11. Tallus

“Is he paying you to help?” Memphis’s voice came through the speaker on my phone, which I’d placed on a shelf in the records room while I worked to organize boxes. It was midday and Kitty’s day off, so I was bored out of my mind.

“I don’t know. He said he would, but it doesn’t matter. I’d do it for free.”

Memphis huffed. “Yeah right. You don’t do anything for free. Either he’s contributing to your clothing fund, or he’s giving you his monster dick in exchange for your help.”

“I resent that. I do plenty of things out of the kindness of my heart.”

Memphis laughed. “Please. You act like I don’t know you. You do nothing for anyone unless it benefits you in some way. Anyhow, I thought this guy was the iceman in bed. You complained about him.”

“We’re not fucking. I’m helping him with a case because he values my investigative skills.”

Memphis snorted. “What investigative skills? Your obsession with CSI and Criminal Minds doesn’t qualify you.”

“All right, whatever. The guy has a boner for me, doesn’t know what to do about it, and I might be soaking up the attention. Sue me.”

“Annnnd… there it is. The real reason. And what if he decides he wants to do something about it again?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like me to turn down a good orgasm.”

“Yeah, but sweetie, was it good? That’s the question. Last time—Shit, hang on. Customer.”

Memphis put me on hold. Wretched Muzak played in the background since he was using the office landline. He worked at a high-end men’s fashion boutique near the harbor front. Mostly, their clientele were wealthy gentlemen with robust spending accounts, and those gentlemen scheduled appointments. Few people walked in off the street to browse, but it occasionally happened. On days when Memphis and I were both working, we kept each other company, chatting on the phone.

While he was gone, I considered the situation I’d found myself in with the brooding giant of a PI. True, I liked Diem’s eyes on me. I liked the way his desires weren’t hidden. Part of me craved a repeat until I recalled how mechanical it had been the first time. But maybe with more understanding of his situation, I could break the man out of his shell. Not that I could get him to talk. I’d kill to have his hands on me. His mouth. I’d gotten neither the first time. Diem had gone out of his way to touch me as little as possible.

But what if I could work magic?

I liked a challenge, and Diem’s standoffish personality was too tempting.

The line clicked. The Muzak stopped. “Back. So where are you going tonight?”

“No idea. He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.”

“Sounds like trouble. You know, there are easier ways to get laid.”

“You’d know.”

“Gas this weekend?”

“Maybe. We’ll see.” The crowd had shifted, and I wasn’t sure how keen I was for another night of prepubescent boys champing at the bit.

Memphis and I chatted for the next hour about everything and nothing. It was our way. We were pros at filling time. The day dragged on. When he had to let me go, I gave up tidying the crypts and got lost reading retired case files instead.

***

I landed in Diem’s Jeep shortly after five thirty. He was waiting in the staff parking lot behind the building, engine running. The minute I closed the door, he handed me a paper cup, grumping something incomprehensible under his breath that I assumed was English.

“What’s this?”

“Latte,” he said more clearly. “Did you know you can’t request just a simple fucking latte? They look at you like you’re stupid. There are apparently a hundred different kinds of lattes. I didn’t know, so I let the girl choose. It’s some kind of salted caramel bullshit oat milk thing with cinnamon, I think. She confused me. If you don’t like it, toss it out the window. I don’t give a fuck.”

“Wow.” I stared at Diem, who scowled at his hands as they abused the leather steering wheel, twisting it until it creaked under his palms. “You bought me a latte? D, that’s so sweet. Kitty’s right. You’re a big ol’ cuddle bear inside.”

“It’s just a fucking drink. A stupid fancy coffee. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Sure it does. It means you were thinking about me.”

“I’ll throw it out the window if you don’t shut up.”

The gesture seemed to make him extremely uncomfortable. I wondered how many times he’d almost backed out of getting it.

Cracking the lid, I asked, “How did you know I like lattes?”

“I’m not a moron. I listen when you talk. I watch.”

“Well, thank you. It was very sweet. And for the record, I love any form of latte. The sweeter, the better, and when paired with a peanut butter cookie,” I groaned, “it’s sinful.”

Diem’s neck took on color. The erotic groan? Probably. He gunned the engine and took us away from the police headquarters building without saying a thing. I wasn’t privy to where we were going but didn’t ask. Diem involving me in the case was already more than I expected.

When he turned into a coffeehouse three blocks down the road, parked, and jumped out, leaving the engine running, I quirked a brow.

“Where are you going?”

He slammed the door without answering.

“Okay then.” I sipped my latte and waited. Maybe he’d decided he needed a drink as well.

A few minutes later, he returned and threw a paper bag on my lap, grunting, “I didn’t know.”

Then we were off again.

I checked inside the bag and found a peanut butter cookie. Speechless, I stared from the dessert to Diem. I wasn’t implying he’d made a mistake, but… Christ. This guy was too much. Since it was clear Diem preferred I didn’t bring attention to the kind gesture, I ate the cookie and drank the latte in silence while keeping half an eye on the brooding man beside me.

Diem was an enigma. On the outside, he presented himself as intimidating, angry, and jaded. The unapproachable vibe he emitted was strong. On the inside, I saw a man unsure of every move he made. Conscious of his mistakes. Of how he acted. Of how the world perceived him. A man who was often confused and standoffish. A guy who didn’t know how to be social and struggled to express himself on a good day.

I broke off another piece of cookie. “You’re an onion.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” I dunked the piece in my drink and ate it.

After driving for a good fifteen minutes, I finally asked, “Where are we going?”

“Rowell Housing. I looked into them. Sean is rarely at the office. He shows houses, seeks property deals, and handles the bank stuff. The paperwork lands on his wife’s desk. Beth is the one behind the computer, but Beth goes home at three o’clock every day to get the kids from school, and a know-nothing high school kid comes in from three to six to answer the phones, clean up, and lock the door. He schedules appointments, if necessary, but doesn’t do much else. Picks his fucking nose.”

“Attractive.”

Diem pulled into a plaza on Ellesmere Road and parked a distance from the Rowell Housing office before killing the engine. “Here’s the deal. We’re going to go inside and tell the kid we’re there to fix the internet. He won’t know what we’re talking about because he’s probably been playing his stupid phone games all afternoon. But I have a device”—Diem removed a square black plastic box from his pocket—“that will back up our story.”

I took the device from his hand and turned it over. It was the size and shape of a walkie-talkie I’d had as a kid. “What is it?”

“Wi-Fi jammer.”

“No way.” My brows hit my hairline. “Is it legal?”

Diem pressed his lips together. He breathed audibly a few times before muttering, “No.”

“Cool. Very James Bond. Where’d you get it? Wait. Don’t tell me. Does YouTube deliver?”

He deadpanned and snatched the device back. “No.” His neck colored, and he muttered, “I got it on Amazon.”

I burst out laughing. “You’re shitting me.”

“Can I finish explaining?”

Still chuckling, I urged Diem to go on.

“We need to get in there before the kid locks up. I’ll fuck up the Wi-Fi signal, then go in and say Beth called us to check the internet because it’s been sketchy all day. The kid will gawp with confusion because he’s stupid. He’ll check his phone and realize he’s sucking up his daddy’s data and not hooked to Wi-Fi anymore. He’ll probably have a mini-heart attack if he’s been watching porn videos, but that’s not my problem. What I need is to get on a computer and access Beth’s email. She used a work account when communicating with Olivia. I want to see what else I can find.”

I clucked my tongue as I rolled Diem’s plan around my head. “No. No, I don’t like it.”

He frowned. “Excuse me? What don’t you like?”

“Your plan. It has holes. What if he knows he’s had Wi-Fi this whole time, and you’re lying?”

“He won’t.”

“What if he wants to call Beth and double-check your story?”

“He won’t.”

“You don’t know that. You think he’s going to let two strange men who aren’t in uniform and have no visual proof of who they work for into the office and onto a private computer without asking questions?”

“Yes. I told you, he’s a dumb high school kid. I talked to him on the phone earlier, and the amount of stupid falling from his mouth was painful. I’ll slip him fifty bucks if he asks too many questions. It’ll work like a charm.”

“Do you bribe everyone?”

Diem grunted and shrugged. I had a feeling he did. With his social skills so compromised, it was likely how he got things done.

“He won’t call Beth,” Diem reiterated. “He’ll want to get us in and out as fast as possible so he can go home and jerk off. Trust me, the kid is a few crayons short of a box. Too much video games, porn, and marijuana will do that.”

“Do you speak from experience?”

He scowled.

“I still say it’s risky.”

“Then stay here. I knew I shouldn’t have brought you. It’s not your job anyway.”

I chuckled. “You’re cute when you’re pissy. I have a better idea. Have you developed any sort of acting skills in the last five minutes?”

The animosity wafting off Diem said no.

“Didn’t think so.” I finished my latte and popped the last bite of cookie into my mouth as I stared at the Rowell Housing office storefront. “All right, Guns. First off, not everyone can be bribed. Second, teenagers, even stupid ones, are far more astute than you give them credit for.”

“Not this one.”

“I’ll have to judge for myself. Here’s what we’ll do. Do you have a toolbox or something in the trunk?”

Diem glared with a look of utter confusion. I could imagine he wasn’t impressed at how I constantly stomped all over his cases and changed his plans, but he’d invited me. He’d even sweetened me up with lattes and cookies, so I knew he didn’t hate my presence.

“Toolbox?” I asked again when he didn’t answer. “Yes or no?”

His brows knitted in the middle. “Yes.”

“Good. Grab it, interrupt the signal, and follow my lead.”

Folding down the visor to use the vanity mirror, I straightened my tie and checked my hair.

I batted my lashes at Diem. “How do I look?”

When he turned a lovely shade of puce, I thought he might be choking on his spit, so I didn’t push for an answer. I got out of the Jeep and marched toward the store, hips swinging with the perfect amount of swagger—for Diem’s benefit, of course, since I felt his eyes on me.

I entered the store, phone pressed to my ear as though I was in mid-conversation with someone. “Yeah, on Ellesmere… That’s right,” I said when the kid looked up from behind the counter. “At Rowell Housing… The call came in this afternoon.”

Covering the receiver, I whispered, “Sean Rowell’s your boss, right, kid?”

The teen nodded, dark hair flopping over his acne-scarred forehead.

Diem entered behind me as I returned to my fake phone call. “Yeah, we’re here now… Shouldn’t take long, and we’ll head to the place on Leonard Avenue after… No later than seven…” I laughed. “Yeah, don’t I know it… Okay, later.”

I fake hung up and glanced at Diem who clung to a massive toolbox tote bag while giving me a look of death I was becoming intimately familiar with. I smiled and winked, sultry and mischievous as always, before turning to the baffled teenager behind the desk.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“We’re here about the internet.”

The kid’s confusion deepened. “Internet?”

“Yes. I spoke with,” I checked my phone as though reminding myself, “Beth Rowell earlier. Is that right? She said the Wi-Fi’s been acting up all day. It’s been a problem in the area. We need to reset the signal on your modem. Takes fifteen minutes. I can do it in ten if you give us a hand. Do you know anything about how Wi-Fi works?”

“Um…” The blank look in the teen’s glassy eyes said no.

I chuckled. “No big deal. It’s technical. Took me years in school to sort it out. Wanna show me where the modem is?”

“Um…” The teenager glanced from me to Diem, then back. “S-sure, but the internet’s been fine since I got here.” He glanced at the computer screen, but it was dark, and he had to shake the mouse to wake it up.

The kid frowned. “Oh. I guess it’s not working anymore. Hang on.” He picked up his phone and scratched the back of his neck. “Nope. Nothing here too. That’s weird.”

“Ten minutes, bud, and I’ll have it back up for you. Modem?”

The teenager guided me into what I assumed was Beth’s office and gestured to the modem on a shelf hidden behind a few potted plants. “Should I call Beth and tell her you’re here?”

“You can if you want, but she already knows. If you give me a hand, we can be out of your hair faster.” I indicated Beth’s computer. “Can I use this machine?”

“Um… sure.”

“Is there a password?”

He shook his head, eyeing Diem again, who stood in the doorway, looking every bit as intimidating as always. Poor kid wasn’t sure what to make of him.

I had enough familiarity with computers to know where to find the internet information under settings. I hummed at it, then aimed for the modem, unplugged the wires, then plugged them back in, watching the blinking lights like I had any clue what I was doing.

“Just as I thought.” Shaking my head, I turned to Diem. “Do you have the signal tracer?”

He stared with as much confusion as the boy.

“This guy can give us a hand. I’m sorry, bud, I didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s Indy.”

“Like the Indy 500?”

The boy shrugged. “I guess. My dad likes racing.”

“Cool.” I approached Diem and dug through the toolbox. “How old are you, Indy?”

“Almost sixteen.”

“Ever take shop in high school?”

“No.”

“Computer classes?”

“Just the one we have to take in grade nine. I didn’t do well.”

“Are you a math kid?”

“Not really.”

“Sports?”

“I like video game sports.”

“Nice. PlayStation?”

“Xbox mostly.”

“Cool. Ah, here it is.” The mini-quiz I’d been conducting was intentional. We weren’t in danger with Indy. Diem was right. He wasn’t the sharpest pencil in the box. We could bluff our way through this with no problems.

I removed a digital voltmeter from Diem’s toolbox. It had seen better days. The yellow plastic cover was so worn that the writing on it was too faded to read. When I pushed the power button, it beeped, flashing letters and numbers before settling at zero.

“You don’t mind giving my apprentice a hand, do you, bud?”

“Um… sure. What do I have to do?”

I wrapped an arm around Indy’s shoulders and guided him back to the front lobby, showing him the voltmeter. “Ever seen one of these?”

“No.”

“No problem. I’ll talk you through it. What I need is for you to stand here and hold this technical device in the air as high as you can. Near the front windows is best. Keep pressing the button until I say stop. Can you do that?”

“Yeah. What’s it do?” he asked when I handed him the device.

“Do you know what a talikimysoscribble is?”

“A what?”

“Talikimysoscribble.”

“Um… n-no.”

“That’s technojargon for the internet waves in the atmosphere. Elmire Ranger Jr. discovered them in the sixties, but it took decades before we knew how to use them. Anyhow. Sometimes, they get out of sync, and your internet goes down. This bad boy helps us filter out the excess noise and unscramble them, so the internet works again.”

A strangled noise rose from Diem’s throat—a choke, or a cough, or maybe a laugh, I couldn’t be sure. When Indy and I glanced up, Diem vanished into Beth’s office.

“Is he okay?”

“Indigestion. He’s fine. So, what do you think?” I asked Indy. “Can you help?”

“Okay.”

I handed him the voltmeter. “You hold it up, I’ll reprogram the modem, and my apprentice will reconfigure the system codes on the computer. You’ll be back up and running in no time.”

Indy held the device over his head and pushed the button several times. “Like this?”

“Perfect. You’re a pro.”

“I didn’t know that was how the internet worked.”

“Not many people do. It’s complicated. Ten minutes, bud.”

I headed into Beth’s office. Diem sat in the desk chair, scrubbing his shorn hair with a hand as he stared at me with what I almost thought was humor—but I was probably wrong since I wasn’t sure he was capable.

“You’re fucking insane,” he muttered.

I grinned. “Acting is fun.”

“Talikimysoscribble?”

“It sounded scientific.”

“It sounded like a load of bullshit.”

“It is a load of bullshit, but Indy Five Hundred in there doesn’t know that. Plus, I saved you fifty bucks, so you’re welcome. Now, hurry up.” I moved in behind Diem, who already had Beth’s email open.

For the kid’s benefit, I shouted. “Move half a foot to the left, Indy.”

A pause, then, “That better?”

“Yep. Good stuff. Nice and high.”

Diem shook his head. “I can’t believe he thinks he’s unscrambling internet waves with a voltmeter. Fucking idiot. The future of the human race is doomed if his generation is who we’re leaving the planet to.”

“Be nice. It’s not his fault.”

“Whose fault is it?”

“The school system’s for not teaching the children about talikimysoscribbles in our atmosphere.”

“And Elmire Ranger Jr.”

“He was iconic. Well ahead of his time.”

“And that nonsense was preferable to my plan?”

“Focus, Guns. We’re here for a reason. Besides, my plan is more fun. Admit it. You’re having a hoot.”

Diem glared over his shoulder, but I returned nothing but sass.

Patting his cheek made him flinch, but I did it anyway. “I know it hurts your soul to smile, but you’re impressed with my wit right now, aren’t you?”

He narrowed his eyes, lips twitching, and turned back to the computer.

Yeah, brooding Diem Krause was trying hard not to smile, but I had his number.

Beth’s browser history was open. He must have done that while I was getting Indy set up. Diem scanned the list of websites she’d visited while I snapped pictures. Our time was limited. The faster we could get in and out, the better.

“Got it?” he asked.

“Yep.”

Before he clicked over to her email, I dropped a hand on his shoulder. “Hold on. Wait. Stop.”

Diem stiffened at the contact—or maybe it was because my mouth was so close to his ear.

“What?” he asked, shrugging me off.

I pointed to one of the listings under the History tab. “That’s the Toronto Police Department website.”

Diem clicked it, and it took him to the area I updated regularly as the records clerk. It was where information was posted for current cases, or the department asked the public for help to solve ones that weren’t going anywhere. I didn’t need to examine the contents of the site. I was familiar since I’d posted to it that morning.

“Why would she go there?” I wondered out loud.

“Looking for information on Noah’s death?”

“Noah killed himself. That doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t know.”

We didn’t have time to ponder theories. Diem opened Beth’s email. Ninety percent of it was work-related, so finding the personal emails among them was tricky. Diem used the search bar. He typed Noah’s name, but it came back with the same emails we’d already seen.

“Try looking for correspondence between her and our elusive bastard.”

Bingo. There were three besides the one Beth had forwarded to Olivia. Now we were getting somewhere.

“Little more to the left, Indy?” I shouted.

“Okay.” A second later, he asked, “Your left or mine?”

I chuckled, and Diem scrubbed a hand over his face, muttering “Jesus fucking Christ” under his breath.

“Yours,” I shouted as Diem opened the first email.

The second highlighted email was in response to the first.

“Picture,” Diem said. I snapped a shot with my phone and shouted another random command at Indy. “Almost done, bud. Three minutes tops.”

“They must have been really scrambled, huh?” the kid shouted.

“They get like that sometimes. Don’t you worry. I’m a professional.”

“Okay.”

Diem shook his head and opened the last email. It was dated Monday morning. Two days ago.

“The old haunt?” I asked.

“No idea. Picture. Hurry.”

“Don’t boss me around. I’m in charge here.”

“Then quit slacking. And you aren’t in charge.”

“Kind of. It was my plan.”

“Um… Sir? My arm’s getting tired. Is it working?” Indy called from the lobby.

“This is unreal,” Diem muttered.

Laughing, I took another picture. “Just about done, bud. Maybe switch hands.”

“Won’t that mess it up?”

“No, it’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” A pause. “That’s better.”

“I’m gonna pay him fifty bucks anyhow,” Diem said, “so maybe he can buy himself an education.”

“With fifty dollars? That wouldn’t get him far.”

“Anywhere is better than where he’s at.”

I chuckled. “You’re mean.”

Diem performed another quick scan of Beth’s email, but nothing stood out. He checked her Recycle Bin, Recent Files, and maneuvered through other areas of the computer I wasn’t familiar with before turning it off.

He snapped his fingers. “And poof. The internet is magically restored. Tell that brain-dead idiot we’re done, and let’s skedaddle.”

“Be nice. It’s not his fault porn has melted his brain.”

“His stupidity is melting my brain.”

We were out the door and in the Jeep a few minutes later. Under the impression I was phoning Beth myself to let her know everything was up and running again, Indy breathed a sigh of relief and rubbed his sore arm. There would be no Nobel Prize in Indy’s future, but we may have given him an interest in internet science for when he graduated high school.

If he made it that far.