22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Aaron

C oleson walks into my office, shuts the door so hard that the blinds rattle against my window, and sits in my guest chair without being invited. I freeze with a late afternoon coffee halfway to my mouth. Raising my eyebrows, I smile at him over my mug. "Is something upsetting you?"

"Nothing that should. We scraped Murphy Beckett's computer," he says, just as my desk phone lights up with one of the department's assistants trying to reach me.

"And?" I ask, pressing the ignore button.

"We have a suicide email to the vice president of the motorcycle club."

"Why are we upset?" I ask, squinting.

Coleson shrugs just as my phone lights up again. I wipe my forehead in agitation and press ignore. "Are you going to take that?" he asks, nodding toward my phone.

"Nah. It's probably not important. Get back to the Murphy problem."

"There is no problem. It's cut and dry, just like my smart boss said. We have a suicide note, and you wouldn't believe what we found in the library."

I lean forward in my seat. "Tell me it rained dickhead names."

He smiles. "Happy Easter, boss. We got the names and offshore account numbers for every member of the mafia and every trafficker we had our sights on from here to Cleveland. I turned it over to the feds. They were pretty happy."

"Why are you pouting in my office?"

"We got him, but something still doesn't feel…right. I don't know how to explain it. You know that pit in the bottom of a police officer's stomach that says it isn't as easy as it looks?"

I nod. I know that feeling well. I've had it a lot lately, too, but things seem to be working themselves out just fine.

"Do you want to hear my advice?" I ask.

"That's why I came in here."

I put my mug down and prop my elbows on my desk. My phone lights up again, and I sigh, looking away from it. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Think of it like it's college football. We got a win and should enjoy it until we get our asses handed to us the next time a big fish comes into town."

My phone lights up yet again, and I point toward the door. "I better get this. Someone obviously has their ass on fire."

As soon as Coleson shuts my door, I pick up the phone. "Yeah, Bertie," I say, answering the assistant in the nicest voice I can muster. She's older and sweet. The kind that brings cookies on a random Wednesday.

"Sheriff Dwyer, there's a man here to talk to you. Says it's urgent."

I scowl at the phone. "Did he say what it's about?"

"Something about a Beck Lenin."

Cold dread moves to my balls, and I grip the receiver tight in my hand so it doesn't fall to my desk. Sweat forms on my upper lip, and I clear my throat, knowing whatever I say will come out sounding like gravel. "Send him in."

***

The man in front of me is not Beck Lenin. I've never seen this person before in my life, but he's short, stocky, and waving his Chicago police badge around like I'm supposed to be impressed.

I stand at my desk and wave the man forward. "Sherriff Aaron Dwyer. And you are?" I ask, holding out my hand.

The man shakes it and sits in the chair Coleson just vacated. "Blair DeLuth. I'm a detective over in Chicago. It's nice to meet you."

I sit back in my chair and take a drink of my now cold coffee, more for something to do with my hands. "My assistant said you were here about Beck Lenin. What can I help you with?"

The man tilts his head to the side. He's missing a back tooth, and I only see that because he's smiling an odd grin. His face has large pores, and his eyebrows desperately need a pluck up the middle. "Did you know Beck Lenin?"

"Yes, sir. I met him once. I came over to your neck of the woods a couple weeks ago looking around for him."

"That's what we heard. Care to explain why?"

"Of course. Lucy Lenin, Beck's wife, recently moved to our county." Fuck, I need to wash my mouth out with something stronger than coffee to get the filth out of my mouth after saying his name. "She has a vested interest in finding her husband to serve divorce papers. Since she'll serve from her county of residence, we have an interest."

"Some of his coworkers at the firm mentioned you came by and asked a few questions. Was that necessary?"

I put my mug back on the blotter and lean toward the man. I don't know who this guy thinks he is, but he doesn't scare me. "Did Jalen Quarry say that?"

The man startles like I slapped him. "You talked to Mr. Quarry?" I nod and furrow my brow. Interesting that he hasn't. "Mr. Quarry didn't mention it. Some of the front desk staff mentioned you were there asking to speak with someone about him."

I need to take control of the situation here. "Let's back up and slow down. I think we can share intel here. What have you found? Lucy says that she's been trying to get you guys to look into it for months."

"Do you know how many missing person reports we get in the city, Sheriff Dwyer? A grown man leaving his wife isn't exactly top priority."

I smile at the man and silently chuckle. "I'm sure there's a lot. Let me fill you in. I talked to Jalen Quarry. He said that Beck Lenin often talked about leaving his wife and disappearing. Everyone at the office in the upper echelon, who you obviously didn't talk to, thinks he just ran off and disappeared. I'm sure it would have been taken more seriously if work colleagues reported a concern, but they didn't. They kind of shrugged and went about their business. They say they weren't surprised he disappeared. Leaving on his own merit makes sense because some mafia friends of his, who are now dead by the way, came by his wife's house several months ago asking about some money Beck owed them."

Detective DeLuth reddens when I mention I've actually talked to Beck's peers.

"Now, we have a dead human trafficker with mafia ties. I'm sure you've heard the name Murphy Beckett."

The detective nods and looks at his feet. "We're aware of him. What's this got to do with Beck Lenin?"

"Murphy Beckett and Beck Lenin were cousins. I say that in the past tense because Murphy killed himself a few days ago. Ironically, it was the same day we got a warrant to go into the house. If you're a betting man, I'll put fifty bucks down that Lenin borrowed money from the mafia to leave Lucy and now has a new passport and an impressive house in Ecuador. Maybe he was involved in what Murphy had going. Who knows? I don't think we ever will."

"Are you sure the wife doesn't know where he is?"

"Absolutely sure," I say. "I went to high school with Lucy. She's a sweetheart and just wants to divorce the loser." I open a drawer, pull out a file I have on Lucy, open it, and slide it over to Detective DeLuth. "These are copies of her text messages to him. She repeatedly asks for information on where he's at. No response. I also have record of an email she sent to your department about the missing person report. Again, no response. She did her due diligence in Chicago and followed up here when she moved and wanted to cite abandonment." I lean over and flip through a few pages. "Here are the financial records Lucy provided to me. There's absolutely nothing amiss in their bank accounts. He obviously had something we don't know about. In fact, he kept a lot of monetary access from his wife. He didn't allow her to be on a joint account. She had the equivalent of a kid's preloaded card she could use on makeup and a gym membership."

"What a charmer," the detective mumbles. "Why are we just now seeing this?"

"I don't know. I called over there a few weeks ago and nothing was done. I would have loved to send it then. Lucy says she reported it and your department shrugged at her." A thought comes to mind. "Is it possible Murphy Beckett had Chicago ties that kept it quiet? I'm thinking Murphy helped him disappear. The fact that you're here now after Murphy is dead tells me a lot."

Detective DeLuth stands and adjusts his jacket. "It's certainly possible. I just got this on my desk a few days ago. Can I have a copy of those?" he asks, jerking his chin to Lucy's folder.

I hand the file over to him. "Help yourself. Bertie can make you a copy on the way out. Let me know if you have other questions or need to talk to Lucy. I'm sure she'll tell you anything you want to know. She wants this over."

"Yeah, we couldn't locate her at her address on file."

I blink but keep my face neutral. "She's staying with a friend. She's afraid of her ex-husband if he does wander back into town."

"Ah. I'll let you know if we need to speak to her, but this looks pretty summed up. Glad I came here."

I stand and shake the man's outstretched hand again. "Nice to meet you. I'd also suggest a conversation with Jalen Quarry or one of the other partners. They'll back up what I just told you. Good luck."

I sit at my desk past quitting time, thinking. Coleson's right. Something about all of this gives me the creeps. When Bertie returns Lucy's file to me after giving it to the detective, I go through it with a fine-tooth comb, marveling that I'm flipping through a file about a woman I know so intimately.

I have everything about her past life in front of me. I made love to this woman last night and see the life she lived with a total asshole on paper today. I see what bank Beck did business with. I see when they bought a new mattress and remodeled the bathroom with a contractor. I chuckle when I see Beck made a donation to the police officer's union and to a nearby church Lucy never mentioned. He obviously liked to keep up appearances as much as his cousin.

There's not much with Lucy's account. There's the gym membership and a charge to Sephora around Beck's birthday. Lucy was obviously expected to look nice for an event. There was also a hardware store purchase that must be the new faucet Lucy said she had replaced in the kitchen a few days before Lucy reported Beck missing. There's absolutely nothing that raises my eyebrows.

I want to solve everything for her. Push every obstacle out of her way.

I get up and walk to my window, hands in my pockets, and stare at the town below until long after the orange sunset streaks the sky. Looking down at the road, headlights cast shadows against neighboring buildings and police red and blue lights appear sporadically as officers leave on calls.

My pants vibrate with a text, and I reach for my phone, expecting to see a text from Lucy asking if I'm coming home soon. I should have been home an hour ago.

I don't expect to find a message from Pearl on her kids' messaging app. She never uses that except to message her grandparents on the small tablet we got her for downloading library books. I didn't know she knew how to reach me through it.

Pearl: Daddy?

Me: Yeah, sweetheart. What's up?

Pearl: I'm scared.

Dots fill the screen like she's typing, but I already have my keys and wallet in my hand and am halfway out the door before I get another message.

Pearl: There's a man here. Lucy put me in the closet and went down to look for Ruby.

I grip the doorframe with nausea but force my feet to keep going. Something's wrong. Lucy isn't the type to shut kids in the closet unless there's a good reason. Where's Ruby in all this? I need to keep calm. I need to let my daughter know I'm coming, but I also need more information on what I'm dealing with.

Me: I'm on my way now. What's he look like, baby?

If Beck Lenin is within a mile of my children, much less within a mile of Lucy, I'll kill him. I'll fucking kill him. I check my holster for my gun. For the first time in my career, I know that I'll have no problem using it if that bastard has one toe on my property.

I expect to see the description of Beck from my daughter. Coiffed dark hair. A smirk you want to punch. Something like that with a child's vocabulary. I don't expect one last message to come through as I close the door to my work-issued car and turn the emergency lights on.

Pearl: I didn't see him, but I heard Lucy say the man's name. Geoffrey.

I'm ten minutes from home on a normal day. I'm going to do it in four.