by J. V. Speyer
Well, except for the black-draped stool where Austin used to sit.
Somehow the little mourning signal made everything a little bit better. Paige didn’t know why the pristine clean-up job bothered her so much until she saw that black-draped stool. She blinked back tears as she prepped garnishes. “I get why we couldn’t have fingerprint dust and all that just hanging around the place,” she told Mike, the owner. “I just—when I saw it, it was like they’d somehow ‘cleaned’ Austin right out of existence. And I know he’s right down at the morgue lying in one of those cold drawers, waiting.”
Mike put a hand on her back. “Hey. It’s okay. They’ve got to do what they’ve got to do, and we’ve got to run the business. He loved this place, it brought him a lot of comfort and happiness. I hope we can bring that to someone else too, right? But we’re not about to forget him, either.” He pulled his hand away and tugged at his collar. “I’ve already talked to the cemetery in Brookline, where my family plot is. Since his family won’t claim the body, I will. We’ll bury him in my family plot. It feels stupid—I know he’s beyond caring. I just don’t want to let him go unnoticed like that, you know?”
Paige turned and hugged him. “That’s so sweet of you, Mike.” She wiped at her eyes. “I’ll organize a collection for funeral costs.”
He nodded, blinking furiously. When he could speak again, he took a breath. “The detective from yesterday asked if she could come by to talk to you again.”
Paige’s stomach flipped. “Detective Morgan?” As if she didn’t know who he meant. As if a vision of her slim, athletic body and pale blue eyes didn’t spring to Paige’s mind as soon as Mike said the word detective. “That’s interesting. It’s not like we’re trying to run a business here or anything.”
Mike rolled his eyes. “Right? But I think she’s trying to meet you someplace where you feel comfortable. I can respect that, I guess. I told her to come around four this afternoon, because it’s not crowded then.”
“Smart.” Paige mustered up a week smile. She wanted to see the beautiful detective again. She didn’t want to be bothered by things like attraction while she was still mourning a friend. And she didn’t want to deal with her attraction to Detective Morgan while she was worrying about Jack and his intentions.
Detective Morgan was the first one in line when The Gin Barrel officially opened for business at four. She could have forced her way in, just by flashing her badge. Instead she waited in line like a regular customer. Paige bit her lip and watched as Abby sauntered over to her bar, hands in her pockets, and sat down a few seats away from Austin’s reserved chair.
Paige steeled herself and approached. “Detective. What can I get for you?”
Abby gave her a little smile. “Please. Let’s not weird out your customers more than we have to. I don’t want to cost you more tips than necessary. Call me Abby, at least while we’re here. And I’m not sure what I want today. I like gin.”
Paige tore her gaze away from Abby’s smile. She shouldn’t let herself address this woman by her first name. The fact that she liked her just made it an even worse idea. “Okay, Abby.” She reached for the bottle of simple syrup and a cocktail shaker. “Why don’t we talk about what’s on your mind?” She grabbed some gin from the pull-out cooler, and some lemons.
Abby scanned the few faces in the bar for a second. “I need to talk to you about Jack Kavanaugh.”
Paige almost dropped the egg white she’d just measured out. “Wait, why?”
Abby pursed her lips and raised her eyebrow. “Honestly, Paige?”
Paige lowered her gaze and poured the ingredients into the cocktail shaker. If she gripped the shaker hard enough, Abby wouldn’t realize it was her hands doing the shaking. “Look, I’m not the only one with a…a cling-on.”
“No. You aren’t. Yours is the only one I know of that I can’t account for, the only one with a background that would give him the ability to do what was done, and the only one whose photography features creeper shots of Asian women who don’t seem to know they’re in his work.”
Paige shook the drink with as much vigor as she could. If she could shake Jack this hard, by his head, she would. “I didn’t know about the pictures. I don’t go around looking at his work.”
“I don’t recommend it. He’s pretty good at marketing, not so good with the art stuff. Then again, I’m a cop. I don’t have a lot of training in art criticism. I know what I like and that’s about it. Not the point.” Abby nibbled on her lip for just a second. “You didn’t know he was still taking pictures of you?”
Paige strained the drink into a chilled glass and topped it off with club soda. “Here. A Gin Fizz, the classic way. The whole…No. I didn’t know he was running around getting pictures of me. If I could afford a lawyer, I’d hire one to make him take down each and every picture with me in it.” She hung her head. “Listen, I don’t want it to come off as though I’m accusing him of anything. I’m not.”
“Well, I am.” Abby tasted her drink. “I’m accusing him of following you around, taking pictures of you without your consent, selling those pictures for profit, and being a creepy little fucker. One of those things is not against the law. The rest are, but I’d need you to file a complaint before I did anything about it.”
Paige shook her head. “I can’t do that.”
Abby took a deep breath, like she was trying to keep her cool. “Look. I know Kavanaugh’s been…um, a challenge in the past. But guys like this, they don’t stop just because they got their way once.”
Paige bit down on the inside of her cheek. She wanted to scream out. What the hell did Abby know about it? The thing was, Abby probably knew plenty. Abby had most likely seen a ton of stalking cases that went bad. Abby dealt in murder and other major crimes all day. Her card said so. Paige had stared at it all night.
“I know that.” Paige wrestled her temper back into its box. “After I told him no, and filed stalking charges against him that one time, he made sure I couldn’t show my photography at just about any venue in town. He got me blackballed from every gallery in the greater Boston area, except a couple of the Asian-American ones. He got me blackballed from a bunch of the online galleries too. If I sit here and say anything that comes back around to him, what do you think he’s going to do next?” She glanced back at Austin’s stool and leaned forward. She couldn’t see Jack in the bar, but Jack’s reach was long.
“You think he killed your friend.” Abby’s face stayed calm as she spoke. Some might have found that creepy. Paige knew, because she’d done it to help people fleeing bad dates, Abby was providing cover just in case.
“I can’t prove anything. And if he finds out I even said this much, he’ll do something worse.” Paige scratched at her throat. Her cowardice was a lump, sitting somewhere near her larynx.
Abby guided her hand away. “Hey. I’m not going to let that happen, okay? I’m going to do everything in my power to find the person who killed Austin. And if it turns out to be Jack, I’m going to make sure he doesn’t do this to anyone else.” She let go of Paige’s hand. “So. We’ve already established he isn’t all that concerned with your sexuality.”
Paige flinched a little. “That’s something you know how?”
“It’s in the initial court filings. Did he miss the facts about Austin?”
“He must have. And you know, Austin wasn’t flamboyant or anything. He didn’t have a Pride flag tattooed on his forehead. I can see where Jack just might not have realized, I guess.” Abby sighed. “Look, this is all so weird. It’s like a nightmare. I’m not going back to him. I couldn’t go back to him. But all of this is my fault, and I don’t know how to fix it.”
Abby sipped from her drink and narrowed her pale eyes at Paige. “Nope. Not your fault at all. Jack is responsible for the choices he makes. Let me guess. Someone, somewhere along the line, fed you some bullshit line about how you should just give him what he wants, you were being mean, he deserved something?”
Paige looked aw
ay. “It’s complicated.”
“It really isn’t, Paige. He’s a grown man. He’s a military veteran. The military is a big fan of personal responsibility. I’ve served myself, so I know he knows better. No one owes him affection. Not you, not anyone. I don’t care what demons lurk in his past or any of that. He makes his own choices.” Then Abby laughed, a soft teasing peal with no mockery to it at all. “Listen to me. Like I’m in a position to counsel you.”
Paige blushed and looked down. “Well, it’s a good pep talk.”
“I’m glad. I hope it works.” Abby tapped the counter, nervous energy spilling out. “I’d like to assign a detail to help keep you safe for the next little while, but the budget isn’t going to allow for that until I can prove it’s Jack doing this. We’re doing what we can with the guy ‘guarding the crime scene.’ You’ve got my card. If anything strikes you as being a little bit out of place, even a tiny bit, I want to hear from you. I don’t care if it’s four o’clock in the morning and you think you hear a tree at the window. Call me, okay?”
A warm, safe feeling burst through Paige from the middle of her chest, but she made herself laugh. “You say that now. Wait until you get that four A.M. call for a tree that doesn’t exist in Allston.”
“Even better.” Abby laughed. “In all seriousness, you need to be more aware of your surroundings than you normally would. That said, try not to let fear of Jack eat up your life right now. Acknowledge it, and if you see something give me a call, but don’t quit your job because he’s trying to ruin your life.”
“But he’s killing people because of me!” Paige hissed the words out, so the few patrons nearby wouldn’t panic. “Shouldn’t I at least take a leave of absence, just to keep them safe?”
“No.” Abby shook her head. “Then he’s got you isolated. You need to be around other people as often as you can, for your own safety. And theirs, to be honest. Whoever the killer is, and whatever his motivation, he’s more likely to act when people are alone.”
A new customer sat down, and Paige went to take his order. As she did, she thought about what Abby had said—and what she hadn’t said.
Right now, Jack was their prime suspect. And there was nothing Paige could do about him.
Chapter 3
Abby growled at the computer and smacked her hand on her desk. If she had to look at Jack Kavanaugh’s faux-patriotic mission statement one more time she might well lose her mind. She’d already consulted with the assistant district attorney working on this case, who’d told her the prior history of stalking wasn’t enough to get a warrant.
“I’m with you, it’s creepy and suspicious and I don’t like it at all.” O’Rourke had shrugged, as if to say, What can you do? “The thing is, we don’t have an official record of stalking since high school. And creepy and suspicious aren’t a thing, legally speaking. I can’t go disrupt someone’s life based on ‘creepy and suspicious, and also having a cheesy tagline.’ The judge would have me disbarred and you know it.”
Abby tapped a pen against her jawline. O’Rourke had been right, but she didn’t have to like it. She stared at an empty email text body, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t get her fired. Dear Bob: I understand completely about the lack of probable cause for a warrant to search Kavanaugh’s home. What do you think about using his photographs as evidence of continued stalking? Paige Lim, the victim, insists they were taken without her consent. With that as evidence of stalking, we might be able to get the warrant on those grounds. At the very least we should be able to get access to his phone records and financials.
She signed it and sent the message. The phone records wouldn’t help much. The killer sent the threats from a burner phone, and it would take feats of technological wizardry beyond the crime lab’s capabilities to make the connection. His financial records might prove more helpful.
Her phone buzzed with an incoming message. Is it a good time to call u? The text came from Paige, and Abby softened instantly.
Of course. She smiled as an image of Paige sprang to her mind. Paige had organized a fund for the victim—Austin Connolly’s—funeral. She’d more than doubled the amount necessary. The excess funds were going to Lambda Legal, which had been Austin’s charity of choice. Abby couldn’t help but admire the strength it took to organize something like that, especially so soon after her friend’s murder.
She’d donated from her own pocket, and passed the hat around the office too.
Her phone rang, right away. Paige didn’t give Abby time to speak. Her voice was tight with something, an emotion Abby couldn’t identify yet. “Abby? It’s me. There’s been a—well, an incident.”
Abby sat up straighter. “What happened? Where should I send someone?”
Paige took a deep breath. “It’s out of your jurisdiction, I’m afraid. Someone broke into the Khmer Cultural Center up in Lowell and stole all of the photos I was showing up there.”
Abby grabbed a notepad. “That’s…Christ, Paige. I’m sorry.”
Paige sniffed. “You know, they were one of the few places still willing to show my work. Jack couldn’t lie to them. He couldn’t convince them I was some kind of evil siren or something. But he found a way to wreck everything no matter what I did, didn’t he?”
The cop side of Abby spilled over with questions—challenges, really. Paige couldn’t know for certain the culprit had been Jack. Why did she think Jack would go all the way up to Lowell?
The woman in her knew none of this would be helpful. “Okay. Listen, I want to come and be there for you, but whether it was Jack that did it or not, I don’t think this is a coincidence. Do you have the name of the Lowell detective working on this case? I need to give him a call and talk to him about it.”
Paige hesitated, and Abby knew she’d said too much. Paige didn’t need Abby to be there for her. Paige needed Abby to do her damn job. “Yeah. His name is James Nguyen. I’ll text you his phone number.”
“Awesome. Thanks, Paige. I’ll give you a call when I have some answers, okay? And again, I’m really sorry this happened to you.” Abby hung up and gently banged her head on the desk.
Mark could have let it lie, but this was not the job of a partner. He pushed his wheeled chair over to her desk and leaned over. “Oh Paige,” he said, in a high, singsong voice. “I want to be there for you, I do. And I want to be there, and there, and oh yes, right there.”
“Fuck off, Mark.” Abby’s face was hot enough to fry bacon. “Don’t you have something useful to do?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. Making your face look like a tomato is more fun.” Mark sat back a little. “I paid Mr. Kavanaugh a little visit. He’s not stupid. He was adamant. He was all ‘name, rank, and serial number until I have my lawyer with me.’ Which is in and of itself suspicious.”
Abby sighed as the phone number came through. “He has that right.”
“Of course he does. But only guilty people invoke that right.” Mark blinked at her, the picture of innocence. “Anyway, he sells an awful lot of pictures of Paige. And there’s no way in hell she knew she was being photographed.”
Abby rubbed her temples. Everyone had different views about what made someone “seem” guilty, and there were protections in place to make sure people couldn’t just be jailed because someone else thought they looked the part. She wasn’t going to convince Mark, and she wasn’t going to try very hard either.
Not when her gut told her Jack was guilty as hell.
“All we have to do is prove it to a judge. And then make the connection to the murder.” She shook her phone. “Paige’s work got stolen from the Khmer Cultural Center in Lowell last night.”
“I will bet you a whole box of donuts it was Jack.”
“That’s a sucker bet, Mark. I’m so not taking it.” She dialed the number Paige had sent her.
“Detective Nguyen.” The detective who answered the phone had a deep, pleasant baritone. Abby could have listened to him reading the phone book and died happy.
&nb
sp; “Detective Nguyen, I’m Detective Abby Morgan from Boston Police Major Crimes. I got your number from Paige Lim, whose work was stolen last night?”
“Ugh. Yeah. Did she give you many details?” Nguyen couldn’t have conveyed more disgust if he’d tried.
“Um, no. She just said her work was stolen.” Abby glanced over at Mark as she took notes.
“Oh, her work wasn’t just stolen. Her work was the only work stolen. The thief smeared, uh, filth on the walls where it had hung. Different stuff, all of it vile. They had to get a hazmat team in to clean it up. He smashed up frames on a couple of other works, but it’s clear that Ms. Lim’s artwork was the real target.” He cleared his throat. “It’s disgusting, but it’s hardly a major crime. Can I ask why it’s of interest to Boston?”
Abby bit her lip. “Ms. Lim was friends with a man who was murdered last week. The victim received threatening messages from someone to ‘stay away from her.’”
“Oh.” Nguyen fell silent for a beat. Then, “Oh! Listen, the security tape is grainy as hell, but from what we could get, we can see the suspect is a white guy, wiry, probably about five foot ten. I’ll send it over to you. I’ll talk to my supervisor, but I know he’s going to be supportive. Murder and stalking are much bigger deals than stealing some art.”
Abby grinned. “Thanks, Detective. I appreciate the cooperation. And any time we’re in a position to help out, let me know.”
Mark looked up as Abby hung up the phone. “That was easy for you.”
“Well, you know, sometimes it’s easier when you don’t go hoarding information like an angry dragon sitting on a pile of gold.” She gave him a knowing look. Mark wasn’t like that at all, but the department higher-ups had territorial tendencies that got in the way all the time. “At the end of the day, most of us do want to help, right? So now we wait.”
