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She picks up a business card he had no clue he’d dropped, reads Ever Mathers’ name on the front, then hands it to him with a grin. “I think you dropped this.”
Continuing past him and out the door, she leaves us all in silence. But Cato’s feral glare shoots my way as he shoves the offending card back into his pocket.
“I’m gonna kill you,” he sneers. “Dead meat. Now she thinks I’m crazy!”
I snort and bring a hand up to muffle my words. “You are crazy, stupid. Make the call and life will get easier for you.”
* * *
We spend hours inside Whittaker’s office, speaking to each player, and collecting alibis for the night of Anna’s murder.
Stepping out of the stadium into the late afternoon sun, and squinting under the glare that burns the side of my face, I turn toward the car, but I toss the keys to Fletch and take out my phone as I move.
“Frederick seems cool.” Cato slips into the back seat, but he leans forward to poke his head between the gap in the middle. “His shoulder is destroyed, and he hurt his ankle at the end of the season. So he’s probably wrapping things up with the team this year.”
“Maybe he’ll come back as coach or something.” Fletch inserts the key into the ignition and turns over the engine. “He seems kinda angry all the time on the court.”
“That’s what I’m saying!” Cato exclaims. “On TV, he looks formidable as fuck, but in real life, he’s a total marshmallow. I got whiplash.”
“Stop talking.” I dial Minka’s number and bring the device up to my ear. “You’re filling my brain with the wrong stuff.”
“Sandhurst was cool, though,” Cato continues anyway. “Best power forward in the fuckin game. And he’s white!”
“Shh.”
Fletch chuckles. “I thought white guys couldn’t jump?”
“This is Minka. Hang on a sec.” A loud whirring of machinery screams along the line, then the grind of metal on bone makes my stomach hot.
This isn’t a sound I should place so easily. Not a function of someone else’s job I should be able to picture with ease. But I do. I imagine Anna’s—orsomeone’s—skull being sawed open. Their brain, exposed to the medical examiners overlooking the procedure.
“Sandhurst is probably gonna be your best friend when you join the team,” Fletch teases, driving us away from the stadium and into afternoon traffic. “If you’re point guard, and he’s power forward, then—”
“Take this,” Minka orders someone on her side of the line. “Quick, get a bucket under that so we catch it all.”
“But then, Roswell wants Sandhurst’s position,” Fletch considers, despite the bile rising in my throat. “Tell me you didn’t catch that rivalry?”
“Spinal fluid—”
“Shut the fuck up.” My stomach rolls and the car comes around a gentle corner, swishing my nausea to the right. “Jesus. Everyone just shut the fuck up.”
“Excuse me?” Minka’s tone comes through the line, chilly and cutting. “Did you call me specifically to tell me to shut up?”
“Oop.” Cato flops back in his seat and sniggers. “Arch is in trouble.”
“Detective Malone?”
“Not you.” I press a hand to my mouth and hate that, before Minka Mayet, I was one of the baddest motherfuckers I knew. Raised in hell, and bred to be a killer. But now my wife saws skulls open and leaves me teetering on the edge of consciousness. “Sorry, baby. I didn’t…”
“He was talking to us,” Fletch snickers. “He would never speak to you that way, Delicious. You’re too pretty.”
“What’s going on, Archer?” Minka’s power tools stop. The leaking into buckets. The brain juices. The calm discussion about such things. It all comes to a pause. “You called me at a somewhat inopportune time. What’s up?”
“Nevermind.” I swallow the bile in my throat and close my eyes before I throw up in my partner’s lap. “I’ll see you soon. Put the brains away.”
Fletch cackles as I end the call and toss my phone onto the dash so it hits the windshield before landing with a thud. “You’ve been running homicide for years,” he crows. “But marry a chick who slices them up, and you lose your breakfast.”
“How does she sieve brain juice through a fucking colander and not pass out?” I squeeze my eyes tight and breathe. Breathe. Flirt with hyperventilation, and fuck up the rest of my day. “I don’t get how she can saw a man’s skull open and then go on to eat lunch right after that.”
