to know that not only are these men trustworthy, but there are no lengths they won’t go to help me. I hope it’ll inspire enough confidence for him to stay.

  “What do you make of the broad?” Max asks.

  I shrug whilst tipping the bottle back. “To be honest, I haven’t given her any thought. Nigel wouldn’t have brought her in unless she knows what she’s talking about.”

  His mobile dings. He shifts in his seat so he can pull it out of his pocket. After toggling for a moment, he rests it on the center console. “Something about her rubs me the wrong way. I’m not sure what it is, but she seems shady. Maybe it’s the way she looks at you like you’re a Slush Puppy on a hundred-degree day. Considering the situation, it’s a little out of line, if you ask me.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.” I look at him, confused. “What’s a Slush Puppy?”

  He fobs me off. “A Boston thing. Never mind, maybe I’m reading too much into it. Every woman looks at you like that; I should be used to it by now. But today I have no patience for it, you know?”

  I take the bottle back from him. “She could have been naked, riding a unicycle, and juggling chainsaws, and I wouldn’t have noticed. I can’t think of anything but Lily.”

  You and me both, pal.” Max looks out the window, taking in the outskirts of London. “I can see why she was happy here. It’s pretty. You know some good people. You made a nice life for her.”

  I shift in my seat so I can look at him. “Do you think she was happy? I pray to God she was, but sometimes… well, with her, it wasn’t always easy to tell. She’s so good at hiding things.”

  He nods. “Yeah, man. She was happy. I could tell just by looking at her. When she was in DC, she was always unsettled. Even when things were calm, she never seemed content. Greene used to say she was like a puzzle piece. She kept moving in every direction, trying to fit in. If she pushed down hard, she almost snapped into place but not quite. Here, here she snapped right into place.”

  Thankful for the cloak of the dark night, I allow my tears to fall.

  Max wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. “I’ve spent the day looking at her blood. Every time I close my fucking eyes, that’s all I can see.”

  “I know. Every time I’m still for too long, it’s all comes back. The sight of her up there. That wretched smell of burnt flesh.”

  “Yup, can’t stop moving or else it haunts you. In a way, it’s easier to focus on the investigation than think about the fact that she’s gone.”

  I know what he means, but I don’t respond.

  He takes a drink then hands me the bottle. “We’re not drinking enough. I want to be stumbling and bumbling by the time I get on the plane so I can pass the fuck out and hopefully be too gone to dream.” As I take a sip, he says, “Now, your girl—fuck that, she was just as much my girl as yours. Our girl was the best drinking buddy. She didn’t get too emotional or try to get me to be more sensitive or shit. She’d just hang out. She could turn anything into a drinking game.”

  I want to argue. She may have been his friend, but she was unequivocally mine. He’ll move on, make other friends. He may mourn her, but his life will go on, and I’ll be stuck in this miserable purgatory where my heart no longer beats. She was my love, my life. She may have only been in my life for a short time, but now that she’s gone, I don’t know who I am. So no, she was not our girl. She was mine, and she’s gone.

  I don’t have the strength to fight him though, so I quietly laugh. “She said it was the only useful thing she learned at university.”

  I take another sip then pass the bottle back to him. Somewhere in the distance, church bells ring. Midnight. The start of my first day without Lily. I sniff back the sob in my throat.

  “You’re too damn quiet, G. Talk to me.”

  “About what?” I ask.

  “Shit, man, I don’t know. Anything but the obvious. I can’t talk about her anymore. Not tonight. It’s too damn hard. I’m going to have to talk about it enough tomorrow.”

  “Em. We have to tell Em.” The lump in my throat makes my words croaks.

  “That’s one of the reasons I decided to fly into Logan. She deserves to hear it face to face. I’m going to drive straight to her place after I land.”

  “Thank
you. I agree. She deserves more than a phone call. How much are you going to tell her?” I ask. Em will demand details, but it pains me to think of her burdened with images that haunt my mind.

  “As little as I can.” He takes another drink. “We’ve got to change the subject. Teach me about cricket.”

  I look at him strangely. “Cricket?”

  “’Cause we’ve got another twenty minutes till we get to the airport, and I can’t think about this shit anymore. I’m a sniveling mess as it is. You know dick about the Sox or the Pats, so we’ve got to go with what you do know. Teach me about cricket.”

  Chapter Five

  Gavin

  We’re fifty-two meters up on the top of the O2 Arena in South London. Lily’s wanted to come here for weeks, but I blew it off as a tourist trap. If she wants to see London from up on high, let’s rent a helicopter. If she wants to go climbing, let’s go to Scafell Pike, or Ben Nevins, or Snowdon. An actual mountain, not “the Summit of London.” But we’re here, so she must have convinced me to go.

  It’s a dreadful day for climbing anything though. The bite of the February wind stings against my face. Why would she want to do this today of all days?

  Looking down, I see I’m in a climb suit, harness, and boots. Seems a bit excessive. We just walk on a rubber walkway up and over the top of the arena, but I suppose it’s necessary for safety. But Lily’s not in safety gear. She’s wearing a sweatshirt and yoga bottoms with bare feet, looking exactly how I left her yesterday morning. She’s sitting on the walkway, her legs dangling over the side, and looking down.

  “Lily!” I scream. “Where’s your safety harness?”

  “Who needs a harness? It’s so much more fun without one.” Rain begins to fall. Tilting her head back, she stands on her tiptoes and spins around like a child. “Don’t you love the rain?”

  “Are you mad? Get over here before you fall.” I reach for her, but I’m held back by the ropes. I can’t quite reach her.