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Chapter Twenty-Six
Niko
The next morning,Tavers pulls his truck to a stop at the curb outside Clem Stewart’s house. I slide from the cab and wait for him to meet me on the sidewalk. The place looks a lot different from the last time we were here. The once well-manicured lawn is at least a foot tall. The colorful flowers that used to line the two front windows are now dried twigs sticking up from the ground, and is overrun by weeds.
Tavers and I share a look as we walk up the sidewalk and onto the porch. He knocks on the door, and we wait. And wait. And wait. Several moments pass, and Mr. Stewart still hasn’t opened the door. A look to the left shows his car in the driveway, so we know he’s here. Just as Tavers lifts his hand to knock again, the door creaks open.
The yard isn’t the only thing that’s changed. Mr. Stewart looks like shit. There’s no other word for it. His hair is oily, and he looks like he hasn’t brushed or washed it in weeks. Dark circles surround his eyes. His face looks pale and gaunt, and he looks like he’s lost weight. The white V-neck shirt hanging from his shoulders has dirt and food stains on it, along with several holes.
I stuff my hands into my pockets to keep from reaching out and wrapping them around his neck. The detective in me wants to give the guy a chance to explain, but the protector in me wants to act first and ask questions later. That’s part of the reason Tavers is here; to keep me in line.
“Mr. Stewart, can we come in?” Tavers asks, being the professional in our group while I stand here and silently war with myself.
He takes a step back. “Of course.” It comes out scratchy as if he just woke up.
Mr. Stewart goes back to the same chair he sat in during our last visit while Tavers takes his same seat on the sofa. I opt to stay standing with my arms crossed over my chest. I try to rein in the glare I shoot in his direction, but it’s a feat I know I don’t manage.
I look around the room and see the inside the house isn’t any better than the outside.
“Is everything okay, Detectives?” Mr. Stewart asks anxiously.
Tavers leans forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together between them. He looks at him with concern.
“Question is, are you okay, Mr. Stewart?”
He looks around, the first bit of color staining his cheeks. I would guess in embarrassment as he takes in the disheveled mess of the room. His gaze drops to his dirty shirt, plucks it from his chest, and then releases it to fall back down. His eyes flicker up to mine before settling them back on Tavers.
“I haven’t been sleeping, and well…” He stops, looks off to the side where the picture of Rebecca is sitting on a small table, and then looks back with tears in his eyes. “I haven’t really felt up to doing much,” he mumbles sadly.
“Mr. Stewart,” Tavers says softly. More softly than I would have. Tavers has always been the more sympathetic one of our partnership. I’m having a damn hard time feeling sorry for the guy. “You need to take better care of yourself. You’re doing no good to yourself or Rebecca if you lose it.”
Mr. Stewart nods and drops his gaze to his land. “I know. I just miss her so much.”
Tavers lifts his head and looks at me. I give him a chin lift.
“We found Rebecca,” he states quietly.
His head snaps up, and his cheeks immediately flush. His mouth drops open, and then he closes it, only to open it again. “What?” he nearly shouts.
Tavers nods. “The woman who was picked up several weeks ago is Rebecca. There was a delay with the tests. That’s why it’s taken so long to get the results.”
I watch closely as he scoots to the edge of his seat. His hand trembles as he lifts it to his mouth as if in shock. He closes his eyes and tears slip down his scruffy cheeks. His shoulders shake as he silently cries. It’s obvious he cares for her.
When he opens them again several seconds later, he lifts them to me. Accusation is in their depths. He blames me because I wouldn’t let him see her. I’d feel guilty if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s the one who allowed those marks to be put on her body, whether by putting them there himself or allowing someone else to do it.
I hold his stare and put some heat behind it, letting him know that I know about them, and I feel not one iota of guilt that I kept him from her.
“When can I see her?” he asks after several seconds, moving his gaze away from mine.
“It’s not that easy,” Tavers answers.
His brows drop down into a frown. “I don’t understand.”
“There are some questions that need to be answered first.”
“Like what?”
“Like where in the fuck she got all the marks on her body,” I growl, unable to hold back the anger anymore.
