And just like that, I was another ghost who moved about their world.
Chapter Thirteen
Blake
Benny shut his cruiser door and balanced two coffees in a tray as he hurried down the bank to the water’s edge. “Thought you could use something hot.”
“Thanks.” I peeled off my gloves and wrapped my chilly hands around the cup. The heat felt good, and the warmth traveled through me as I swallowed the hot brew.
“Find anything?” He shivered as the wind blew. “Why are you over here?”
“Her phone was found here.” I pointed to a marker. “There was some indication that the killer may have lost his footing over there.” I pointed to some long grass. “Something or someone lay there.”
“You think he tried to rape her?”
“I don’t know. Still waiting on the coroner.”
“Sick fuck,” he muttered, but in the same breath said, “It’s colder than my father’s heart out here.”
“Nice.” I sipped the coffee and tried to picture what happened. Then it hit me. “Where’s Spencer? She isn’t coming in today?”
Benny shrugged. “She was at the station talking to Sarge when I saw her last. Looking damn fine in a black leather outfit and heels. How something so sexy isn’t taken makes me wonder what’s under the leather.”
I fought the urge to nail him in the gut and instead went back to wondering where the hell she was.
“So, you need some help?” Benny set his cup down and held out his hand to tug on a pair of gloves.
“I could, thanks.”
We worked well into the afternoon, and I didn’t make it to the bar until 8:00 p.m.
I wanted to write to Spencer, but what was I going to say? I couldn’t get her in that silk teddy pressed against my body out of my head, no matter how hard I tried.
Only a few men showed up, so I nursed my beer, as I was on call and didn’t want anyone to have to step in. These were my murders to solve.
“Blake,” Jackson called across the table. “Worst case you’ve had yet.” He waited for me to swap a story like the rest of them did.
A cold shiver raced through me as I dug up the box that held all my horror stories tucked neatly inside.
“Two thousand and ten, Queens, two female eighth-graders take a shortcut after school. One returns home, the other doesn’t. Later, she’s found, limbs severed and stuffed into a tire inside a local garage.”
“That was your worst case?” Benny, who had been too hands-on with Spencer, tried to look cool in front of his buddies. The Candy Man, Fitz, clocked him on the back of his head. “I thought you were going to say something like a massive shooting or a psychopath.” He rubbed his head and shot Fitz a look.
“What happened? Who did it?” Jackson ignored him to get me to finish my story.
“Six days, five hours, and thirty-two minutes was how long it took to locate her. Her friend agreed to lure her to a garage, where her friend’s seventeen-year-old boyfriend waited because he wanted to sever her limbs with a table saw. They called it an experiment.”
“Fuck,” Benny muttered.
“Chelsea White, fourteen years old, sweet little thing. Had an autistic brother who worshiped her every move. To this day, he goes looking for her. He can’t understand why she won’t come out and play anymore.”
“How do you know all of that?” Fitz inched a little closer.
“Because Chelsea was my niece.”
The entire table went quiet while I finished off my beer.
“You might think this job is fun,” I directed my words at Benny, “and the power might feel good, but I give you two years before you see something that rocks your world so badly you never fit back together right. That tip,” I tilted my hands to show an uneasy level, “will forever make you trip and will leave behind a scar.”
“That’s really deep,” Fitz mumbled, and everyone else nodded with agreement.
I stood and pulled my jacket off the back of my chair.
“Wait!” Benny held up a hand. “Were they found and charged?”
“Yeah,” I shrugged, “still didn’t bring her back, though.” A few of the men nodded like they understood that comment all too well. “You guys have a good night.”
“Night, man.” Jackson gave me a handshake, and Benny waved.
I hurried out to my car and cranked the heat up because I needed a moment to push that memory back down inside. I sucked in deeply. Though Chelsea wasn’t my blood niece, she was my friend’s little girl, and when he died when she was four, I promised I would do everything I could for his family. I had no idea what would happen ten years later. Some things were just easier left in a box.
I shook it off and eased the car into gear.
I checked my phone at a red light to see Spencer still hadn’t texted me. Instead of going home, I drove to her place.
The lights were on, and I could hear voices as I went up the steps to the porch.
“You can’t be here,” I heard her yell, and something fell.
I drew my hand down and let my fingers hug the snap on my holster as I tried to get a look in the blinds. Nothing. Damn tinted windows! I knocked loudly on the door.
“Who the fuck is that?” a man yelled, and I saw the blind move in the kitchen, and Bentley barked aggressively like he was uneasy. “You called the cops! Seriously, Spencer, what the fuck?”
I forgot I was wearing my SPD jacket.
“Shoot,” Spencer muttered as she opened the door slowly, but only partway. Her eyes were red and glossy. Clearly, she was stressed out and upset. “Um,” she cleared her throat, “now isn’t a good time.”
“Let me in.” I spoke slow and steady. I didn’t want to spook whoever it was inside.
She shook her head, but just as I was about to protest, she stepped back and opened the door wider. I took note of Bentley, who was in the corner of the room, tucked under a chair, scared.
“Officer,” some skinny-ass punk who looked to be well into his forties held up his hands, “I didn’t do nothing wrong.” He twitched. “I was released today, and we were just having a misunderstanding.”
Spencer tried to cover the fact her hands were shaking. I could tell she didn’t want me to let on that I knew her, so I played along.
“What were you in for?”
He scratched his head like he had fleas. “Wrong place, wrong time.” He paused. “I had a little coke on me, and I have a rap sheet. When I got pulled over, I ran. Man, I was scared! You know how that shit is. Cops don’t want to hear it. They just cuff you and toss you in the back. I’m a human with rights, you know.”
“Possession,” Spencer muttered, “just under a gram.”
“ID.” My tone was clipped.
He pulled at the chain that held his wallet and got out his ID.
“Did she call you, officer?” he asked, eyeing Spencer.
“No.” I took note of his name. William Reach, age thirty-eight.
“Then why are you here?”
“Is this your house? Has this ever been your residence?” I ignored his question.