by S. E. Harmon
I marked a five on the back of her picture and a couple more notes about the grocery store. “Anything else you can tell me about her?”
“I offered her a ride, and she was a bit hesitant, but the rain was coming down pretty hard. She spotted a car seat in the back, and it set her at ease.”
“You didn’t have any children.”
“It was a decoy, Doc. Anything to make them more comfortable. She thought I was her knight in shining armor. Kept thanking me for saving her from the rain.” A cruel smile played on his lips. “Kind of ironic, isn’t it?”
A hand on my shoulder made me jump.
I fumbled my iPad on my lap, catching it just before the face met the deck steps. I turned to find Danny standing behind me. His mouth moved, but I couldn’t make out the words. I pulled out one of my earbuds. “Say again?”
He went down one step and sat next to me. “I asked if you’ve been out here long.”
I checked my watch, surprised to find a few hours had passed. Dusk had turned to semidark while I’d been lost in the ruminations of a disturbed mind. At least I’d already made dinner. “Yeah, I guess so. Did you just get home?”
“Yep.” He leaned over to greet me with a kiss. Or two. Or six when it was all said and done. His mouth was sweet, so fucking sweet. He tasted like vanilla and sugar and….
I groaned as I placed the flavor. “Christ, you didn’t eat it, did you?”
“No,” he denied automatically, even though he had no idea what I was talking about. “I mean, probably not. Eat what?”
I smacked his arm. “That was rhetorical. You taste delicious, like honey. And if I wasn’t quite sure you were about to keel over from poison, I’d sample you again.” I stared at his mouth, soft and plump in a face of hard, square angles. “Fuck, it might be worth the risk anyway.”
“Well, I might’ve sampled a little bit. It looked fresh,” he said defensively. “Who wouldn’t?”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have even brought it home. I just felt bad throwing it away.” I tilted my head as I considered his robust countenance. “Although, you didn’t die.”
“Yet.”
I sighed and reached over to push back the hair flopping on his forehead and in one eye. It made him look boyish and young. His morning application of mousse had given up the ghost after a long day in the Florida humidity. “We’ve got to stop eating suspects’ food.”
“That’s probably a good suggestion. Is there anything we can actually eat in there?”
“I made shepherd’s pie. I left you some in the microwave.”
He looked suitably impressed, but even I could make a meat mixture and plop premade mashed potatoes on it. I’d also put some garlic bread in the oven because everyone knows carbs plus carbs equals love. That’s the meaning of complex carbs, isn’t it?
I trailed behind him to the kitchen and sat at the island, watching him discover the new microwave. I’d tossed his old one and replaced it with a stainless-steel version. He sent me a squinty look, and I raised my hands in a gesture of peace. “Hey, you told me to unpack more. So I did. If you’ll notice, the kitchen is now entirely free of boxes.”
“The living room and bedroom aren’t. Why does your unpacking seem to correlate with throwing out my shit?”
“Because from the looks of them, you bought most of your appliances from Ben Franklin,” I said exasperatedly.
He let out a long sigh and turned back to the microwave, which was a lot fancier than the old one. I propped my chin on my hand as I watched him trying to figure it out. I hid a chuckle when he gave up on doing it right and started tapping various buttons like a lab rat on amphetamine. He finally stumbled across the popcorn button, and the microwave kicked on.
He sent me a triumphant look, and I laughed aloud.
I knew it was time to fill in the rest of the PTU on the Joseph Carr situation. My preliminary research had segued into an investigation. I needed their input. Some of our best breakthroughs came when we were bouncing ideas off each other.
It helped that everyone on the team brought a little something different to the table. Kevin had years of experience and a laid-back vibe, while Tabitha was a technology whiz. Danny was generally the voice of reason, as level-headed and careful as Nick was young and brash and eager to get his hands dirty. Then, there was me, who brought profiling and a wealth of serial killer knowledge. Oh, and ghosts. I brought a shitload of ghosts. Nobody asked for those, but I brought ’em anyway.
The microwave dinged, and Danny wasted no time pulling out his plate. He put it on the island and plopped down on the other stool. “You got a couple of messages at the front desk today. I think one of them was from Graycie.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yep.”
All the tension that had drained from my body since I’d walked through the door was back. Danny didn’t comment on the fact that I suddenly had the rigidity of armature wire. I wasn’t foolish enough to think he hadn’t noticed.
I watched him tuck into his food, drumming my fingers on the countertop absently. Usually, our messages at the front desk were from the general public. There was absolutely no reason in the world for Graycie to call me on the main number. He had my cell, my office extension, my email address. Hell, I didn’t care if he used a goddamn carrier pigeon; we both knew he had better ways to reach me.
“So… um, what did he want?” I asked, my tone purposefully casual.
“I guess you’d have to ask him that,” he said mildly. “He only left his name and number.”
Like I didn’t already have that. Vintage Graycie. Fucking with me in a subtle, yet effective manner. I got his message clearly enough—I can tell Danny about the job offer at any point, so you’d better make up your mind. Quickly.
“What was the other message?” I asked.
“It was from a man named Alexander Gilroy. He’s available to meet on Friday about Joseph Carr.”
“Nothing from Sara Jamison?” I asked.
I’d put in a call to Alex’s ex-wife earlier. She wasn’t a suspect so far, but I had to cover all my bases. I was certainly interested in the reasons for their divorce, besides the obvious “my husband is kind of gay” thing.
“Nope.” Danny put his fork down on his plate and leveled me with a no-nonsense stare that was so very blue. “And now you’d better fill me in on who these people are because if I know you, and I do know you, you’ve probably dug up something that’s going to get us very dead.”
“Hey,” I protested. He arched a brow, waiting for my rebuttal, but my checkered history spoke for itself. I gave an I got nothin’ sigh.
As he ate, I filled him in on everything I’d learned over the past few days about Thomas Kane, Delilah Rose, and the murdered Joseph Carr. He didn’t interrupt, but his eyebrows certainly got a workout. When I mentioned the copycat murders, his barbell eyebrow ring surged upward again.
I wound down after a little while. His response to all my chatter was a “hmm.” A fucking hmm. I was on a first-name basis with that hmm. I should be because he gave me one at least once a week. Added to his patented, noncommittal, I think you’re off your rocker, but I don’t want to say so expression, that “hmm” spoke volumes.
“Say it,” I demanded.
“It’s a little hard to believe that a man responsible for so many murders didn’t kill his wife… a wife that you say was supposed to be the crowning glory to his sick flower bed.”
“Rose garden,” I corrected absently. “He thinks of it as an art installation.”
“Whatever. We know Delilah made it to her friend’s house, but Valerie hasn’t seen her in years. Maybe Kane tracked her down and finished his little project.”
That was hard to deny, so I didn’t. “Maybe. But what would be his motivation for asking me to find her?”
“He could be fucking with you. You did say he likes doing that.”
Again, hard to deny. “He could be,” I allowed.
“What about the copycat victims? Any c
onnections between the three women?”
“I haven’t looked into it much beyond the basics. As far as I can tell, they didn’t know one another. They had different professions, different lives. They didn’t even look the same.” I shrugged. “I know it’s not much, but I’ve been preoccupied with the Joseph Carr angle.”
“Which is where the team comes in.” He sighed. “A serial killer, an execution-style murder, and a copycat killer.”
“Hey, we’ve started with worse.”
“You can say that again.” When I opened my mouth, he chuckled. “But don’t say that again. Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
He pointed at Mr. Scribbles, sitting next to the mail on the counter. “What’s with that ugly-ass cat statue?”
“That would be Joseph.”
“The same Joseph who….” At my nod, he raised an eyebrow. “I hoped I’d never have to implement a no-dead-bodies-in-the-kitchen rule, but here we are. Although, I suppose I should be happy it’s not an anniversary gift.”
“An anniversary….” I racked my brain, trying to remember the date and why I was so very stupid. Beyond the fact that I was so screwed, it was sweet that he remembered. “I, um, left your gift at the office.”
“Did you now?”
“I did, but you’re going to love it.”
“Does it involve you being naked?”
“It certainly can.” Never thought I’d be cheesy enough to give out sex coupons for an anniversary, but people change. Unless Amazon Prime had a be on my porch in five minutes delivery option, it was the best I could do.
His eyes twinkled. “I’m tempted not to come clean because I like to see you squirm, but I guess I should. Our anniversary isn’t for another month, at least.” He chuckled at my scowl. “We should get Nick and Tab working on the copycat angle, while Kevin retraces Delilah’s footsteps. And I’ve got a contact who works in DCHFS that I can call tomorrow. I want to know what cases Joseph was working when he died and if he had any problems with some of the parents.”
“Do you think I should set up another meeting with Valerie? Just to talk about this whole adoption business?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
“Because every time you tell a suspect you know something you shouldn’t, that suspect tries to kill you,” he said absently. “I think we should try a different tack.”
I sent him a dirty look. “I’m going to shower. By the way, my mom caught me on the way in, and I promised I’d get up for early morning yoga. Should I presume you’re too sick to attend?”
He faked coughing a few times. “Sick as a dog. Or dead. Whatever works.”
I chuckled. “I’ll give my parents your regards.”
I was halfway down the hall when he called me back. “Baby? I think you forgot something.”
Aw, how sweet. I came back to the kitchen with a smile on my face. “I love you, too.”
“Not that.” He pointed at the figurine on the counter. “I was talking about that creepy-ass cat.”
“His name is Mr. Scribbles. And he’s here to keep you company.”
His eyes twinkled. “Wait, aren’t you the one who needs a familiar?”
Just for that, I left Mr. Scribbles right where he was. “Happy nonanniversary, you bastard.”
He chuckled and tucked back into his meal.
Chapter 11
Alexander Gilroy reluctantly agreed to meet on his lunch hour, suggesting a park right outside his office building. He told me to call him Alex, and then we sat on a bench together. I could tell he was nervous, and I did nothing to allay his fears.
Face-to-face, the strange doppelganger sensation I’d felt from looking at his pictures had decreased substantially. He had a few years on me, for starters. We were both blond, but the hair at his temples was silver. My hazel eyes leaned toward a lighter brown, while his were more green. He also had a neatly clipped beard, which I couldn’t grow to save my life. He was impeccably dressed and groomed, every inch the well-to-do professional. Very handsome in an I’ve got a stick up my ass kind of way.
I conveniently ignored the fact that people could say the same about me.
“I don’t even know where to start,” Alex murmured. “What Joey and I had was very special.”
“Why don’t we start with your breakup?” I already knew about the pleasant part of their relationship. I schlepped my ass across town for the dirt. “I understand you guys stayed in touch even after you broke up.”
“Yes. I thought a clean break was best at first, but I missed him too much. Then he started up a relationship with some guy, so I thought maybe we could be friends again.” He frowned. “I think the guy’s name was Matt or Mike. I know it was something with an M.”
“Milo,” I supplied. “What did you think of him?”
“He was nice enough. Cute. He and Joey had more in common than we ever did.” He shrugged. “A little young for him, though.”
“Sure,” I said nodding. “How is badbitchCC, by the way?”
He flushed. “I just meant that Joey liked mature guys. I thought they were an odd match.”
“Do you think Milo could’ve had something to do with Joey’s death?”
He thought for a few moments before shaking his head. “No, he was a good kid. I don’t know if he was in it for the long haul, though.”
“Not like you, right?”
He sent me a measured look. “We were just friends, even if Joey wanted more.”
“Can you think of anyone else who would’ve wanted to harm him?” When he shook his head, I pressed further. “No detail is too small. Maybe he argued with a neighbor. Or cut someone off driving home. What about work? Did he have trouble at work?”
“Maybe,” he said. “Being a social worker isn’t easy in the best of circumstances, and there’s a high rate of burnout for a reason. Joey worked with a lot of irate parents, and sometimes, in the best interest of the child, he had to make decisions that weren’t popular.”
“Did things sometimes get heated?”
“Of course, but he was careful. He always brought a police escort if he had to remove a child from a home. Joey knew how to handle himself.”
“Any parents or kids in particular give him trouble?”
After a brief hesitation, he answered. “Maybe Dillon Cooper. Joey took a special interest in him. He always said Dillon reminded him of himself at that age. Dillon took it the wrong way, I think.”
“What do you mean?”
“A kid’s crush, I guess. But I think it was more annoying than dangerous.” He chewed on his lip as he thought. “There was this guy, though. His name was Kenneth Clark. He showed up at Joey’s house twice. I think he was one of the parents who got his kids taken away.”
I put those names in my phone and tucked it back in my pocket. Frankly, it was more than I thought I’d get from the recalcitrant Alex. “Anyone else?”
“Not that I can think of. Everyone loved Joey.” He sighed, looking down at his hands. “He wasn’t the one for me, but he was always a good guy.”
“And if your parents hadn’t objected to the relationship, would he have been the guy for you?”
“Probably.”
“So if he kept pressuring you to start things up again, that would’ve been a temptation.”
“No.”
“No?” I raised an eyebrow and swiftly changed theories. “An unbearable nuisance, then. The person you wanted the most wanted you back, but you could never allow yourself to have him.”
“That’s… overstating things.”
“He wouldn’t let go. And when he’d give you that special look, it brought you right back to old times. A weaker man might want to remove that temptation from his life. Permanently.” I waited for a few beats, letting my words sink in. “Did you?”
“What?” He looked startled, even though Ray Charles could’ve seen where I was going with that line of questioning. “No, of course not.”
“
Are you certain?”
“Look, I know you’re just doing your job. But you’re barking up the wrong tree. I had a wife. Kids.” He shook his head. “Whatever we could’ve had wasn’t to be and that’s just that.”
“Where were you on the night Joey died?”
“At home with my wife.” His tone was curt as he stood abruptly. “And if you have any other questions, you know where to find me. I need to get back to work.”
Even though he practically had steam pouring out of his ears, he stuck out his hand for me to shake. Professional and polite to a fault. Obligingly, I reached out as well. His palm was a little damp against mine, and I didn’t think it was from the humidity. Clearly, something we’d talked about had made him nervous.
When I went to pull back, his grip tightened. I opened my mouth to ask him just what the hell he thought he was doing, but his expression made me falter. He looked like he’d seen, well, a ghost. He swallowed hard, still staring at my hand.
The handholding went on for an uncomfortably long moment. I cleared my throat and gave my hand another discreet tug. This time, he let go. “Well,” I said, “glad we could leave things on an awkward as hell note.”
“Hmm?” His gaze seemed stuck on my wrist. “I’m sorry, I just… he’s been in contact with you, hasn’t he?”
I looked at him blankly. “He who?”
“Joey.”
“Joey is dead,” I said carefully.
“And we both know that’s not nearly the obstacle it should be,” he countered.
This polished man in the three-piece suit with his probably three-hundred-dollar haircut was about the last person I expected to believe in ghosts. He just didn’t strike me as the type. Although, I suppose people could say that about me as well.
He pressed on. “He’s been talking to you, hasn’t he? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we look kind of alike.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” I lied.
“You know, it started simply enough. Something I’d left on the counter would be on the floor when I got home. Or the lights might be on when I was sure I’d turned them off. I felt someone watching me sometimes, but when I looked, there was no one there.” He let out a long breath, raking a hand through his short hair. “It’s rather spooky business. I thought I was going crazy. Still do, sometimes.”
