Darker Than Any Shadow

by Tina Whittle

  Cummings offered no opinion on my hypothesis. He tapped his pen against the table.

  “I think it’s time to ask Seaver what he thinks about all this. Rumor has it he’s a human lie detector now.”

  “Rumor has it mostly right.”

  “You think he could teach me that trick?”

  “It involves right frontal lobe damage, so no, probably not.”

  We were amiable again. I recognized this for the trap it was.

  Cummings smiled. “Let’s get him in here anyway and see what shakes out.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  They sent us home two hours later, the snake-crazed Hawkins staring at me all slant-eyed and suspicious. I was weary from explaining the same story over and over. Trey was a brick wall of inaccessibility. So maybe his interrogation had been less old-home-week and more spill-it-buster than I’d imagined.

  “Garrity called,” he said.

  I blew out a breath. “How pissed is he?”

  “Extremely.”

  “At me or you?”

  “Both.”

  “Pissed enough to leave us hanging?”

  “No. He called Cummings.”

  “And?”

  Trey thought about that. “In summary, he explained that I am incapable of breaking the law, and that while you might be reckless, you’re no criminal. He also said he was coming to see you in the morning.”

  Which was exactly the cherry on the catastrophe.

  “Whatever. Please take me back to the shopping center. I just want to get my car and go home.”

  “You can’t. The manager of the other shopping center had it towed.”

  I closed my eyes. This was turning out to be one of my least successful days ever.

  ***

  Trey drove me back to the shop. When I asked if he was tired, he shook his head. Usually, he started sapping around nine, becoming mostly useless around ten. But as we drove in the shifting flare and pass of the oncoming headlights, he was wired, edgy.

  I tried to make conversation. “So you’re afraid of snakes?”

  He didn’t look my way. “Yes.”

  I waited. He offered no further explanation. His jaw was tight, and he took the turns even more sharply that usual, slinging the Ferrari around like we were on the Fiorano racetrack, even if the speedometer never crept one inch above the speed limit.

  “Snakes, huh? You and Indiana Jones.”

  No reply.

  “Any other phobias I should know about?”

  “No. And it’s not a phobia.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve been afraid of clowns ever since I was three and we went to the state fair. There was this one named Goober—”

  “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

  “But—”

  “I said not now.”

  “Fine.” I folded my arms. “We’ll stick with uncomfortable silence. That’s always better.”

  Which is exactly what we did. When we arrived at the shop, Trey pulled in, switched the car off, and got out without a word. I went to the front door and unlocked it, knowing it would take some heft to get it open. When the humidity got this high, the wood swelled the door shut tight.

  “It’s a mess inside,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “But you’re welcome to come in.”

  It wasn’t really a question. Asking a question at this point would have been too precarious, so I focused on working the lock until I felt the give.

  More silence. Trey stood in the halogen streetlight, alone in his deliberate circle of separation, yet he had an ache of invitation about him, inarticulate and raw.

  “Stay,” I said.

  He shook his head, his eyes averted, still looking at the dark street that led back to Buckhead.

  “Come on, Trey. I’ve already apologized a million times. I don’t know what else I can do.”

  I noticed his breathing then, shallow and uneven. Adrenalin, he always said. He paid attention to it, analyzed it, a chemistry student of the lab that was his own body. It was a red flag, but a flag only. Full systemic arousal with no clear precipitating factor.

  And then he switched his gaze full on me, and I felt it like a punch to the solar plexus.

  “I am very very angry,” he said. “You created this problem, involved me in it, and now I’ve got to resolve it.”

  “I can get myself out of this, thank you very much!”

  “I’m not talking about you. I’ve got to get myself out of it. Marisa has already warned me about the precarious situation Phoenix is in.”

  She’d warned me too. Sternly. But I didn’t admit this.

  Trey continued. “And she’s right. Phoenix has barely recovered from the spring, and now I’m a witness in two murders.”

  “I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”

  “You dragged me into this very deliberately. Perhaps you didn’t mean to involve me in yet another killing—”

  “Perhaps? Like I could have seen this coming? Even you—ex-SWAT hotshot with all your training and experience—even you didn’t see this coming!”

  “Of course I didn’t! I can’t see things coming, not anymore!”

  The words hit hard. They had bite, as if Trey were provoking me with the sharpest weapon at his disposal. And then the pacing started—four steps to the left, then four to the right, agitated. He had his hands on his hips, one finger tapping against his thigh.

  I swallowed hard. “I know.”

  “Not like I know.”

  I took a step toward him, and my instincts went singing into panic, deep down and primordial. He reminded me of a panther right before the attack, gathering, on the verge of kinetics.

  He held up a hand. “Don’t.”

  “But—”

  “I said I was angry. Very angry.”

  And he was. It rolled off him like radiation. And still I moved forward, fighting the urge to run, surprised at how strong the instinct was, equally surprised at how easily I steamrolled right over it.

  I was two feet from him, his breath quickening…and not only from anger. I felt it in my veins too, and the realization sang in my head. I knew this part, could play it like a fiddle. This was the only time his persona burnt to ashes, and I knew the secrets. I knew the way in. It was heady and reckless and vainglorious, but I didn’t care.

  I took another step closer.

  And it was so very hot, the heat of night, heavy and clinging. I smelled of old coffee and fabric softener, and I could smell him too, the salt musk of sweat, the evergreen ghost of his aftershave, and the heat, always the heat. Lightning flared at the horizon, erratic and supercharged.

  And the circle cinched around us like a lasso.

  I crushed my mouth against his, the warmth of the pavement rising and mingling with the sudden blood rush of want and need. He responded with violent abandon, one hand at the base of my spine, one tangled in my hair, wrenching my head back, exposing my throat. Whatever we’d released was flowing now, unstoppable, sharpened into something dark and edged like a knife.

  Under my fingers the muscles of his shoulders flexed and bunched, and he pushed me against the brick wall, mouth to mouth, hip to hip. Deep down, the survival instinct keened, but I smothered it with his mouth, his hands, his demand. I smothered it with desire, and there was enough of that to obliterate it entirely.

  His mouth found my ear, his voice rough. “Inside. Now.”

  I kicked the door open behind me, and the interior swallowed us whole.

  Chapter Thirty

  He left before sunrise, slipping away in the dark like a thief. I remembered hearing him moving about the room, silent, gathering his things. It was the first time he’d stayed the night.

  I glanced at the clock. Not that four hours counted as staying the night. But it was a first of some kind, that was for sure.

  I dragged myself up. My mouth felt sore, and when I rolled over, a tender spot on my hip protested. I explored it gingerly. Definitely a bruise, probably from when I crashed into t
he counter. Or maybe not. There were other moments…

  I shook my head clear. Coffee. I needed coffee. A whole lot of it, sweet as pie to kickstart my metabolism and strong as swamp water to clear my head. I stuck the pot under the faucet and turned it on. There was an explosive spurt of air, but no water.

  I leaned against the counter and took a deep steadying breath. The water bill final notice. I’d meant to get to it yesterday, but then Cricket and Debbie and the snake…

  I shoved the pot back in the coffeemaker and headed back to bed. I might have made it too, except for the sudden assertive pounding at my door.

  I sighed. I’d known this was coming.

  So I pulled my robe tighter and opened up. Garrity stood there, dressed for work, sidearm on his hip. He’d brought coffee and a take-out sack that smelled sweet and greasy.

  He scowled at me. “What in the hell where you thinking?”

  “I wasn’t. Mea culpa. Can I go back to bed now?”

  “No.”

  I stepped back and let him in. He tossed the bag next to the cash register and handed me one of the coffees. Then he leaned against the counter, shaking his head.

  “A fresh corpse, a python, and a dead man’s car full of stolen merchandise with your prints all over it. That’s gotta be some kind of record.”

  “My print’s weren’t all over it, only on the door handle. Maybe.” I popped three ibuprofen and washed them down with the coffee. “And I said I was sorry.”

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it.”

  “It’s all I’ve got.” I pulled the lid off my coffee and blew on it. “Any news from last night?”

  “You think I came here so you could quiz me?”

  “You came here to lecture me. At least answer my questions in the process.”

  He opened the bag and pulled out a sugared pastry. “Debbie was strangled.”

  “To death?”

  “Yes, to death. What kind of question is that?”

  I snagged one of the pastries too. “A good one. What have they done with the snake?”

  “It’s in custody.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it killed somebody!”

  I shook my head. “Not if she was strangled to death.”

  “That’s what pythons do, Tai, they strangle people.”

  “They don’t strangle, they constrict.”

  “Constrict, strangle, what’s the difference?”

  I explained. “Pythons squeeze their prey to death. They use their big damn jaws full of backward pointing teeth to hold said prey still while this happens.”

  “So?”

  “So when you say strangled, I’m assuming you mean something tightened around her neck.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Wasn’t the python then. They go right for the rib cage. I’m betting that ridiculous scarf of hers was the murder weapon.”

  Garrity was silent. “You mean the snake was set up?”

  “The snake’s innocent. Get the snake a good lawyer. And tell Cummings to start looking for the real killer. Tell him to look for somebody who doesn’t know shit about snakes. Which, as your keen cop instinct no doubt tells you, ain’t me.”

  He finished his pastry, picked up another. His fingers were dusted in powdered sugar, his expression serious. “You know better than this.”

  “I do actually. But I got carried away. There was a trail, so I followed it.” I looked him in the eye. “It won’t happen again.”

  I pulled up a chair. Garrity sat. I grabbed the stool from behind the counter and sat too. Then I pulled out my Winstons and patted down my robe for a lighter.

  “By the way, thank you for calling Cummings and explaining on our behalf last night. I know that cost you some favors.”

  Garrity slid his lighter across the counter. “Too many favors. Don’t ever—ever—make me do that again.”

  I tapped out a cigarette, offered him the pack. He declined. I lit one and took a long deep drag.

  “That wasn’t the only thing, though, was it? I mean, your name carries a lot of traction. Trey’s too. But this makes two bodies in one week.” I tapped out the ash into an empty Coke can. “Not even you should have been able to keep me from being arrested.”

  Garrity gave in and reached for the cigarettes. He didn’t reply.

  “First Rico gets taken in, twice—he’s got blood on his shoes and stolen money under his mattress. Jackson gets taken in—he’s got a kitchen full of knives, a rep for violence, and an altercation with the deceased on his rap sheet. Vigil gets taken in—”

  “It’s a crowded slate.”

  I examined him through the curtain of smoke between us. He was the soul of discretion, Dan Garrity.

  “Too many suspects is as problematic as too few,” I said. “Especially if they all look guilty. It’s a crap shoot, arresting one person when any second now some big break could come in a completely different direction.”

  “Like DNA. Or an eyewitness. Or a confession, that’s usually what happens.”

  “Detective Cummings is covering his bases.”

  “As well he should.” Garrity leaned forward, his eyes gray-green in the shifting smoke. “But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his favorites.”

  “Let me guess. I’m at the top of the list.”

  “Number one with a bullet.”

  I stared at the ashes. I’d known this, known the APD wasn’t so swell as to trust me just because one of their own said so. There was always a motive, in this case not wanting to put all their evidentiary eggs in one basket.

  “We were in the parking lot last night when Debbie was killed. People saw us. And Trey and I both have alibis for Lex’s death.”

  “I keep telling you, don’t be so sure about that.”

  “The flashpoint of kerosene-soaked paper towels is milliseconds. The fire alarm takes a few seconds more. Trey and I were out front when it went off. Rico, Frankie, Cricket and Jackson too.”

  And then I saw it, so fast I couldn’t tell if it were accidental or deliberate—his eyes slid to my cigarette and then front and center again.

  “Garrity—”

  “Drop it. And mind your Ps and Qs from now on, seriously.” He stubbed out his half-smoked butt. “Besides, we still have to talk about Trey. And I’m going to try real hard to do it without screaming like an ever-lovin’ madman. But I’m concerned.”

  “I know.”

  “You can’t keep dragging him into these situations.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ve told you what he was like after the accident—unreasonable, frustrated, volatile, totally decompensating. I remember what that ended with—a dead guy on the floor and an OPS investigation and Trey having to resign. Which is why Trey needs to be in a little office doing the unsexy drudge work.”

  I thought of Trey behind the desk, his head cocked as some complicated schematic evolved on the paper in front of him. Precise and proficient, smooth and skilled and utterly focused. Until I’d gone to bed with Trey, I’d completely underestimated the erotic potency of sustained, unwavering focus.

  “Not unsexy,” I corrected.

  Garrity made a noise. “Whatever. What I’m trying to say is, the work he does at Phoenix is boring and mundane and routine. Which is exactly what he needs. What do you think would happen to him without that job, huh?”

  “Marisa has explained this.”

  “Then stop taking it personally. You’re a couple now, not a crime-fighting duo. And for Trey’s sake, that’s how it’s got to be.” He pulled a DVD from his pocket and handed it to me. “Something for you to watch later, to make sure you got the point.”

  I examined the DVD. Blank. “What is this, some bloody crime scene?” I slid it back to him. “I said I got it. Murder bad, murder dangerous.”

  He slid it back. “Not a crime scene.”

  “A particularly gruesome autopsy?”

  “No.”

  “It’s not porn, is it? Because porn doesn’t scare me.”

&
nbsp; He shook his head wearily, but with surprising tenderness. “Just watch the damn thing, okay? It’s self-explanatory.”

  “Garrity, what the hell—”

  “Watch it. And then we’ll talk.” He stood. “Until then, I’ve got work, and I suppose you do too.”

  I walked him to the door, and on sudden impulse, I hugged him. To my surprise, he hugged me back, fierce and tight.

  I put my mouth close to his ear. “I know he means the world to you, Dan Garrity. I swear I’ll do right by that.”

  “You’d better.” Garrity pulled back, squinting at my neck. “Is that a hickey?”

  I snatched the collar of my robe up higher. “None of your damn business. Go serve the public good.” I started closing the door on him. “And thanks for the coffee and sweet greasy things.”

  “Conchas.”

  “Whatever. I mean it. Thank you.”

  He waved me quiet, gruff and embarrassed, then shoved his hands in his pockets and left. I locked the door behind him, then once he’d cleared out of sight, put out the CLOSED sign.

  He’d given me an idea. It required getting dressed, but that was okay, I had to do it sometime since there was an impound lot somewhere with my car in it. I’d get to it right after I called the City of Kennesaw utilities department and straightened out my water situation.

  I called Rico first, fingers crossed that he would answer. When he did, I tried to sound persuasive.

  “It’s a lovely day for a drive up to Kennesaw, don’t you think?”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Two hours and a hundred-twenty-five bucks later, I had my car back and was headed south toward Grant Park and the Atlanta Zoo. Rico was my grumpy but compliant companion.

  “There’s two people dead, I’m on the DNA-evidence countdown, and you’re playing public defender for a snake?”

  “The snake is the key, I know it is.”

  “I hate snakes.”

  “You and the rest of the world.” I took the Fulton Street exit. “Go see the baby warthogs or something.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be behaving?”

  “According to Garrity, I’m supposed to be leaving Trey to his own devices. Hence your presence in the passenger seat. Besides, it’s the freaking zoo. What could possibly happen?”