“What’s that got to do with Laura?” the other man said. He didn’t bother to keep the defensiveness out of his voice.
“Well, that’s what we’ve brought her into the station to talk about. She’s with a female detective right now.”
“Laura’s . . . in custody?” The man looked like he was growing short of breath. “On what grounds?”
“I’m not at liberty to go into details about that, Mr. Jones. And she’s not in custody as of yet. We’re just . . . information-gathering at this point. But please know we don’t go around hauling housewives into interviews without grounds to do so.”
He wondered if the female officer he’d left Laura with would bear down on her the way he wanted her to. He wanted to use any means possible to get one of these women to crack. He needed that client list so he could find out more about what Matteo had been talking about the last day Nico saw him. On that client list was the name of the man Matteo had seen. If he had the list, he could start narrowing it down. And then he could find his brother.
He looked at Jones, who nodded his understanding, looking meek as he absorbed the gravity of what was happening. Nico continued, “I came here just to inform you of what was happening and thought maybe we could chat about any, um, questions or concerns you may have been having.”
“Questions or concerns about what?”
“Well, just maybe you’ve seen some things, heard some things, wondered about whether your wife has been, well, honest with you about her activities.”
Dave Jones didn’t hesitate. “Never. Not once. Laura is—well, she’s not the kind of person who would do what you’re insinuating. I can’t—” The man looked down at the floor, clasping the edge of the table like he was on a cliff and the table was a branch, the only thing between him and the abyss. Nico listened as he breathed in and out, in and out, loudly. He sounded like a bull about to charge.
Dave Jones looked up again. “I think you should leave.”
Nico nodded and stood. “Of course,” he said.
The other man rose as well. He did not extend his hand for Nico to shake, and Nico didn’t blame him. He felt for the guy. He turned as if to go. As much as this case was tied to his own heartbreak, he wasn’t going to allow it into this room at this moment. He had a job to do. He took a few steps toward the door, then stopped short, pretending he’d forgotten something. This was how he always did this part, using the element of surprise, borrowing a page from Columbo’s book. And it always worked, like it did for Columbo.
Nico might not’ve been smart enough to come up with this stuff on his own, but he was smart enough to borrow the things other smart people had come up with. His years in front of the TV as a kid had served him well. His dad had always liked watching Columbo reruns. He was glad his dad had passed away before Matteo’s disappearance. The worry would’ve killed him.
Nico dug in his interior coat pocket as he turned back to Dave Jones, who was watching him warily. “Almost forgot,” Nico said, making his voice sound apologetic.
He handed the man the search warrant he’d really come there to serve. He’d never expected the guy to give up his wife. After talking to him, Nico believed the poor schmuck truly didn’t know a thing. Of course Nico had to probe a bit, get a feel for the situation. And the guy had put his wife at the very spa where they suspected she was servicing men. So, there was that. Once Dave Jones accepted that his wife had been prostituting herself under his nose—and doing God knows what with the profits—he’d divorce her, and they could call him as a witness if it came to a trial.
Sometimes he hated how jaded his job had made him. But sometimes he appreciated the hard shell it had afforded him. He’d learned to feel less with each injustice he’d witnessed, each violation he’d investigated, each cold case that had no hope of ever being solved. Growing numb made it harder to be human—to interact with his kids, to feel his wife’s embrace, to accept happiness in the moments when it lighted on him—but it also made it easier when happiness did what it always did: flitted away again.
He watched as the guy opened the folded paper and gave it the cursory read that everyone did. Reading the words didn’t change what they said; you had to get out of your house so strangers could turn it upside down, rifle through your personal things, look for incriminating items that would later be used against you or a loved one. He wondered what Laura Jones had hidden, what they would find.
“Do you have anywhere you can go?” Nico asked. This part wasn’t his responsibility, but he asked anyway.
“My kids—they’ll be home from school soon.” Dave Jones started to argue, as if this were something that could be rescheduled. Nico wanted to reach out and give the man a sympathetic pat, but his arms stayed by his side. Dave Jones didn’t want his sympathy.
“You’ll need to make arrangements for your children,” was all Nico said. He stood, motionless for a moment, thinking Dave Jones might say more. But instead he just turned and walked away, leaving Nico to open the door for the officers waiting to come inside the Jones house and do their job.
Casey
Casey got ready to leave, rationalizing as she did. She hadn’t gone looking for him. He had found her. And besides, this was just lunch. Not a date. Not even close. She wasn’t so weak that she had reached out to the one constant in her life since she had been a sophomore in high school. She hadn’t caved and done that. Since she had come home she’d been a strong, independent woman, handling her problems by herself. Until there he was, behind her in line to pick up a pizza, calling her name.
He’d pointed at the pizza as they handed it to her over the counter, closed his eyes, and said, “Black olives and mushrooms, extra sauce.” But he might as well have said I know the way you like your pizza. I know everything there is to know about your family. I know your worst fears and private dreams. I know you. Only he didn’t know her, not anymore. Things had happened to her, things that had changed her that he didn’t know about.
They stepped off to the side. He took the pizza from her hands, set it on a table nearby so they could chat. “Don’t you need to get your pizza?” she asked, and pointed back at the line.
He waved away her suggestion. “I’ll get it after you leave.” He gestured at the pizza. “Bess doing some volunteer thing, too busy to cook?” He always thought it was ironic how her mother would cook a meal for another family, then order a pizza for her own.
Casey shrugged. “She’s all freaked out about this woman who got arrested in our neighborhood. We had her kid staying with us, but then the kid left because Nicole has turned into a little beyotch. Anyway, she sent me out for pizza because she hadn’t ‘had time to even think about dinner.’” This was said in her best Bess imitation. Foolishly she’d thought that upon her arrival, her mother would cook all her favorite meals, welcome her home with maternal love and care. Instead Bess hadn’t seemed to notice she was there.
He crossed his arms. “You home for a break already?”
She looked down at the tile floor made to look like red bricks lined up in a pattern, two up, two down. “Kind of just . . . taking a break,” she mumbled.