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Jesse strode in, the younger officer at his heels, protesting that he'd tried to stop him. Jesse planted himself in front of Bruyn.
"The doctor's initial report found that Detective Kennedy seems to have died of a broken neck incurred in a fall. He was searching the warehouse, went to that second story, and fell backward off the edge."
"Fell?" Bruyn said. "Or was pushed?"
"Fell. There's only one way up. There's also only one set of prints, which I pointed out to the sheriff's department."
"I saw two sets--"
"On the first few steps. Savannah's prints, as I'm sure she'll confirm. She went up three steps, turned, and came back down." He glanced at me.
I nodded. "I heard a noise below. Turned out it was just a cat."
"The sheriff's department is holding the scene for their lab techs, but I'm sure when they arrive, they'll confirm only one set of prints upstairs. Michael Kennedy's. A tragic accident. But clearly an accident."
The phone rang.
"That would be the sheriff's department telling you to release Savannah," Jesse said.
I heard enough to know that they confirmed Jesse's story--one way up to the second floor and only one set of footprints. I still didn't believe Michael had fallen. Couldn't believe it. But I sure as hell wasn't saying so.
When Bruyn got off the phone, he said, "You're free to go. Just don't leave town. We'll be checking that second story, and if we find your prints up there ..."
"You won't," I said. "But I'm not leaving town anytime soon. I still have a case to solve."
AS WE GOT into Jesse's truck, I said, "Thank you."
"No problem."
"No, really. Thank you. You didn't need to do all that, and I appreciate it."
He fussed with his seat belt, clearly uncomfortable with gratitude, then put on a grin and flashed it my way. "Now you owe me. You realize that, right? If I ever get locked up in a small town, you've gotta come from wherever you are, whatever the hour, and investigate on my behalf."
"And the chances you'll be able to call in that chit someday are pretty good, aren't they?"
His grin widened. "Very good. Why else do you think I got you out of there?"
"Good call." I cracked the window and inhaled the night air, hoping it would settle my stomach. Then I glanced at Jesse. "Speaking of calls, I need to make one when we get to the motel."
"Lucas?"
"No, Adam. I need to keep him in the loop."
He frowned. "Lucas has him supervising you on this?"
"Not really."
"Good, because you clearly don't need it."
He was right. I didn't. And Adam really didn't need a 4 A.M. update. I just ... I'd just wanted to speak to him, I guess. It could wait, though.
THERE WAS NO chance of me sleeping, and Jesse seemed to realize that. He dropped me off at the motel and said he'd be back. I went in and sat on the bed. Just sat. Nothing else, unless you count thinking. Did a lot of that, as the world got too quiet again.
I thought of calling Adam. Bruyn had given me my phone back. I'm sure that wasn't standard procedure, but I hadn't been about to argue.
I won't say how many times I picked up the phone, finger poised over Adam's speed dial. I wanted to talk to him. More than that, I wanted to see him, and I knew that if I told him what had happened, he'd be on the road within the hour, no matter how much I argued.
He'd come, and I wanted that. God, how I wanted that. I wanted someone to hug me and tell me it was okay. Then I wanted to be distracted, to hear a story that would take my mind off Michael's death. Then, when I was ready, I wanted to be cheered up. Sympathy, comfort, support, and laughter. It was a lot to ask of any one person. But Adam could do it. He always did.
