by L. A. Witt
“We’ve got a couple of suspects. They’re being questioned right now.” It sounded so useless, but I needed her to know something was happening even while I took the worst-timed break imaginable.
“Paula told me.”
“Oh. Good.” So Paula was keeping her up-to-date. Thank God. Paula’s head was much clearer than mine, and dear Lord, I owed that women dinner at the most expensive restaurant in town when this was all over. Nobody worked as hard as she did, and she’d saved my ass more times now than I could count.
I realized after a while that the silence between me and my ex-wife had been dragging on. “So, um, how are you holding up?”
Sighing, she sat back against the chair. Her shoulders drooped like it was taking a colossal effort just to stay upright. It probably was. “I don’t even know, honestly.”
I nodded. “Yeah. I know the feeling. How are Erin and Ben?”
“As well as can be expected. They’re both staying at her boyfriend’s place right now.” She paused. “He seems nice.”
“Yeah. He’s a good guy. And I’m especially thankful for him right now.”
Marcy nodded. “They’re safe with him, right?”
“Yeah.” As far as I know. “They’ve got hand-vetted and totally trusted officers with them around the clock, and the condo has cameras everywhere and requires a key card just to get into the building. It’s probably the safest place for them right now.” Not that cameras had done a damn bit of good to stop the kids from being taken in the first place, but I didn’t mention that to her.
She studied me, probably searching for my uncertainty. Then she shifted a little, squaring her shoulders. “Do you think Casey’s okay?”
“Yes.”
Her eyebrows flicked up. “Really?”
I nodded, wishing I was more certain. I tried to find hope in the fact that the kidnappers had let Erin go once they’d realized her injuries could be fatal. Even if their motive had been to avoid prison time, the fact was, they didn’t seem interested in killing the kids. Or at least, one of them wasn’t. The other had apparently argued—
I pushed that thought away and cleared my throat. “We have to assume they’re both all right. I’m not going to entertain the idea that they’re not.”
She winced. “I’m sorry. I . . . I’m worried about Emily too.”
“I know. But Casey’s your son. Lisa’s probably as focused on Emily as you are on Casey. It’s okay.”
Marcy chewed her lip. “I should call her. She must be losing her mind.” She didn’t ask for my ex-girlfriend’s number, so I could only assume she had it. Or maybe she knew she could get it from Erin. Either way, I wasn’t going to stop her from getting in contact with Lisa. At this point, everyone involved deserved whatever comfort they could find, and maybe two mothers consoling each other over their missing kids was what they needed.
I thumbed the edge of Emily’s barrette. Marcy didn’t need to know—or pass on to Lisa—that we’d lost the scent. That we’d been in the room where Casey and Emily had been, but now they were gone.
As casually as I could, I tucked the barrette in my pocket. Then, slowly, I sat up. My foot still throbbed, and now my head did too, but I’d been sitting still for too long.
I gestured at my crutches. “Could you hand those to me?”
She stood and retrieved them for me. As I started to stand, she offered her arm, and I took it. Once I was settled on my crutches, she said, “So what happens now?”
“We see what Paula and Darren have gotten out of the suspects.” I nodded toward the door. “Hopefully that’ll lead us somewhere.”
“‘Hopefully’?” Her voice was little more than an alarmed squeak.
I sighed. “This is how investigations run. You remember.”
Marcy pursed her lips, and then her shoulders sank again. “Yeah. I do.”
“Marcy.” I squeezed her arm gently. “I promise—I’m doing everything I can. I will find them.”
She covered her hand with mine, and I recognized that stoic expression. Her composure was cracking, but she was hell-bent on keeping it together and having faith in me.
“Come here,” I said, and pulled her into a hug. She held me tighter than she had in a long, long time, and the breath she released sounded like a barely contained sob.
“I am so scared,” she murmured.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I refused to let her hear the words echoing inside my head: Me too. As much as she’d always harped on me to open up instead of shutting her out, to talk about how I felt, this wasn’t the time. I knew her, and if only this one time, she needed to believe I had it under control. That I wasn’t scared out of my mind, and that everything would be okay. Right now, that was all I could give her.
“I’ll find them,” I said again. “I promise.”
Please, God, don’t let me be lying.
Eventually, we let each other go. She’d gathered her composure, and I was pretty sure I’d gathered mine. We exchanged a quick look and subtle smiles, then headed out into the bull pen to see if there’d been any updates.
Paula hadn’t pulled anything useful out of Brando. Neither had Hamilton or Darren. Not even when they’d convinced him Weyland was rolling on him in the next room. At this point, it was safe to say we’d extracted all we could from the idiot.
Weyland had lawyered up before Darren had even closed the interrogation room door, and they were currently waiting for his attorney to show up. Apparently his sister-in-law was a high-powered defense attorney, and she’d be along after she finished with another client.
So with both of them on ice, we had . . . nothing. Again. Still.
As Paula finished explaining the situation to us, Darren materialized, looking flustered and irritated.
“Lawyer’s still en route,” he grumbled to Paula. “Apparently her meeting ran late.”
“Of course it did.” Paula rolled her eyes. “I’m going to go have a uniform get both of those idiots something to eat. At least then they can’t complain about being mistreated.”
As she walked away, Darren turned to us, and I could tell the instant he realized Marcy was standing there. He straightened, irritation vanishing in favor of nerves. “Oh. Um. Hi.”
“Darren, this is my ex-wife, Marcy. Marcy, this is Darren. My partner.” I paused. “In both senses of the word.”
She blinked, and then a smile spread across her lips as she extended her hand. “So you’re the man I keep hearing about.”
Darren and I both tensed.
“Uh . . .” He shook her hand, shooting me a What now? look.
“Huh?” Then it clicked. “Erin told you, didn’t she?”
Marcy laughed with as much enthusiasm as she could probably muster right now. “She can’t stop talking about the two of you. So, it’s nice to finally put a face with the name.”
Darren chuckled. “Yeah. It’s, uh, nice to meet you too.” They both smiled, but the uneasiness was palpable from both sides, and I didn’t quite know how to fill the silence either. Darren glanced past us, and he took a breath like he was about to speak—probably to excuse himself to get back to work—but then his phone jingled in his pocket. “Crap. I’m sorry. That’s my mom. I gotta take it.” He bowed out and left the bull pen.
Saved by the bell, considering how worked up he’d been over meeting my ex-wife. I suppressed a laugh.
Marcy watched him go, then turned to me. “Well, it sounds like when this is all over, we have a lot of catching up to do.”
“Yeah. You could say that.”
“I’ll let you get back to work, though. I think I’m going to go call Lisa.” She adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder. “Then go see how Erin and Ben are doing.”
“Okay. And I’ll keep you updated as much as I can.”
“I know you will.” She hugged me gently, and left.
Once she was gone, I leaned on my crutches, released a breath, and rubbed a hand over my face. I couldn’t say which was worse—the physical or emotio
nal fatigue—but damn if they weren’t both wearing me down. Except I had to keep moving forward. Had to.
“Detective Ruffner.”
I turned, and Officer Blaine approached with a large envelope in his hand.
“A courier just dropped this off.” He handed it over. “It’s addressed to you and marked Urgent.”
My pulse sped up. In theory, I should’ve had it checked for anthrax or something, but I didn’t see any residue on the outside, and the envelope was too thin to be an explosive. So, I tore the seal.
Inside was a photo and a piece of paper.
The photo nearly made my stomach lurch up my throat. Casey and Emily. They were sitting against a wall, wrists and ankles bound with duct tape. The newspaper propped up against Casey’s leg was undoubtedly today’s.
I pulled the piece of paper from the envelope. No letterhead. No signatures. No return address. It looked like it had been printed on a typewriter.
Detective Ruffner,
Now you know how the families of these men and women feel.
I skimmed the twenty or so names listed below. I didn’t recognize all of them, but enough were familiar that it took seconds to put the pieces together—they were dirty cops who’d gone to prison after my investigation.
There was no ransom. No demand. Just some fucker taunting me with my kids. Trying to make me suffer for turning on my fellow cops.
“What does it say?” Blaine asked, voice and eyes filled with concern.
I read it again, a cold sense of horror settling in the pit of my stomach as I realized we had no idea what the endgame was. Or if there was one at all.
The cold ran even deeper. If there were no conditions for my kids to be released, then . . . what?
For the first time, it occurred to me this might very well be the work of someone smart enough to pull a plan together, but too unhinged to see it through without bloodshed. The kind of person who held a bank full of people hostage, thinking they’d actually get the money and the airplane from the city, and upon realizing they were epically fucked . . .
I shook myself, unable to imagine further and suddenly even more frantic to get my kids to safety. To Blaine, I quietly said, “Get Captain Hamilton.”
Blaine darted away and broke into a jog. I leaned heavily on my crutches and stared at the photo. The letter. The photo again.
As I studied the photo closer, I realized Casey had turned himself slightly to shield Emily, and she’d pressed herself against him. There was some comfort in that, knowing they weren’t alone. A hell of a lot more comfort in knowing that they were alive, and as far as I could tell from the photo, no worse for the wear aside from a bruise on Casey’s cheekbone.
Question was, where the hell were they?
Blaine returned a moment later with the captain hot on his heels.
“This just came.” I handed him the letter and photo. “They’re not asking for anything. Just . . . taunting us.” I swallowed. “Taunting me.”
The captain skimmed the brief letter, then eyed me grimly. “You know if they do make demands, the city doesn’t negotiate with terrorists.”
Also something I didn’t want to think about. “I know.” I gestured at the papers in his hand. “But I’d be willing to bet money the kidnappers are associated with someone on this list. A disgruntled family member. Maybe a spouse, or a sibling, or . . .” I shook my head. “We need to start digging into the families and social circles of everyone on that list.”
“Good thinking. I’ll assign some uniforms.” Hamilton turned to Blaine. “Get every officer in this precinct who’s not preoccupied. Have Marla call in any street patrols who can be spared too. And someone get in touch with the courier company—find out who sent this.”
Blaine gave a sharp nod and hurried toward the stairs.
Hamilton took the list from me. “Meanwhile, you and Detective Corliss are off the clock for the next ten hours.”
“Ten—”
“Because you both need to sleep, and you need to take care of that foot.” He held up the list. “If anything develops, I will personally call you, but you’re both on the verge of collapsing. You won’t help the investigation in your current states.”
I started to protest, but what could I say? He was right. It was a miracle Darren and I were still standing. “All right. We’ll get out of here and see you in the morning.” He didn’t need to know that I had every intention of coming back as soon as I had a catnap.
Hamilton nodded. Then he took off, barking orders into the bull pen and waving the list. “Anyone not working on a hot case, you’ve got a new assignment as of now.”
I left him to it, and went looking for Darren.
As I rounded a corner, Paula saw me, and hurried toward me. “Oh good. There you are.” She touched my arm. “Darren’s in the conference room. You . . . might want to go talk to him.” Her features were taut like she was just stopping herself from grimacing.
My heart plummeted. Oh no. “Thanks.” I hurried down the hall, ignoring the aches and bruises that my crutches irritated with every step.
In the conference room, Darren was sitting on the couch where I’d been elevating my foot. His elbows were resting on his knees, his head bowed and pressed against his clasped hands.
I knew. I could feel it in my gut. I wanted to believe it wasn’t true, but . . . I knew.
I hobbled closer and joined him on the couch. “Hey.” I rested my hand between his shoulder blades. “You all right?” It was stupid, but I didn’t know what else to say.
Darren swallowed, but he didn’t look up. “Asher’s gone.”
My heart sank deeper. The words weren’t a surprise, but that didn’t make them any easier to stomach. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his temple. “I’m so sorry, Darren.”
He didn’t make a sound as he leaned into me. Melted, more like. As he lowered his hands, his phone clattered to the floor, but neither of us made any move to pick it up. For a moment, we just sat there. I stroked his hair. He just breathed. At this point, I couldn’t imagine he could do much more.
“He killed himself.”
I jumped. “What?”
“Hanged himself.” Darren rubbed a hand over his face and exhaled again. “With his sheets or . . . something. I didn’t catch everything. But he killed himself.”
“Oh my God.” I held Darren tighter. “I am so sorry.” On some level, I was sure Darren was relieved. His brother had been suffering unimaginably for a long time, and the end had been inevitable, but this must’ve been a hell of a blow. “Do you want me to drive you to the home?”
“No. No, that’s . . . the last place I want to be.” Darren sat up and cleared his throat. “I don’t want to think about this right now. I need to get back to work.”
“Darren, you need—”
“I need to get back to work.”
“Actually, no. You don’t.” I touched his face. “The captain’s already got us off the clock for the next ten hours. Wants us to go home and sleep.”
“What about the case?”
I hesitated. I didn’t dare tell him about the new development. It was huge—possibly the break we’d been looking for—but he’d want to pursue that instead of focusing on his family and his grief. As much as I desperately needed and wanted him on this case—he was a damn good detective—it wouldn’t be fair. Not now. He and his family needed each other.
Finally, I said, “He and Paula both promised to call if anything develops. But he’s right—we both need some sleep. And I think you’re going to need some time off for—”
“No.” He set his jaw, stubbornness cracking through the grief. “I’m not taking time off while your kids are still out there.”
“Darren, your family needs you.”
“You are my family.”
Fuck if that didn’t hit me right in the chest. I gathered him into my arms again and kissed the top of his head. “You know I appreciate how focused you are on this case, but you’ve got to take care of
yourself.”
“And do what?” He pulled back and met my eyes. For the first time, the threat of tears glittered in his. “There’s nothing I can do for Asher. He’s gone. But your kids are still out there. I can do something.” I started to speak, but he squeezed my hand. “Andreas. You know me. You know the last thing I can do is sit at home and feel sorry for myself.” He blinked, and one of those tears slid free. “Especially when I know this is killing you and there might be something I can do about it.”
I gnawed the inside of my cheek. Wasn’t I exactly the same way? I’d barely been able to cope with putting my foot up for an hour to ease the swelling.
“For the moment,” I said finally, “we need to get some sleep, or we won’t be any use to anyone. Paula and the captain will stay on top of everything.” I paused. “Do you want to go see your parents?”
He flinched and swiped at his eyes. “I should.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He held my gaze. Then he sighed. “They’ll understand if we don’t stay long. Let’s go.”
I wasn’t quite sure how I managed to get us from the precinct to my parents’ house without getting into a wreck. I’d insisted on driving—I knew that Andreas’s leg was causing him pain, and I wasn’t about to add to that when I didn’t have to—but when I stopped the car in their driveway and suddenly realized that, holy shit, I was already in their driveway, the fact that I was surprised worried me. It was a distant worry, though—the kind I could ignore because the screaming in my head was already so loud.
I sat there with my hands on the wheel and stared at the garage door until Andreas broke the silence. “Do you want to leave?”
“I . . . No.” I even meant it. I knew I needed to be there, I just didn’t know what to say once I got inside. Sorry Asher is dead, Mom. Sorry I didn’t notice he was a little sharper lately because he was flushing his pills down the toilet. Sorry he was aware enough to know how much he hated his life. Sorry he was able to work out how to end it. A sheet looped over the top of the bathroom door before he closed it, with his neck wrapped tight in its folds. He’d strangled, slowly and painfully, and yet no one had heard a thing. Story of his fucking life.
