The touch of murder, p.14
The Touch of Murder, page 14
“Mrs. Decker, is there someone you can call to be with you tonight? A sister, or friend, someone like that?”
“My friend Tonya.”
“I suggest you give her a call. Tell her to come over, keep you company. An officer will come by in the morning with more details. Again, Mrs. Decker, we are truly sorry for your loss.”
“Will you find out who did this? Who did this to my Aaron?”
Veronica nodded firmly.
“We will. And we’ll see ourselves out. Please, call your friend.”
Veronica was three-quarters of the way to the door when she felt a sudden compulsion to ask one final question.
“Mrs. Decker?”
The woman had taken her phone out and looked up from the device with bloodshot eyes.
“Yes?”
“Do you know anybody named Bobby Harvey? One of your husband’s friends, maybe?”
Beside her, Freddie tensed but Sylvia didn’t react.
“No, I don’t think so.”
This answer was uttered in the same tone as every other one that the new widow had given them.
Only something about it was different. Because all of a sudden, all Veronica could smell was gasoline.
Chapter 31
At twenty-five years old, Cole Batherson had dated plenty of women. More than most had by the time they reached forty if they hadn’t settled down by then.
Most of these had been fleeting encounters—women he met during basic training, came across while working in internal affairs, or online.
Others he met in bars.
In his younger days, college girls had been his thing even though he’d never formally attended.
Cole had numerous partners, both sexual and romantic.
But none had ever lasted.
In truth, the six months or so that he and Veronica had been seeing each other, which had become more serious over the last two and a half, were the longest he’d ever been in a relationship.
And he wanted it to continue. He enjoyed his time with her, appreciated her uniqueness, and liked that he couldn’t outwit or deceive her as he had a habit of doing with previous partners. She kept him honest.
Kept things real.
And added a much-needed element of both spontaneity and excitement to his otherwise mundane life.
Love? Cole didn’t know about love. But what he felt for Veronica was more than just like, that’s for sure.
Speaking of like, no one liked internal affairs officers—they were perceived as snitches with badges. Or worse: completely and utterly irrelevant.
Most of Cole’s assignments were similar to the one he had just completed. Stealing underwear from a coworker wasn’t always the focus, but it was a surprisingly recurring theme.
Or had been, he reminded himself. It had been a common theme in his work.
It wasn’t anymore because Cole was no longer an internal affairs officer.
It felt strange. Stranger still, he already had his first case.
Whoopee!
Not officially, of course. They hadn’t discussed payment or anything. Pro bono work… not the ideal way to start a business endeavor.
So why did you agree? Cole asked himself. You don’t owe Veronica anything. Is it to curry favor with her with the hopes of getting back into that sexy red thong she likes to wear on the weekend?
Maybe.
Probably.
There was another reason, too: not only were most IA assignments incredibly boring, but bureaucracy turned the simplest of tasks into a forty-eight-point checklist requiring more signatures than the Declaration of Independence.
He’d taken the case because the compressed timeline made it thrilling, and the stakes made it exhilarating.
Cole had called the job impossible, but it wasn’t—Nothing’s impossible! Yeah? Jump off a tall building and flap your arms as fast as you can. Good luck—it was near impossible. And he didn’t even know where to start. His options were limited, given that he hadn’t officially obtained his PI license. The only thing working in his favor was that he’d quit so recently, and so quietly, that Cole doubted many people knew about him leaving IA. And hated as IA officers were, they were still cops. Cops with a special ability to make anyone else’s life miserable.
Porting what he learned from IA, the first step Cole took as a PI was to delve into Dylan Hall’s past. He was already somewhat familiar with the man from the Ken Cameron case, but he thought it best to refresh his memory.
Dylan Hall had been in and out of the disaster that was Renaissance Home since a very young age. Adopted three times, he seemed to have the worst luck imaginable. It was unsurprising that he became an addict and started a life on the streets.
And then, as of about a year ago, he seemed to have cleaned up his act. After being falsely accused of stalking Chloe Dolan, Dylan hadn’t been arrested for six months, the longest stretch of his adult life.
Then everything changed.
Cole decided to start from Dylan’s most recent arrest and work his way forward, which led him to the Matheson Police Department.
He knew that what he planned on doing was probably illegal, but he was still kinda a police officer.
And kinda was a legal term… wasn’t it?
“Hi there,” Cole said to the secretary. He raised his IA badge dangling from the gold chain around his neck for the plump woman behind the desk to see. “Cole Batherson, Internal Affairs. I’m working on a case and need access to certain files.”
“What kind of files?” The woman was young and moderately attractive. This didn’t matter as much as the fact that the precinct was fairly empty.
Most officers were probably out to lunch—figuratively and literally.
“The case against Dylan Hall. Drug possession, charges filed about six months ago, going to trial in a few days.” Cole spoke quickly to avoid dwelling on the details of the case or allowing her to do the same. “According to my notes…” He opened the folder that he’d brought with him that just happened to be completely empty and tilted it so that she couldn’t see. “There was an anonymous call that led to his arrest. Would you happen to have the call logs for that?”
“Six months ago?”
“Give or take,” Cole said with a grin. He knew how to put on the charm, and while he wasn’t proud of using his looks to get what he wanted… well, pride was a sin, wasn’t it?
Besides, he was on the clock here.
“Let me check.”
She was cute, with short blonde hair and an upturned nose. A bit on the plumper side, most likely from sitting behind a desk all day, but in the past, Cole wouldn’t have turned her down, that’s for sure.
As the secretary began typing on the keyboard, Cole placed his elbow on the desk and leaned forward, getting close to her but not uncomfortably so.
“No, I don’t see it here. Are you sure it was six months ago? And Dylan Hall? That’s his name?”
“I’m sure. There was no anonymous call logged to Matheson PD?”
“No… there was a call from a… a DEA Agent Troy Allison? Yep, it’s right here.” She tapped a manicured nail on the monitor. Cole leaned further and with a smile of her own, the woman tilted the monitor to give him a better look.
The call from DEA Agent Troy Allison was logged at 1:30 AM and was placed to a Detective Jacob Tinkler.
Tinkler? Give me a break.
“Can I see the details of that call? Are they recorded?”
“No, not like recorded, recorded. But I should be able to pull up Detective Tinkler’s notes.” More typing, then she started to read out loud even though Cole had already finished reading what was on screen in his head. “DEA Allison called; said he got an anonymous tip about a considerable stash of heroin—new product—in Dylan Hall’s possession.” The address followed and Cole committed it to memory.
“Thank you. And this Detective Tinkler, is there any chance he’s around?”
“No, I’m sorry. Detective Tinkler went up to Washington. He’s working in the White House, I think?”
Not ideal, but not the end of the world, either.
“Thank you so much for your time, sweetie. I owe you one.”
“You’re welcome.”
Back in his car, he took a Sharpie out of the console, bit off the cap, and scribbled Dylan Hall’s address on the outside of the empty folder.
Although the trip wasn’t a complete waste of time, what Cole had discovered wasn’t heartening.
Dealing with a Matheson Detective was one thing—Tinkler? Really? Shouldn’t he have been a mall Santa or something?—but the DEA?
Once, Cole had investigated a case of stolen identity that had links to the DEA of all things.
Nope.
DEA Agents were built like brick shithouses and spoke as much as them, too.
Sure, Cole could just lower his shoulder and blow through cinderblocks if he really wanted to.
But wouldn’t it be more fun to just start removing brick by brick and peeking inside?
He cracked his knuckles and then started his car.
Who’s up for a little masonry, huh?
Cole pointed both thumbs at his chest and said, “This guy, that’s who.”
Chapter 32
“That was a bit odd, no?” Freddie asked.
This was an understatement—Sylvia Decker’s behavior had been more than a little odd. Veronica was well aware that grieving reactions were as varied and individual as hairstyles, but something in particular stuck in her mind.
“She never asked how, did she? I mean, when we told Sylvia her husband had been murdered, she never once asked how he was killed?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Huh.”
“Was she… lying?” Freddie asked uncomfortably. They didn’t talk about her synesthesia—nobody did. It had somehow been relegated to a taboo subject, as was the case with most things that people just didn’t understand. And Veronica was fine with that. If it were up to her, it would’ve remained a secret until the day she died. And the less they talked about it, the more people tended to forget. There was the New York Times article Cole wrote about her, of course, and that would undoubtedly come up anytime someone searched her name, but the mention of her synesthesia therein was succinct. Not only that but it was located somewhere in the middle, which was like writing a preamble before a recipe. It was simply never read.
First and last paragraphs, only.
But now that Freddie had brought it up…
“Yeah—when I asked her if she knew Bobby Harvey and she said no? That was a lie.”
Freddie snapped his fingers and pointed.
“I knew it—I saw your nose crinkle a little—just a little—and I knew it.”
Veronica smiled.
“Is it that obvious?”
“No, not really. I was just looking for it. Why was she lying?”
Veronica raised one eyebrow.
“It doesn’t quite work that way—I wish. I can tell if someone’s lying, but I can’t read their minds, Freddie.”
“Ha, I know, I was just thinking out loud.”
“What if Sylvia was sleeping with Bobby?”
Freddie grimaced at her ‘what if’ scenario but he went along with it.
“And what if Bobby killed Aaron to have Sylvia all to himself?”
“Maybe Bobby Harvey also killed Jake and Cooper because Sylvia was sleeping with them, too?” Veronica joked. “Kidding. I mean, maybe you’re onto something? Doesn’t explain the other two murders, though. If the man only came home, we could ask his sorry ass.”
“No update from Officer Furnelli?”
“No. Nothing. Still all quiet in the trailer.”
“Then we wait,” Freddie said with a shrug.
“I hate waiting.”
“Me, too. You want me to drop you off somewhere or do you want to come back to the station?”
“And feel Captain Bottel’s wrath? No thanks.” Veronica suddenly grew serious. “You think you can take me to see Steve?”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll let the captain know where you are.”
“Thanks.”
They fell into silence. An awkward silence. Veronica could see Freddie’s face twitch as if he was preparing to say something, but he stopped himself at the last second.
This was maddening. If they were going to be partners, they had to be able to trust one another.
You forgave Freddie…
Veronica grunted.
Fuck you, Cole.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. Listen, Freddie, it looks like you want to say something. Please, just say it. I hate this awkwardness.”
“I—well, it’s personal and I don’t—”
“…Freddie…”
“All right, well, I heard that you and Cole were together. It’s not my business, but I was just curious and—”
“Cole was writing that article about me, and we hit it off. Dated for a while, got pretty serious,” Veronica interrupted. “Steve and I had already broken up by then. Simple as that.”
You forgave Steve…
Veronica sighed.
“Maybe… maybe it wasn’t that simple.”
People often said that verbalizing your feelings made them more real, but that wasn’t true. What it really did was force you to think about your feelings in a cohesive and understandable way instead of them just existing as infinite versions of Schrödinger’s cat inside your head.
“I think Cole’s a great guy—Freddie, I was completely wrong about him, and you were right. He’s smart, funny...” Veronica chuckled. “God, I sound like his hype girl.”
Freddie laughed, too. For the first time since getting back together, his laughter seemed unrestrained.
“If you say you just weren’t compatible, I’m going to vomit.”
Veronica smirked.
“He wasn’t the one,” she said jokingly. “But seriously, I think maybe he was too good for me.”
Was—past tense.
Even though their break-up was less than twenty-four hours old, it didn’t seem foreign to her. Did that mean that it was the right decision?
She didn’t know.
“Veronica—”
“No, don’t do that either. Don’t patronize. The fact is, I didn’t love Cole. Sounds cheesy, I know. But I didn’t. So, I cut it off because that isn’t fair to him.”
You don’t love yourself, Veronica.
It was Cole’s voice, but he’d never said those words. Still, the man taking up residence inside her head received her wrath anyway.
Fuck you, Cole.
“I understand.” The seriousness of Freddie’s voice made Veronica put a hold on mentally bashing her ex-boyfriend.
“Go on…”
“Naw, it’s just… I want to apologize, Veronica.” She knew that this wasn’t what Freddie wanted to say—rather, it wasn’t what he was referring to when he’d said, ‘I understand’. But she’d cut him off once already when he’d tried to apologize and regretted it and wasn’t about to do that again. “I’m sorry for the way I acted that day in the car. I should never have said that stuff to you. It was messed up. I’m… I’m sorry.”
Veronica didn’t need to say, ‘I forgive you,’ ‘That’s okay,’ or ‘Don’t let it happen again.’ All she had to do was give the man a sincere nod.
That bastard Cole was right: she’d already forgiven Freddie. But there was one last issue that she needed to resolve before moving on completely.
“Freddie, what happened that day? The day you met with Agent Keller? After that, you got serious—more serious than usual.”
More serious than a heart attack?
Too soon, Veronica decided.
Freddie quickly looked away.
“I can’t. I know this is going to seem unfair, terribly unfair, what with your secrets coming out—but that was by accident. I just—” He was really struggling now, and Veronica felt bad for even asking. “One day, I’ll tell you… I’ll tell you everything. But—”
“Not today.”
“Right. Because today is Tuesday.”
“It’s Thursday,” Freddie corrected.
“Whatever. But okay, Freddie. One day. I’m going to hold you to that.”
“I’d expect nothing less, Veronica.” Freddie looked sad and all Veronica wanted to do was hug the big man. “And thank you.”
“I aim to please.”
“In that case… you hungry? Because I could go for a double whopper right now.”
Veronica leaned over and punched Freddie’s shoulder.
He was smiling now.
“No way. Kale only, got it?”
Chapter 33
Veronica didn’t see the doctor who had tried to kick her out before, but she did see a nurse. The woman informed her that visiting hours were over, but all it took was a stern look and the nurse backed down.
Steve was sleeping on his side, mouth open. The IV fluids that had been pumped into him gave his skin a slightly puffy look, but overall, he looked better than when Veronica had seen him outside of Jake Thompson’s crime scene.
Definitely better than when she’d found him in the alley.
Veronica removed her gun and holster and sat in the chair beside the bed. She thought about putting her piece on the table but then recalled the previous incident at the hospital when her gun had been stolen and used to kill Marlowe Lerman.
Veronica decided to tuck it out of sight behind one of the larger pieces of medical equipment just in case she dozed off. Then she took her keys, badge, and phone and put them on the table to get more comfortable.
Just in case… within moments, she was asleep.
Sometime later, Veronica was awakened by the sound of a scream.
Steve’s eyes were wide, his face glistening with sweat. The man’s mouth was agape and even though he was looking in her direction, he wasn’t seeing her.
Veronica got to her feet so quickly that the chair banged against the wall behind her.
“Steve!”
The man screamed again. It was a haunting sound.
