Page 27 of Wrong Door

"I have a former colleague of Cord's,” he said. “She’s current SCAD faculty, and she lives thirty minutes from here."

Vic set the cup down and said, "Do you think we reach out now?"

"She'll be the most current source we have on what Cord was like in his final semester." He was already closing the database window and pulling up the address on his phone. "And she's thirty minutes away." Having said that, he realized he’d already made his decision. As far as he was concerned, every minute that was wasted in a Kane investigation could be crucial. Especially in this case, when the killer seemed to have a massive headstart.

“Yeah, I think we go now,” Vic said, picking up her jacket from the back of the chair.

They were out of the precinct and in their car ten minutes later. The city at 3:00 in the morning was quiet in a way that felt specific to these older, Southern cities. The streets were not empty so much as deeply settled, the trees lining the streets making the darkness under them complete in a way that the streetlights at the intersections only partially broke through. The Spanish moss was invisible at this hour except where a light caught it and made it briefly silver. Miles drove through the downtown grid and then north toward Midtown, following the GPS.

"How are you holding up?” Vic asked, out of the blue.

It was not a casual question, and it caught Miles off guard. He answered as well as he could though it wasn’t completely honest. "I'm fine," Miles said.

"Are the nightmares still screwing with you?"

He kept his eyes on the road; not sure he wanted to go here but also understanding that it was healthy. "Oh, I'm managing."

"That's not what I asked."

He was quiet for a moment. "They're less frequent than they were." This was true, technically. "I'm not losing sleep over it." This was less true, and Vic's silence suggested she knew the difference.

"And Agent Kim?" she said, offering a sly smile.

“Really, Vic?”

“Yes, really. I have never taken offense that you don’t open up to me about things, so I’m just glad you have her…in whatever capacity that may be.”

Miles looked at the road ahead, at the long corridor of oaks coming up on the left. “Things are picking up,” he said. “We’re not dating in any real sense of the word, but we’re spending more time together. And yes…it is nice to have someone to talk to about…all of this Kane shit. Not that you aren’t absolutely a priority in that field, but…”

“But you need to talk about it in a non-professional manner sometimes.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“While snuggling.”

The laugh that escaped him was a surprise, but it felt good. It seemed that Vic took this as something of a victory because she didn’t say anything else. The rest of the drive was quiet in the comfortable way that their silences generally were. And he’d always heard that it was a good thing when partners didn’t have to fill every silence with conversation or the radio.

They finally arrived at Leslie Marks’ address just a bit after 3:00. It was a two-story house on a residential block, set back from the sidewalk behind a small front garden that was visible in the faint glow of a nearby streetlight. The neighborhood was the sort that had all of the houses close together. There were few trees because there wasn’t enough room between the homes for them to grow.

When he rang the electronic doorbell, he grimaced. He had never really gotten used to the idea of waking people up so late at night. Surely, it terrified them…and then pissed them off. Twenty seconds passed, and he buzzed the ringer again. This time, a male voice came out of the electronic doorbell’s speaker.

“Who the hell are you? Do I need to call the police?”

“Sorry, sir,” Vic said, stepping forward. She showed her badge to the camera of the doorbell. “We’re FBI agents Stone and Sterling. And we do apologize for the late hour.”

“Bring that badge back a bit…let me see it,” said the voice.

Vic did as she was asked, giving a better view of her badge and ID. “Better?”

“What do you want?” the man snapped.

“We need to speak with Leslie Marks,” Miles said. “We need to ask her some questions pertaining to a very time-sensitive case.”

A light came on upstairs, followed by the faint sounds of movement from inside. Seconds later, the same male voice spoke up from behind the door. "Do you know what time it is?" he said.

"We do," Miles said. "I apologize for the hour. Is Ms. Marks home?"

"She's asleep. We're both asleep. Were both asleep."