In the Dark

by Chris Patchell

  “Then you had better find my daughter soon, because I think it’s time the press heard about Brooke and what you’re doing, or, more importantly, not doing to find her. I’m sure they will be interested in a potential connection between Kim Covey’s disappearance and Brooke’s—two girls who went out with their friends and never made it back to the university campus. Take a look at this picture,” Marissa said, shoving the paper across the table toward Alvarez. He recoiled like she’d just flung a snake at him. “Look at her. Kim Covey looks so much like Brooke they could be sisters. Tell me you don’t see it.”

  Marissa stared across the table at the police officers. All traces of apathy had vanished from their faces. Only Elizabeth Holt looked pleased.

  Chief Abrams’s brow furrowed and he turned to Lindquist with a look as hard as stone.

  “Call Crawford.”

  “He’s on his way.”

  “Call him,” Abrams commanded.

  Lindquist’s lips pursed and he gave a brief nod. After rolling his chair away from the table, he stood and marched from the room. Moments later he returned and placed his cell facedown on the table.

  “Rest assured, Ms. Rooney, we will continue to look into your daughter’s case.”

  “And do what?” Marissa demanded.

  They were pissed. That was good. So was she.

  “We’ve got procedures,” Alvarez said.

  “Procedures?” Marissa shook her head. “Brooke is an insulin-dependent diabetic, and yet it doesn’t look like she’s taken enough insulin with her to be away for days at a time. I found a full vial of insulin in her dorm room. Do you know what that means, Lieutenant? If she doesn’t have enough insulin, she will die. My daughter is out there somewhere without the medication she needs to stay alive. So while I’m busy waiting for you to follow your procedures, she may already be dying.”

  A heavy silence answered Marissa. She met Alvarez’s hostile stare without flinching.

  “How long will she survive without her medication?”

  Marissa whirled toward the doorway. Her eyes collided with the newcomer’s. Shock jolted through her.

  Thick, ropy scars disfigured the right side of his face. The puckered red skin arced beneath his eye, swept taut across his cheekbone, and ended at his jawline.

  Marissa didn’t want to stare, but somehow she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his wreck of a face. He didn’t seem to notice. He met her eyes with a level gaze.

  “You’re late, Crawford,” Alvarez said.

  “Yes, sir. Traffic’s a bitch.”

  Alvarez looked irritated by Crawford’s response, while Chief Abrams masked a grin behind his square hand. The detective was still looking at her, awaiting her response.

  “With an insulin pen, a week, maybe two if she cuts back on her medication, but without the insulin in the vial, she’s going to run her sugars high.”

  “What does that mean?” Crawford asked, sounding like he wanted to understand.

  “It means she’ll be in constant pain as the muscles in her body feed on themselves to consume enough sugar to stay alive.”

  Captain Lindquist grimaced. Marissa wondered if he was thinking about his own children now and how he’d feel if they were suffering. The other faces around the table looked equally sober.

  “I looked at Brooke’s phone records and bank statements,” Crawford said. “There’s been no activity since eleven o’clock on Saturday night. It’s a definite break in her regular pattern. I was on my way over to the university to talk to her roommate when I was redirected here.”

  Crawford wasn’t here to cover his ass, Marissa realized. He was actually doing his job. He was looking for her daughter.

  “We will find out what happened to Brooke.”

  Brooke. He remembered her name. For the first time in days, Marissa felt like she could breathe again. She forced herself to look past the hideous scars on Crawford’s face and into his steady gray eyes.

  “That’s all I’m asking, Detective Crawford.”

  “Does that meet your expectations, Ms. Holt?” Chief Abrams asked.

  “Indeed it does. I do, however, request daily progress updates.”

  Lieutenant Alvarez’s face turned a deeper shade of red. “In all appreciation for your interest in the case, Ms. Holt, Detective Crawford is carrying a full caseload. I will not ask him to provide you with daily updates.”

  “I’ll do it,” Crawford said. He wasn’t looking at Elizabeth Holt. His gaze met Marissa’s squarely.

  Chapter 15

  Alvarez stormed out of the conference room, a man on fire. On the drive back to the West Precinct, Alvarez barely said a word. Seth didn’t mind the silence. It gave him time to consider Marissa Rooney and what she had said about her daughter’s medical condition. Insulin affected the timeline in a big way. Without it Brooke would survive hours, maybe a day, until it was too late. They had already wasted too much time.

  Alvarez paused in the break room and poured himself a cup of coffee. He turned toward Seth.

  “So, Crawford, how did you like getting your balls busted by the great Elizabeth Holt?”

  “I don’t know what your problem is, Lieutenant, I love politics,” Seth quipped.

  “Yeah, you’re known far and wide for your astute political savvy.” Alvarez flashed a fierce grin. He gestured with the coffee carafe and Seth shook his head, declining the offer. Alvarez set the pot down. “You couldn’t pay me enough to do the chief’s job. The way I heard it, Holt was hell on wheels back in the day. She knows the system inside and out. Lucky us. We’ll get to smile as she shoves this case down our throats.”

  Seth couldn’t blame him for being pissed. No one liked being called into the chief’s office. It wasn’t like they were sitting around on their collective asses. But instead of getting bent out of shape about it, he did what his shrink advised him—he ignored the stuff he couldn’t control and focused on the missing girl.

  “So what’s your plan with the Parker case?” Alvarez asked.

  “I’ll bump it to the top of my list for the next day or two. With any luck she’ll pop back up at the dorm with a story about how she went out partying. No harm, no foul.”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice?” Alvarez said, his expression grim. “If not, we’ll have the chief and the dragon lady breathing fire down our necks. At least the mother’s not hard on the eyes.”

  Alvarez cut a sidelong glance his way. Seth shrugged.

  “If you say so.”

  “Like you didn’t notice.”

  Of course he’d noticed. What guy wouldn’t? But it wasn’t her pretty face that lingered in his mind. He couldn’t quite shake the look of panic in Marissa Rooney’s eyes.

  “Keep me posted on your progress.”

  “Yes, sir.” Seth snapped a flippant salute and strode across the busy squad room toward his desk.

  Seth’s fifteen years on the force had left him short on optimism. Experience had taught him to treat every missing-persons case like a homicide. Politics aside, this case was no different. One missing college student was bad news. With two on the books, the sooner he could uncover or rule out a connection between the cases, the better.

  Brooke’s Facebook page was a treasure trove of information. While the techies were busy scouring her circle of friends to uncover any potential overlaps with Kim Covey, Saturday night’s post told him that she and her roommate, Tess Turner, had spent the evening at the Chapel. One of Brooke’s Facebook friends, Jesse Morgan, tended bar there. A quick phone call later, he learned that Jesse’s shift was just beginning.

  Seth opened his desk drawer to retrieve his car keys.

  The photograph stuffed in his drawer stopped him cold. A stab of pain sliced through his heart. Golden-brown eyes stared up at him, bright and brimming with life. Holly. Two years had passed, and still not a day went by that the memories of her didn’t burn through his soul like acid.

  His shrink said he should get rid of the pictures—pack them away in a box
where he didn’t have to see them. But what good would that do? The memories stayed with him. So he kept the picture locked away in his drawer, a private pain only he could see. Some days he looked right past her face, barely flinching. Days like today, though, with a missing girl and a scared mother on his mind, the hole in his heart gaped like an open wound.

  Reaching over the photo, he grabbed his car keys and slammed the drawer shut.

  #

  Midafternoon patrons perched like vultures around the Chapel’s U-shaped bar. Large arched windows reflected the gray afternoon sky. House music blared, and Seth was surprised he recognized the artist. Madonna. Though he admired her ability to keep up with the trends, he had little use for the song, electronic and hollow. He found himself missing the days when bands played real instruments. He knew his fondness for wailing guitars dated him, but what the hell.

  The bartender was busy slicing up enough fruit to garnish a sea of jewel-colored cocktails. He glanced up as Seth approached. Catching sight of Seth’s face, the kid did a double take before quickly looking away. He recognized Jesse Morgan from his DMV photo.

  Jesse was a good-looking kid. Medium build. Sandy, shoulder-length hair. Blue eyes. A colorful sleeve of tattoos wound its way up his arm from wrist to shoulder.

  A slight young woman perched across from him. With spiky black hair, pale skin, and bright-green eyes, she looked like a wood sprite. Seth didn’t have to hear what she was saying to see she was pissing Jesse off. It was obvious—Body Language 101. There was no mistaking the clenched jaw and the way he glared at her, eyes as hard as metal.

  Seth stepped close enough to hear her voice over the pounding music.

  “Why invite us in the first place if all you were going to do was ignore us?”

  Jesse glowered at her. He tossed a lime into a container and shook his head.

  “So you’re not going to answer,” she said, folding her arms like an angry wife.

  “You saw how busy it was. What did you expect me to do? I was working.”

  “Working? That’s what you call it?”

  “Look, I don’t give a fuck what you think.”

  Seth recognized the girl from Brooke Parker’s Facebook page. Tess Turner. She was supposed to be in class; instead here she was, harassing Jesse.

  Jesse looked up and caught Seth’s gaze.

  “What can I get you?”

  Seth flashed his badge and Jesse rolled his eyes.

  “Drinking on duty, Officer?”

  “Just here for a friendly talk, but I see Ms. Turner beat me to it.”

  Looking directly at him, Tess grinned. “You’re the cop I talked to on the phone.”

  “One and the same.”

  Seth wasn’t a big man, but in his grasp, her hand felt as small as a child’s.

  “Can you make her leave before I throw her out?” Jesse asked, pointing the business end of the paring knife in Tess’s direction.

  Tess scowled. “Throw me out? For what?”

  Jesse pointed toward the glass on the bar and Tess raised her palms.

  “It’s soda water, Einstein. You weren’t so self-righteous on Saturday night.”

  “If I’d known what a huge pain in the ass you were going to be, I’d have . . .”

  Jesse stopped midsentence. His face flushed red, and Tess leaned across the bar, planting her bony elbows wide.

  “You’d have what, tough guy? Come on. Out with it. They say confession is good for the soul.”

  Jesse shot Tess another murderous glare. She returned his look with a grin.

  Seth sighed. “That’s enough, Ms. Turner.”

  “You heard the police officer.” Jesse sliced the tip of the paring knife through the air, pointing toward the doors. The sharp metal edge glinted silver in the light. “Go home, little girl.”

  Tess opened her mouth, ready to argue, but Seth stifled her response with his upraised palm.

  “Ms. Turner, if you would be so kind as to wait over there”—Seth gestured to a booth in the corner—“I’ll speak with you after I finish with Mr. Morgan.”

  Tess flashed a haughty show of teeth. With a light thump, her boots hit the floor, and she padded over to the booth with quick, graceful strides. The two women at the end of the bar held up their shot glasses, and Jesse gave a curt nod. The dark-haired woman smiled. The dimple in her cheek, so like Holly’s, sliced through Seth’s heart, and he turned away.

  “You’re here about Brooke,” Jesse said.

  He grabbed two shot glasses and slammed them onto the bar in front of the women. A splash of Galliano in each, a sugar-coated lemon on each rim. Then he poured a shot of sambuca into a brandy snifter and set it on fire. Blue flames filled the bowl. Slowly spinning the snifter, Jesse warmed the alcohol.

  Unable to tear his eyes away from the flames, Seth watched, his fingers stroking his scarred cheek. Jesse poured the flaming sambuca over the two shot glasses. Fire rolled over the rims and pooled on the bar. Blue flames flickered. The women laughed, looking delighted.

  Seth missed drinking—how the sweet oblivion of alcohol made everything fade from his mind until there was nothing. His shrink called drinking a crutch. His sponsor called it a problem. He called it a solution, but they couldn’t all be right.

  “When was the last time you saw Brooke?” he asked.

  “Saturday night.”

  “Where?”

  Jesse’s hands splayed wide. “What do you mean, where? Here, obviously.”

  “You were working?”

  “Right. They were sitting at the end of the bar.”

  “Did you leave the bar with her?”

  He shook his head, long bangs obscuring his eyes. “Around midnight, I looked up and she was gone.”

  “Did you see her leave?”

  “The place was a zoo.”

  “What about Ms. Turner? When did she leave?”

  “I couldn’t tell you. There must have been a hundred people hanging around the bar. It’s tough to see any one person. We’re hustling all night.”

  “Poor baby,” Tess called from the table. “How many phone numbers did you get?”

  Jesse’s brows furrowed and he fixed his angry gaze on Tess. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a man-whore.”

  Tess looked skeptical, but let it drop.

  “What time did you say you left?” Seth asked.

  Jesse grabbed a bar cloth and ran it under the tap.

  “After we closed, around two thirty.”

  “Anyone see you?”

  “Sure, there were a few of us who hung around for a drink before we went home.”

  “Did you leave with anyone?”

  “Look, I moved back to town a week ago. I’m still looking for a place. For now I’m crashing out on my buddy’s couch. He can vouch for me. I went back to his place after my shift. Alone.” Jesse wrung the cloth dry and wiped some smudges from the bar. His expression sober, he shot a quick glance at Tess and lowered his voice. “You don’t really think something bad happened to Brooke, do you?”

  “She’s missing, you moron. What do you think?”

  Jesse’s hands clenched into fists. Seth sighed and cast his stare over at Tess. She shifted in her seat and looked away.

  “Ms. Turner, must I ask you to wait for me outside?”

  She scowled and shook her head. Jesse propped his hands on the bar.

  “How well did you know Brooke?”

  “We were friends in high school. Well, more than friends, actually, but after graduation I moved away and we didn’t stay in touch.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Five years. So when I moved back, I looked her up.”

  “And what made you want to get back in touch with her?”

  Jesse cocked his head. “You saw her, right?”

  Seth nodded. Brooke Parker was a pretty girl. She looked like her mother. Jesse dropped his gaze and continued.

  “We were close once.”

  “That’s all?”

>   “Maybe I was interested in seeing if there was something still there. You know, the road not taken.”

  “And was there?”

  He shrugged with his palms up. “We barely had time to talk. Like I said, it was crazy in here.”

  Seth paused. The easy answer was no, so either the kid was a skilled liar or he was telling the truth. Seth was inclined to believe him. Still, he pressed on.

  “Can you think of anything else that might help locate Brooke?”

  Jesse’s expression was grim.

  “I wish I could. I tried texting her on Sunday, but heard nothing back. I thought maybe she was pissed.”

  “Why would she be pissed?”

  “Because I didn’t spend any time with her. You know how touchy women can be.”

  Seth waited for more, but Jesse fell silent. Dropping his gaze, he pushed back onto his heels. His lips tightened into a grimace. “Christ, I hope nothing bad happened to her. I feel responsible, you know, like if I hadn’t invited her here on Saturday night, none of this would have happened.”

  He sounded sincere, and checking his story out would be easy. There were plenty of people Seth worked with who could tell him what kind of kid Jesse was.

  Seth placed his business card on the bar. Jesse stared at it for a moment before stowing it in his pocket.

  “If you see or hear something that might help, call me.”

  “I’ll talk to the regulars. Maybe they saw something.”

  “Thanks.”

  Seth pivoted away from the bar and crossed the room to join Tess at the corner booth. She wasn’t looking at him though. Her gaze was locked on Jesse Morgan.

  Reaching out a hand, he picked up her glass and gave it a sniff. It smelled like pool water. The sulfuric scent of soda and lime filled his nose. His curiosity satisfied, he set it back down. She looked amused by the gesture.

  “How long have you been sober?” she asked.

  Surprised, Seth glanced up, and his eyes locked with hers.

  “That’s an odd question.”

  “My father’s retired army. He has a lot of friends in the program. After a while you get to know the signs.”

  Seth rubbed a hand across his jaw and studied her. Small, pierced, and edgy, Tess was easy to dismiss—just another kid trying desperately to stand out. Her keen instincts were hard to ignore, though, and the total lack of a filter between her brain and her mouth was going to get her into trouble someday.