Page 55 of Carter

“Not yet, but maybe I will. Just got a stack of files tossed onto my desk. These cold cases are worse than I thought.”

“You solve any yet?”

“No, but I’ve got one re-opened and a handful that probably will be.”

“That’s good. You’ll get there.”

“That’s the goal.”

I move to the window to look out at the city. It’s overcast today, dark and grey. Doesn’t stop anyone from doing what they need to do though, not even in the freezing cold and chance of snow. Thousands and thousands of people bustle up and down the streets. This city truly never sleeps.

“Why’d you really call, Nash?” Jericho asks.

I never let him know that he is accurate in his assumptions when he knows something is going on. His intuition is on point, but I always make it seem like I’m fine. Because I have to be.

“This case is fucking with me a little,” I admit, because you only need one person to break the cycle.

“How come?”

“I don’t know,” I say.

And I don’t. Though, to be fair, it’s not the case that’s getting to me. It’s Carter.

Half truths. It’s more than I’ve ever given him before.

“You do know you can talk to me, right, Nash?”

“I know,” I say, even though I won’t. He doesn’t need to carry my burdens along with his own, but if I tell him that, he’ll only argue and worry. I have to just play it off like I’m fine. “But I’m good. Not the worst case I’ve dealt with. I think I’m just rusty.”

“Whatever is fucking with you, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You got the job for a reason, Nash. You’re a good cop.”

“It’s just—” A knock on my door interrupts my sentence, and I turn to face it, wondering who could be on the other side this time. “I have to go. Talk to you later.”

“Later.”

I end the call and call out, “Come in!”

It’s Gendreau and Weber. I glance at the clock.

“Lost track of time?” Gendreau asks.

“Don’t I always?” I say, sitting in my chair. “What do you have for me?”

“Well, wefinallyhave a lead,” he says.

“Oh?” I say, sitting forward.

“Monique St. Doran,” she adds. “Worked at a private care facility just three blocks from the crime scene. Her description matches what we have and—”

“Get this,” Weber buts in. “She quit six days after the murder.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re sure?”

“One hundred percent,” Gendreau adds.

“Have you found her yet?”

They shake their heads, and it’s Weber who answers. “No, but we’re looking. We have tech running her name through the system to find out where she is.”