Severed Relations

by Rebecca Forster

  "Cori, I–"

  "Just go. I need you to go."

  Cori left him with as much dignity as she could muster. She went down the hall, into the small office she shared with Finn, knocked the door shut with the toe of her shoe and eased herself down in her chair. She wanted to cry, damned if she didn't. Instead, she ran through emails that had come into the division in response to Elizabeth Barnett's offer of a reward. She returned phone calls to the fortune seekers who thought they could score an easy fifty grand with a well-spun story. Three people were ready to take the fall for the killings if they could get the money in cash before they were booked. One man wanted to turn in his son-in-law 'cause he was sure the bastard could have done it. There was an old woman who swore this was all the doing of extraterrestrials and that the girls were in a state of suspended animation when they were found. Of course, the woman added, those girls were dead now because they had been buried so long. It was information, she concluded, and when could she pick up her money?

  Cori went through the mug shots of guys that neon-Jenny from Bargain Rent-a-Car said kind of looked like the red haired man who had come into her shop. There was a sketch that improved upon the pictures but it could have been a sketch of a thousand men in Los Angeles. Still, the artist had caught something that did not appear in the photos, it was something about the eyes under the unruly kink of hair that made Cori shiver.

  She started going over the records from Sam Barnett's phone, looking for anything that stood out. When she found herself staring at the numbers and not seeing anything, Cori sat back in her chair with a hand on her ribs. She looked at the desk, the phone, the door and then threw in the towel. Fowler was right. She needed to rest, regroup, and rethink whether or not it was worth worrying about Finn O'Brien more than she worried about herself.

  In the car, she called Amber but got no answer and that was a shame. She wanted someone to fix her soup and sit on the couch with her and watch an old movie. She wanted to sit down with a friend who wasn't a cop, but she had none. Mostly Cori was ticked at herself for the way she talked to Finn. All cops had pressure and Finn had triple his share. He had been watching out for her by suggesting she be reassigned, but all he did was undermine her position as his partner and a professional in the eyes of the captain at whose will she served.

  When she got home, the house was empty so she got into her robe, fixed herself that bowl of soup and watched a movie alone. Finally, any affront she felt dissolved into guilt for treating Finn poorly. She could have insisted on backup. She could have closed the door. She could have been more attentive during the hand-off, but she hadn't been. It took her a good three hours to figure that out, get off the couch, take a shower, and get dressed. She couldn't go to bed until things were square with Finn because if there was one thing she knew, his Irish heart was feeling as bad as her big Texas one.

  She dragged herself to his place toting a peace offering that was melting in a grocery bag, mentally mapping out how the rest of the evening would go. Finn would pour her a drink. They would make up over ice cream and whiskey. He would spout some Irish platitude about friendship. He would wrap his arms around her for just a minute and all would be well. That was what Cori was thinking when she rang his bell and when he answered the door she said:

  "Hey, O'Brien. Brought you cookie dough ice cream."

  She held up the recycled grocery bag, and tried to smile without wincing, but the smile never happened.

  Finn O'Brien, it seemed, was entertaining.

  CHAPTER 37

  DAY 8 – NIGHT

  "Not good, O'Brien."

  Cori shoved the ice cream into him as she walked by. She smiled and spoke in her nice girl voice.

  "Mrs. Barnett, what a surprise to see you here."

  "Detective O'Brien was kind enough to spare a few minutes. I was hoping someone had responded to the reward."

  "Sure. That's just the kind of discussion you need to have in person. At night. Coming all the way to Detective O'Brien's apartment." Cori chuckled the way women will when another woman has punted and they are left to run with the ball. "I'm surprised he didn't tell you that I was handling the calls. Well, I can tell you a lot of people want your money. I talked to about twenty of them and not a good lead in the bunch."

  "I'm sorry you had to waste so much time."

  Elizabeth put her drink down. Cori's lips twitched and one of her lovely brows rose when she looked at Finn, shoeless, clad in his favorite jeans and t-shirt. Mrs. Barnett had worn jeans, too. Hers fit her like a glove, her white gauzy shirt was just this side of transparent, and her hair was tousled as if from a breeze – or a roll in the hay.

  On second thought, Cori decided, Elizabeth Barnett could probably screw without so much as getting a hair out of place or smudging her lipstick, so maybe she just put the top down on the Jag when she scurried her skinny little butt over to Finn's place right after her husband moved out. Cori knew that was a catty thought but what was a girl to do think when she stumbled on such a cozy scene?

  Cori tugged at her sweater, the one she thought made her look scrumptious, but next to Elizabeth Barnett she looked like Finn's maiden aunt. She crossed her arms, but there was no way to hide her overabundance of boobs. She touched her hair and knew that the top of her head looked like a grocery store birthday cake next to Elizabeth Barnett's sleek fall of a refined do.

  "So," Cori said. "Who wants ice cream?"

  "No, but thank you. I should be going," Elizabeth said, but she made no move to go.

  "I'll just put that in the freezer while Detective O'Brien sees you out, Mrs. Barnett."

  Cori grabbed the bag from Finn, favoring first one side and then the other because her ribs hurt and there was no good way to get where she was going without walking like a duck. Behind her, she heard Finn reassuring Elizabeth Barnett and Elizabeth Barnett apologizing as he said goodnight. All that polite talk left Cori feeling like an idiot.

  She ripped open the freezer and slammed the ice cream inside, but the ice was thick and the compartment small and all she did was crumple the box. She was working on it, muttering curses, damning men and women and big hearts and hormones when Finn came up behind her, reached over her shoulder, took the box, turned it sideways and pushed it in.

  "Thank you." Cori ducked under his arm and rested against the counter as he closed the freezer door. When she had his attention, she asked: "What was that, O'Brien?"

  "Not what you're thinking, Cori."

  "It better not be or you are going to see a lawsuit slapped on you faster than a saddle on a bay at the barrel race." Cori shook her head. "What are you thinking? You're dating a survivor with the investigation open and one complaint already filed? Did those doctors suck your brains out before they closed you up?"

  "You know, Cori, I have a lot of people reminding me that I'm not exactly fine and upstanding. I don't need you to do it, too."

  Cori turned her head and pulled her lips together. She didn't want to hurt him; she wanted to protect him from himself and that woman. When she looked back, she said:

  "You can fool around with a groundhog for all I care, but you haven't come all this way and dealt with all the crap, just to throw it away on her. She's not thinking straight and maybe never will. You've been hit so hard and fast by Bev you're not even on the rebound yet. You've got to know that, don't you?"

  "I'm not sleeping with the woman, Cori," Finn insisted. "She found me at Mick's. It wasn't the place to talk, so I brought her here. I did a kindness, that's all."

  "No, you didn't. You bucked the system and so did she and that's why you're feeling a kinship," Cori pointed out. "But it's not you and her against the system. You and me are the system. If she goes rogue then she's against us."

  "You're right. I'm sorry. You are right, woman." Finn turned and went back to the living room and Cori went with him. He swiped up his drink and motioned toward the open cabinet where the liquor was kept.

  "Sure, why not." Cori sat herself down and watched
him pour, admiring him as he did so.

  He was a real man and not just because he was strong but because he had a brain and a heart. There weren't many like him anymore and if she couldn't have him, she hoped there was another one out there for her. Cori also hoped there was a good woman out there for Finn, but it sure wasn't Elizabeth Barnett.

  "When she told me the mister moved out of the house, I gave her the number at Mick's and my cell. We can't trust her security, we don't know that she isn't the focus of all this." Finn handed her a glass with two fingers of bourbon. "She is lonely and afraid."

  "Who isn't?" Cori muttered.

  Finn raised his glass to that, but Cori just took a slug of her bourbon.

  "People wouldn't understand," she said. "Captain Fowler wouldn't understand."

  "No one would know. You wouldn't have known if you hadn't come by here," Finn said.

  Cori blew out a breath. She put a throw pillow up against her ribs.

  "Why are you such a choir boy, O'Brien? Do you think she would give you the same consideration if push came to shove? She would tell the old man about this just to make him sit up and take notice, or she'd tell one of the neighbor ladies, or she'd call Fowler and mention that she was at your place. Get a clue on the woman thing."

  "You should have been a nun, Cori." Finn finished off his whiskey. "You give a fine rap on the head."

  "Gee, now there's a compliment if I ever heard one," she said, but when he grinned she did the same. Cori could just imagine the little boy he had been. There wasn't a knuckle rapper who could make a dent in Finn O'Brien if his heart said something was right.

  "I'm saying I'll own that mistake, and thank you for pointing it out. Now, another drink or ice cream."

  They decided on ice cream and some serious talk about business. Finn told her about Eros Manufacturing. It was a small, busy facility. The shipping docks were closed for the day when he got there and the second shift was just coming on. It was a thriving enterprise that turned out a specialty bolt used in aircraft wing assemblies. Eros had no offices in Switzerland or Germany. He had the name of the CEO to follow up with regarding Sam Barnett since no one he spoke to had heard of the man. Eros hardly seemed so lucrative or controversial that it would cause a partnership to break up; Barnett's travel and current client list did not put him anywhere near Germany but he had been in Switzerland twice. The link between him and Rachel, if there was one, had to be personal.

  An hour later, the ice cream was gone and Finn walked Cori to her car. The night blooming jasmine perfumed the air between the apartment building and Kimiko's house. The lights in the landlady's place were out and the neighborhood was quiet. They walked slowly because Cori still hurt and because it was a pleasant evening. Cori didn't mean to ruin it, but she couldn't put her head on her pillow unless she was sure she and Finn were on the same page.

  "I'm not going to bring it up ever again after this, O'Brien, but I have something to say. I don't trust Elizabeth Barnett. I thought I did, but my hackles don't lie and they are up and squealing like a stuck pig tonight." Cori held up her hand when Finn started to object. "This isn't about the two of you, I swear. I don't give a cow's patootie if it's sexual thing or some deep-seated mother-complex deal with you. Whatever it is shut it down.

  "The only gal you better be sniffing after is me. If I'm not number one, then I get taken out. I love you, O'Brien. If things were different, I might not kick you out of bed for eating crackers, but I've got a kid to worry about. In fact, I've got two. Either you're with me when I tell you she makes me nervous or you're not. I need to know now which it is."

  "I'm with you, Cori," Finn said. "Always with you."

  "Fine, 'cause I don't want to see you confused if it comes down to that lady or me," Cori said. "Now, I apologize for barging in. My bad." Cori tried to take a deep breath. It didn't go far but it was enough. "She's not alone, Finn. Not the way you are. Not the way I am. Just remember that."

  "It's all good, Cori. Promise."

  She made her way around the car. Finn beat her to it and opened the door. He eased her in and when she had her belt on she said:

  "Don't give 'em the rope to hang you with, partner. I don't have the heart to watch you swing."

  CHAPTER 38

  "I've got to go out for a little while," Medium Man said to the boy.

  "How long do you think you'll be?"

  The boy forced himself to smile even though his gut was cramping bad. It was getting harder and harder to tell what made this psycho happy, and the boy had the impression he wasn't happy. Then he realized he wasn't looking the dude straight in the eye the way he had been told to, so the boy opened his eyes wider and tried to look all innocent. Medium Man was not fooled. The man's eyes were glinty and sharp like the blade of that knife he liked so much.

  "You want me to go, don't you?"

  "No," the boy said too quickly. "I just wondered…I thought, that maybe…"

  "What? What?"

  Medium Man took a step forward and the boy tried not to look at the man's fists clenching or his chest caving as he prepared to strike. The boy tried to sound casual when he said:

  "I thought maybe when you come back I could put on all my new clothes and see if you still liked them. You know, like a fashion show kind of."

  It took a minute for Medium Man to digest this information and for his face to lose all its edge. When it did, the boy relaxed a little. For his part, Medium Man was ashamed of himself for thinking the boy was only pretending to be grateful for the gifts he had been given.

  "That's good that you like your presents," Medium Man said and the boy forced himself to smile a little broader. Medium Man wished that smile was a little brighter, but this was the boy's way. He said: "I don't know when I'll be back. It will be a surprise."

  "Sure. That's fun, too."

  The boy bounced lightly as if his whole body were nodding yes. And in that spinning mind of his he heard his own admonition not to screw up this opportunity, to take it slow, to get out clean, but get out at all costs.

  "When I get back maybe I'll have some special news for you. It will make you happy."

  As soon as the door closed the boy muttered 'in your dreams' and then got to business. He ran to the mattress, knelt on it, leaned his elbows on the windowsill, and craned his neck. A few minutes later he saw Medium Man leave the building. Even in the dark there was no doubt in the boy's mind that it was him. The guy walked like he expected the world to stomp on him.

  "God damn freak," the boy said to Medium Man's back. Then he yelled, "God damn freak."

  That was it. When the boy said the 'F' word the second time Medium Man stopped, turned around, and looked up toward the window where the boy watched from behind the blinds. Medium Man's eyes seemed to bore through those blinds like a wood beetle in an oak tree so the boy fell away. He threw himself onto the mattress but Medium Man's look made a U-turn and pierced him in the gut and the heart and the boy shivered. He was positive that man knew what was in his mind. Medium Man was the devil. Medium Man scared the boy more than anything or anyone he had ever encountered in the whole world.

  When the boy ventured toward the window again, Medium Man was gone. At least he seemed to be gone. For all the boy knew the guy was lurking in the dark, waiting for the boy to make his move. A chill started at the end of his tailbone and worked its way up his spine right into his brain. Sweat popped out on the boy's forehead and under his arms, soiling his new shirt. The pimples on his face pulsed and the boy crumpled onto the mattress once more. His chest was heavy with fear and it was hard to breathe. He pounded his fists on the mattress and angry tears came out of the corner of his eyes. If his father couldn't break him, how could this guy? But the boy already knew the answer. Medium Man was not a brute, he was not an animal, he was something worse: he was a psycho.

  The boy breathed through his nose. Once. Twice. Three times. He put his hands over his heart and thought about his options. Leave now or wait it out? There might be a better
opportunity if he waited. Like, what if they really did get to that island? He could disappear in a nice place. Then he thought again. An island would be the worst. There was nowhere to go on an island and Medium Man would find him.

  The boy put an arm over his eyes. The fabric of his new shirt smelled like formaldehyde. There had been a tag in the shirt: inspected by number 482. He wished number 482 were there to help him decide what to do. Since he was alone, the boy agonized for hours. The night would almost be over by the time he made a decision, but once he did the boy was sure it was the only decision he could make.

  As soon as Medium Man turned the corner, he forgot about the boy and thought about his plan. He had been so proud of himself for having an idea, but now he was having second thoughts. After all, it was Mort who came up with the ideas and the jobs. It was Mort who gave instructions on how things were to be done and Mort who made sure they got paid. Still, that didn't mean that Medium Man couldn't have a good idea. He just hadn't tried to have one before. Then again, he hadn't had the boy before and some things were worth taking a chance.

  Medium Man turned into a seedy little hole-in-the-wall that was actually a step up from Fairy Tails, waved away a smoke cloud hanging mid-air, and spied Mort in a corner booth sucking on a beer.

  "Hey."

  Mort greeted Medium Man to be polite even though he was miffed that this guy was calling him out at night when he should have been home with his family. But Georgia was dyeing her hair, and the girls were particularly loud, so he guessed it wasn't such a bad time to grab a beer.

  "Glad you could make it." Medium Man thought that made him sound like he was the one calling the shots. Sadly, he blew it in the next second when he complained: "Georgia wasn't nice on the phone. I don't think she likes me much."