“Except for Scott,” Leda persisted.
“If you say so. It’s a common male name, both first and last. But it hasn’t appeared anywhere that I can think of, anywhere connected to this case—or to the case of your late fiancé,” he added before she could chime in. “If it was, you would’ve said so by now.”
Leda folded her arms and sulked.
Exasperated, he added, “I’m not saying it’s nothing. I’m just saying that I don’t know what to do with it. What if I found you some more stuff to touch? Do you think that would help?”
Leda was in a full-on funk when she said, “No.”
Grady’s phone rang. He glanced down and said, “Oh shit. Hey, do me a favor, would you? Pretend you’re not here.”
“Why? Who is it?”
He pointed to the dashboard, where she saw the words SPD DISPATCH scrolling along the radio display. “It’s work. This is Bluetooth. Please don’t make a sound, because I don’t want to make any explanations right now. I’m asking you as a friend and colleague and a person who doesn’t want to lose his job because he has a kid and a dog to feed. Okay?”
“Okay, okay. I’ll zip it.”
He pressed a button on the steering wheel. “Detective Merritt speaking.”
A woman’s voice came through his car’s speakers. “Grady, I know you’re not on duty right now, but your presence has been requested at a crime scene.”
“I’m sorry, come again?” he asked.
The dispatcher cleared her throat. “There’s been a break-in at the Beckmeyer residence, and Richard has asked for you, specifically. That’s all I know. Do you need the address?”
“Holy shit. No, I’ve got it,” he said, jerking his car toward the nearest exit. “Tell him I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Is everyone all right?”
“His wife took a knock on the head, and it sounds like maybe there was a fire—but I don’t think there are any serious injuries.”
“Thanks, Lucy,” he said to her. “I appreciate you.”
“Even when no one else does, Merritt. Go save the day.”
He pressed another button, and the radio came back on. “Richard’s house is on the way back to your part of town. Can you behave yourself at a fresh crime scene, where crime is still being actively investigated?”
If anything, the idea perked Leda right back up again. “I’m looking forward to doing so, yes. Do you think it’s related to our case?” she asked, eagerly clutching her purse. She dived down into it, in search of her cell phone. When she found it, she whipped it out.
“I don’t know yet, but maybe Richard does. I can’t imagine why else he’d ask for me.” He glanced over at Leda, who had unlocked her phone and started texting. “What… what are you doing? Are you texting Niki?”
“No. Yes. Okay, of course I am. But she texted me, first.”
“Do not summon her to this crime scene,” Grady commanded.
“I wasn’t going to. I forget the address anyway. I’m just keeping her in the loop.”
“Why does she need to be in the loop. Why.” He did not so much ask as complain.
Leda kept on typing and didn’t look up. “She’s my best friend, and I tell her everything. Don’t you have a best friend?”
“Not exactly.”
“But you’ve had one in the past, yes? And you understand the impulse to share absolutely everything, absolutely all the time?”
Grady shook his head slowly, then stopped to read some road signs and adjust his course. He turned a hard left that took him over the interstate and into the edges of fancy-pants suburbia. “Guy best friends and girl best friends must be different. Or maybe you two are just…” He zipped through a yellow light. “Creepily codependent.”
“We are comfortable in our codependency, if that’s what it is.” Leda texted another line or two and waited while a bubble with ellipses appeared to show that Niki was responding.
“Whatever makes you happy.”
“Now you’re talking.” The bubble made a zoosh noise as it filled with text in Leda’s phone. “Ooh, she’s at the aquarium with Matt.”
“In a plastic boot?” he asked.
“He was threatening to get her one of those scooter things. Maybe he did, I don’t know. I just hope the silver fox is all right.”
Grady pulled out into an intersection and waited to make a left. “It sounds like he’s fine. We’ll be there in a minute, and you can ask him yourself. Wait.” He stopped himself almost immediately. “Don’t do that. Don’t ask him anything. Actually, don’t talk at all, unless someone talks to you first. If that happens, say as little as possible.”
“I’m not a child, you know.”
“This will be different.” He squeezed the steering wheel. “This is an active crime scene. If I even think you’re about to get underfoot, you will be banished to the car.”
“I get it, I get it. I’ll stay quiet.”
He muttered, “I don’t believe you, and I know I’m going to regret this.”
Ten minutes later, they pulled up to the tasteful, posh craftsman home—which was now crawling with uniformed police officers. The cops were joined by a fire truck, which took up most of the parking area, so Grady parked his car on the street almost two blocks away. It was the best he could do.
“All right, come on,” he said, leaving the car and slamming its door.
“Right behind you.” Leda hustled to catch up. The detective’s legs were longer than hers, and he was striding with a purpose.
Quietly, and over his shoulder, he told her, “Stay close to me.”
Up the sidewalk they went, past uniformed cops and a firefighter or two. They were rolling their hoses and milling around the truck, talking into radios and generally packing up. Whatever fire emergency had occurred was under control now.
The cop at the front door gave Grady a head nod and Leda a perplexed look.
She stood up straight and followed behind him like she belonged there and wasn’t merely along for the ride. The cop didn’t stop her. Neither did the other two who lingered in the parlor, or the one in the living room—where Richard Beckmeyer and his wife sat side by side on the couch. Richard rose to his feet when he saw Grady.
“Detective! Thank you so much for coming, and hello again, Ms. Foley.” He shook their hands warmly and gestured down at his wife. “This is my wife, Sheila. She was home when the break-in occurred, and as you can see, the maniac tried to kill her!”
“He didn’t try to kill me,” she protested. Sheila was seated on the couch, her head and forearm bandaged, and a bruise on the side of her face—near her left eye. “Or I don’t know, maybe he did. I wasn’t exactly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when he tried to set fire to the office. I suppose the house could’ve burned down around me.”
Grady said, “Manslaughter, not murder. The results would be the same for you, though. I’m glad you’re all right, ma’am.”
“Thank you dear, I’ll survive just fine. I think I’ll have a black eye tomorrow…” She patted at the bruise. “But all in all, it could’ve been much worse.” She was a pretty woman, well into her sixties, with a silver bob that had taken a beating from the afternoon’s invasion. Even so, she sat with poise and spoke calmly, like someone accustomed to being listened to.