26. Diem

Tallus’s phone call and theory were like a bucket of cold water over the head. It blasted me awake and, in an instant, erased any grogginess from my sleepless night. I hung up with my mind spinning around what he’d said.

My hospital contact wasn’t reliable. He was a mortuary assistant with a notorious drug problem, which meant he was happy to take my fifty bucks in exchange for information—if he could get his hands on what I needed. It also meant he was constantly at risk of losing his job, so there would come a day when I would call him up and he wouldn’t be working there anymore.

I texted, asking if he could meet me in the alley behind the hospital in an hour. Relief washed over me when he replied he would be there. I did a quick cleanup in the bathroom, scrubbing my face with water and brushing my teeth before fumbling to the bedroom area of my apartment to find fresh clothes. I didn’t have time to venture to the gym for a workout and shower.

The bed was made—a sure sign Tallus had spent the night, and I hadn’t dreamed it—and his scent was everywhere. It ratcheted my blood pressure to the max as I revisited the anxious night I’d spent on the couch, doing all I could to coach myself into joining him.

In the end, I’d failed to convince myself. Worse, I’d walked to the corner store, bought cigarettes, and relapsed in my attempt to quit. Again.

The pack was on the coffee table, and I had half a mind to throw them away, but the cravings were back in full force, and I knew I wouldn’t. One more. Maybe two. Then I’d toss them and start again.

Jaxson Buren was a wiry man in his midtwenties and a shithead to deal with. The minute I saw him behind the hospital, twitching at quarter past noon, I knew my fifty bucks wouldn’t cut it. I was convinced the only reason the man still had a job was because his patients were deceased and couldn’t complain that he came to work tweaking half the time.

The head coroner was a stiff-collared man in his late fifties who likely didn’t care what Jaxson did in his spare time, so long as he showed up every day and took care of the grunt work the coroner didn’t want to deal with.

Jaxson’s shirt had pit stains and was rolled to the elbows. It looked like it needed a wash, but again, his patients weren’t complaining about a bit of body odor. Or his greasy hair. Or the scraggly beard he was trying and failing to grow. They couldn’t. Besides, they probably smelled and looked worse than Jaxson—but not by much.

He greeted me with a tip of his head. “Krause.”

I held out fifty bucks.

Jaxson stared at the pink polymer bill but didn’t take it. “Tell me what I’m doing first.”

“I need to know if a guy named Noah Willard was treated in the emergency room on October thirteenth in 2010. Or any time around that date. Can you do that?”

“2010?” He whistled. “That’s a while ago.”

“Can you do it?”

“Maybe, but my price has gone up.” He snapped the fifty from my hand. “I’ll take this for a down payment, but you’ll owe me another twenty-five upon delivery.”

I clenched my fists and tightened my jaw. Keeping my voice level, I muttered, “Fine. If that’s the case, I want answers today.” I gave him as many details as possible about Noah, including his date of birth and health card number, which I’d gotten from Faye.

“Give me a couple of hours.”

A couple of hours meant time to myself to think. I tried to keep busy with other minor cases, doing some research that I’d let pile up, and returning emails, but my mind continuously drifted to Tallus in my bed. Tallus in a hospital gown. Tallus with stitches and black eyes. Tallus passed out in Natalia’s office with blood on his face.

Three times last night, I’d stood next to the partition watching him sleep like the creep I was. Three times, I’d almost convinced myself to crawl in beside him to be sure he was warm, breathing, and alive.

Three times I’d failed.

When Jaxson called me at twenty after five, I agreed to meet him at a bus stop near the hospital in an hour.

“Did you find anything?” I asked over the phone.

“Did you doubt me?”

Kind of, but I didn’t say as much.

Tallus confirmed he was leaving work at five thirty, and since he’d left his car in the parking structure across the street from my building—I’d seen it when I’d gone out earlier—I told him I’d meet him at the police headquarters to pick him up before heading over to the hospital to find Jaxson.

“And? Do you know anything?” Tallus asked as he clicked the seat belt, and I pulled out into traffic.

“Don’t know yet. That’s where we’re going now.”

At a stoplight, Tallus held out his phone with a photograph pulled up. “Look. Tell me I’m wrong.”

On the screen was a younger version of Noah, holding a solo cup in the air at what looked to be a college frat party. But it was his face Tallus wanted me to see. The guy looked about as beat up as Tallus. Stitches across his forehead, a hint of black eyes, and a few other cuts and scrapes.

“After seeing him in countless athletic pictures, I assumed these were sports injuries. Like he’d had a recent game or something and took a bad hit on the field. Then Ruiz said I should tell everyone I was in a car accident, and I thought, whoa, wait a freaking minute. What if Noah’s injuries weren’t so easily explained. What if he was in a car accident?”

The light changed, and I drove on as Tallus continued. “When I found the picture again, I noticed the date was four days after Roan was killed. That’s too close for comfort.”

He didn’t need to say more. The implication was glaring. What if David Shore hadn’t been alone in the car? What if Noah, for whatever reason, had been with him? What if the second sample of blood they’d found on the rag, the blood that didn’t belong to David Shore, belonged to Noah?

Since there was no parking within a ten-mile radius of the hospital, I paid to use the emergency room parking section. Tallus followed me as I located the bus stop in question, finding Jaxson smoking a cigarette and playing on his phone.

My fingers twitched. I wanted a smoke so badly it hurt.

So far, I’d managed not to touch any more of the pack I’d bought the previous night, but I hadn’t found the strength to throw it away. It was on my desk, beside the red rubber ball Tallus had given me. The poor ball had taken a lot of abuse in the last twenty-four hours, but I hated to admit it helped.

Jaxson lifted his head, clocked me, and immediately performed a thorough scan of Tallus.

“He’s fine,” I muttered. “What do you have for me?”

“You got a partner now?”

“No,” I said at the same time Tallus said, “Yes.”

I skewered Tallus with a glare, and he batted his lashes and blew an air kiss. “Get over yourself, Guns.”

I didn’t know what to do with that, so I turned to Jaxson, asking again, “What do you have for me?”

Jaxson flicked ash and blew a cloud of smoke into the air, where it dissipated. “Noah Willard was treated by Dr. Hubert in the early morning of October thirteenth, 2010. May the good doc rest in peace. He is no longer with us. Died last year of bowel cancer. Actually, he was a real jerk and will not be missed.”

Jaxson took a haul from the cigarette, the end glowing cherry red before continuing. He spoke as he exhaled. “Willard claimed he was roughhousing with some guys in his dorm and smashed his face in the process. Hubert noted on the chart the guy was drunk off his ass or stoned to high heaven. Of course, Willard denied it. Hubert stitched him, cleaned his cuts and scrapes, and kept him for observation since Willard had a minor concussion, but mostly, he didn’t want the guy returning to his party. He wanted him to sober up.”

“Early morning? What time would that be?” Tallus asked.

“Hubert saw him at five. Willard signed in at triage at three forty. Gotta love how fast our system works, huh?”

I felt Tallus’s eyes on me and heard the unspoken words. This was it. We’d found a crucial clue. There was no way it was a coincidence. Roan was discovered by a jogger at six thirty in the morning on October thirteenth. It was suspected the student had been hit around two or three and had lain on the road, bleeding out for hours.

I dug the extra twenty-five Jaxson had requested from a pocket and he snapped it up with his cigarette dangling between his lips as he smiled.

“Thanks, man.”

I grabbed Tallus’s arm and spun him away, marching him down the sidewalk a few paces before I realized I was forcefully dragging him along again. What the hell was wrong with me? Why did I keep doing that?

I let go, and he chuckled, seemingly amused. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“I think so.”

“What do we do?”

I sighed and kicked a loose pebble on the ground in irritation. “We have to take this to Doyle.”

I didn’t want to, but if Noah was involved in the hit-and-run, if it was Noah’s blood on the rag, then only the department could officially connect the dots. It was too late for an arrest since Noah was dead, but even his death made sense now, and Tallus voiced what I’d only then come to realize.

“Shit. When the police started investigating David for drugs and soliciting students, that was one thing. But when they impounded his car, Noah panicked, thinking the police knew something about their past. David indirectly told him to calm the fuck down in that email. Maybe he even went to see him and threatened him. Noah went into a frenzy.”

“The girls knew. David knew the girls knew.”

“And they tried to calm him down as well. Noah must have been scared enough to think David would come after him. Why do you think the police visited Noah?”

I rolled some ideas around but still couldn’t figure that one out. “I don’t know.”

“Drugs? Maybe Noah was involved with David and his dealings? He was high the night of the accident. It could have been a longtime partnership. It would be smart if Shore had a student helping him distribute.”

“Maybe.”

Tallus threaded fingers through his hair, then winced when it must have pulled at the stitch line. “Noah must have realized that if he was found out or connected to David, he would go to prison. There is no statute of limitations on murder, and Roan’s death is murder. They left him to die. Noah would rot in a cell.”

“So he took his own life.”

“Yeah.”

I frowned. “And Beth?”

“Noah told his girlfriend back in the day, and Olivia was best friends with Beth.”

“And secrets never stay buried.”

Tallus clucked his tongue. “David must have worried they would expose him. So he killed Beth. She must have said something he didn’t like the night they met.”

I pressed my lips together and went over it again in my head.

“You’re right. We need to call Doyle.” Tallus propped his hands on his hips. “We shouldn’t go in, though. I spoke to Quaid Valor today, Doyle’s husband. He said Doyle and Fox are trying to keep our names out of it. It could mean trouble if we show up to talk about the case.”

So that was what we did. Tallus texted his cousin to get Doyle’s number, and we arranged to meet him and his partner at nine at the all-night diner near my office.

***

Tallus and I shared one side of the booth, while Doyle, Fox, and Valor—who’d shown up too—shared the other.

Since Tallus was a better people person, I let him explain Noah’s potential involvement with David and the hit-and-run.

“And how do you know he was treated in hospital on October thirteenth?” Fox asked.

I jumped in before Tallus could respond. “That’s not your concern. We just know.” I was prepared for them to question our findings, but it didn’t mean I owed them an explanation.

“And he was stoned?” Doyle asked.

“Or drunk. You can confirm those details.”

Fox huffed. “Oh, can we? We need a warrant to do that, and your hunch about a random dude being involved ain’t exactly gonna convince a judge.”

“It’s not a hunch,” I snarled. Tallus pressed his thigh against my leg under the table. “We have emails that show a link between Noah and David.”

“Good for you. Again, we don’t,” Fox snarked.

“Actually, you do.” I kept my tone level, working hard to contain my anger. I didn’t like this meeting. I hated its necessity. “You have a dead woman, which gives you all the reasons in the world for a search warrant.”

“We’ve done that.” Doyle’s tone contrasted with his partner’s. He seemed more curious about the case than irritated about how much we knew.

I focused on him. “You’ve gone through her computer?”

“Yes, and—”

“Her work computer?” Tallus asked, cutting in.

“Yes, but…” Doyle glanced at Fox.

“Don’t look at me. I told that fucker we needed it pronto. You know how he is. Mine is not the ass he kisses.”

Doyle and Fox both spun simultaneously to look at Valor.

“Hey, hot stuff.” Aslan cooed at his husband, who sneered before rolling his eyes.

“Good grief. Let me out.” Valor had been sitting quietly in the corner during our discussion. He slid out of the booth and dug his phone from a pocket.

“Don’t be mad, Valor. We love your bromance with Ruiz. It’s beneficial in so many ways.”

“Thank you,” Doyle added as his husband walked away to place a call.

With Valor gone, Doyle and Fox took a minute to have a silent conversation.

“We can bring David back in for more questioning,” Doyle said, “especially if Ruiz can tie him to Noah somehow. We can tell him we know Noah was with him that night. See what he has to say.”

“Hypothetically.” Fox held up a finger. “Where did we come up with this hyped-up theory if he asks?”

“None of his business.”

“He’ll bring his lawyer back, and that won’t fly.”

“Hang on.” I narrowed my eyes at the pair of homicide detectives, interrupting their chat. “Was Shore released?”

“Yeah. This morning,” Fox said. “Posted bail.”

“Shit.”

“What?” Doyle frowned.

“Olivia. She could be in danger. He already killed Beth to shut her up.”

Doyle shook his head. “We don’t have proof of that. He has an alibi for the time frame surrounding her death. We looked into it after you suggested there might be a connection.”

“An alibi?” Tallus sat up straighter, rejoining the conversation. “How? We saw him at the hotel with her. She died only a few hours later.”

“Exactly.” Doyle tapped a finger on the table. “She died in the early morning. The coroner said between six thirty and seven. Shore is on security footage at the university, arriving around five thirty and heading to his office. We can trace him again at quarter to seven going from his office to a campus café. He was nowhere near her.”

I glanced at Tallus, who looked dumbstruck.

“We’re investigating other suspects,” Doyle added.

The husband came to mind, but I didn’t want to relive what we’d witnessed on the front lawn. My reflexive response when Tallus had reached out still haunted me.

Valor returned, letting the two homicide detectives know that Ruiz had what they wanted. The three of them left, and Tallus and I remained. I couldn’t stop mulling over Beth’s death. It had made so much sense that David had killed her to shut her up. Were we wrong? If not him, then who?

“Are you hungry, Guns? Want to get food?”

I blinked out of my quandary. “Sure.”

We ordered meals and ate. When Tallus tried to pick up the tab, I stole the bill and sent the waitress off with my card. It was the first time Tallus looked ashamed. Perhaps he realized I saw through his money struggles, no matter the lengths he went to hide them. I wasn’t in a great position myself, but I could write a lot off as business expenses, so it helped.

We walked back to the office in silence, but I aimed for the parking structure across the road instead of going inside.

“Where are we going?” Tallus jogged to keep up when I saw an opening in the traffic and ran.

“I want to talk to Olivia. She’s the only one left alive from their little gang who isn’t David. She might be the one person who knows the truth, and I’m not beating around the bush anymore. I’m going to knock on her fucking door, security detail be damned, and get some goddamn answers.”