“Pretty much.” I follow the maps I long ago stamped onto the back of my mind and head just a dozen blocks away from the Carpenters’ house. From one family neighborhood to another. “We’ll meet up and rule him out—or not—ourselves. What do you think about Peter Carpenter?”
“That he’s a father of three girls, and Josey’s death is hitting him pretty hard. He presents as kinda angry, when really, he’s pissing his pants scared. I think he spent the entire time we were there worried about his other two daughters, since Mom sent them next door so we could speak, and now that we’re done, I’m not sure he’s gonna let them out of his sightever again.” He flexes his jaw and glances my way. “I think I pre-judged him as a man with rage issues, so every time he spoke, I filtered his words through the assumptions I’d made. At first, anyway.”
“And now?”
“Now, I feel comfortable removing him from our list of suspects. You?”
I hate to admit it so easily, but I drop my chin in acknowledgment. “Yep.”Fuck, it tastes like sour lemons on my tongue.“Agreed.”
MINKA
If I pretend Justin never called today, I can go on with my evening exactly how I planned from the start:Alone.With Archer. And if I feel like it, I might even dedicate a minute or two to Steve and Cato if we happen to pass in the halls.
If I make a pointnotto drop by the liquor store, then I couldn’t possibly attend Justin’s dinner empty-handed.
It would be rude!
It makes complete sense, really. And being so horribly rude to a host, especially one as important and fancy as the mayor, would be a grave mistake.
So, no liquor store. No dinner. No troubles.
Easy.
I step into the elevator and spin back to study the chaos that is the ninth floor. Preston Danes is not a man who values a tidy workspace, which means cardboard packaging litters the floor, and random bits of blue and red wiring cut-offs areeverywhere.
I’m not sure we’ll ever be rid of them.
“See you at dinner, Chief.” Soph hovers on the threshold of my office, her shoulder pressed to the glass pane, her arms folded, one foot kicked over the other, and a wicked smirk teasing her lips. “I’m excited.”
I smack the close-door button with fast, frenzied taps. “Sorry. I think I have a cold coming on. I don’t feel well.”Cough, cough.“It would be bad manners to sit at another man’s dinner table while I’m spreading germs.”
Before she can open her mouth and spit out an annoying retort, the doors blissfully close between us.Thank you, Jesus.I fix the straps of my bag on my arm and ride the elevator all the way to the ground floor, then stepping out without paying a great deal of attention to where I’m going, I charge across the expansive lobby and keep my movements quick, just in case Soph decides today’s a good day to transform into a bat and flap her big dumb wings all the way down here so she can annoy me some more.
Timing my stride with the momentum of the rotating glass front doors, I step into the gap and follow them around until I’m on the sidewalk outside. But where I expect my trusty knight—goes by the name of Theodore Harrison—I walk face-first into a Cheetos-dust-covered, stained-shirt-wearing, basement-dwelling irritant and the camera he shoves in my face.
And there are twenty more just like him crowding the sidewalk.
“Chief Mayet?” Hesmellsof old fried donuts.“Reports coming out of New York say Gloria Donohue, the woman set to sit trial soon for her part in the Body-In-The-Bag killings, was found dead in her cell overnight.”
I skid to a stop as my brain short-circuits, turning rational thoughts into errant sparks. “What?”
“You were instrumental in not only ending a decades-long killing spree, Chief Mayet, but one of your earliest cases as a medical examiner was that of a Body-In-The-Bag victim. Do you have a comment about Gloria’s death?”
“Shit!” Harrison charges along the street and busts through the crowd, digging between me and Cheetos guy and shielding me from the cameras with his broad shoulders. He wraps his hand around my arm and tugs me so hard, so fast, my feet leave the ground at least for a second. “I’m sorry, Chief.” He drags me around the dozen people vying for a comment, then tearing the back door of a sleek black SUV open, he practically tosses me in. Slamming the door shut, he strides to the driver’s side and starts the car, pulling away from the curb with a squeal of our tires. “Please put your seatbelt on, Chief Mayet.” He swallows audibly. Nervously. Fidgety. “I can’t continue to drive unless you buckle up, but stopping so soon will only become fodder for the six o’clock news.”
Gloria Donohue is dead?That evil swine bitch who hand-selected and delivered little girls for her son to hurt… is dead?
“Chief?” Harrison drops his foot on the brakes and elicits angry honks from the cars around us. “Seatbelt. Please.”
Dazed, I reach around with a shaking hand and snag the silver catch ofmy seatbelt. Such a visual display of weakness would normally disgust me, but for as long as Lachlan Donohue’s face plays through my mind, I can’t find the energy to truly focus on it.
The instant I click myself in, Harrison has us moving again. His muscular body vibrates with violence. Maybe a little dread. Fear. “I’m sorry they got the jump on you, Chief. I was on the phone with Mr. Malone, and the sun was boiling me alive, so I thought I could stand in the shade and…” Frustrated, he shakes his head. “Fuck, Chief. I’m sorry. I’ll speak to Archer as soon as we reach the house. If you could give me just enough grace to call home, I’ll let my family know I won’t be back for a while, and then you?—”
“Gloria Donohue is dead?” Why won’t my brain work? Why can’t I focus?And what the hell was he just saying?“Why do you need time to call your family?” I bring burning eyes to his in the mirror. “You can call them anytime you like. I’m not stopping you.”
“To… they…” He flexes his hands around the steering wheel. “In polite circles, we call it tendering our resignation, Chief.”
“Resignation?! Why? I don’t want to learn someone else’s name. I barely remember yours!”
