Polke heaved out a long, slow breath, like he was a put-upon mourner instead of a lying slime who’d been cheating on his wife. The same wife who’d mysteriously ODed on an antidepressant she hadn’t had a prescription for.
Finally, like he was doing Caleb a big favor, Polke launched into his story. “Soon as I got home, I went to the kitchen to get a beer. But there was no Bud in the fridge. Kim was supposed to go to the grocery store, but she didn’t. So I went looking for her. As soon as I found her in the bedroom, I called the ambulance, but, you know… With all the pills she took, it was too late.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Polke.”
“Yeah.” The guy glanced at the wall-mounted clock. “Thanks.”
He wasn’t sad. He didn’t have that detached, robotic look of someone in shock.
He was bored.
“Just one thing I want to clear up. How did you know Kim was home?”
“Huh?” Polke’s gaze jumped from the clock back to Caleb, finally picking up on the fact that his second visit to the station was more than a formality.
“You said she was supposed to go to the grocery store. Didn’t you think she might be there?”
A glare flickered through Polke’s polite facade, then disappeared. “No. Her car was in the lot.”
“And when was the last time you saw your wife alive?”
“The morning before I found her.”
“What time?”
“Right before I left for work. Around eight.”
“What were her plans for the day?”
“I don’t know.” Polke crossed his arms over his chest, and Caleb flashed back onto CJ outside Permanent Ink, oozing that same don’t-mess-with-me vibe.
“I don’t keep track of her social calendar,” Polke said.
Caleb slammed his mental doors hard—he had work to do and he didn’t need distractions—but the hipster asshole stuck his foot in the jamb.
Fine. Caleb would simply ignore him. “But you knew she was going grocery shopping.”
“Only because I told her to. Woman hadn’t been out of the house in weeks.”
There was the opening he’d been looking for. Caleb leaned back in his chair, but his gaze didn’t stray from Polke. “How many weeks?”
“Two? Three? I wasn’t keeping track.”
“She must’ve left the house to see her doctor.”
“What the hell for? Woman was in perfect health. Except for being crazy.”
“So she wasn’t seeing a psychiatrist?”
“You kidding me?” Polke had the nerve to smirk. “If she’d gotten her ass to the shrink, she wouldn’t’ve offed herself, would she?”
“Did you ever try to get her to see someone?”
In the ensuing silence, Caleb could practically hear the gears in Polke’s mind grinding together, trying to manufacture the right response. If he said no he was a bad husband. But if he said yes…
“Of course I did,” Polke blustered. “I even found one for her, but she wouldn’t make an appointment with the guy.”
Bingo. That last, lingering worry about CJ disappeared. There was only the man in front of him. The one who was writing himself a one-way ticket to prison without even knowing it. “How did you find the doctor? Did someone recommend him?”
“Yeah.” Polke hesitated. “A friend of mine.”
“And this friend can confirm?”
“I thought you were trying to find out what happened to my wife. Not shopping for a shrink.”
“I’m just trying to establish your wife’s mental state at the time of her death.”
“Crazy. So crazy she wouldn’t even see a doctor!”
“I need the name of your friend so I can follow up.”
Again, Polke hesitated.
“I know you’re a busy man, Mr. Polke, and I don’t want to keep you here all day, but—”
“Sandra Kelly. We done now?”
Satisfaction surged through Caleb. Sandra Kelly. Polke’s mistress. “Not quite. Since we’ve established that your wife wasn’t seeing a psychiatrist, where did she get it?”
“Get what?”
“Your wife had a month’s supply of dosulepin in her system.”
“That supposed to mean something to me?”
“It’s a tricyclic antidepressant. If a doctor didn’t prescribe it, where’d she get it?”
“I don’t like what you’re implying,” Polke growled.
“I’m not implying anything. I’m asking a question.”
“How the hell should I know where she got the pills? Coulda been anywhere. Some shady website. A street dealer.”
“It would’ve been a lot easier for someone with clear symptoms of clinical depression to go to the doctor and get a prescription,” Caleb said lightly.
Polke’s voice went loud. “Well, she wasn’t thinking real clear, was she? Given she offed herself.”
“Calm down, Mr. Polke.”
“Mind your own fucking business!”
The sentence blared inside Caleb’s head like a bad song on repeat. Except, instead of hearing it in Polke’s cigarette-rough voice, he heard CJ’s nasally whine.
His fists clenched. That asshole could be touching Liv right now. Kissing her. And there was nothing Caleb could do about it, because CJ had been right. Liv wasn’t any of Caleb’s business.
“My wife died!” Polke shouted. “I should be grieving in the privacy of my own home, but instead I’m being interrogated! Why don’t you find some real criminals, huh?”
“This is all part of the process,” Caleb managed.
“Bullshit!” Polke jumped to his feet, almost turning over the table. “You have no right to harass innocent citizens!”
Before he knew what was happening, Caleb found himself on his feet too.
Focus, Ward. “It’s my job to determine the cause of your wife’s death.”
“She killed herself! Even a dumbass like you should be able to figure that out.”
A strand of spit hit Caleb under the eye, and that fragile hold on his self-control snapped. He leaned across the table, getting right in Polke’s face. “Sit down!”
Polke slid back into his seat, glowering at Caleb resentfully.
Shit. Caleb had been ready to throw down, and for what? Because Polke had called him a name? Polke was an emotional toddler who’d never learned he was the boss of his feelings instead of the other way around. Caleb was better than that.
He took a deep breath, but it was going to take more than one hit of oxygen to calm him down. There was too much adrenaline swimming through his system.
“Don’t move.” One glare, and Polke slid back into the chair he’d been inching out of for the second time. “I’ll be back.”
Caleb made it to the deserted hallway. He sank to the floor, his back against the cool cement wall.
He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. In and out. No thoughts except emptying his lungs and then filling them up again.
Slowly but steadily, the adrenaline drained from his system, leaving him tired but calm. He opened his eyes and pushed to his feet. He felt normal.
Of course he did. This had been a fluke. An aberration. He was still adjusting to dealing with murderers instead of petty criminals, and he’d already been worked up from his confrontation with CJ. He wouldn’t let it happen again. He couldn’t let his emotions get in the way of his job.
He had his hand on the doorknob, ready to go back in, when his Lieutenant came around the corner.
“Sorry to ruin your fun,” Rich said, “but we have the final report back from the medical examiner. Cause of death is an overdose, like we thought, but the ME can’t make a call on manner of death. Could be a homicide, could be a suicide. So I’m pulling everyone off the case. We can’t afford to waste any more resources.”
No way. Caleb wasn’t gonna let Polke walk out of the station like nothing had happened. “The husband killed her, Rich. I can feel it.”
“Yeah? Well, unless you can wor
k your Murder Whisperer magic and get a confession, we’re screwed, because we can’t even show a crime was committed in the first place. Meanwhile, I’ve got ten other open cases I need you on.”
“Polke confirmed that his wife didn’t have a prescription for dosulepin. Said she wasn’t even seeing a psychiatrist. But guess who was?” Caleb didn’t wait for a response. “Sandra Kelly.”
“Polke’s fuck buddy?” Rich asked, reluctantly interested.
“The same. That should be enough to get us a warrant to search her place for the drugs.”
Rich sighed. “I can probably catch Judge Keating and push the warrant through. Then I’ll send Tommy over for a quick look at the house.” He held one hand up, blocking Caleb’s path to the interrogation room. “But if this search doesn’t pan out, that’s it.”
“It will.”
Rich shook his head, but he was already punching a number into his phone. As he took off down the hall, Caleb heard him talking to the judge.
Polke was waiting in the interrogation room, but Caleb decided to let him stew. He wanted to know what Tommy found before he took another crack at Polke. Or maybe he was afraid the sight of Polke would set him off again.
He wasn’t sure how long he paced in front of the door, checking his phone every five seconds, before Rich returned.
“We got him.” An uncharacteristic grin tugged at Rich’s lips. “You were right. Sandra had a bottle of dosulepin in the bathroom vanity. We still have to take her official statement, but the woman was telling Tommy how Polke talked her into supplying the drugs before he could even get the cuffs on. Looks like the bad guys might actually go to prison this time.”
“Good.” Caleb rolled his neck, trying to release the tension, but his muscles were strung too tight.
“And that’s down to you. I’d have pulled everyone off the case. Six weeks as detective, and you’re already doing great things.” Rich’s grin disappeared, leaving a too-perceptive stare in its place. “You’re a natural.”
“Thanks.” Caleb forced himself to hold still and look his boss in the eye, even though the last thing he wanted to do was listen to Rich talking about how talented he was. Because it had nothing to do with natural gifts. Caleb had known Polke was guilty because he understood how the guy’s mind worked. He’d grown up with parents exactly like Polke. Not murderers, but irresponsible narcissists who were ruled by their emotions. Whatever they wanted, they took, regardless of the consequences to others. He could be the same if he let his mental guard slip.
“Don’t like compliments, huh?” Rich’s grin returned. “Don’t worry. Most of the time, I’ll stick to chewing you out. But today I’m sending you home early. Tommy can give Polke the good news.”
“That’s okay. I have some paperwork—”
“When you deal with these types of cases, emotions run high. You’re still new to this. You’re not numb to the horror show yet. Take the rest of the day off.”
Hell, no. Without the organized chaos of the downtown precinct to distract him, he’d be trapped in his own head—the last place he wanted to be. “I’m fine. Really.”
Rich gave Caleb the steely-eyed glare every cop had in his repertoire. “That wasn’t a suggestion, Detective. It was an order.”
“Yes, sir.” Caleb had to force the words out of his throat. Rich was watching him carefully, like maybe he was wondering if Caleb’s strange behavior wasn’t due to inexperience after all, so there was nothing to do but walk down the hall and out the door.
He got in his car, intending to go home, but instead found himself approaching the street where he’d last seen Liv. She was so damn impulsive. She’d probably seen an advertisement for the tattoo shop and decided—what the hell—might as well permanently mark my body. He put more thought into which movie he was going to watch on Friday night than she did into major life choices.
Not that it was his business. Liv clearly wasn’t interested in his input on the matter.
The storefront came into view.
He wasn’t going to stop. He was only cruising by, taking the scenic route home. But then the door opened, and CJ strolled out. He stopped for long enough to light a cigarette, then continued down the block. Alone.
Why was Liv still dating that waste of space? When Caleb had seen CJ make his move at Ella’s birthday party six months ago, he’d been sure Liv would kick him to the curb. Otherwise Caleb never would’ve left her there unsupervised after promising Rafe that he’d keep an eye on his sister.
But he hadn’t been able to stay in the same room as Liv. Not when she’d been shooting him flirty glances and finding all kinds of excuses to touch him. Not when she was so obviously a woman instead of the kid he liked to pretend she was.
Caleb pulled over in front of a deli. Ignoring the loading zone sign, he cut the SUV’s engine. “Hey!”
CJ kept walking.
Caleb shot out of the SUV. He’d left Liv at that party with CJ, which meant this was his fault. And he was going to fix it. “Yo! CJ!”
The hipster prince took his time turning around, taking a long drag on his cigarette first. “What?”
“Where is she?”
“Who?”
Caleb moved in. He might be a homicide detective now, but he’d spent plenty of time dealing with petty thugs exactly like the one in front of him. He knew how to use his height, his muscle, and his arctic gaze to make it clear who was in charge.
CJ looked up. He must’ve finally realized that Caleb had four inches and twenty pounds of muscle on him, because he swallowed whatever smart remark had been about to come out of his mouth. “If you’re talking about Liv, she’s inside. Decided she wanted a tattoo.” He widened his eyes, like he had no idea where that crazy idea had come from. “I told her to slow her roll, but you know how that girl gets. When she wants something, she’s gotta have it now.”
Caleb breathed in through his nose. Slow. Steady. Forcing his body to relax whether it wanted to or not. “If she’s inside getting a tattoo, why are you out here?”
“You know. Places to go. People to see.” CJ feigned to the left, trying to get past Caleb, but he was slow and stupid.
“See them another time.”
“What’s your problem?”
Walk away, said the ten years Caleb had spent conditioning himself not to think too hard about Liv. But he couldn’t. Not with his blood surging through his veins, commanding him to do his job. To protect. “My problem is, your girlfriend is afraid of needles. She needs some support.”
CJ’s gaze shifted away from Caleb. “She’s not my girlfriend anymore.”
Time slowed, like CJ had pulled a .22 out of the waistband of his skinny jeans. The timing of the break-up made Caleb all kinds of uneasy. “She was your girlfriend this morning.”
“Yeah.” CJ glanced toward Permanent Ink, twitchy as a tweaker in withdrawal. “Well, it was more responsibility than I could take. I’m only twenty-two. I’m not ready for a wife, kids, and a house in the suburbs. I gotta be free, you know?”
Asshole. “Yeah. Like the Skynyrd song.”
“See. I knew you’d get me.” CJ gave him a smarmy bros-before-hoes smirk, and hot rage surged through Caleb’s veins.
He forced it down. Except he must not have gotten it all, because CJ backed up a step, his face going whiter than the dead body Caleb had found his first day on patrol.
“Look, man—no disrespect to Liv. I gotta live my life, that’s all.”
Caleb took another slow breath, planning exactly what he was going to say so he didn’t accidentally go off on CJ. Sure. I get it. Short and sweet. Then he’d go home, like he should’ve done in the first place.
“It wasn’t gonna work out for me and Liv anyway,” CJ said. “She plays at being alternative, but inside she’s exactly like all the other chicks out there, desperate to find a man to take care of her.”
Caleb couldn’t remember moving, but somehow he was right up in CJ’s face. “You want to live your life? Good. But here’s how it�
��s gonna be. You stay away from Liv. You don’t touch her, you don’t come near her, you don’t even call her. After today, as far as you’re concerned, she doesn’t exist. Understand?”
“Chill, man.” CJ held up both hands in the universal gesture for surrender, backstepping as fast as he could. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. I don’t want your girl.”
“She’s not my girl.”
“Sticking to that just-friends story, huh?” Now that he was out of range, CJ’s smirk returned. “Well don’t worry. I’ll stay away from your friend.”
*
“Uh, lady? You can open your eyes now.”
The unfamiliar male voice brought Liv out of her trance. The buzz of the tattoo machine had faded to silence. Her eyes were clamped shut, her hands were clenched around the arms of the chair, and her bicep burned like she’d been branded, but she’d done it. She’d faced her fears and gotten a tattoo.
Slowly, she unclenched her muscles. She eased her eyes open, but kept them pointed in front of her, at the tattoo artist she was only now seeing for the first time.
He was in his mid-thirties, with two full sleeves of swirling red and blue designs that looked like the ocean on fire.
She had a vision of a dress. Azure silk with carmine accents. The skirt would billow as she walked, like an ocean wave, and—
“You gonna take a look?” Ocean On Fire gestured toward her arm.
“Of course.” She was strangely reluctant to turn. She couldn’t remember which design she’d chosen; things had been fuzzy for a while. What if she’d accidentally pointed to something purple and yellow? She didn’t want to live her whole life with an acid-trip butterfly on her arm.
No. She was being ridiculous. She might have been out of it, but she wouldn’t have chosen anything truly terrible. Her brain could pick flattering colors even in the throes of a full-blown panic attack.
She swiveled her head to the left, bringing the area into her peripheral vision.
Pretty in Ink (Voretti Family Book 3) Page 2
