21. Tallus

21

Tallus

C osta sent me a text the following morning, instructing me to meet Aslan Doyle at his house at ten thirty. Awkward. I barely knew the guy, and I was supposed to invade his personal space on a Saturday? It did not bode well for making positive connections.

I drove to the address Costa sent and parked outside a quaint brick house with an attached garage. A blacked-out department-issue Charger sat in the driveway, and a gray cat stared from the bay window.

I snapped a picture of the cat and sent it to Diem with a message.

Tallus: See? This is the kind of pet normal people have.

Instead of taking the bait, he responded with a Where are you?

Tallus: Doyle’s house. Gonna ask about those reports.

Diem: I discovered something interesting. Get over here when you’re done.

Tallus: What did you discover?

I waited for a response but didn’t get one. I sent a string of question marks but was met with silence. The man could be irritatingly obstinate at times. Giving up, I got out of the car and was halfway down the path when the front door opened.

Detective Aslan Doyle from homicide leaned against the frame with a smirk, shaking his head as I approached. He tsk ed several times.

I stopped a dozen feet down the path and crossed my arms. “What?”

“You’re getting me in trouble.”

“I’ve barely gotten out of the car.”

“Yeah… doesn’t matter. I’m deep in it, and it’s all because of you.”

“I’m confused.”

“I’ll need you to explain to my severely insecure husband why the ‘cutie down in records’—his words, not mine—wants me to be his bitch. He was about ready to have a coronary last night when Ruiz called and said you wanted to talk, but to be careful because you might try to distract me with flirting.”

“Is that what my cousin said?”

“I’m paraphrasing. He mentioned you’re in the market for an inside connection with homicide.”

“And did he say that it was him who suggested you? I would have happily taken any homicide detective. You’re not special, Doyle.”

“He failed to mention that. It would be a good launch point. Quaid’s been insufferable since he got the phone call.”

“Is your husband seriously threatened by me?”

“Quaid is threatened by everyone.”

“Well, he has nothing to worry about. No matter what my cousin said, I don’t make it a practice of flirting or schmoozing married men.”

“Excellent.” Aslan held the door open, inviting me inside. “So you’re working with Krause again, huh?”

“No. He’s working with me.”

“Is that a fact? You doing PI work in your spare time?”

I shrugged and looked around.

The house was nice. Meticulously organized with understated furniture and decorations. It emitted a quiet, comforting atmosphere that offered a welcoming vibe. The scent of coffee drifted from the kitchen down the hall. I heard the gurgle and spit of it brewing. The gray cat I’d seen in the window darted into the entryway and wound around Aslan’s legs, purring audibly.

The detective picked him up. “This is Oscar. The spoiled furchild of the moment.” He kissed and cooed the feline until it insisted on getting down and darted to the kitchen.

Several months ago, Quaid told me they were working on growing their family. To break the ice, since I didn’t know Aslan as well as I did his partner, I asked, “Any news in the baby department?”

Aslan’s face lit up as he guided me to where the cat had disappeared, and the scent of coffee originated. “We’ve matched with a surrogate, so we’re one step closer.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks. It’s a long process, but we’re getting there.”

Quaid Valor, a detective with MPU and one of my cousin’s closest friends, was arranging coffee mugs on the counter when we walked in. He glanced over his shoulder and offered me a stiff smile. “Morning, Tallus.”

“Good morning.”

Aslan kicked my foot. “Quick, tell him you didn’t come to steal me away.”

“Az,” Quaid snapped, stabbing him with a look of venom.

“What? You said—”

“Az!”

Whatever this nonsense, I had a feeling I could settle it quickly and effortlessly. “Hey, Doyle. I’m curious. How old are you?”

Aslan frowned. “Forty-four. Why?”

I performed quick math and dramatically cringed. “You realize you’re technically old enough to be my father, and that’s super ewwy.” I turned to Quaid. “I assure you. Despite my severe daddy issues, I have definitely not come to steal or flirt with your husband. I like my men slightly older, but I have limits.”

“Ouch.” Aslan clutched his chest. “Christ. Go for the kill shot why don’t you. I thought you wanted my help.”

But Quaid’s scowl shifted into a grin. “Well played, Tallus.”

“Thank you.” I smiled back.

Quaid handed his husband a coffee. “You may help him now.”

Aslan, clearly scorned, mumbled, “Maybe I don’t want to.”

“How do you take your coffee, Tallus?” Quaid asked.

“Heavy cream. Lots of sugar.”

When Quaid winced, Aslan chuckled. “Annnnd you just lost all those points you gained. Should have stopped while you were ahead. Expect a pamphlet in the mail next week.”

I had no clue what he was talking about, but once Quaid had dressed my coffee, Aslan guided me to the kitchen table. “So what’s going on?”

My morning had been spent trying to decide how to explain my needs without sounding like a nutcase. I hoped those long hours paid off.

Without mentioning mind-control-killing psychics and sideshow hypnotists, I filled Aslan in as best I could, telling him how Diem and I had stumbled across a string of suspicious deaths that may or may not be related. I downplayed my concerns, making it seem like I was nothing more than a bored records clerk playing investigator in my spare time. The less he knew at this point, the better.

If Diem and I couldn’t find a connection with autopsies, we were left with supernatural bullshit no one was going to believe, and I wasn’t in the mood to be laughed at by two prominent department detectives.

“I don’t know what we’re looking for exactly, but if we find similarities in their autopsy reports, something the pathologist might have overlooked, then it’s possible it could prove there is a serial killer out there.”

Brows raised, Aslan shared a look with his husband. I heard how ridiculous it sounded.

“You think highly trained pathologists missed something?” Quaid asked from the other side of the kitchen, where he was fighting with Oscar to try and brush the poor cat’s teeth.

“No. I mean, yes. Kind of. It could be something they wouldn’t flag as important when found in a single case, but if it showed in all the cases, it could be significant.”

“Like what?” Aslan asked.

“I don’t know. That’s why we want to review them.”

He chuckled but tried to cover it. My reputation in the eyes of these two detectives plummeted. Another silent conversation passed between the couple.

“So you need me to request eleven files from pathology?” Aslan confirmed.

“Can you do that?”

“Yes. Easily. But I can’t hand them over to you. They can’t leave my care. If you want to view them, bring your partner in crime to the department tomorrow afternoon. I’ll give you guys an interview room for one hour.”

I was sure Doyle thought he was entertaining a child with a Fisher-Price detective kit, but I didn’t care. I agreed.

After finishing my coffee, I thanked Aslan again and took off, aiming for Diem’s office.