Kismet

Chapter 3 Dominique #2

When I stole a glance over the clipboard, I caught a flash of disappointment in his honey-warm eyes as he scanned the room, suddenly appearing awkward.

Part of me wanted to elaborate on the we, but I didn’t know how without getting into a whole family history I wasn’t willing to share.

Besides, if what I’d seen in Kobe was interest, I didn’t think it was wise to lead him on when my focus was elsewhere.

I changed the subject. “Shall we take fingerprints? I can get the nail clippings done while we wait, too.”

“Um, sure. Yes. Although I suspect the only damage this guy did was to himself. Especially if he was grabbed from behind, like I suspect.”

“You never know.”

Without speaking, we fingerprinted the man, and I collected nail samples before carefully transferring them into an evidence bag. Sealing it, I filled out the information tab and set it aside to be processed by the lab.

Akilina had yet to return, so I gave Kobe a breakdown of the external exam and what I’d found. Apart from the flower spike, cervical markings, petechiae, and self-injurious abrasions, I hadn’t found other injuries of note.

When Akilina returned, we began.

The internal exam lasted hours. Most detectives didn’t stick around for the whole thing. Once the elements that directly pertained to their investigation were completed, they usually took off.

Kobe kept audience for the entire three-and-a-half hours, never once flinching or excusing himself.

In the end, I confirmed that the victim had died of asphyxiation caused by ligature strangulation. We extracted a few fibers from the soft tissue around the neck, the color hard to determine with the naked eye. They would be sent to the lab for further analysis.

The patterning and distribution of the first-stage bruising suggested a scarf had been wrapped around the man’s throat. A knotted impression at his nape, along with indicators of pinched skin at the top of the spine, suggested the fabric had been twisted counterclockwise to maintain pressure.

“The spike entered the fifth intercostal space near the left midclavicular line, puncturing the apex of the heart,” I dictated.

Akilina took notes.

“Can I see?” Kobe stepped forward, angling his body to get a better view. “Was he dead when that happened?”

“Yes. The insertion was done postmortem.”

“How do you know?”

I rubbed my lips together and eyed Kobe. “There’s a lack of vital tissue reaction. Postmortem injuries do not actively bleed, as you pointed out at the scene. Because of that, they tend to have a dry, yellowish appearance instead of being red and bloody.”

I indicated the area, showing him what I meant.

Kobe looked on with curiosity. Giving him credit, he didn’t flinch, gag, squirm, or make a face. His rapt attention and intrigue were admirable. “Is there any indication our perp had to try several times to get the spike past the ribcage?”

My brows rose. I hadn’t expected such an astute question. “No. They managed to get it through in one shot.”

“Huh. So our guy was either super lucky or knew exactly where to stab him.”

“Or he took the time to locate the ribs so he wouldn’t miss,” Akilina said. “Remember, this man was dead at the time.”

“Oh, right, and his jacket was unzipped and pulled aside. Makes sense.” Kobe didn’t ask further questions and faded into the background as I continued the exam.

Akilina took over, offering to complete the closure on her own. I moved into the adjacent room and stripped from my soiled protective gear to scrub. The job was messier than most people realized.

Kobe followed like a persistent shadow. I wasn’t sure what more to say and had no clue why he’d stuck around so long, but his constant presence at my elbow spiked my blood pressure.

I wanted to go home, forget about the man I’d dissected, about Kobe’s existence, and have a few stiff drinks so I didn’t have to think anymore. Maybe I could lose myself in a book.

I tugged a handful of brown paper towels from a dispenser as Kobe took a turn at the wash basin.

Patting my hands dry, I studied him, trying to read the direction of his thoughts.

For a fleeting moment, I considered how terrible it might be to entertain advances—assuming that was the direction he was attempting to take.

No. That was the last thing I needed.

“I’ll work on the report tomorrow morning and email you with the preliminary results once I’m finished compiling what I have. Toxicology will take at least a month, but you know the drill.”

“Yeah, I do.” Kobe shut off the water and shook droplets from his hands as he glanced around.

I offered him a few paper towels.

“Oh, um, thanks.” He dried off and deposited them in the garbage receptacle.

Then, we stood there, staring at one another, awash in fluorescent overhead lighting and the same uncomfortable silence as earlier. I expected Kobe to bow out, make excuses about getting to the office, or tell me he was heading home for the night since it was after nine, but he didn’t.

When the pause went on for too long, I thumbed at the door. “I should run. I have a babysitter on the clock, and she’s not afraid to charge me an arm and a leg, especially on a school night.”

“Oh.” His face fell, and I recognized the moment the we from our earlier conversation came back to him. “I, um… A babysitter. I didn’t expect that,” he muttered to himself. “That’s cool. Um… Can I walk you out?”

Walk me out. The man was not easily swayed.

Thirty-two, he’d said. He was thirty-two, not twenty-whatever. I had six years on him, but I felt decades older. Ancient. Depleted. Grief did that to a person. It brought you closer to the grave. It made you yearn for it.

What I wanted to say was, Walk away, Kobe. You don’t want to do this. Not with me. I have nothing left to give. Angelique left me empty. Drained. Broken. I can’t be saved. I’m not sure I want to be. I’m at peace with the path I’ve chosen. You will only be in the way.

What I actually said was, “Sure. I have to grab my stuff.”

My coat and keys were in my office down the hall.

Kobe followed a few steps behind, his presence no less cumbersome than the shadows of misery chained to my ankles.

The barren hallways echoed with our footsteps that late on a Sunday night.

As we crossed the short distance from the theaters to the administrative wing, I rehearsed excuses in case Kobe Haven got brave enough to move beyond subtle flirtations.

I still wanted to believe I was paranoid and seeing things, but the longer he remained in my presence, the more convinced I was that the cop who had clung to my side all afternoon and evening was working up the courage to… What? Make an advance? I didn’t know anymore.

I flicked on the overhead lights, illuminating my cramped office space.

A steel-framed desk and filing cabinets took up most of the room.

Rows of disorganized reference texts filled numerous bookshelves along the western wall.

They came with the job and had been left behind by the last person who held my position—Dr. Gregory Patch, who had retired at the ripe age of sixty-three.

I had yet to go through the books, but I suspected many of them were out of date. The boxes I’d brought remained unpacked and stacked underneath the far window, waiting for a rainy day when my schedule cleared enough that I had time to go through them.

The only personal effect in the entire room was a framed picture of Cosette I kept on my desk.

She was my anchor. My reason for living.

The day I buried Angelique, I fell to my knees at her grave and swore that I would do right by Cosette.

That I would love her and care for her and be there always.

That I would not fail. I would not give up.

My brown leather jacket hung on the back of the chair.

As I rounded the desk to retrieve it, Kobe waited in the doorway.

It took the observant detective all of ten seconds to notice the photograph.

It shouldn’t have surprised me, considering the austerity of the space.

Cosette was the only splash of color. Her smile shone like the midsummer sun and radiated through the room.

Innocent.

Pure.

A fragile reminder of the woman I’d loved and buried.

“Your daughter is adorable. How old is she?”

A lump formed in my throat, and my eyes burned as I followed his gaze.

In the picture, Cosette sat on a grassy hill surrounded by brilliant yellow dandelions.

Cotton candy clouds dotted a pristine blue sky.

She wore a sundress with daisies, strappy white sandals, and a beaded necklace I’d modified to fit her that had once belonged to her mother—she’d made it in an art class.

Cosette was entirely focused on the plump ladybug crawling over her finger.

I could still hear her laughter as she told me it tickled.

She laughed like her mother.

“Two and a half.” The words choked me.

Kobe stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked instantly awkward. The shyness I’d witnessed a handful of times returned as he sputtered, “And… her mother? Is she…”

In the picture, I assumed he wanted to say. Around was another possibility. It alone confirmed his interest, didn’t it? Why else ask?

It took a second to find the strength to answer. “She… She died just after Cosette was born.”

“Oh.” Kobe’s eyes widened before pain touched their corners, and he looked away.

Silence. I hated that god-awful silence when anyone found out.

I felt the weight of his pity from across the room, and I wanted to scream.

“I’m so, so sorry. I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Unsure how to respond, I grabbed my jacket and searched the pockets to ensure my keys were inside before aiming for the door once again, gaze fixed on the ground.

Kobe moved aside so I could pass. As I locked the door, I sensed he wanted to say more.

He didn’t.

Snowflakes danced in the crisp night air as we crossed the parking lot.

White pinpricks no bigger than a grain of sand.

The barest suggestion of a winter night.

I stopped for a moment to admire them. The gloomy clouds that had shrouded the city all day were breaking up.

A handful of glassy stars peeked through in places.

The moon glowed with an orange hue, hidden behind a thinner patch of vapors.

Kobe waited.

I didn’t know what he drove or where he had parked, and I didn’t need him to follow me all the way to my vehicle, so I pointedly met the young detective’s gaze. “Is there something more I can help you with, Detective?”

The blunt statement seemed to put him off-balance.

He buried his hands in his pockets and rocked on his feet.

“Oh. Um…” He blew out his cheeks, a cloud of smoke forming and dissipating with the action.

“I’ll probably kick myself later, but I’m going to ask anyway.

I was wondering if… if you’d like to get a drink sometime. ”

And there it was. I should have been flattered, and I was, in a way. The fact that Kobe could find anything about me appealing was miraculous considering I felt like roadkill most days.

Fixing my features, I studied the painfully awkward way Kobe held himself, as though shielded against rejection.

I knew what he was asking and debated how to proceed.

Staying quiet seemed the best course of action.

He couldn’t possibly know I was gay, could he?

I had gone out of my way not to give myself away. Or so I’d thought.

I furrowed my brow and licked my lips. “Did you have more questions about the autopsy?”

Kobe opened his mouth and closed it again with a frown. He shifted his gaze about the parking lot. “I might… once I see your report, but, um…” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and shyly laughed. “That wasn’t what I—”

“A phone call would be sufficient, would it not? To clarify anything you might find confusing.”

Kobe’s shoulders fell, the fight draining away. “It would.” A dusting of snow flecked his hair. A few more flakes landed on his face and melted, wetting his cheeks and amplifying his disappointment. His smile was strained as he backed away, finally disengaging. “Have a good evening, Doc.”

Chin to chest, Kobe crossed the parking lot toward an Alpine green Subaru Crosstrek, and I felt like an asshole.

Two paths stood before me. In the first, I remained a comfortable distance from the world, secure in the nest of grief I’d built.

Alone with my choices. In the second, I entertained the idea of entangling my life with a smitten young police detective, whose timidity and insight both intrigued and terrified me.

I should have chosen the former, but as Kobe reached his vehicle, I called out, “Detective Haven.”

Kobe stopped and turned, and goddamn the hopeful look in his eyes begging me to change my mind.

I approached. The flakes, thicker now, swirled a vortex against the onyx sky and sucked me into the unknown. I halted several feet away from the curious detective who watched my every move.

“Phone calls are terribly impersonal and prone to interruptions,” I said, wetting my lips and squinting against the icy assault. “If you’d like to discuss my findings in a… more comfortable environment, I would not be opposed to having a drink.”

Kobe blinked a few times. The creases forming at the corners of his eyes suggested he was trying to decide what exactly I meant and if he should get his hopes up. “That would be… I’d like that.”

“Like I said earlier. I should have the preliminary report to you by tomorrow, so…”

Kobe hesitantly nodded. “So… tomorrow night? Or Tuesday? No rush. I know a place we could… It’s… The setting is private. Secluded, I guess. We could… talk. About the case.” He made a noise of frustration and glanced around the parking lot once before looking back. “The Apothecary. Do you know it?”

“I don’t. I’ll look it up. Email me with a time and day.”

“Great. I will.” The bashfully boyish smile I’d seen a handful of times that day returned, along with his unfairly adorable dimples. “Have a good night, Doc.”

As I watched him drive away, a niggling worry in the pit of my stomach told me I’d set the ball rolling on something I might come to regret.

I tipped my face to the night sky and closed my eyes as wet flakes landed like angel kisses on my cheeks. “I will not forget you, Angelique. I swear.”