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André
André tried his best, but he couldn’t hold it back any longer. A massive yawn escaped him. The adrenaline had worn off hours ago, and the five or so cups of coffee he’d had since then were no longer pulling their weight. It was possible the coffee was actually making him sleepier.
“Am I boring you?” Christopher Hatch asked, his sharp gaze drilling into André’s.
What was his problem?
“No, but it’s been a day, hasn’t it? I have a team in town from West Coast Forensics retrieving remains discovered earlier—” In the week? Month? André had lost track of time.
“Lizzy Harlow’s murder case is growing colder by the minute. I’d like to get a few hours’ sleep before taking that on in the morning. Not to mention I’m down to one officer—that’s me, in case you haven’t figured that out—and have a town to keep an eye on.” André didn’t like the DEA officer. They’d never crossed paths before, but something about him rubbed André the wrong way.
Hatch tossed down the pen he’d snagged from André’s collection. “I suppose we have enough for now. If I think of anything, I’ll let you know immediately. If you think of anything, call us immediately.” He handed André a business card.
“Will do,” André said, taking the card and touching his forehead in a mock salute.
Instead of getting up to leave, like André was willing him to, Hatch stayed where he was—behind André’s desk. The room had been somewhat tidied up, but André’s murder board still lay in a corner along with other paperwork he was going to have to sort through and reorganize.
“West Coast Forensics, huh? They have a good reputation.”
As if the man wasn’t aware that WCF was one of the best independent investigation organizations in the country.
“I’m very lucky they’ve agreed to help us out here in Cooper Springs. It turns out that the mayor’s son is their forensic anthropologist.”
André shifted in his seat, wanting to be released. It felt like the last day of school and Hatch was keeping him back just to taunt him. They all knew that, if it hadn’t been for Carol’s quick thinking, the outcome today could have been tragic. What was Hatch doing still asking him questions?
“You’ve known Castone for a while now?”
“A couple years. Close to that anyway.” Where the hell was this going? Why was Hatch asking him about Dante?
“He’s an interesting man. Until his sister was killed, I never saw him as the type of person to leave the agency. I just figured he was one of those who’d stay forever, die with his boots on, that kind of thing.”
Hatch picked up the pen and was flipping it back and forth between his index and middle fingers before dropping it again.
“Pardon me,” André said, leaning forward, “but can I ask what this has to do with what happened today or in the past weeks?”
Hatch sat back in André’s chair, behind André’s desk. Seeing him there was starting to piss him off.
“Nothing really. I’ve been Castone’s handler for, needless to say, a while now. Years. I’ve watched him go under and come back out many times. He’s a good man. A man I’m going to miss. I hope you appreciate just what kind of man he is.”
André studied the DEA handler closely.
Hatch picked up the damn pen for the third time and began doodling nothings on the edges of the purloined notepad. A sideways thought occurred to André. He almost opened his mouth and asked straight out. But he didn’t.
Had Hatch been interested in Dante—as more than his employee?
Hatch looked up from the paper, meeting his gaze. He saw disappointment, loss, and deep loneliness. André knew he was right.
“Take care of him,” Hatch finally said. “I managed to keep him alive this long.”
They took André’s Jeep to pick up Daniella and the dog from Carol’s house. Dante insisted on driving. André didn’t care who drove or where they went as long as they were heading home. All of them, including Luna.
“Is it really over, Zio?” Dani asked from the back seat.
“We think so.”
“And we know who killed Mom?”
“Yes, and he’s dead too. Not ideal, but it means he can’t do anything to hurt you anymore.”
