He pressed the end button and set the phone down.
“You’ve got to go?”
His smile was bitter.
“I told you. Cops make lousy partners.”
Chapter 43
Seth knew he should be racing to the office, but with a pounding hangover and a bellyful of regrets, he wasn’t ready to face the day. The morning’s phone call had notified him that the medical examiner’s findings for the girl in Charles Sully’s trunk were sitting on his desk. In all likelihood, after reading the report, he’d have to deliver more horrifying news to a set of grieving parents.
Instead of heading into the office, Seth pulled into a Tully’s Coffee parking lot. Gravel crunched beneath his tires as he chose a spot close to the rear entrance. The sweet smell of pastries, combined with the Glenlivet in his gut, sent his stomach plunging into a sickening barrel roll.
He knew better than to let his demons take hold. Once they gained purchase, they were nearly impossible to shake off. He’d worked the twelve steps and managed to crawl out of the bottom of the bottle he’d wallowed in after Holly’s death. Starting over was unthinkable.
It was just after eight o’clock on Sunday morning, and patrons swarmed Tully’s counter like flies. Food was out of the question. All Seth could manage was a black Americano. Hands shaking slightly, he placed the steaming cup on a small table and waited.
“You look like shit.”
Maxwell Singer clapped Seth’s shoulder, folding his six-foot-two frame into an empty chair across from him. The years hadn’t changed Max. Iron-gray hair brushed the collar of his black leather jacket. Sharp brown eyes assessed Seth with a frown.
“At least I look better than I feel,” Seth said, and took a sip of coffee. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been ten hours since my last drink.”
Beneath a handlebar moustache, Max’s lips slid into a wry grin.
“I’m your AA sponsor, not your father confessor. Trust me, you wouldn’t like my penance.”
Max was more than Seth’s AA sponsor; he was first lieutenant on his force and a mentor.
“Have you eaten anything?” Max asked.
Seth shook his head. His stomach still heaved at the thought of food.
“Water? Tylenol?”
“No.”
Max shook his head in mock disapproval. “You’re out of practice, son. What’s going on?”
“I’m on a shit case.”
Max stroked his thick moustache and eyed Seth with a thoughtful look.
“You’ve managed tough cases before. What’s different about this one?”
“I’ve got two dead girls, one missing, a dead suspect, and a boatload of unanswered questions.”
“So?”
Max listened patiently while Seth rattled off the details of the case, about Charles Sully’s record, Brooke Parker meeting Charles Sully at the Chapel, the body and the dog tags found in Sully’s trunk, and the standoff that had left their prime suspect dead.
“Sounds like all of the pieces fit. So what’s bothering you?”
“It’s all too neat. Why would Charles Sully leave a body in his trunk overnight? Why not just dump her?”
“Maybe he wanted to get caught.”
“Then why not leave her in the open? Why transport her body at all? Why change your method? The kind of guy who strangles a woman to death in a crime of passion seems like a very different perp than the psychopath who kills his victim and chops her up into pieces.”
“You think it’s two different killers?”
“I think it might be.”
“If you’ve got two killers, how do both deaths get pinned on Sully?”
“I think someone planted the duffel bag in Sully’s car.”
“A setup?” Max asked, his expression skeptical.
Seth nodded. “So on the one night Charles Sully has a body stashed in his trunk, there’s a dumpster fire in his neighborhood. Local cops respond. Then there’s a car prowler, and the only car that’s broken into is Charles Sully’s. What are the odds of that? What do you always say about coincidences?”
“There are no coincidences in police work.”
“Right.”
“Any facts to back up your theory?”
Staring down into his coffee, Seth shook his head. “Just my gut.”
“You mean the one still marinating in scotch?”
Seth glanced up sharply and Max raised a calming hand.
“Easy now. I’m just saying you need hard facts before you go to Alvarez or anyone else with this theory. The way it stands, you’ve got a solid case against Sully. You know as well as I do that in this kind of high-profile case there’s a ton of pressure to close it as quickly as possible. No one is going to be keen to have you picking away at it.”
Max was right. He could well imagine the backlash from Alvarez and Chief Abrams if he floated an unsubstantiated scenario. Still, in his gut he knew something wasn’t right. And Brooke Parker was still out there somewhere. He couldn’t stop looking.
Max’s speculative gaze locked on Seth’s face. “You know all of this already, son. What’s really bothering you?”
“Are you psychic?”
“All good cops are.”
Seth turned away from Max’s keen stare and looked at the faces all around him. The coffee shop was full of people, functioning members of society who were capable of having normal relationships, people whose lives weren’t irreparably fucked up. He sighed and swung his gaze back toward Max.
“I slept with one of the victims’ mothers.”
“Only one?” Max asked in a deadpan tone.
“Very funny. I’d just found another dead girl. I left her in harm’s way. I failed her.”
“You didn’t kill her, Seth.”
Knowing Max was right didn’t lift the thousand-pound weight of responsibility from his shoulders. He still had to find Brooke Parker. He still had to find the man or men who had murdered the girl they’d found in Sully’s trunk and Tess Turner. He owed it to them, to their families. And then what?
“When does it stop? No matter how well I do my job, there’s always going to be another monster out there. Always another victim. I’m tired of digging up dead bodies and telling parents their kids will never come home.”
Max reached across the table and patted Seth’s arm.
“You’ve let the job become your life, son. Have you ever thought that maybe it’s time to do something else?”
“Like what?” Seth asked, anger infusing his words.
As long as he could remember, he’d always wanted to be a cop. He didn’t know how to be anything else. He didn’t know where to start.
“Might be worth taking some time to figure that out.” Max sipped his coffee. “What about the woman?”
“After I notified the parents, I had a couple of drinks, and then she showed up.”
Max arched his eyebrows, waiting for more, while Seth sorted through his tangled knot of emotions. He’d wanted Marissa, and while the alcohol fogging his brain had been enough to lower his barriers, it wasn’t the reason he’d done it. In truth he’d wanted her since that day in Kelly’s room when he’d first held her. The touch of her body was electric and had awakened feelings in him he’d thought long dead.
“And,” Max prompted.
“And I care about her. Okay? She’s smart and tough and brave. And I know it’s fucked up, but . . .”
Seth trailed off and pressed his fingers into his temples. A headache boomed inside his skull. Talking about this was hard. Max was still staring at him like he was expecting more.
“Your feelings for her have made this case personal,” Max said. Seth couldn’t deny the truth of his words. “So, you slept with her and now you feel guilty?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“We’re not talking about me, son. We’re talking about you.”
The Americano in his cup was as cold and sobering as the truth spilling from Max’s lips. He drained the last of
the coffee from the mug.
“Right. We’re talking about me. And yes, I feel guilty.”
“Why? Because of the job, or because of Holly?”
The mention of her name sent a shock wave spiraling through Seth. He glanced up at Max with a tortured look.
“Both.”
There was no judgment on Max’s face. He gave a slow nod and leaned forward, elbows propped on the table, his gravelly voice uncharacteristically soft.
“How did you leave things?”
“Badly. I let my guilt take over and treated her like a total asshole.”
“So what are you going to do?”
Seth raked a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. Everything was such a mess. He couldn’t leave things that way. He had to deal with it piece by piece.
“I need to figure out if I’m right and Sully was set up before the case is officially closed.”
“Okay, and what about the woman?”
There was no easy answer to Max’s question. His actions from this point on would directly affect his career. In some ways that would make pushing her away easier, but was that what he wanted? His heart said something different. Either way he had to face the consequences of what he’d done last night.
“What will happen when they find out about Marissa?”
“If you’re lucky you’ll be taken off the case and suspended for a few days. If you’re not . . .” Max finished his coffee. He set the mug back down on the table with a thump. “Look, you have to realize what a huge political shit-storm you stand to unleash. If you push back on closing the case while you explore an alternate theory, they could use your indiscretion as a lever to get rid of you. You’re in a bad spot, son.”
The reality of Max’s words hit him hard.
“And if they don’t find out?”
“It’s possible they won’t and everything will continue on the way it was. The case will close, and you’ll move on to the next one. Is that something you can live with?”
Seth stared down into the empty coffee cup, weighing his options. Could he risk being thrown off the case? Could he live with the lie?
“You’re right. They will close the case, and Marissa’s daughter might never be found. I can’t let that happen.”
“Then you’ve got a tough decision to make, son. First I’m taking you to an AA meeting. You’ll be no good to anyone if you don’t get your own house in order.”
#
“Alvarez’s been looking for you,” Linda Garcia said as Seth strode into the squad room.
Seth nodded. His head throbbed, and he pressed a palm to his temple.
“Was he pissed?”
“Well, he wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Great. Max had insisted on AA, so now, instead of his being half an hour late, it was coming up on eleven o’clock. A thick folder sat in the middle of his desk. But before he could face it, he needed more coffee.
Five minutes later Seth thumbed through the medical examiner’s report on the desk with a heavy heart. DNA evidence had confirmed his suspicions. The dead body in Charles Sully’s trunk was Kim Covey. The extensive bruising on her back, and defensive wounds on her hands and arms all spoke to the gruesome beating Kim Covey had endured before her death.
If the killer had beaten the shit out of Kim before he killed and dismembered her, how much worse would Brooke endure?
The headache intensified, and he pressed his palms into his closed eyes, trying to relieve the pressure. In a fit of desperation, he wrenched the top drawer of his desk open and pawed through the layers of papers and other assorted crap in search of the bottle of Advil he kept stashed there for emergencies. Hand buried deep in the drawer, he froze as he caught sight of Holly’s picture. Memories of last night with Marissa came rushing back.
What would Holly say if she knew what he’d done? Would she feel betrayed? Would she want him to move on? Seth shook his head at the unexpected anger welling up inside him as a new thought dawned.
She was the one who had abandoned him. She had swallowed a handful of pills to make her pain go away. How was he supposed to deal with that? How was he supposed to make the pain go away? He’d lived with the agony of losing her for two years now, always blaming himself. But maybe she deserved some of the blame too.
Seth yanked the picture out of the drawer and threw it into the trash bin under his desk. Glass and wood clattered noisily, and heads turned in his direction. He ignored everyone around him, still digging for the Advil.
He upended the bottle into his cupped hand, but nothing emerged. It was empty. Fucking perfect. Seth gritted his teeth and flung the vial in the garbage pail. It clattered noisily against the picture frame.
“Crawford,” Alvarez barked from across the squad room.
Seth’s chin snapped up. With a grimace he rose from his chair and threaded his way through the rows of desks. The lieutenant closed the office door. Seth frowned. A closed-door conversation was definitely not a good sign. Easing into the guest chair, Seth waited for the ass-chewing to begin. He didn’t have to wait long.
“Nice of you to show up.”
Seth stared across the desk without comment.
After a lengthy silence, the lieutenant continued. “What’s the latest on the body?”
“According to the DNA evidence, it’s Kim Covey.”
Alvarez cringed. Seth knew it didn’t come as a complete shock, but the brutal death of any girl came hard. Alvarez’s gaze strayed to the framed photographs on his desk. From this angle Seth couldn’t see them, but he knew they were pictures of the lieutenant’s family—his pretty wife and their two young girls.
“Have her parents been informed?”
“Not yet,” he said, dreading the inevitable task. Seth could still hear Teresa Turner’s accusations in the back of his mind.
“Are they still in town?”
“The Coveys? Yes. I’ll go see them this morning.”
“Any new developments on the whereabouts of the Parker girl?”
“Not yet.”
“The chief wants an update by noon.”
Of course he does.
“Yes, sir.”
“We need to find the Parker girl’s body so we can close this case.”
“She may be alive,” Seth said.
“In her condition? You really believe that?”
Seth gritted his teeth, frustration building. Alvarez was probably right. But how could he tell Marissa he’d failed? How could he tell her Brooke was dead?
“I’m doing everything I can,” he snapped.
“Then do it faster. Do your job. You can start by telling me where you were this morning.”
“I was with Marissa Rooney,” Seth blurted.
He hadn’t meant to say it, but there it was.
Alvarez’s mouth dropped open. He stared at Seth in slack-jawed amazement, and Seth knew he’d said too much. He was beyond caring though. And now that he’d said it, there was no taking it back.
“Tell me you’re not serious.”
Seth shrugged. “Look, I know what you want. You want a quick, clean ending to the case. I do too. But you know as well as I do it doesn’t work that way. I don’t give a flying fuck about the chief’s report or any of the other political bullshit associated with this fucking case. I care about one thing—finding Brooke Parker. And my every instinct is telling me that Charles Sully may not be our guy.”
“Based on what? Wishful thinking? The woody you have for her mother?”
Half a heartbeat of silence pulsed between them. Seth sprang to his feet, hands clenched. The chair clattered behind him. He desperately wanted to drill his fist into the lieutenant’s perfect nose.
“Did you sleep with her, Crawford? I want the truth.”
“Yes.”
“Fuck.” Alvarez’s hands splayed wide in a frustrated arc. “Do you have any idea what a fucking mess this case is? The chief is riding my ass demanding results, and you’re sleeping
with the victim’s mother. Now you’re questioning Sully as a viable suspect. Have you lost your fucking mind? Do you know what a shitty position this puts me in?”
“Afraid of losing your promotion, Lieutenant?”
Alvarez’s face flushed a deep shade of scarlet.
“You’re off the case, Crawford. Hand the files over to Garcia.”
A thick vein bulged in the lieutenant’s forehead. Anger pulsed in every syllable.
“Don’t you breathe a fucking word of what happened until I figure out what I’m going to do with you, do you understand me, Crawford? Not a single fucking word. Not about your relationship with Ms. Rooney or your half-assed theory about Sully not being the killer. Nothing.”
Seth leaned an inch closer, staring his boss in the eyes.
“Tell me, Brad, when did closing the case become more important than finding the truth?”
“Get your ass out of here before I fire you.”
“Don’t bother.”
The solution was so absurdly simple, it almost hadn’t occurred to him. Seth removed the badge from his pocket. He stared at it for a few seconds, reflecting back over the many cases he’d worked in his career—some good, some bad. Max was right. He’d miss it, he knew. But it was time. With an air of finality, he tossed it on the lieutenant’s desk. He pulled his gun from its holster and placed it beside the badge.
Alvarez’s jaw dropped.
“Think about this, Crawford. If you leave now, there’s no coming back.”
An absurd bubble of laughter rose in Seth’s throat. He closed the door quietly on his way out of the office, feeling lighter than he had in years.
Chapter 44
Marissa sat in the waiting room. She was early for her Monday morning appointment with Dr. Anita Frank, rated one of the top family psychologists in the city. Marissa knew that when they found Brooke, her daughter would need the best therapist she could find.
Classical music played over the speakers. The colors were calming—sedate gray walls, lavender furniture, plush gray carpet. Silvery air bubbles drifted through the tank filled with colorful tropical fish.
Marissa thought about the pills she had almost taken, about the constant state of panic she’d lived in since Brooke had disappeared, and the guilt and fear and hope she felt whenever she thought about Seth. A lifetime of therapy might not be enough to sort out her shit. But that wasn’t why she was here.
In the Dark Page 24
