by S. J. Coles
It seemed to take an age, but finally the meal was done. Hannah insisted on paying the check. A heady mix of relief and disappointment swirled through James as he pulled on his coat and headed for the door. Hannah kept up the meaningless, easy chit-chat until they were out in the night air, where they paused.
“Thanks,” James ventured awkwardly into the silence.
“Hey, James,” Hannah said. “You see that balcony?” He nodded over James’ shoulder. James turned to see a Chinese restaurant a few buildings down, topped with a second-floor balcony crammed with dead-looking potted plants and fairy lights. “That’s my apartment. The stairs are around the back of the Golden Dragon.”
“Mr. Hannah…” James started, but Hannah cut him off again.
“Seriously, man.” He laid a warm hand on James’s arm, his face solemn. “If it comes to it, do all the report-writing you want Sunday morning. I’ll be sleeping in anyway. Have a nice coffee, room-service breakfast and you report like a motherfucking report-writing demon. But when you’re done, come over for a late lunch.”
“I can’t.”
“Come on, man. What could it hurt?”
“Mr. Hannah,” James repeated, stepping far enough away that Hannah dropped his hand. “You’re a witness in a murder investigation.”
Hannah snorted. “Witness? I didn’t see anything.”
“It’s unprofessional. I’m sorry.” He found he really was.
“Well”—Hannah tilted his head—“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.” James sighed and took another step away. “Seriously, dude,” Hannah insisted, following him, “it’s no big deal. A few beers, some music. I’ll cook.”
“I really can’t—”
Hannah stopped him hurrying off with a hand on his chest. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
James chewed on the inside of his cheek. A soft, encouraging smile warmed Leo’s boyish face. James’ chest tightened. He sighed in an attempt to disguise his discomfort. “I’ll think about it. Now, I have to go.”
Hannah nodded and his smile widened. James walked away, feeling Hannah’s eyes on him. He spent the walk back to the hotel roundly reprimanding himself for being more stupid than a horny teenager.
It’s okay, he told himself. I just had dinner. Just dinner. Nothing to stress about.
It was a long time before he fell asleep.
Chapter Four
Gibson’s temper frayed thinner and thinner as Saturday wore on and the local ME and forensics departments argued that they needed more time to complete their analyses. When Gibson demanded they give her what they had so far, her mood was not improved by the fact that no fingerprints apart from the victim’s were on the gun and that the fingerprints of pretty much every employee who had access to both his office and the security room were all over both locations.
The ME confirmed that Benson was shot at close range at around nine p.m., most likely with the gun they’d found at the scene, but the ballistics department was closed for the weekend, so they were going to have to wait for any concrete conclusions.
The personnel department at Benson Industries stated that they’d had no formal or informal notice that Derek Benson had been planning to fire Renford Muntz or anyone else. Another round of fraught interviews with the victim’s department heads and wife revealed nothing that they hadn’t already known. They still insisted they didn’t know why Benson had not joined them for the presentation evening. They were unaware of any strong feelings anywhere in the company, either for or against the company’s expansion. DHs Boon and Michaels steadfastly stuck to their previous statements and reiterated that they were more than willing to assist the investigation but were beginning to get impatient with the apparent lack of progress.
When it was time for Torez’s secondary interview, James mentally prepared himself to be objective. But when the former army captain entered the tiny interview room at Winton Police Station, he couldn’t help but find himself examining the impressive man closely.
Horatio Torez was a dark, handsome man in his early forties. His skin was a warm nut-brown. His Hispanic eyes were wide and classically dark. James could see the heaviness of expression that Hannah had mentioned, but whether it was anything other than that of a man grieving for a friend and colleague, James couldn’t be sure. Torez’s black hair, which he kept buzzed military-short, was just starting to gray at the temples. He sat on the cheap plastic chair in his designer suit with the quiet confidence of the rich and powerful, but James wondered if there was tension in the ramrod-straight posture.
James studied him as Gibson repeated the questions she’d asked of everyone else twice already that day. His answers were automatic, smooth and no more helpful than any of the others.
“There’s been some mention of a recent falling out between you and Derek Benson,” James put into a lull in the interview before he’d even realized he’d decided to do it. Gibson’s warning look bored into him but he kept his attention on Torez.
“A ‘falling out’?” Torez repeated. His eyes flickered. His face settled into stoic bemusement, but for a moment, James was sure he’d caught a twitch of surprise.
“A degree of coolness between you has been noted by your colleagues.”
Torez’s mild expression suddenly creased into dark animosity. “Which colleagues, exactly?”
“Please just answer the question, Mr. Torez,” James responded.
“I will, once I have been told plainly what it is you’re implying, Agent Solomon.”
“I’m not implying anything,” James said steadily. “I simply want to know if there’s any truth to the rumor that you had a recent disagreement with your boss.”
Torez’s expression darkened further and Gibson’s with it. “I’m here because I want to help catch whoever killed a very dear friend of mine. I have waived my right to an attorney as, having done nothing wrong, I saw no need of one. Do I need to reconsider?”
“No, Mr. Torez,” Gibson cut in smoothly. “I apologize for any perceived slight. Agent Solomon is just trying to ensure you are eliminated from the inquiry.”
Torez listened to Gibson, but his black eyes never moved from James’ face. “Fine. I will answer the question. No, I had not fallen out with Derek. We were close—have been for years. He was like a father to me and I would never hurt him…ever. Satisfied, Agent Solomon?”
“Did you learn to shoot in the military, Mr. Torez?”
His jaw bulged with indignation. “Of course I did.”
“Did you know Benson kept a gun in his desk?”
“That’s enough,” Gibson cut in. Gibson thanked Torez and dismissed him. He left with a dark look over his shoulder and his back straighter than ever.
“What the hell, Solomon?” Gibson started when the door has shut. “What did I say?”
“It was a legitimate lead,” he argued without meeting her eye.
“It was an off-hand suggestion from a stranger who wasn’t even on record.”
“If it comes out later,” James insisted, “that we’d heard about this argument and hadn’t asked about it—”
“There was no argument,” Gibson insisted. “Not a single other person has mentioned it, including Sallyann Andrews, the supposed source of the rumor. Torez is a rich, powerful man, Solomon. His lawyer probably makes more in an hour than we do in a week.”
James allowed himself a half-smile. “You’re not afraid of lawyers, Gibson.”
She tilted her chin. “Maybe not. But I am afraid of the battering your career would get if the chief found out you were showing preferential credence to the testimony of good-looking witnesses in murder investigations.”
James’ blood ran cold. “I’m not—”
“Relax,” Gibson said, gathering her things. “I know you’re not that stupid. But never underestimate the viciousness of a misconduct review, you hear me?”
James nodded stiffly, hoping his face wasn’t flushing as hotly as it felt.
The background check into Renf
ord Muntz came through when they were swallowing lunch in a diner next to the police station. It revealed nothing more sinister than a string of unpaid parking fines that had resulted in his car being repossessed five years before. He’d never bought another one. Gibson had him brought in for a follow-up interview like everyone else, though James could tell she wasn’t hopeful. He had a pro-bono lawyer with him and refused to say anything further.
“I’ll write it up,” James said when they were back at the hotel, and Gibson had just ended her third call to the forensics office with a string of colorful oaths. “The chief will understand we can’t move on so little. Ballistics may come back with something after the weekend.”
“I want a warrant for Muntz’s trailer,” Gibson grated, punching another number into her cell. “Dammit, I’ll get one out of that old fool of a judge, even if I have to hammer on his front door myself.”
“Lisa, your plane leaves in an hour.”
“We delay another day and it’s another day Muntz has to destroy the evidence.”
“If Muntz is clever enough to take the security disks to cover his tracks, he’s clever enough to have destroyed them already,” James reasoned.
Gibson frowned. “You sound like you don’t think he’s clever enough for either.” James held his tongue. “Muntz is our man, Solomon,” she insisted. “We just need to get something more than circumstantial evidence.”
“We’re not going to get anything until Monday at least,” he replied, gently. Gibson sighed and slumped in a chair. She glanced at the clock, chewing her lip. “Go, Lisa. I got this.”
Gibson frowned. “I feel bad.”
“About what?”
“About leaving before an arrest…about leaving at all. About you not leaving.”
“It’s fine. I’ll email our progress over to the chief tomorrow. I’ll copy you in, though you’re not to read anything until after your party. Got it?”
“Who’s the boss here again?” she said, but her smile was grateful, warming her tired eyes.
“You are, ma’am,” James said. “Now do as you’re told and go, already.”
Gibson shook her head. “Okay, I give in. I’m going. Just…James?”
“Yes?”
She sighed, paused in the act of pulling on her coat to give him a stern look. “Don’t work too hard, you hear me? And call your family tomorrow, yeah?”
“Sure,” James promised unfaithfully. “I will.”
She eyed him in a way that told him she wasn’t fooled for a minute but glanced at the clock and hurried to gather her bags and bustle out, issuing orders as she went. He nodded along to them and saw her to the door.
It was quiet in the suite without her. He returned to the reports with a weary determination, boosted only by his promise to himself to pick up more Arbuckles’ coffee as a reward once he’d made some headway. He refused to think about how much the smell reminded him of Hannah.
Chapter Five
Sunday dawned with white skies, a strong, crisp breeze off the slate-gray ocean and painfully cheerful expressions on the faces of the hotel staff who delivered his room-service breakfast to the suite. After polishing off the surprisingly tasty fare, James scraped the plate clean then sat, scratching his stubbled chin as he stared at the blinking cursor that flickered at the end of his progress report.
He rubbed his eyes. He’d been up past midnight and it was now not even nine, but he’d gone through everything carefully, agonized over the fact that all they had was well-documented circumstantial evidence, then sighed and emailed the report. He spent another couple of hours compiling the digital evidence files, firing emails off to chase various departments in anticipation of them returning to work the following day, then moved around the room, slotting all the hard copies into the manila folders scattered across the hotel suite like a fresh snowfall.
He caught sight of his reflection in the bathroom and winced. His black hair stuck up at all angles. His blue eyes were dull with fatigue. He allowed himself a very long, very hot shower then shaved carefully, more to make himself feel better than for any real reason he was prepared to acknowledge. He turned on the TV, scowled at the animated family movies playing on pretty much every channel and turned it off again.
At last he went to the window. The seafront was virtually deserted but for one elderly couple walking arm-in-arm along the pier. Their heads were bent together as they walked. The gulls wheeled overhead. The sun shone brightly in the cut-glass sky. Most of the storefronts were shuttered, their signs dark.
He glanced at the clock. It was just past eleven-thirty. He looked along the seafront to where he could just make out the darkened front of the Golden Dragon restaurant. He stared at it for a long time then shook himself. He sat on the edge of the bed and lifted the phone to order room service for lunch. He paused with the receiver in his hand, staring at the wall.
“What is wrong with you?” he muttered and started dialing. The ringing tone droned in his ear. He scanned the empty, soulless room and slowly replaced the receiver. He left the room before he’d really realized what he was doing.
He found an open store and stopped to pick up a bottle of wine. He scolded himself for the umpteenth time when he caught himself prevaricating over the best bottle to pick, grabbed a mid-range pinot noir, paid and left the store. He felt more self-conscious than he ever remembered feeling, pacing along the seafront. Reason told him no one was watching, and even if they were, there was no reason any resident of Winton would care about a stranger walking alone along the seafront on a Sunday lunchtime, but his skin still crawled the whole way.
He found the Golden Dragon and the staircase at the back leading to a door on the upper floor. He shifted from one foot to another for an embarrassing amount of time. His palms started to sweat. Finally, he pressed the buzzer.
No answer.
He waited. A long moment passed then he pressed it again.
Still nothing.
He blinked, momentarily overwhelmed at the strength of his disappointment. Only his already bruised dignity stopped him from hammering on the door. He took a breath, then, telling himself it was for the best, turned to leave.
He was halfway down the stairs when Leo Hannah, bundled in an old, faded overcoat and home-knit scarf, turned the corner. Strands of his caramel hair had been swept free of his loose braid and his cheeks were stung pink by the cold wind. He was clutching grocery bags. A cigarette hung out of a corner of his mouth, jumping up and down as he muttered to himself. He started when he saw James and the cigarette dropped to the floor. Only a moment’s skillful scrambling stopped the bags from suffering the same fate.
“Jeez, you made me jump.”
“Sorry,” James said, dumbly. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. Luckily, Hannah had no such problem.
“So you actually came.” His smile was broad and his eyes bright behind his glasses.
“Sure,” James ventured awkwardly.
“Well, you know, good to see you, man. Come on,” he said, jostling past him up the stairs. “Let’s get inside. I’m fucking freezing.”
“Where have you been?” James asked as Hannah juggled groceries and keys.
“It occurred to me that on the million-to-one shot you actually showed, I better get some food in,” he laughed, unlocking the door and shouldering it open.
“You managed to get all that?” James said, nodding to the bags. “Most regular places around here seem to shut on Sunday.”
“They do,” Hannah replied, dumping the groceries on a counter in the small kitchen. “I banged on the market shop door. Old Ms. Murgatroyd likes me, luckily. She let me grab a few things.” He started unpacking bread, steak and potatoes. James shifted awkwardly by the door, looking around the small, cluttered but clean kitchen. The cupboards were covered in stickers and music posters. A surprising array of cooking utensils were ranged on hooks along the wall. A block of good chef’s knives stood by the stove.
&nbs
p; “So how’s the case going? You make that arrest?”
“Not yet.”
“Bummer,” Hannah said distractedly as he emptied a pack of mushrooms into a bowl. “You speak to Torez?”
James winced inwardly, the reminder of the reality of the situation kicking him in the stomach. “Yeah, we did.”
“And?”
James tried to figure out if there was anything more in the tone than idle curiosity. “I can’t talk to you about an ongoing investigation.”
“He denied it, didn’t he? Course he did. And I bet no one else made a peep either?”
James stared at the floor, his throat tight and his reason yelling at him to get out while he still could.
“Big surprise,” Hannah murmured as though talking to himself as he unpacked the last of the groceries. “No one’s gonna tread on the new boss’ toes.”
James started. “Torez is taking over the company?”
“That was the word in the cafeteria yesterday. Guess Benson must have left some instructions. Hey, you brought wine?”
James blinked. Hannah was beaming at him, holding out his hand. James, relieved at the change of the subject, handed the bottle over, fighting another blush.
Hannah peered at the label. “Looks fancy.”
“Not really,” James hedged. “I wasn’t sure what you were planning.”
“Oh, nothing gourmet I’m afraid,” Hannah breezed to the refrigerator and started packing away beer bottles. “Murgatroyd’s ain’t exactly the farmers’ market. Here,” he cracked open a bottle of beer and held it out.
James glanced at the clock on the wall, and saw it was just past twelve.
“Come on,” Hannah goaded. “It’s your day off.”
James smiled, took the beer and drank a mouthful. “Thank you.”
“Go on through,” he said, packing more stuff into the refrigerator. “Make yourself at home. I won’t be long.”
James drank more beer, willing it to drown the guilt that swirled with the newly returned butterflies in his belly and moved through to the living room. It was small and stuffed with comfortable, mismatched and well-used furniture. The couch in front of the large TV was swathed in colorful blankets. More posters and prints crowded the faded wallpaper. One wall was made up of sliding glass doors, slightly misted with condensation, beyond which was the balcony overlooking the iron-colored ocean. A hall off to the right had two half-open doors revealing a bedroom and bathroom.
