15. Tallus

Monday at work was as boring as ever. I spent the morning updating the department website with the information I’d been given from the several units we housed in the building, then I worked on inputting more files into our digital data bank since we were trying to move out of the Stone Age and do away with paper. It was a tedious process but one I’d agreed to take on, much to my regret.

When Kitty showed up at noon, I abandoned all pretense of working to hang out with her and help with crossword puzzles. She’d made a pan of baked ziti over the weekend and brought enough for us to enjoy lunch. It was heaven. Between Kitty and random trips to my mom’s for dinner, it was how I survived paycheck to paycheck.

Frugal spending was something I’d never learned. I was cursed with an eye for fashion and overindulgence. Memphis was convinced I needed to find myself a sugar daddy and be done with it.

“This is fabulous, Kitty Kat,” I said after my third bite of ziti. “I might need your recipe. Is it hard to make?” I wasn’t horrible in the kitchen, but I was no Emeril Lagasse. The simpler, the better.

“Not at all. I’ll email it to you when I get home. It was Laurie’s recipe. She got it from her friend Gabby, who got it from her mother-in-law, Doreen. Not that I couldn’t make ziti without a recipe. I can, but it’s nice to try someone else’s take on it.”

“Definitely.” I blew on another bite of pasta while Kitty wrote herself a reminder in her planner. She was always writing stuff down so she wouldn’t forget, claiming old age was a bugger on her memory. I didn’t see it. The woman had the memory of an elephant. She put everyone I knew to shame.

“Oh, I called Hazel on the weekend.” Kitty put the pencil down in exchange for a fork.

“Hazel?”

“You know. Diem Krause’s grandmother. We talked about her last week, remember?”

“Oh. Right.”

“We were on the phone for about five minutes before it fell apart. The poor woman was all over the place. I’m not sure she remembered who I was. Kept telling me her husband was on the front line and would write to her soon. Poor dear. Boone’s been gone for years.”

I recalled the short conversation I’d had with Diem about his grandfather. The same man who’d worn a fedora and trench coat and had worked loosely for the police department until the day he died. It was one of the only times I’d seen Diem open up about something personal and share more than a few mumbled words.

“Maybe you should visit,” I suggested. “Maybe if she saw you, she’d remember you better.”

“Oh, no. I can’t do that. Hazel’s living with her son, and I’ve heard enough stories about that awful man to keep my distance.”

I peered up from my food, curious if Kitty would elaborate. If Hazel was Diem’s grandmother, then her son was likely Diem’s dad, and I had a gut feeling the guy was bad news.

Kitty didn’t add to the conversation and resumed scanning her puzzle book.

I didn’t press. She would tell me everything I wanted to know if I asked, but it felt deceptive and unfair. After spending more time with Diem, I was putting the pieces together on my own. I still wasn’t sure what to think of our encounter at his apartment after our failed stakeout Friday night. The encounter I’d initiated.

The sex had been… I wasn’t sure how to define it, but God help me, the man had tried. I’d witnessed the struggle behind his eyes through the entire thing. In the end, he had been absolutely incapable of bridging the gap and showing any sort of intimacy. I wanted to be frustrated, but every time I thought about the anguish in Diem’s eyes, all I felt was sad.

All weekend, I flashed back to him telling me he wasn’t a good person. The way he’d said it told me he believed it, too.

More than once, I replayed the incident outside Beth’s house. The way I’d startled him. The way he’d reacted. The man had been a hairsbreadth from decking me. But he hadn’t. And the moment he’d realized what he’d done, he’d looked devastated. I was surprised he hadn’t kicked me out of the Jeep then and there and vanished into the night.

Kitty plugged away at a puzzle while she ate. Every now and again, she spoke a clue out loud. Like always, she came up with the answers on her own. My help was trivial at best. The records department’s computer was in front of me, so I fiddled while I ate, ending up on the Monday edition of the Toronto Star. Hell, I’d paid for a freaking subscription. I might as well keep up to date with the local news and get my money’s worth.

I skimmed most articles, breezing past the boring political ones and studying images where they occurred. Scandals, assaults, construction updates, local protests, international affairs, crop concerns, weather. It was a snoozefest. A few pages in, a headline caught my eye. Police Looking Into the Suspicious and Sudden Death of 33-year-old Beth Rowell Early Saturday Morning.

“What the fuck?” I sat upright, blinking at the screen, reading and rereading the words because I was certain I’d made a mistake.

Kitty tsked my language. “Now, now. We don’t need words like that around the office, Tallus. You know better.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, blowing up the article and scanning the body of it while scrambling blindly for my phone.

It had to be a mistake. My thoughts spiraled in a hundred different directions as the phone rang.

No answer.

I called again, letting it ring until Diem’s voicemail picked up. Nope, not good enough. I hung up and called again.

Six rings, and the call connected. I earned a typical growl for my efforts. It said everything without saying anything at all.

“Well, don’t ignore my calls. Trust me, Guns. I have far more stamina than you give me credit for. I’m a persistent bitch when I want to be. Are you at the office?”

Uneven breathing came through the line.

“Hello?”

Diem grunted, but I couldn’t tell if he was answering my question or giving me hell for giving him hell.

“I swear to god, if you’re being awkward because of Friday night, stop it right now. If you’re just being you… stop that too. Are you at the office?”

“Yes.” His voice was quiet and unusually meek.

“Good. Check out today’s edition of the Toronto Star. Page six, halfway down.”

I earned another grunt and rolled my eyes. We really needed to work on communication. I waited, eyeing Kitty who eyed me back with a knowing look. “Mine your business, witch,” I whispered with a smirk.

“Shit.”

I refocused on the phone call when Diem’s exclamation came through the line.

“Right? What the ever-loving…” I glanced at Kitty and cleared my throat. “Fudgesicle.”

“Shut up, I’m reading.”

“I’ll sum it up for you. Our girl is dead. Bye-bye. No more. Gone. Finito. Apparently, her husband found her on the couch Saturday morning. No evident cause of death. No rhyme or reason. Possibly natural causes. It’s bullshit. Why would the police be looking into it if she died of natural causes? Why would they be investigating, as the headline so clearly states? D, this is nuts.”

Diem made a collection of noises, none of them words. None of them made sense.

“Diem, I swear to god, if you don’t—”

“Suicide?” he offered.

“The police don’t investigate suicides.”

“They do, to confirm that’s what they are. Can you find out? Investigation into a suspicious death falls under homicide.”

I sat back, staring at the computer screen and the article. Why hadn’t I thought of that? “I…” I lowered my voice, spying Kitty again. “I can try, but I don’t have a case number. I don’t even know who’s on it.”

“Ask Ms. Lavender. Is she there?”

“Yes, but…” I huffed. “I can figure it out. I’m not incapable. I’ll call you back.”

I disconnected and reread the article. It said a whole lot without saying anything at all. Beth was dead. Unknown causes. But like I’d told Diem, the police didn’t investigate something unless there was reason to suspect foul play.

Shit.Beth had met with our elusive bastard, who we hadn’t been able to identify the night before she died. Had he done something? Poisoned her? His escape from the motel had seemed highly suspicious, like he feared he was being watched.

We’d witnessed Beth’s husband being an abusive dick a few hours before on the same evening. Had he followed her to the motel? Was he knowledgeable about the affair with Noah? Was it an affair? Had he done something to his wife?

“I think you’re a good match,” Kitty said, breaking into my thoughts.

I’d forgotten she was there and sat upright, suddenly alert. Relaxed, with a puzzle book on her knee, Kitty smiled knowingly, gaze never leaving her crossword.

“Excuse me?”

“You and Diem. You’re a good match.”

“Oh, we’re not dating. It’s not like that.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’m helping with a case.”

“He struggles, but he has a heart of gold. He’s not always good at expressing himself, but I think it’s a result of his upbringing. Can hardly fault him for that. The poor man hasn’t been given a chance in life. Don’t be too impatient with him, Tallus. He’s not well-versed in the art of love. He’ll need time and guidance.”

I laughed—explosively. “Oh my. Yeah, back the train up, Kitty Kat. There’s no love. There’s hardly any like. It’s a working relationship. Nothing more. Diem needed my help. I agreed. The end.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I swear.”

“Sweetheart, if you want to duel swords with the man, you should. I don’t judge. He could probably do with a little stress relief. It’s wonderful to be young. All I’m saying is Diem’s a troubled man. Be gentle with him. His communication skills are…” Kitty puckered her lips as she fished around for the right word.

Nonexistent,I thought.

“Well, they’re something,” she concluded with a titter. “You’d make a lovely couple. Yin and yang. It’s about balance.”

Lost for words, mouth gaping, I stared at Kitty, who nonchalantly returned to her puzzle book.

“I, um… Yeah… I have to talk to someone in homicide. Let’s leave this conversation and never return to it. In fact, file it on the back shelf of the crypts with the spiderwebs and insect carcasses.” I pushed away from the counter. “I’ll be back.”

Before I could race out the door, Kitty called, “I believe Fox and Doyle are on that one.”

I ground to a halt and spun, shoes squeaking. “How the hell do you know these things? You’ve been here less than an hour. You don’t even know what case I’m talking about.”

Kitty shrugged. “I’m not blind. I can see perfectly well what you’re reading on the computer. Besides, it was their weekend to work. Hence, they likely caught the case. Don’t quote me. I could be wrong.”

“You’re a witch.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“If you ever cast a spell on me, I’ll be pissed off.”

Kitty tittered.

“I’ll be back.”

I wasn’t sure how many dozens of detectives worked in the building, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if Kitty was right.

I left her to her puzzle and aimed for the elevator on the west side of the building, which would take me to homicide, four floors up. How was I going to approach this? Cases were confidential, and I had no reason to be asking questions. The likelihood of getting information from anyone was slim.

Instead of hitting the button for the fourth floor, I hit the one to take me to the basement, where our IT department was located. The head of the technology department happened to be my cousin, Costa Ruiz. We had an awkward relationship. We weren’t friends, but we were no longer enemies, per se. I wasn’t sure I liked him much.

We’d been estranged for many years until recently. Around Christmas, when the higher-ups had enforced a department-wide Secret Santa, Costa had broken the ice after a ten-year deep freeze. Apparently, he’d reformed and was no longer the homophobic bully I’d grown up with. It was a hard pill to swallow, and I was tentative about trusting him.

But Costa had helped me once before when I was working with Diem on a different case, and every connection we made helped heal the old wounds, so why not?

We hadn’t spoken in over a month, and even then, it was an awkward chat in the hallway when we’d run into one another. Costa had invited me to coffee a few times, but I had yet to take him up on the offer.

Why I thought it would be easier to approach him now, I had no idea. But if Doyle was on the case like Kitty presumed, I knew Costa had a connection with him. Costa was close friends with Doyle’s husband, Quaid Valor, so if I needed dirt, maybe this was the better way of getting it.

It was all in who you knew, right?

The basement was better known as the dungeon. It was without windows and void of life. Since my cousin was the sole dragon most of the time, it was also quiet. The hum of electronics vibrated in the air. The warm smell of plastic filled my nose. The hallway with its unattractive concrete walls was dimly lit, and a lone office midway down was the only one with a light on.

I approached quietly, unsure what I might say. A familiar, bone-deep agitation made my skin itch. Although I knew Costa wasn’t the same person anymore, it was ingrained in me to raise a shield and take a defensive attitude the second I was in his radius.

He was busy at work, three computer screens lit around him. Fast-moving clicks of a mouse and rapid typing filled the room at intervals.

Without turning around, he said, “Just leave it on the desk.”

When I didn’t move or speak, he flashed his gaze over his shoulder. A barely perceptible flinch was followed by, “Oh. I thought you were someone else.”

“Do you have a minute?”

He moved his attention to the computer in the middle, clicked something, and shoved the keyboard tray into the desk before spinning around to face me. “What’s up?”

Costa crossed his densely tattooed arms—shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows—looking as awkward as I felt. It was odd. I was used to him being overly cocky with an unfiltered mouth. Since reuniting, I was constantly off my game when those familiar attributes were no longer present.

“I’m working with Diem again.”

My cousin winced but stayed quiet. Diem didn’t have a great reputation in the department, and I got the sense Costa didn’t like him much. Was it because Diem was gay, or did it go deeper than that?

I shrugged. “He’s a nice guy, and he needed help. It’s more exciting than sitting around the records office picking wedgies.”

“You get many of those?”

“Less in my adult years since I’ve managed to eject the bullies from my life.” I glared pointedly. Costa had been responsible for more than a few bodily assaults when I was growing up.

“I need to find out about something that happened this weekend,” I continued. “I read in the newspaper it’s being investigated, so—”

“So you were hoping I’d get you answers.”

I folded my lips over my teeth and nodded, keeping my chin high.

Costa stared for a long time. As a child, he’d been the definition of intimidating. Our ten-year age difference hadn’t helped. Now, as adults, I couldn’t help looking at him and seeing my father. Costa and I shared Hispanic roots, only his came from both parents, and my mother was white. Costa’s skin tone was darker. His features spoke of his heritage. He looked like my uncle—Costa’s father—which meant he shared a similar look to my father since everyone on that side of the family had strong genes.

Somehow, I’d ended up as my mother’s spitting image, pale-skinned and auburn-haired with fine bones and delicate features. Unless I told people I was half Hispanic, no one usually guessed. It didn’t help that when my father disowned me, I’d dropped his last name, adopting my mother’s maiden name.

Costa stared, and I wouldn’t back down or let him see me as the weak boy I’d once been. Not anymore. Those days were behind me. I’d grown a backbone in the past ten years, and it was hard to rattle my cage.

“I don’t think you’re being fair.” A note of indignation hung in his tone.

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

Costa pursed his lips and seemed to consider before speaking. “I mean, I’ve tried to break the ice with you for months. Mend bridges, if you will. I’ve apologized endlessly. I’ve gone out of my way to show you I’m not who I once was, but you don’t seem to care. You ignore my invitations to grab coffee. You don’t respond to my texts. I don’t know what else to do or how to change your mind. It seems you only give me the time of day when you need something, and that’s not right.

“I’m all about helping my fellow compa?ero. Ask anyone. I know I was a dick for a lot of years. I own it, I recognize it, and I’m ashamed. But to be honest, you’re the one being a dick now. Either accept my apology or don’t, but I’m too old to play games, Tallus. Don’t come crawling to me every time your boyfriend needs a favor. I’ve got work to do.”

He shifted back to his computers and pulled out the keyboard tray. I wanted to correct him and say Diem wasn’t my boyfriend, but that was the furthest thing from the point of his speech. I stood uncomfortably in the doorway for a long time, unsure how to frame a proper retort. He was right. The two times I’d reached out were when I needed something.

But the bruise he’d left behind in childhood wasn’t fully healed, and I stubbornly couldn’t let it go.

Instead of figuring out what to say and fixing my error, I retreated to the elevator. I should have gone straight to homicide to begin with. Seeking Costa was a stupid mistake. I thought of Diem and how he bribed every person he needed help from, then chuckled. Somehow, I doubted that would fly with my cousin.

I didn’t often leave the records room and venture around the headquarters building. People came to me. When the elevator dropped me off in the bustling homicide department, I hesitated, feeling out of place. A nugget of petty irritability tweaked my gut when I considered how badly I’d wanted to become a detective and how quickly I’d been dismissed. I’d never even made it to the academy. Fucking medical. Fucking stupid rules. Not a single guidance counselor in high school had told me I couldn’t become a police officer if I was colorblind. They had let me find out the hard way.

Diem wondered why I clung to his cases like a parasite. I envied what he did for a living, but he’d made it clear he didn’t want a partner.

The bullpen buzzed with energy. The bright fluorescents overhead and the wide windows along the back wall gave it an open and airy atmosphere, much better than the claustrophobic space where I worked. Groups of detectives gathered around various desks, chatting or working on computers. Several more desks were empty. I considered heading to the nearest assembly and asking who was investigating Beth Rowell, but since I was a nobody records clerk, I risked being shunned.

When I spied Aslan Doyle across the room, my shoulders relaxed. He was with his partner, a guy named Fox—I couldn’t remember his first name—and his husband, Quaid Valor, who worked in MPU on the other side of the building.

I knew Quaid better than I knew the other two detectives, and only because he was good friends with my cousin—an oddity I was still trying to figure out. We’d chatted numerous times during the Secret Santa event, and he seemed like a decent guy.

His arms were crossed at the moment, and he was sneering at Doyle’s partner like he was trying to make his head explode with mind power alone. Fox didn’t seem affected and laughed, making Quaid sneer harder.

If Quaid was present, maybe I could sweet-talk my way into some information. I remembered Diem telling me Quaid was a stickler for the rules, but I caught a vibe he was also reasonable. I wouldn’t know unless I tried.

Before he escaped to his side of the building, I straightened my tie, squared my shoulders, and headed in their direction. It was about confidence. If I acted like I had a right to be there and had a right to information, maybe they wouldn’t question me. Doubtful.

Fox saw me first, face still split with a grin from whatever they were talking about. He gave me a head tip. “Hey, man. How’s it going?”

Doyle swiveled his chair to face me, and Quaid’s scowl vanished as he turned and found me a few steps away.

“Tallus.” The MPU detective smiled, eyeing his husband surreptitiously.

“Quaid. Hi, how are you?”

Quaid shot a dirty look at Fox. “I was having a grand ol’ day until I decided to visit my husband. Didn’t know I was walking into an ambush.”

“Oh, stop,” Fox said, still grinning so widely his teeth showed. “Lover boy is pissed because I insulted his tuna salad.”

“You said a cat wouldn’t eat it.”

Fox dramatically waved a hand at Doyle. “He said he offered some to Oscar, who sniffed it and buried it with invisible dirt. Last I checked, Oscar is a cat. Hence, your tuna salad is disgusting.”

Quaid sneered from Fox to his husband. “You fed my tuna salad to Oscar?”

Doyle held up a finger. “No, no, no. That’s not how it went.” To his partner, he said, “Why do you always have to get me in trouble?”

“Hey. That’s what you told me.”

“I let Oscar sample it because it didn’t seem fair that I got to take a loaded tuna salad sandwich for lunch, and he got the same boring stuff he always gets.” Doyle paused. “And to be fair, hot stuff, Oscar wouldn’t touch it.”

“How many times have I told you not to feed the cat table food.”

“He didn’t eat it. That’s the point,” Fox said.

Quaid speared him with daggers. “Be quiet and let the grown-ups chat.”

Fox threw his hands up. “I don’t get why I’m in trouble. I didn’t do anything.”

Quaid continued to give his husband a look that spoke volumes, but Doyle laughed it off and turned to me. “Were you looking for one of us?”

“Um… I was, but… Am I interrupting? I can come back.”

“Not at all.” To Quaid, Doyle said, “Take it down a notch, hot stuff. You’re scaring the newbie records clerk.”

I frowned. How long did I have to work at the department to stop being considered new?

Quaid pointed at me, eyes never leaving his husband. “I’m not the only one giving you the face. Consider that.”

I peered among the group, feeling outside the loop.

Doyle, still chuckling, leaned back in his desk chair and cradled the back of his head in his hands. “How can I be of service?”

All three of them were staring at me now. I cleared my throat. “Well, I was curious if you two were the ones who picked up the Beth Rowell case.”

No one spoke, and no one was smiling anymore. I needed to explain myself, but I wasn’t sure I had a good explanation. Telling them I was working alongside an ex-cop turned PI who wasn’t popular in the department was probably not the right move.

“Do you know something?” Fox asked.

“Not exactly. Um…” I shrugged. “I vaguely knew her. She… was involved in stuff.” Oh god. That was succinct.

“What kind of stuff?” Doyle asked.

I considered my words. “Let’s just say someone I know claims she was possibly cheating on her husband. I saw the headline in the papers today and—”

“Fucking papers, man,” Fox spat, slapping the desk. “I told you. Didn’t I call it? I knew this would happen the second that dipshit at the coroner’s started asking all those questions. You can’t take on co-op students and expect them to keep their mouths shut. Not in this day and age. They don’t fucking care about nondisclosures or confidentiality. They run their mouths, and then we gotta—”

“Torin, shut up.” Doyle lowered his hands and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “We can’t discuss anything about the case.”

“Is it a case?” I arched a brow. “I mean, if two homicide detectives are working it, you must suspect foul play.”

Doyle shared a look with his husband. I couldn’t read his face, but they seemed to be having a silent conversation.

Quaid shrugged. “Up to you. I gotta go. Nice to see you, Tallus.”

Quaid turned to walk away, then spun back to his husband, holding up his left hand and pointing at the wedding band. “Behave.”

Doyle burst out laughing. “One tiny ogle and I’ll never live it down.”

Quaid gave him a pointed look as he marched away. “Two is grounds for divorce.”

“All right, all right. Cool your jets. You’re all I need, hot stuff. You know it.”

“PS,” Quaid said. “The conversation about the tuna salad and the cat isn’t over.” He vanished down the hallway.

“What was that about?” Fox asked. “Who’re you ogling?”

“No one.” Doyle turned back to me. “Why do you really want to know about Beth Rowell? Don’t bullshit me.”

I heaved a sigh, debating the best course of action. Had Costa told Quaid about my dealings with Diem back in December? It was possible. They were friends. The case Diem and I had solved had been one of Quaid’s, and Costa had helped us with some dirty digging.

“Fuck it. I’m doing side work for a PI friend. He was commissioned to investigate a woman’s husband. The woman suspected her husband of cheating. We drew lines to Beth Rowell. Now she’s dead.”

“No shit. Who’s the husband?” Fox snapped up a pen with the intent of writing it down.

“He’s not your suspect. The guy killed himself about a month ago.”

“Whoa, wait. I don’t get it.” Fox glanced at Doyle, who shushed him.

“How did Beth die?” I asked bluntly.

“We don’t know.” Doyle’s voice was carefully controlled, quiet so it didn’t travel. “Preliminary autopsy report came back with few answers, but—”

“Don’t do it, man,” Fox warned. “You know who he’s working with as well as I do.”

I glanced at Fox, who was doing his best to look intimidating. It wasn’t working. I zeroed in on Doyle instead, who seemed to be contemplating.

“But?” I prompted, perching my hands on my hips.

Doyle shared a look with Fox, who threw his hands up.

“But there was a fresh injection site. It’s possible it was suicide, but since we didn’t find a needle or vial of anything near the body, it’s unlikely. We’re more apt to believe someone killed her.”

“Injected with what?”

“We don’t know yet. Thus far, it’s been undetectable.”

I frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Doyle shrugged. “Initial bloodwork is clean. No visible organ damage. Nothing to indicate an overdose. Of course, we’re still waiting on a bunch of tests, but the answers are hazy so far.”

“Then maybe she wasn’t injected with anything.”

Doyle held my gaze, unspeaking. It was clear he knew more than he was saying.

I didn’t want to push my luck. It was enough.

“Okay. Thank you.” I turned to go.

“Wait. You got anything to share?” Doyle asked. “That’s how these things usually work.” He swung a finger between us.

I considered the fight Beth had with her husband, the unknown man she’d met at a sleazy motel and stayed with for half the night. I considered the emails. The articles from the newspaper. Nothing was conclusive. We didn’t know who the elusive bastard was, and Beth’s husband would be an automatic suspect anyhow if they were considering murder, so there was no point shining a light on him.

Could she have killed herself? Noah had. Was there something we were missing?

I shook my head. “No. Nothing right now.”

Aslan scanned me head to toe. “All right. Make sure Krause knows who did him this favor. If he learns something that could help, I expect him to give me a call.”

“I’ll pass it along.”

I didn’t linger and made my escape, digging my phone from a pocket the second the elevator doors snapped shut.