CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Hi, you’ve reached Cheryl Reid!”
A brief giggle followed, and Marcus winced, remembering the morning she had recorded that message.The giggle came when Marcus whispered “Damned right you are, Mrs.Reid,” into her ear.Thankfully, her voicemail hadn’t caught that or Marcus could have heard his own voice filled with the certainty that she would be Mrs.Reid forever.How things changed and how quickly.
“I’m not available now, but leave a message, and I will be eventually!”
The tone beeped, and Marcus took a deep breath and reminded himself to just be calm and direct.“Cheryl, it’s me.Call me back.Okay?I’m not trying to hide from you.I’m working, and there’s a lot going on, but I want to talk.I want to do this right.Just… call me.”
He hung up and said aloud, “Yeah, real smooth, genius.Way to go.Calm and direct, my ass.”He pushed the phone into his pocket and left his hand there, moving the other hand to the respective pocket on the other side.“Fuckin’ wonderful.”
He looked around and found himself in a slightly seedier area of the city.It wasn’t run-down yet, but the difference between the gleaming skyscrapers of city center and the gray-russet concrete high-rises found further from the bay was notable.According to Kyle Maxwell’s yellow page listing, his office was within one of these older high-rises.
Kyle Maxwell was a private investigator.In Marcus’s experience, P.I.s were mostly failed cops who made a living verifying insurance claims and spying for paranoid spouses.Given their killer’s apparent motive, Marcus leaned toward the latter.
Maybe he was looking for me,Marcus thought drily.Maybe Cheryl’s caught on to me and Kate, and she sent him to get proof.
He sighed and rubbed his forehead.He’d probably messed that one up too.What was it with him and being absolutely dogshit with relationships?
You lack courage.You never divorced Cheryl and never took the next step with Kate.
The voice was that of Master Chief Orrin Santana, the fiery Spanish-Irish SEAL who had taken Marcus under his wing when he first joined the Navy’s most elite unit.He’d never once accused Marcus of cowardice in real life—the opposite, in fact—but it was a fitting claim to make now.
Why?What was he afraid of?He didn’t love Cheryl anymore.He wasn’t sure if he loved Kate—romantically anyway—but he wanted to find out.What the hell was stopping him?
He reached the sign for 1090 Navarro Street.This was Maxwell’s building.Marcus’s personal life was going to have to wait.
He stepped inside to find an interior that reminded him so much of a residential building in Brooklyn that it was almost comforting.The floor was off-white vinyl tile with dark blue vinyl baseboards and peeling wallpaper featuring vines with flowers that had probably once been lavender but were now gray.The ceiling was the good-old asbestos popcorn that someone had eventually figured out was the cancer-causing sort roughly around the time Marcus’s parents were born.
To his left was a mail room, to his right, a directory.K.Maxwell, Private Investigator, was located in office 2012 on the twentieth floor, the second one from the top.
He took the elevator and exited into a squat, narrow hallway.A window on one end offered a view of the more pristine sections of downtown by the bay.The offices were staggered across from each other, the plain dark green doors sporting peepholes and small placards with the names of their residents.
Now that Marcus looked, he was pretty sure thiswasa residential building.It had probably been converted to office space when the owner declined upkeep required to pass code for a residence in favor of opting for the slightly looser commercial codes.
Well, maybe the building would collapse, and then Marcus wouldn’t have to worry about confronting his relationship problems.
He reached 2012, the sixth door to his left, and turned the handle.It opened, and he walked into what was definitely a one-bedroom apartment reorganized as the office of a down-and-out gumshoe making the best of not quite enough skill to hold down his police job.
Easy on the grumpiness, Marcus.Focus.
He pushed his preconceived notions aside and stepped to the desk that greeted him in a foyer that used to be a dining nook.No one sat behind it, but Marcus still peered over the twin stacks of papers to make sure someone wasn’t hiding behind them.The room carried a smell of old tobacco and stale ink.When no one volunteered to greet the person who had just walked into the office, Marcus called, “Hello?Kyle Maxwell?”
“Ocupado!”a voice called from behind the door that led to the living room/main office.
A moment later, the door opened, and a short, barrel-chested guy with short spiky black hair and a friendly smile underneath sharp, beady eyes stepped through.He offered a meaty hand to Marcus, who took it reluctantly, expecting it to be clammy.He was pleasantly surprised to find the palm dry.
“Just came out of the restroom,” Maxwell volunteered.
Marcus was no longer sure if the dry palms were a good thing.He wiped his own palm on the leg of his pants and accepted Maxwell’s offer to sit.The swivel chair creaked ominously when Marcus lowered himself into it but held for the moment.
Maxwell collapsed into his own chair with a satisfied sigh and folded his pudgy hands-on top of the desk.“Now, what can I do for you?”
“I’m Special Agent Marcus Reid,” Marcus informed him.
The moment he did, Maxwell’s affected affability vanished.His face hardened, and his body stilled.Marcus had no trouble in that moment imagining the P.I.as a killer.“Ah.Nice to meet you, Special Agent.”
"I understand you were at the office of Dr.Patricia Hammond recently."
