Chapter Eleven

Owen leaned his head into the conference room. “Still here?”

Nicole glanced at the clock. How was it nine already? “I’m about to wrap up.”

Owen nodded. “I’m heading out. We’ll tackle it again tomorrow.”

Nicole rubbed her eyes. “You hear back from that co-worker? Jill?”

“No.”

They had reached out to Aubrey’s friends in case anyone had a lead on Samuel Pacheco’s address.

“But if I do, I’ll let you know,” Owen said.

Nicole sighed and glanced down at her files. “Okay, see you tomorrow.”

Her vision blurred and she rubbed her eyes again. She’d been through everything they had so far, including every single one of the autopsy photos, which made her sick to her stomach. She’d been hoping to spot something—anything—that would potentially generate a new lead.

Discovering the last name of Aubrey’s ex-boyfriend had seemed like progress. But the guy wasn’t answering his phone and his driver’s license record showed an Austin address. Until they figured out where he lived locally, they were no closer to interviewing him than they had been before they had his full name.

“Detective?”

She glanced up to see their new patrol officer standing in the doorway.

“Hey, Neil, what’s up?”

“We’ve got a gentleman here who wants to talk to you?”

A gentleman.

“He give a name?” she asked.

“No. But he has your business card.”

Nicole pushed back her chair. “All right, thanks.” She smoothed her hair and checked the clock again. Odd time for a drop-in, but she was curious. She’d passed out dozens of business cards over the past few days, so maybe somebody was coming forward with a tip. They could definitely use one.

Crossing the bullpen, she glanced through the glass divider and saw a tall man with his back to her. He wore a dress shirt and slacks.

He turned around.

Black Visor Guy. Only he looked nothing like the sweaty runner she’d encountered yesterday.

She opened the door to the reception area. “Hi.”

“Detective Lawson.” He nodded crisply. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure.” She held the door open. “Come on back.”

She looked him over as he passed through the door into the bullpen. He seemed nervous as he glanced at all the cubicles, which were empty except for a couple of uniforms typing up reports.

“We can sit at my desk or—”

“Would you mind if we talk privately?” he asked.

Yep, nervous.

“No problem,” she said, and led him to an interview room with a table and two chairs.

She ushered him in and left the door ajar. This guy had her radar up.

“Have a seat,” she said.

He glanced around before taking a seat in the chair closest to the door.

“So.” She sat across the table from him. “What can I do for you, Mr.Wakefield?”

He cleared his throat. “I’ve been reading about the recent case. And I just wanted to correct the record.”

“Record?”

“Or conversation yesterday. I may have given the wrong impression.”

“Oh?” She tipped her head to the side.

He folded his arms over his chest, then unfolded them. His tanned skin contrasted with his starched white dress shirt. According to her research, this guy worked for a financial services firm.

“So, you asked me about Saturday.” He coughed into his hand. “I had a chance to check my calendar. I had a meeting that afternoon, and everything got so busy that—”

“What is it you do, Mr.Wakefield?”

He looked surprised by the question. “Me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m a certified financial planner. My office is in San Antonio, but I work remotely most of the week from our beach house here.” He smiled slightly. “So, you know, a lot of video meetings and conference calls, that sort of thing.”

“I see. So, that’s you and your wife who live here part-time?”

A worry line appeared between his brows. “Yes.” He nodded. “And our two boys. Twins, actually.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, what I was saying...” He frowned again, as though he’d lost his train of thought.

“Your afternoon got busy Saturday?”

“Yes. Right. So... when you asked me if I had gone running that evening, I thought I had. But, actually, I didn’t make it over there.”

“No?”

“No. I usually run on Saturday evenings. I run most evenings, except Sundays, like I said. But last Saturday, I ended up meeting a friend.”

“A female friend?”

The skin of his neck reddened, despite the tan. He nodded.

“So... you usually go running on Saturday evenings, but not this past Saturday.”

“That’s right,” he said. “I was mistaken when I told you I was jogging then.”

“And your wife, too, right? That’s what you told her?”

He just sat there for a moment. Then he nodded.

She leaned forward, looking him in the eye. “Just to make sure I understand, you have no firsthand knowledge of any people or cars that may or may not have been on the beach near Lighthouse Point on Saturday, February fourteenth. Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s right.”

“In other words, you lied to me.”

His flush deepened, and he cleared his throat. “I wanted to correct the record so, you know, your investigation didn’t get off track or anything.”

She stared at him, frustration welling inside her as she thought about how much time she had wasted not only searching for this man but going over his bullshit story to figure out how it aligned with established facts. She imagined slapping her handcuffs on the table and threatening to charge him with obstructing a police investigation.

He’d probably piss his nice pants.

She smiled and shook her head. Then she pushed her chair back and stood. “You know what? I appreciate you coming in, Mr.Wakefield. You’ve been helpful.”

He stood up, looking confused. “So... that’s it?”

“That’s it. Thanks for setting the record straight.”

Emmet walked into Finn’s and scanned the crowd. Owen and Kyle were at a high-top table in back, and Kyle spotted him as he made his way through the bar.

“Hey, you made it,” Kyle said.

Owen looked Emmet over. “You just getting off work?”

“Yeah. Where’s Nicole?”

“I don’t know. Home, I think.”

“Have a beer with us,” Kyle said.

Emmet checked his phone as he took an empty stool.

“Any luck with the roommate?” Owen asked him.

“No.”

Aubrey’s roommate, Lauren, had no idea where Sam Pacheco worked or lived, or if he even lived on the island. She claimed she’d never heard his full name before tonight.

Owen shook his head. “This case, man.”

“I know.”

They’d been working every angle, and they didn’t even have a solid suspect. The best lead so far was some ex-boyfriend—who may not have even been on the island last weekend, much less anywhere near the victim.

“Any news from Miranda?” Emmet asked.

Owen shook his head. “No. She told Nicole it might be Friday before they get anything back on the DNA.”

“I thought she put a rush on it?”

“She did.”

A server appeared at the table and flashed a flirty smile. “Y’all want some drinks?” she asked, resting her tray on her hip.

“I’ll have a Shiner,” Kyle said.

“One for me, too,” Owen said. “And one for my brother.”

Emmet ordered a beer and glanced at Owen as the server walked off. “Joel’s coming?”

“Joel? No way. He’s neck-deep in task force shit. Alex is on his way.”

As he said this, Alex Breda stepped over.

“I ordered you a beer,” Owen told him.

“Thanks.” Alex smiled and glanced around the table. “The detective squad’s here. Where’s Nicole?”

“Home,” Owen said.

Alex took the seat next to Emmet. He and Emmet’s younger brother, Calvin, had been good friends in high school. Alex was always the brainy one, though, and no one had been surprised when he’d gone on to law school and become a hotshot attorney in Houston.

Why he’d given all that up to come back here was a mystery.

“How’s the move coming?” Emmet asked him.

“Slow.” Alex ran a hand through his hair, and Emmet noticed his gold watch. “I’m still unpacking.”

“Where are you again?” Kyle asked.

“On Main Street. Right next to that real estate office with the swing out front.”

Kyle frowned. “Isn’t that a title company?”

“Used to be. Now it’s my office. Leyla’s helping me get set up.”

“Speaking of,” Owen said. “A little bird told me you’ve already got a client. Cassandra Miller. You know who she is, right? A key witness in our investigation.”

The server was back with a tray full of beers. She distributed the bottles. “Anything else for now?”

“We’re good, thanks,” Alex said with a wink.

She walked off, and Owen picked up his beer.

“The suicide on the beach thing?” Alex asked.

“Homicide,” Owen said pointedly. “So, what gives?”

Alex picked up his bottle. “What do you mean?”

“What does she need a lawyer for?” Owen asked.

Alex shook his head. “No comment.”

Owen’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

Owen looked annoyed. “Are you for real right now?”

“Yes.” Alex crossed his arms and stared at his brother. “I can’t talk about my clients.”

Owen glanced at Emmet, then back at Alex. “But she is your client, though, right? Is she in some kind of legal trouble or—”

“Look, I can’t go into it. But she came to see me about something routine, okay?”

Owen’s phone buzzed and he flipped it over on the table. “Why didn’t you just say so?” He picked up the phone and answered it as Alex rolled his eyes.

Emmet sipped his beer, observing the friction play out between the two brothers. It was going to be interesting watching Alex practice law in the same town where his two older brothers were cops.

“Hey, that’s good.” Owen looked at Emmet. “Nicole got a lead on that address.”

“Oh yeah?”

“He’s sitting right here,” Owen said. “You want to talk to him?”

Owen handed him the phone.

“Hey,” Emmet said. “What’s—”

“I’m going over there,” Nicole said.

“Where? You mean the boyfriend’s?”

“The ex-boyfriend’s, yes,” she said. “Samuel Pacheco. I want to talk to him.”

Irritation surged through him. He slid off the chair and stepped away. “You can’t just go charging over there, Nicole. It’s late.”

“Yeah. It’s late. On day four of our crappy investigation with no viable suspects or even a freaking person of interest. You bet your ass I’m going to talk to him. We need to get eyes on this guy, feel him out, see if he’s a suspect.”

“What are you planning to say to him?”

Silence.

“Nicole? Have you even thought this through?”

“I’ll figure something out.”

Emmet gritted his teeth. “Where are you?”

“Over near the marina. Why?”

“Swing by Finn’s.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m coming with you.”

They rode in tense silence, with Emmet drumming his fingers on the door.

“How old is this address?” he asked.

She glanced over at him as she drove through downtown. “June of last year,” she said. “That’s when he filled out the job application at Surf’s Up.”

Emmet shook his head and looked out the window.

Nicole tried to ignore her disappointment. She hadn’t expected effusive praise, but he at least could have said something positive after she’d spent most of her day tracking this down. Nicole had talked to one of Aubrey’s friends who recalled Aubrey mentioning that Sam worked at a surf shop. Nicole had contacted every surf shop on the island, and finally this evening one of the managers called back to tell her that, yes, she had had a Sam Pacheco on staff until he quit around New Year’s. Nicole had persuaded the manager to drive to the shop and look up the employment application so she could get Sam’s address.

It was a solid piece of detective work, even if no one bothered to acknowledge it.

Emmet glanced at her. “What?”

“Nothing.”

He seemed stressed, even more so than yesterday, and she could see the case was weighing on him. His eyes looked bloodshot, and he hadn’t shaved in two days.

He glanced at her. “Do you even know anything about this guy?”

“What do you mean? He doesn’t have a record. I told you—”

“I know, I mean what else do you have? I can’t believe you were just planning to go pound on his door when you know next to nothing about him.”

Irritation bubbled up. “I already ran him. I told you.”

“I ran him, too, Nicole. But that doesn’t tell me jack shit. This guy could be violent, and I can’t believe you were going to go over there alone.”

She bit back a retort. He was right—just because someone didn’t have a rap sheet didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. But still, Emmet’s tone right now irked her.

“Well, he doesn’t have a criminal record,” she reiterated. “And anyway, I was going to ask Owen to go with me. That’s why I called him.”

Emmet crossed his arms, looking only mildly placated. Maybe he thought she should have called him instead, since he was the lead on this case.

The turnoff for Sam Pacheco’s neighborhood came into view. She slowed and put on her turn signal.

“Well, we’re almost here,” she said, “so we should figure out how we want to approach him.”

She turned down the street and neared the apartment complex. It was a two-story building with moldy white stucco and a red tile roof. A spotlight out front illuminated a clump of dead palm trees and a sign that said Seabreeze Apartments. She pulled into the driveway. No gate or passcode or even a security camera out front.

“You been over here lately?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Emmet shot her a look. “The meth bust three months ago.”

“That was here?”

“Yes.”

She swung into a visitor’s space and parked. At least they were in her pickup right now, which was slightly more low profile than an unmarked police car. Emmet glanced at the unit on the corner where two men stood in the shadows.

“Pacheco’s place is around back,” she said. “He’s in unit 149.”

“Let’s do some recon first.”

“Don’t you think that will tip him off?”

“Tip him off that what?” he asked. “That cops want to ask him questions about his dead girlfriend? Unless he’s stupid, he already knows.”

Nicole stared at the building, thinking. “He may not even be aware of Aubrey’s death,” she said. “Assuming he didn’t kill her, that is. Have you considered that? It sounds like he doesn’t run in the same circles as her and her friends.”

“This thing has been all over the news. He’d have to be living under a rock not to know about it.”

“Still...” She surveyed the building. The men in the shadows were gone now, and she noticed a woman staring down from an upstairs window. “I think we should just walk up and knock on the door, catch him off guard and get a read on his reaction.”

“And I think we should scope it out first,” he said.

“So, is that an order?”

He looked at her. “What’s that mean?”

“Is that you calling the shots again because you’re lead, and my opinion means nothing?”

“Nicole—” He shook his head.

“What? I don’t appreciate your tone with me. And I don’t like the way you’re treating me different because I’m a woman.”

He looked offended. “How the hell am I treating you different?”

“Giving me crap about coming over here. If I was Owen, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation right now.”

“That’s right. Because Owen wouldn’t rush off to interview a murder suspect half-cocked.”

“He’s not a suspect yet.”

Emmet glared at her, and she regretted using such a weak defense. Of course Sam Pacheco was a suspect. Even if it wasn’t official, Aubrey’s ex-boyfriend was the closest they had at this point.

Emmet leaned in. “And we’re having this conversation because even after you got your ass kicked last year, you still insist on going it alone all the time.”

Her cheeks flushed. She didn’t like being reminded of being jumped by two guys when she’d been touring a crime scene last year. Emmet had given her hell for going over there alone late at night, and she’d admitted it was a tactical error. But he never missed a chance to bring it up again.

“I told you,” she said, “I was going to ask Owen to come.”

“Right.”

“I was!”

“Nicole, please. I know you. You were on your way over here by yourself, and if I hadn’t insisted on coming, you’d be out here on your own again walking into who the hell knows what.”

She stared at him, fuming. Why couldn’t he just take her at her word? She had been planning to ask Owen to come out here with her. Maybe it wasn’t the first thing she’d been thinking about when she called him about this lead, but she would have asked him. And if she hadn’t, he would have suggested it.

She turned away as her eyes burned with tears of frustration. What the hell? Why was she getting emotional, and in front of Emmet, of all people? She hated that he refused to forget about her mistakes.

“Nicole.”

She looked at him.

“Let’s just do this together, okay?” His voice was softer now. “No more arguing.”

“Fine.”

“We’re not in competition.”

She started to disagree but stopped herself. She often felt like she was in competition with him. But maybe that was just her. She was the only female detective on the squad, and she constantly felt pressure to prove herself.

Silence settled over them as Emmet watched her. The only sound was the whisper of wind buffeting the truck, and the air felt charged suddenly. Emmet’s gaze dropped to her mouth, and her stomach did a nosedive.

No.

No possible way was he thinking about this now.

He lifted his gaze, and a jolt of yearning went through her. Something in his expression made her think he felt it, too. Surely she was reading this wrong. But his eyes were locked on hers, and he was so close she could feel his body heat.

He turned and opened the door.

“Wait.” She grabbed his arm, and he turned around. “We didn’t decide on a plan.”

He shook his head. “We’ll scope it out and see.”

He got out of the truck. Nicole did, too. She locked the doors from inside to avoid making a noisy chirp with her key fob.

Emmet stepped onto the sidewalk and looked at the building. His posture was tense, and his hands were loose and ready at his sides as they started down the path.

“It’s just around back, two from the end,” she said.

“How do you know?”

“I looked at a site map of the place.” She glanced around, noting the rows of cars in the poorly lit parking lot. There was a guy parked on the end, sitting behind the wheel, his face illuminated by a phone. And she noticed a woman in a patch of grass on the corner. She had a phone in one hand and a leash in the other as her dog squatted near the sidewalk.

“No lights,” Emmet said, nodding at the second door from the end, number 149.

The two windows that belonged to that unit were dark.

Emmet walked up the sidewalk of the neighboring apartment. He reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a flashlight, then cut across the lawn and strode right up to the window.

What was he doing? She hissed his name, but he waved her off. Nearing the window, he leaned close and peered in, as though he might see through the mini-blinds.

Great. Very subtle.

The little dog on the corner started yapping, and Nicole turned to look at it. Perfect, now the neighbors were watching. Their stealth approach was blown at this point, so she pulled out her flashlight and walked up to the other window.

“There’s a gap in the blinds,” she said, peering through.

Her heart sank.

“Damn it,” she said.

“What?”

“It’s empty. No TV, no furniture. Nothing but a bare mattress.”

Emmet came over, and she felt him looking over her shoulder. “Fuck. I thought he lived here.”

Her stomach twisted with disappointment. “Not anymore.”