by L. A. Witt
Andreas kissed her on the forehead. “You’re the best, sweetie.”
Erin was obviously tired, but she managed to look a little proud too. “You’re only saying that because I made some more work for you.”
“Nah, you did that because you’re the smartest. You taking care of your sister definitely makes you the best.”
“And the best get free caffeine.” I held up the soda, and she took it with a smile. “I’d have brought coffee, but we were in a rush this morning.”
“Coke is good,” she assured me. “Thanks.”
“Is your car in the garage?” Andreas asked. “We have to transfer her seat.”
“Yeah.”
“Great.” He turned to me. “Here, hold her for a minute.”
“Hey, no—”
“You’re fine, just don’t drop her.” We managed to transfer his sleeping child without disturbing her, and then they left me standing in the conference room while they headed back down to the garage. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so awkward. Drawing pictures with Emily was one thing, but this? What if she woke up and wanted Andreas? What if she got upset? What if—
“Oh my gosh, she’s actually here!” Paula stood in the doorway, coffee in one hand, ponytail-holder in the other. She was actually trying to use the hair band too, and almost spilling coffee all over her long blonde hair in the process. “I thought I heard Lisa had dropped Emily off yesterday, but I figured you guys would take some time off with her.” She somehow managed to tie her hair back without making a mess, and joined me, a smile creasing her face as she took in the sight. “Aw, she’s grown so much since the last time I saw her!”
“How long ago was that?”
“It’s been months. Close to a year, actually. Andreas never liked having her in the station, and I can’t blame him. Is she going to hang out with you two today?”
“Actually . . .” I sat down on the edge of the table because my injured shoulder was starting to feel like it might fall off, and propped Emily on my lap. She squirmed a little but didn’t actually wake up, so I counted that as a win. “We’ve got a lead on a new suspect.”
Paula looked impressed. “Who? I thought Brian was a slam dunk beyond the lineup kerfuffle.”
“It’s one of his coworkers, actually. Jim . . .” Shit, what had it said next to the enormous yellow smiley face he’d had on his badge? “Jim Bresnick. He’s in the stuff you pulled for Erin yesterday. We need some information on him.”
“What kind?”
“Employment history for starters, but anything that might come up in the system would be good.”
Paula sighed. “You do realize that I’m buried under a mountain of paperwork right now, don’t you? The sheer number of documents required to close even one of the cases you guys brought to light is immense. I’m actually considering donating to the National Forest Foundation as an apology for all the trees that are being sacrificed in the name of justice.”
“Hey, if you can’t do it, you can’t do it.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re very busy and I understand that, and I’m not trying to shove work I can do later off on to you now. Our schedule is tight today because of family stuff, but . . .” I resisted the urge to shrug; I didn’t want to jostle Emily. The effect seemed to come off anyway. “I can always stay a little late to get it all printed this evening.”
“I know what you’re doing, Darren.”
I smiled. “Yeah?”
Paula plowed ahead without waiting for any more of a rebuttal. “And I want you to know, this wouldn’t work if you weren’t armed with a child. I’m immune to your charms.”
“I would never disagree with that.”
“And the next time you get it into your head to eat Laudisio’s food here, you save some of it for me. I’ve been dying for their saltimbocca since I smelled the remnants in your trash.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Do you go smelling other people’s trash a lot?”
“No, but you’d be surprised what people throw away. I once went through some rich guy’s garbage for a case and found three jars of caviar. Unopened. Unexpired. What, did he just decide ‘Huh, I need to make space in this cabinet, what can go? Eh, beluga, so gauche,’ and throw it out? Did it remind him of an ex? Did he develop an allergy, or was he just an overprivileged douche who didn’t give a damn?”
I raised my eyebrows. “You’ve thought a lot about this.”
“What can I say? I’ve been through a lot of trash.” She took a sip of her coffee and winced a little. “Fine. I’ll see what pops up, but you owe me, don’t forget.”
“I won’t forget.” Emily started stirring in my arms, more forcefully than before, and I pulled back a little to look at her as she finally opened her eyes. “Hey, Em.”
“Hi,” she said sleepily. “Where’s Daddy?”
“He’s out with Erin, putting your chair in her car. You’re going to spend some time with her today.”
“Really?” Sleep was giving way to excitement. “Can we have a movie?”
“I bet Erin would love to watch a movie with you.”
In a rare act of perfect timing, Andreas and Erin returned just as she said that. “A movie?” Erin said, opening her eyes wide and pressing her palms to her face. “What a great idea!”
“Yay!” Emily reached for her sister, and I handed her over with a little sigh.
“After breakfast,” Andreas reminded his kids. “And remember, call me if you need anything, okay? You’ve got the—”
“The car seat, the bag, the food, the money, all the numbers. I’ve got everything,” she said. “We’ll be fine.”
“Have fun, then.” He gave them a big, squishing hug at the same time, and Emily squealed with glee.
“Daddy, you’re crushing us!”
“Yeah, Dad, stop it!”
“Holy shit,” Paula whispered to me. “I might faint.”
“I know.”
The girls left, and Andreas watched them go for a minute before turning back to us. He held up a finger. “Don’t start.”
“Right, no, of course not.” Paula smirked at him as she headed for the door. “I’m not saying anything. I’m going to get back to work. Talk to you guys later.”
“I asked her to do a search on Jim Bresnick,” I said once the door was shut. “Who knows, maybe he’s got some priors. I figure we can do some more work on it when we get back, but according to Brian’s schedule”—which I had memorized at this point—“he’s got an early shift today, so if we’re going to catch him at work, we’d better go soon.”
“Yeah.” Andreas shut his eyes for a second and took a breath. When he opened them again, he’d pushed away the last edges of softness. “Fine. We can grab something to eat on the way.”
“Something like McDonald’s, maybe?”
“Don’t push it.”
I was really beginning to loathe Reginald’s. It wasn’t just that the store was obviously failing, half its lights burnt out and the floor permanently stained here and there. This place was the embodiment of a lot of personal failure for me; only days ago, I’d been so convinced I had the right man pegged for a series of some of the most heinous crimes imaginable. I’d been so smug. Then I’d gotten my comeuppance, and it would have served me fucking right if Brian had actually been our guy and vanished after the failed line up, taking any chance for justice with him. But now?
Now it was almost worse, because there was a good chance that Brian wasn’t only innocent, but that he was being actively set up by one of his coworkers. Brian might be the kind of person who had a hard time connecting with others, who let little things become big things and had to exert rigid control over his surroundings to keep them from controlling him. If Erin hadn’t discovered the link between the victims and dear old Jim . . .
“You okay?”
I started a little as Andreas put the car into park. “Yeah. I’m fine.” I nodded a
nd got out of the car. “Let’s do this.”
“You’ve got the picture?”
I patted my front pocket. “Right here.”
“Good.”
Brian wasn’t immediately observable, but Deanna was there. She frowned as we walked over to her register. “Can I help you, gentlemen?” Again, her body language shouted impatiently.
“We just have a couple more questions for Mr. McIntosh,” I said. “It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes of his time. We really appreciate your cooperation with this.”
“I swear, I’ve never heard of detectives being so interested in a drug deal or two,” she said skeptically, but went ahead and paged Brian up to the front. He arrived a minute later, and the moment he saw us, it was like he shrank a full size.
“Mr. McIntosh, would you mind stepping outside with us?” Andreas asked. From the corner of my eye, I could see movement at the end of the closest aisle. Someone was watching us.
Reginald’s was the kind of place that had the big convex mirrors in the corners, so someone at the register could check the aisles for shoplifting without having to move. I glanced at the one a little behind Deanna’s head, not a big enough shift to give myself away. Hovering at the front of the store, a little ways out from the customer service desk, was Jim.
Brian stepped outside with us, and we escorted him to the far side of the car, where we’d be less visible to any curious eyes. “Mr. McIntosh,” Andreas began, but Brian interrupted him.
“I can’t stay out here, I’ve got twenty-three more crates to empty before it’s time to clock out, and I have to break down the boxes and remove the tape and that takes at least thirty-seven seconds apiece, and I have a legally mandated fifteen-minute break in five minutes, and if I don’t take it on time, Deanna will be upset with me.”
“I’m sure Deanna will let you apply some of this time to your break so that your schedule isn’t overly interrupted,” I said gently. Brian seemed on the verge of hyperventilating, and I felt like a complete asshole. “We’ve just got one quick question for you, and then we’ll be done for the day, all right?”
“All . . . all right.”
I took the picture I’d swiped from Jenna Zabinski’s file out of my jacket pocket and held it up. “Do you recognize this woman?”
He leaned in a little, squinting in the bright light. He stared at it in silence for a few seconds, then shook his head. “No.”
“Are you sure?” Andreas asked.
“Yes. She doesn’t shop here and she isn’t one of Lu’s friends. Can I go now?”
“Sure, Brian. Thank you.” We watched him vanish back into the store, and Andreas said, “I don’t think he was lying.”
I sighed and tucked the photo away. “Me neither. You know what that means.”
“It means we need to do a shit-ton of research into—”
“Detectives!” Speak of the devil. Jim just hadn’t been able to help himself, apparently. He jogged out of the store and headed over to us, his expression friendly yet concerned. “I saw you arrive and ask to speak to Brian, and it left me wondering . . . I know you’re probably not supposed to talk about these things, but I have to know. Have you made any progress in your case?”
“Nothing concrete,” Andreas said. I was glad he was doing the talking. My throat felt like it had been filled with hot lead. If I opened my mouth, I was afraid I might spit bullets. Progress with our case, fucking asshole.
“You’ll let me know if there’s anything else you need from me, won’t you?” He lowered his voice. “I want to make sure my niece is safe.”
“We understand.” I didn’t even know Andreas could make a smile that bland before today. “We’ll certainly be in touch if the situation warrants it.”
“Thank you,” Jim said, with every appearance of complete sincerity. “Thank you both for all the work you do.”
By the time we were back in the car, I was half-tempted to arrest Jim just for being a smarmy, lying fuck-face. “He’s digging,” I ground out as Andreas got us headed back toward the station.
“He wants to see how effective his story has been so far. If he’s setting Brian up for a fall, the more he knows about our leads, the more he can play to them.”
“Shit.” I banged my head back against the seat rest. “It seems so obvious now how wrong I was.”
“How wrong we were, and if you break my car with your head, I’ll make you walk back to the precinct.”
Ha, there was an empty threat if I ever heard one. It was ridiculous enough to pull me out of my own regret, and that was all I needed to get my head on straight. “I’m fine. I won’t break your car.”
“Good. Don’t.” He glanced at me and smiled, just for a second. “It’s my favorite.”
Shit. We needed to get back to work before I made an excuse to jump him right here.
Work, it turned out, was the perfect libido killer. Paula not only had Jim’s personal history waiting for us, she’d gotten her hands on the reams of statements he and several dozen coworkers had given regarding two former coworkers who’d been arrested for murder. One person had been convicted of killing an entire family, and he’d been sent to prison five years ago—one year before these new killings had started.
There was so much information here, I was almost reluctant to dive into it now. The past day had been so . . . so nice. Our frantic night together before, the deep sleep that had followed it, and just being with Andreas and Emily. Everything had been good, for a little while. And I hated that the calm of it was ending, but I also knew that neither of us would be able to live with ourselves if we didn’t do everything in our power to solve this case.
I was so sick of feeling fragile, but I knew better than to push myself at this point. I almost wished I’d come to work in my own car, so I could divert to Mom and Vic’s place on my way home and just sit with them for a while, but Melissa was still staying there, and I didn’t feel up to talking to her yet.
“Can we take some of this back to your place?” I asked. “Not the graphic stuff,” because God knows I didn’t want Emily opening a random folder and being confronted with a scene of carnage, “but the time line parts? You could have the girls over, or it could just be the three of us if Erin has other things to do.”
Andreas nodded immediately, like he hadn’t expected anything else. “Sure. We should give Erin a break anyway, and Lisa’s coming back to pick Emily up tomorrow. An early night is a good idea.”
I tried not to look relieved. I probably failed. “Should we grab some food on the way?”
“No, I’ll cook. I’ll make Emily’s favorite.”
Had I ever actually seen Andreas cook before? I wasn’t sure I had. He’d bought a lot of takeout and heated up plenty of stuff, but actual from-scratch cooking?
“It sounds great.”
“This is the most bizarre case I’ve ever worked.” Darren kept his voice down—my daughters were in the next room watching a movie—but the bewilderment was no less apparent. “Do you think . . .” He stared at a case file for a second before meeting my gaze across my cluttered kitchen table. “Do you think Jim was inspired by these psychos he worked with?”
“Can’t imagine he’d be inspired by people who got caught.” I paused. “Unless he thought he could do better.”
“Like show them how it’s done?”
“Something like that.” I had a few other theories bouncing around in my head, but couldn’t decide if they made sense or not. I was too fucking tired, too foggy from trying to process all of this. Jim had two coworkers who’d been convicted of murder. Now a suspected third. That wasn’t a coincidence. The conclusions my brain was trying to come to, though, were dangerous. The kind that led to convictions being questioned and, if the lawyers were slick enough, overturned. I needed to know without a shadow of a doubt before I played those cards.
And, at the moment, I wasn’t certain of anything except my own fatigue. I pushed the file in front of me to the side and rubbed my eyes. My he
ad was pounding, and I was seriously tempted to ask Erin to fast forward through the next musical number. Of course she wouldn’t. And I wouldn’t ask, because Emily had mastered that but Daddy look that won me over every time. If murderers and drug dealers ever got the hang of that shit, I’d have to retire.
“You all right?” Darren asked.
“Just tired.” I lowered my hand and leaned back in my chair. “I think we need to go talk to his coworkers.”
“Which ones? The inmates, or—”
“Both.” I paused to stretch. Christ, when did I get this old? “Bosses. Cubicle mates. Whatever. Anyone who can give us any insight about whether Jim was buddies with these psychos, or if there were any signs.”
“And the inmates could maybe give us some insight too,” he said with a nod.
“Exactly.” Darren was quiet for a moment, then squirmed uneasily.
“What’s wrong?”
“We’re getting close to the twenty-sixth.” He gnawed his lip. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to bring Jim in?”
I shook my head. “All we’ve got is circumstantial evidence and a history of working with psychopaths. Even if we bring him in, we can’t hold him.”
“I know, but . . .” He sighed heavily. “Fuck.”
“It’s frustrating. Believe me, I know. But the longer we can let him believe we’re not onto him, the less likely he is to spook and take off.”
“But what if he moves things up? Kills his next victim . . . I don’t know, tomorrow or something?”
“Serial killers don’t work like that. He’s got a pattern. He’ll stick to it.” I swallowed. “Unless we spook him.”
Darren shuddered.
“We’re doing everything we can,” I said. “We’ll get this asshole.”
“And what if we don’t?”
“That isn’t an option until it happens.”
He searched my eyes, then sighed again and reached for his coffee. “When did you become the optimist and I turn into the damn cynic?”
