by Gina LaManna
I reached forward, snatched Rob’s shirt in my fist. I pressed him hard against the wall. “We have our victim talking to a mystery man barely two hours before he died—until just now, we thought it might be the same man or woman who killed him. So, you really want to mess around, Rob? You just got ID’d as our best murder suspect.”
“Freaking hell, Dani, let me go!” Rob snatched his shirt from my grasp and backed away. “What are you trying to say? That I killed Mason White?”
“Did you?”
Any good-natured hint in Rob’s face vanished instantly. “I’m going to give you ten seconds to retract that question. I know you’re on a deadline, struggling to wrap up this case for the chief. I get it. Politics. But accusing your own brother of murder? I thought you were better than that, Dani.”
“How can I be better than that?” I whispered. “You’ve been gone a decade, Rob. I barely know you.”
“What about the whole, ‘Family is everything!’ Or ‘Blood is thicker than water!’” Rob shook his head in disgust. “A little distance and time apart make you forget that?”
“I know where my priorities lie,” I said. “Do you? Because that’s the question we’re all wondering. Even Ma, though she won’t admit it because you’re her oldest son. We’re all waiting for the other shoe to drop, Rob. Why’d you come home? You’re honestly going to tell me a little Christmas cheer stirred up your nesting instincts and brought you home? C’mon. We’ve got two detectives and a former cop in the family. Are you really gonna lie to us?”
“This is bullshit. You know I didn’t kill anyone,” Rob said, his gaze on fire as he looked at me. “I’m not accompanying you to the station unless you place me under arrest. So, go ahead. If you’re gonna do it, let’s get it over with.”
As Rob held his hands in front of him and waited for the cuffs to clink over his wrists, the priorities I’d claimed to have straight flashed before me in a rush of images, voices, a whirlwind that wouldn’t stop until I blinked my eyes closed.
I was the chief, begging me to close the case. I saw Clyde’s frozen face as he recognized my brother without a doubt in his mind. I thought of Matthew and wondered what he’d do in my situation. Primrose popped into my vision, and the way she’d look at me depending on what I did next. Grey, and what he’d say. And, last but not least, my mother’s face if I had to tell her that I’d arrested my own brother for murder.
My eyes opened, and as I looked up at Rob, I could see he knew my decision even before I did. I let my hands fall to my side as I took a step back.
“I suggest we forget this happened,” Rob said, moving closer, giving my arm a light squeeze. “C’mon, I know you’re under a lot of pressure. The kid recognized me. So what?”
I felt bile burning in my throat as I looked at my brother. “You haven’t answered any of my questions. Why’d you talk to Mason? Why are you in town?”
Rob let his hand fall away from me. He watched me carefully, through guarded eyes. “I worried this would happen. It’s like you don’t even recognize me anymore.”
“Rob—”
“Forget it,” he said. “I’ll head out after Christmas. Seems easier that way. And Dani, I didn’t kill your guy.”
“Why were you in the library talking to him?”
Rob gave me a tense smile. “I think we’re done here.”
“Rob!”
“Are you arresting me?” he asked, a sorrowful tinge to his words. “You know, I would have told you, Dani, if you’d just asked nicely. If you’d trusted me.”
“I’m just doing my job!” I cried. “It’s not my fault you got yourself into a sticky situation. You’ve always wiggled out okay, but what if this time is different?”
“All I’ve learned this afternoon is that I should believe you when you say you know where your priorities lie. And they’re not with me.” Rob took a deep breath, steadied his voice. “So, if you want to know my business with Mason White, you’ll have to find some evidence to connect me to the case. Remember, I come from a family of cops. I know how the system works.”
I felt the fingers of rage stretching through my body as Rob turned on a heel and walked away, striding through the marketplace as he got lost amid crowds of women craning their necks for a better look at him.
As he disappeared, I took a moment to close my eyes and breathe. And when I opened my eyes, I had to wonder if the anxiety coursing through my body was due to my frustration with Rob, or my fear of what he’d done.
Chapter 15
I was a distracted mess on my trip back to the precinct. When I reached the lab, I stopped outside the door and took a deep breath. I gathered my thoughts, pushed Rob to the recesses of my mind, and focused on the logistics of the case.
For better or worse, my brother was right. At the moment, we didn’t have any physical evidence tying him to the case. If I’d found the identity of Mason’s mystery man to be anyone other than my brother, I would have been incredibly annoyed at our inability to arrest our suspect. As it was, I felt relief over any lack of tangible evidence.
However, if Felix had found fingerprints on the note that connected Rob to a meeting with our victim just hours before he was killed, my next steps wouldn’t be pretty. There were no two ways around it.
“Got something for you,” Felix said. “Take a seat.”
I was too nervous to sit, so I stood—and tried not to hope for the evidence to point to someone other than Rob. I had to follow the logical trail no matter what. Facts were facts, and whatever Felix had found could potentially change the path of the case to either help or hurt my brother. Either way, I’d have to deal with it.
“These,” Felix said, pulling a pair of glasses off the surface of one of his lab tables, “are quite peculiar.”
I blinked. “What are those? Or rather, whose are those?”
Felix looked disappointed at my lack of excitement. “These are from the backpack you gave me that supposedly belonged to your vic.”
“Right. Gotcha,” I said, remembering the spectacles from my initial search of the bag. “What’s so weird about them? Did you find any DNA on the bag besides that of our vic’s? Can you confirm it’s Mason’s bag?”
“Mason White’s DNA and fingerprints are all over the bag and everything in it, so there’s a very good chance it’s his—or at least that he handled it before his death.” Felix hiked his pants up an unnecessary extra inch. “The glasses, too, have his prints on them. I checked in our system—or rather, in the human system—Mason White saw an eye doctor.”
“So?”
“So these are very likely his glasses.” Felix nodded to establish the base line. “However, while these are likely issued from a mortal eye doctor, there’s something interesting about them.”
I frowned, muttered a Fingerprint Eraser charm. Once I was covered, I picked up the glasses and squinted at them. “I don’t see much in the way of Residuals clinging to them.”
“I’m not sure they’ve been touched by what we could call your average spell. I think if you found the gnome who altered these, he could tell you what they’re supposed to do.”
“To do?” I held them up to my face without putting them on. I glanced at the ceiling, but immediately, the strong prescription distorted my view. I shut my eyes quickly and pulled them away. “The guy needed Lasik.”
“I don’t disagree with that, but these glasses have been tinted to do something else. I haven’t quite figured out what,” Felix said with a harrumph. “It’s nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
“What makes you say a gnome worked on these?”
“It’s got their touch. See this little symbol here? It’s customary of the workshop on the north end of the borough. I called up there to ask around, but they stonewalled me. Said they’ve got client whatever privileges. You might have to go waving that badge of yours around to get any concrete information.”
“You think that’s all I do?” I glanced over at Felix. “Wave my badge around?”
&nb
sp; He shrugged. “Seems like it gets you what you want.”
“Can I check these out of evidence for the rest of the afternoon?” I asked. “I’ll have them returned this evening. I think I might pay these gnomes a visit.”
“Be my guest,” Felix said. “I’d warn you not to lose them, but frankly, it’ll hurt your case more than it hurts me if you do. Sign the log, will you?”
“Did you come up with anything else?” I asked as I signed the log then placed the glasses in their carrying case. “What about that note with my name on it?”
“Handwriting’s not a match with anything in our system, but that’s not a surprise. We don’t require handwriting samples for much—we’d need to have a good idea of who was on the other end of the pen to match that. No fingerprints aside from our victim’s.”
I considered this, replayed the moment that Rob and Mason would have met in the library. They would have talked... maybe Mason hadn’t ripped out the paper right away. Maybe he’d handed over his notebook, and...
I glanced up. “I have to go.”
“Do you want me to run the handwriting against someone else’s?” Felix asked. “I’d just need a sample if—”
“Yes.” I pointed at him. “Hold that thought, and I’ll get you a sample. You’re a genius.”
“I know that,” he said, but he looked quite confused. “Why do you suddenly think so?”
“Do you still have the notebook from the backpack with the other portion of the paper on it?” I asked. “The one that matches with the rip.”
“We have everything you turned in,” Felix said. “We don’t just up and lose things.”
“Great. Test that sheet and the cover, and the back, and the back pages, for fingerprints,” I said. “Felix, look.”
I dug around for any notebook and found one quickly on Felix’s messy desk. I flipped it open to a random page. Then I shoved it at him.
“Write something down.”
Felix stared up at me. “Something?”
“My name,” I said impatiently. “Write my name down.”
He wrote my name down and then handed the book back.
“I have been operating under the impression that our victim tore off the piece of paper then gave it to this mystery man to write on. But what if he handed over the whole notebook and only tore off the important bit later?”
Felix nodded in understanding. “His fingerprints would be on the outer edges of the pages, maybe the back.”
“Exactly,” I said, and as I said it, I felt my heart sink.
My breakthrough, which under any other circumstances would have been quite thrilling, felt suddenly hollow. Had I just thrown my brother under the bus? Would we find a match with Rob’s prints? And if so, what did that mean?
A part of me wanted to tell Felix to forget it, but if I let my thoughts and feelings for Rob get in the way of an investigation, then I didn’t deserve to be working it. I had to follow each line of inquiry through to the end like I would on any other case.
“That’s great, that’s great,” Felix was muttering, already setting up the machine he’d use to pull prints off the booklet. “I’ll keep you posted. Shouldn’t take long.”
“Great,” I said weakly. I glanced at my Comm as it buzzed and saw Primrose’s name pop up. “I’ve got to run. Call me the second you have something.”
“Of course.”
“Anything, Felix,” I said. “Call me the second you have anything.”
He glanced up from his work looking somewhat annoyed. “I said I would, DeMarco.”
“I know, I just mean...” I hesitated. “Whatever you find.”
Felix straightened, put a hand on his hip. “Do you have an idea whose prints I’m going to find here?”
“I have a theory I don’t like,” I said, keeping my face as neutral as possible. “And I need to know if the investigation turns that way, that you’re going to come to me. Don’t go above my head.”
“You’ve got my word, DeMarco,” Felix said. “But I’m not planning on covering anything up. Whatever I find—”
“I know,” I said. “I’d never expect you to do that. But I’d just like to know first. As a friend.”
Felix’s lips went into a thin line, and he nodded. “I don’t know what I should hope for—to find something, or not to find something. The look on your face isn’t pretty.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said, but neither of us laughed. “Don’t hope for anything, Felix. We deal in facts, science. Whatever we find, we deal with. That’s the name of the game.”
I LEFT THE LAB AND answered my Comm on a somewhat somber note, asking Primrose to meet me upstairs in my office. On the way, I stopped and grabbed a mug of coffee, wishing I’d found another vat of marshmallows and jug of hot cocoa to spice up my afternoon caffeine hit.
I reached my office before Primrose and shoved aside some papers to make room for her on the chair. I’d just sat down behind my desk when she appeared in the doorway and knocked against the frame.
“It’s open,” I said. “Come in.”
She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. She took a seat opposite me and glanced longingly at my coffee. I got my first good look at Primrose since she’d returned, and the poor girl looked windswept.
Her cheeks were stained a rashy red, and her hair stood up at all angles though she’d tried to pull it back into a ponytail. Her teeth chattered randomly as if she were chilled through, and her eyes were watery and bleary.
“How was your ride?” I asked evenly. “I haven’t had a sip of coffee yet. You can have mine if you like.”
Primrose greedily reached for my cup and took a gulp, coughing and spluttering at the hot liquid. Instead of waiting for it to cool, she merely cupped it closer and took a smaller sip.
I let myself out of the room to grab another cup, and by the time I returned, I found that Primrose had downed the first one. I raised my second mug. “You want this one, too?”
“No, that was great. Thank you,” she said, wiping her mouth. She shifted a gigantic bag on her lap so it rested on the floor. “I mean, sorry, but thank you.”
I glanced at the bag, but she made no comment as to its contents, so I returned behind my desk. “Are you going to tell you why you just inhaled my coffee?”
“It’s the stupid magic carpets,” she said. “We got stuck at a cruising altitude a little too high and I had icicles coming out of my nose on the way back. It was awful. The department really needs to do a fundraiser—a broom shine, or something—to raise funds for functional carpets.”
“I don’t look good in a bikini, and neither do most of the other officers,” I said. “Hence the reason we stay away from broom washes, shines, and the rest of it. But I see your point. Did you at least make it to Texas?”
“We did,” she said. “Renola was great. If it weren’t for her mobile campfire, I would have frozen my tuchus off.”
“Your what?”
“Never mind,” she said. “It was cold. But in Texas, it was actually quite balmy compared to the flurries we’re seeing up here. Anyway, enough about the weather,” she said more to herself than to me. “Renola and I found Mason’s apartment without too much trouble.”
I eyed her carefully. “There was some trouble?”
“I don’t understand the mortal world,” she said, blowing a breath out. “Am I that bad at lying?”
“Yep,” I said. “But it’s okay. I like your honesty. What’d you find?”
“A lot of nothing,” Primrose said. “At least at first, which was the problem.”
I squinted. “Mm-hmm.”
“No, honestly. I got thinking how weird it was that there was nothing in his apartment, not even a peep, when some of Mason’s letters clearly stated he had a dog. He wasn’t secretive about it.”
“Right,” I said. “That’s what made you think he had a girlfriend. Changing to the use of ‘we’ all the time.”
“Exactly. So, I got to thinking my theory was right
—that there was a girlfriend. Maybe the dog had been a ruse. I checked the letter—the first time he said ‘we’ was before he ever mentioned he had a dog,” Primrose said excitedly. “The next letter he sent explained that he’d adopted a pup, and that was the ‘we’ he meant.”
“You think he was making up the whole story about the dog to cover up a girlfriend? Interesting. Most people I know would pretend the opposite.”
“This is different,” she said. “Different worlds, star crossed lovers—”
“Shakespeare,” I interrupted. “I love when you wax poetry and all, but is there actually a girlfriend?”
“That’s the thing.” Primrose gave a cheeky grin, raised one finger to emphasize her point. “I was wrong again.”
“Why are you so happy about being wrong?”
“Because,” she said with another one of her quirky grins. “There’s a girlfriend and a dog.”
It was my turn to blink in surprise. “Are you joking? Start from the top, Primrose. Give me the full rundown.”
“Okay, okay,” she said breathlessly. “So Renola and I landed, found his apartment, let ourselves in with a little Lock Lifter after making sure it was empty.”
“And it was empty?”
“Completely,” she said. “His apartment is so... bare. So boring. Not a lot of personal stuff up anywhere. One picture of his family, but it was tucked inside his dresser drawer and not sitting out. His desk was clear except for some files that made no sense. I mean, numbers and financial stuff from his office. He had done some work at home, it looked like.”
“Any signs of recent life?”
“Kitchen was stocked with a lot of non-perishables, but the fridge was completely empty except for a few staples. A jug of milk, one sandwich, things like that. Which is a little weird, right?”
“I suppose,” I said. “We are imagining that Mason left of his own accord and planned to be gone for a month. So why would he leave a sandwich to mold in an otherwise cleaned out fridge?”
“Exactly.” Primrose nodded along. “So, we kept digging. There weren’t any records of a girlfriend that we could find—no extra toothbrush, no names jotted down—I mean, the place was clean. I got the feeling that Mason set things up so that if he didn’t come back, there wouldn’t be anything to find. He was either very careful, or very, very impersonal in his everyday life.”
