by L. A. Witt
“Darren. Darren.” Andreas’s hand on my shoulder shook me aware again, out of the place in my head that was stuck on picturing Asher when he’d been found by the staff. Thank God it hadn’t been my mother. I met Andreas’s worried gaze.
“Sorry. Let’s go in. Or, really, you don’t have to. You could—”
“I’m going.” He got out of the car and reached back in for his crutches, then looked at me expectantly. “You coming with me?”
Yeah. I could do that.
Vic met us at the front porch, looking positively gray with fatigue. Even his moustache was drooping. “Hey, kid. C’mere.” He held out an arm to hug me, and I went to him, biting my lip and determined not to cry. I had to hold it together now. I didn’t have time to break down, not with Emily and Casey still out there.
“Where’s Mom?” I managed once I was sure my voice wouldn’t break.
“She’s in his bedroom. Has been since she called you. She won’t talk to me.” I could hear the pain in his voice at that confession, like he was failing somehow because my mother couldn’t face him.
“I’ll go see her.”
“Thanks, son.” He pulled back, then looked over my shoulder at Andreas. “Christ, are you nuts standing there like that? Get inside, get on the couch, prop that leg up.” Andreas went without complaint, giving Vic exactly what he needed right now: someone to take care of. I hoped I’d remember to thank him when this was all over.
I walked down the hall toward the bedrooms. Asher and I had shared one until he went away to college, and when I walked in, for a moment all I could see was the room the way it had been, with my boy band posters on the wall and his row of books taking up all the shelf space. He’d been the salutatorian of his high school class. Mom had kept his special stole, so proud of her oldest son. It was in a box somewhere now.
After Asher got sick, when he spent a few years living with them here before managing his disease got too hard, this had been his room again. It hadn’t been empty long enough to lose the feel of him, somehow, and I had to guess that was why Mom was in here, rather than in her own bedroom.
The door was open, and Mom was sitting on the bed with her head in her hands. She hardly made a sound, barely moved, but I knew she was crying. This was how she dealt with things—quietly, by herself, so other people wouldn’t worry. She hated making a fuss. Well, too bad. She wasn’t going to do this by herself. “Hey, Mom.”
She didn’t look up. I went over and sat down beside her on the bed, wrapping one arm lightly around her shoulders. I kissed the top of her head and waited.
“How . . . how didn’t I know?” She didn’t move her hands, but I could still hear her through them. “He was my baby. I knew everything about him. I was always the first to know. Why didn’t I know this?”
“Because he didn’t want you to. He’s smart, he’s always been smart.” I knew I was using the wrong tense, but I couldn’t help it. Asher was just too big to belong to the past.
“I knew he was unhappy, and I let it happen. He was so— And now he’s—” She finally lifted her head, and the full force of her devastation hit me like a punch to the throat. I couldn’t breathe, staring her sorrow in the face. I couldn’t stop the tears from slipping out of my eyes either, the ones I’d been able to hold back with Vic. Mom reached out and wiped my cheek with her thumb. Her hand was desperately cold. “Oh sweetheart.” That was all she could say, no word of consolation because she had none to give me. “Oh, my sweetheart.”
I wrapped her up in a real hug this time, and she clung to me and broke loose against my shoulder. I just held on, as tightly as I could, and cried with her. Tears couldn’t do justice to this kind of grief, but they were all I had right now. No screaming, no hitting, no running until I collapsed and couldn’t drag myself back to my feet. All of that would have to wait. If I let it happen now, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop it, and there was still too much to do.
I didn’t know how long we sat there—long enough for her tears to soak through my shirt, and for me to finally get mine under control. Long enough for her sobs to taper off, until at last she said, “I don’t know what to do.”
“You don’t have to know yet.”
“There are . . . things, I need to—to call Melissa, and talk to the f-funeral director, and move his things out of the—out of the—”
“You don’t have to do it all by yourself. Let me and Vic and Andreas help.”
She shook her head. “No, sweetheart, you’ve got a case. Ash-Asher isn’t, he’s not g-going—” She whimpered a little, then firmed up again. “No.”
“Call Marla, then.” Captain Hamilton’s secretary was an old friend of my mother’s, and I knew she could be relied on. “She’ll be hurt otherwise,” I added, and my mom nodded. Of course, talking about someone else’s pain was enough to get her to change her mind. I felt bad, playing on my mother’s insecurities that way, but if I couldn’t be there for her—and I couldn’t, not yet—then she and Vic needed to be able to rely on someone else for help.
I kissed her temple. “Thank you. Do you want me to go get Vic?”
“Not yet.” She reached up and framed my face with her hands. They were so cold. I covered them with my own and held them tight. “Darren . . . I don’t know what I’ll do if it happens to you too.”
My blood went as cold as her hands. This was something we didn’t talk about. She knew I was coming around to the idea of getting tested for the early-onset Alzheimer’s gene, for Andreas’s sake if nothing else, but it wasn’t an openly acknowledged thing between us these days.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I can’t help it. I know you don’t like to think about it. I’m sorry, but, baby . . .” Her hands started trembling, and I held on tighter. “What if it happens again? What if I lose both my boys? You’re all I have.”
“That’s not . . .” Only it was kind of true. Like I’d said to Andreas earlier, we’d never been a big family. “You’ll have Vic. And yourself.”
She smiled slightly. It looked painful. “Oh, sweetie. Once you’re a parent, you’ll come to realize that that’s just not enough.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. You have so much to deal with right now, you don’t need this too.”
“Mom . . .”
“It’ll be okay. I’ll be fine.” She kissed my cheek, then pulled her hands back and pressed unsteadily to her feet. “C’mon, let’s go see your daddy.” I let her lead me out into the living room, where Vic and Andreas were speaking quietly together. As soon as we walked in, Vic was on his feet.
“Jessica?” The uncertainty in his voice broke my heart.
“Honey.” My mom walked over and let him hug her, and I saw some of the tension he’d been carrying when we’d arrived finally dissipate. “I told you—I’m fine. It’s fine. We should let the boys go; they’ve got work to do.” She turned to Andreas, her mask of geniality firmly in place. “Have there been any new developments?”
“A lot of people are working on it,” Andreas said, but there was a moment where he looked almost . . . guilty? What was that about? “Darren and I are off for the next nine hours or so, though.”
“Of course you are. You need to rest. And to eat.” Mom headed for the kitchen. “I’ll get you something to take home with you.”
“Jessica—” Vic began, but she was already in the other room. “Damn it.” He looked at me. “How . . .” Is she? Are you? I wasn’t going to make him choose.
“Holding steady, I guess. When—” I had to pause to clear my throat. “When will the funeral be?”
“Not for a few days, at least. Gotta get in touch with Melissa, the people he used to work with, fix things up at the funeral home.”
“Okay.” Funeral home. Right, because we had to bury my brother. Because he was— Fuck, fuck, fuck, I didn’t want to think about this right now.
Mom saved me from getting lost in my thoughts. She walked over to me with a casserole dish tightly covered with plastic wrap, and handed i
t over. “It’s chicken cauliflower with cheddar and salsa verde. It’s all precooked, you just have to heat it up.” I took it, and she moved on to Andreas, bending over and hugging him where he still sat on the couch. “You have to remember to take care of yourself, you hear me? Even if you don’t want to.”
“I know.” He hugged her back, then got up and retrieved his crutches. “We should head home, unless you need anything else from us right now.”
“Oh no, we’re fine.” Sure she was, as fine as china, so brittle one false move would break her in half. “You boys go.”
“Call Marla,” I reminded her as we headed for the door.
“Sure, sweetie. I’ll do that.” I kissed her goodbye, shared a final hug with Vic, and then we were back outside. It was dark out. Shit, how long had we been in there?
“A little over an hour. Not long.”
I didn’t realize I’d said that last bit out loud. Shit, I must really be tired. Maybe a few hours’ sleep would be a good thing. If I was lucky, I wouldn’t even dream. I already knew that all I would see would be Asher anyway.
“Your place?” I asked as we got into the car.
“Sure.”
It wasn’t a long drive, but by the time we got to his apartment, I was wiped out. I let him shuttle me upstairs, through the motions of cleaning up and into bed before I could even think to protest. He settled in next to me, and that was good. I had to get something off my chest, though.
“As soon as we find your kids, I’ll schedule the test.” I’d meant to do it earlier, but something had always come up at the last minute. Or maybe it had just seemed that way to me, so I didn’t have to face reality. “If it comes back positive—” I didn’t know what I wanted to say, exactly. Maybe Run as far and as fast as you can, because I don’t want this for you. But I already knew he wouldn’t do that, and I couldn’t quite imagine facing a future without him anymore. Even if it was a future where I didn’t remember our past.
Andreas couldn’t roll toward me, not with his bulky cast, but he tugged until the space between us was gone and my head was on his shoulder. “Whatever happens, we’ll handle it together. Go to sleep.”
I did.
I felt . . . not necessarily better after seven full hours of sleep, but more human. It seemed like I could have slept for another seven on top of that. My body ached with fatigue, and I could only imagine how Andreas felt after all the running around he’d done yesterday. He didn’t let on, though, just took his pills and let me snooze a little longer while he showered, then made coffee while it was my turn. It could almost have been any other day, except my brother was dead and two of Andreas’s kids were still missing.
I wasn’t going to think about Asher, though. Or at least, I’d do my best not to dwell on him. I was going to focus all my energy on hunting down a new lead in the case. There was still the surveillance footage outside the courthouse to go through—it should have arrived at the precinct by now if Paula had put in for it yesterday—and had anybody found out anything about the house they’d used? There’d been a For Sale sign up outside of it, so there had to be a realtor out there somewhere who could give us some more information.
I was feeling pretty level by the time we got to the precinct—I could do this, I could do my job and figure things out and not be a burden. So naturally, as soon as we stepped off on our floor, something happened to disrupt my careful equilibrium.
“Oh good!” Paula called out as soon as we got off the elevator. She waved her phone. “I was just going to call you guys. I’ve had people go through the list of officers in the letter looking for obvious leads, but there’s no smoking gun yet. I want to show their pictures to Brando and Weyland and see if maybe they recognize one of them, or one of their names. I know it’s a long shot, but—”
“Wait.” I was confused. “What are you talking about? What letter?”
“The letter Andreas got yesterday, with the picture of his kids . . . thaaat he didn’t tell you about.” She winced. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m . . . going to go get some coffee. I’ll be right back.”
“You have a full mug in your hand,” I pointed out.
“I— Yeah, but it’s cold now, I’ve been running around and— Anyway, I’ll be back in a minute, you guys talk!” She made her escape, and I turned my incredulous stare on Andreas.
“What the hell is she talking about?”
“It came in yesterday,” he said. His face didn’t give anything away; I couldn’t tell if he was sorry or stoic. “An anonymous drop from a courier with a taunting letter and a picture. They looked fine, just scared.”
“Jesus Christ.” I ran a shaking hand through my hair. Fuck, when had my hand started shaking? “This is a huge deal! Why didn’t you tell me this?”
“Because right after I got the letter, you found out your brother committed suicide!” His voice was soft, but intense. “It wasn’t the right time.”
“Is now a better time? Finding out like this, from Paula, instead of from you?” Anger flamed in my chest, an unwelcome emotion—I needed to be calm and cool right now, not give in to the hurt I felt. That would only open the door to all the other painful emotions I was doing my best to fucking ignore right now.
“We couldn’t have done anything about it last night anyway, not after Hamilton told us to leave.” He shook his head. “You haven’t missed anything, Darren.”
“That’s funny, because it sure feels like I have.” I resisted the urge to point a finger at him. Barely. “Do. Not. Coddle me. If you think I’m too compromised to work on this case right now, then file a goddamn complaint with the captain, but don’t hide things from me and expect me to be grateful for it.”
“Would you have let yourself sleep if you’d known?” he demanded. “Or would you have worked yourself into the ground until you collapsed? Even without what happened to Asher, that would be a lot to ask of you.”
“Well, I guess we won’t know now.” I felt the anger drain away, leaving me numb. “You and Paula have fun interrogating our suspects about their connections to dirty cops.”
“Darren . . .” He trailed off, and I walked toward our conference room filled with grim determination.
The funny thing was, I didn’t really blame him. I might not have trusted my own reaction yesterday either. But it hurt to know that he felt the same way, like I couldn’t pull myself together enough to put the fate of his kids above my own issues. I’d meant it when I’d said that he—they were my family now. And I needed my family, but I didn’t need to be handled with kid gloves. I fucking hated that Andreas thought I did.
I watched Darren go, my heart sinking with every step he took. Deep down, I knew it was his grief and frustration making him lash out, but it still hurt. And I wasn’t all that surprised he was pissed. If there was one thing he hated, it was being left out of the loop. I just hoped that once he’d had a chance to collect himself, he’d understand that I’d only been trying not to overwhelm him.
And as guilty as I felt about not chasing him down and sorting this out right now, I had to get back to finding my kids. Every hour they were gone meant, statistically, a drop in our likelihood of finding them. I didn’t let myself dwell on that, though.
The bull pen was a zoo. During the hours Darren and I had been off, dozens of people had been brought in. Some were related to cops on the list. Some were friends, neighbors—even the cops who’d worked with them without realizing they were dirty. Phones rang. People talked over each other. Papers shuffled. Drawers banged shut. God knew if anyone had gleaned anything useful from even one of these interviews, but they damn sure hadn’t been sitting around with their thumbs up their asses.
“Detective Ruffner?” a female voice came from behind me.
Stress and fatigue almost made me snap, What? but I caught myself. Everyone here was working their asses off to find my kids, and I wasn’t about to alienate a single one of them.
I turned, and a young African American officer in a patrol uniform was approa
ching. Officer Garland, from her nametag.
“Yes?” I said.
She motioned for me to come with her. “I’ve got something you’ll want to see.”
I adjusted my grip on my crutches, then followed her out of the chaotic bull pen. She fell into step next to me—not that it was difficult right now—and explained as we walked, “My partner and I have been scouring the security tapes from the courthouse, looking for whoever your perps were talking to.”
Now she definitely had my attention. “And?”
“Well, they were there when they said they were, but their story doesn’t quite check out. They weren’t approached by a random plainclothes individual. There were two of them, and it looks like the conversation wasn’t exactly out of the blue.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean both suspects looked like they were waiting for someone. They were approached by two individuals, had a brief exchange, and then all went their separate ways.”
“Interesting.”
The lab where she was working through the tapes was on the second floor at the end of a ten-mile long hallway, and my leg was throbbing by the time we got there. I ignored it. “All right. Show me what you have.”
She turned a computer monitor toward me, revealing a surveillance video on pause. Two men I instantly recognized as Brando and Weyland were standing at the upper-left corner, huddled beside one of the courthouse’s many pillars.
The video started. The guys were having a hushed conversation, leaning in close and keeping their heads down. Both were agitated. They shifted nervously and kept looking around.
After a minute or so, two other men approached from the bottom of the screen. The conversation was brief. Gestures to a minimum. Facial expressions hard to read. When it was over, the two newcomers continued on their way, never once revealing their faces to the screen. Weyland and Brando kept walking too, and though there was no sound, it didn’t take an expert lip-reader to see the “Oh fuck” Weyland uttered just before they disappeared from the frame.
