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“We can go home whenever you want.” I sit forward in my chair and rest my elbows on my knees. “You say when, Mayet, and I’ll clear the way.”
“If I go home now, I’ll go to sleep.” Another yawn, then she reaches up with her hand and scrubs her still-closed eyes. “If I go to sleep now, I’ll wake at three or four tomorrow. Then we repeat the crappy cycle until I send us both mad. So I’m gonna stay awake as long as I can manage.”
Finally opening her eyes, she looks at me with her chocolate gaze. “What are you thinking with this vic? Cheating spouse who faked a couple of identities so he could have his cake and eat it too? Or government operative who just so happened to fall in love a couple of times?”
“I have no fuckin’ clue.” I scratch the stubble coating my jaw and shrug. “Evidence says the killer is experienced, organized, and cold. Which I guess maybe implies operative. The fact he’s running with more than one name—assuming DNA testing says he’s both RogerandKyle—adds weight to that theory.”
“So, CIA, FBI, spy?”
“That’s what I was thinking at first. But if he’s with them, or known to them, then why wasn’t his body fished from the river before we even got there?”
She cocks her head. “I don’t—”
“There’s a reason we rarely investigate these types, Mayet. The three-letter organizations tend to take care of this stuff in-house. Whether their agents are killed on the job, by the job, or anything in between, regular homicide detectives don’t typically see those cases.”
“So what the hell is he?” She’s frustrated, working to smash a puzzle piece into a spot it doesn’t fit. “If he’s an operative, then his people should be dealing with this. If he’s not, then why does he have multiple identities?”
“I have multiple identities.” I glance out of the office to make sure we’re alone. “Youhave multiple identities. You haven’t used them yet,” I add before she can argue. “You don’t even know your other names. But they’re there, waiting in the wings if you ever need them.”
“So… he could be mafia?” she guesses. “If not a standard guy, and not CIA either, then maybe he sits right in the middle. It would explain the organized portion of this crime. Men who play with the mafia often lose limbs, and the Copeland River is a well-known dumping place for those types of people. Thetwo wives, two familiesthing is still an issue, but if he’s living a secret life anyway, then it’s not a stretch to think he could extend that further.”
“We need to confirm his identity, first and foremost.”
When I catch sight of Fletch and Mrs. Andrews starting this way, I push up to stand, and watch Minka in my peripherals. I don’t reach out for her. I don’t help. But I keep guard and prepare to catch her if she drops.
“DNA first,” I murmur. “We’ll bring the kids in to provide samples, and Doctor Raquel can run them. Then we’ll trace it all back and see who came first: Kyle or Roger. Who was he born as, and where did the other identity come from?”
“Mrs. Andrews.” The second that Fletch and the woman come through the office door, Minka strides around her desk and plants her ass on the corner to rest. “I know this is an extremely difficult time for you. But in order to formally identify your husband, we require a DNA sample.”
“F-from him?” Diane fusses with her hands and studies my wife, perplexed. “Couldn’t you just use his blood or whatever? You already have his body.”
“Of course. But to cross-check samples, we need something to compare it to.” She pauses for a beat as Aubree and Fifi file into the office and stand behind Fletch. “We would need a sample from one or both of your children.”
Diane’s eyes sharpen in suspicion. Perhaps threat, too, as her children are brought into a mess they never created.
She’s still processing her husband’s murder; I’m not sure she’s clicked over yet to the reality that he had two families. Two completely different lives.
But she understands when we speak of her kids. And she’s not playing.
“We would only require saliva,” Minka informs her gently. “It’s completely painless, and fast.”
Then she peers through the glass wall and stops on the elevator as the light above dings, and the steel doors slide open to reveal a woman with platinum blonde hair, and blue eyes as bright as Aubree’s. She wears sky-blue jeans, a black hoodie, lace up leather boots, and a bare face.
And following on her heels, with no collar and no lead, is a handsome Labrador.Humphrey, the ‘seeing-eye’ dog.
“This is Doctor Raquel.” Minka gestures toward the biker-chic woman so Mrs. Andrews turns to study our newcomer. But the second Raquel pokes her head through the office door, Minka’s eyes drop to the dog that barrels forward and makes himself at home on her luxurious leather couch.
Her lips peel back, and a deep line forms an early wrinkle that’ll stick around between her brows forever.
“I’m here,” Raquel announces sweetly. “Have the samples sent to the lab, if you haven’t already, and I’ll get them started. I’ll have the results back as quickly as I can.”
Leaving the dog and closing the door, she wanders back to the elevator and hits the down button.
Humphrey promptly closes his eyes and yawns, emitting a squeak in the back of his throat. Then he’s out, his presence and instant ease confusing Aubree and Fifi, who simply watch in shock.
“It would be a great help to us if your children could provide those samples,” Minka pushes through tight teeth. Visibly working to clear her mind, she ignores the dog. Her bewildered staff. Even me and Fletch. She focuses only on Diane, and fakes a kind smile. “Please.”
* * *
