Chapter 11 Kobe
Kobe
Rue drove us back to the station while I reviewed the interview notes, adding missing details and compiling a list of names. We would need to contact several people and arrange interviews.
My partner hadn’t spoken a word since we left Neo and Blaze. She was pissed, and I gave it three blocks before I earned a ranting earful.
It took two.
“We don’t meet aggression with aggression, Kobe.”
“I didn’t—”
“You got into a pissing contest with that boy the second he walked in the room.”
“He came in guns blazing. What did you want me to do?”
“Not throw him against a wall and restrain him.”
“I didn’t restrain him.”
“All I’m saying is you could have handled it differently.”
“You’re not my mother, Rue. Knock it the fuck off. I handled it.”
Her knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. “I’m your superior, and if Sarge finds out you let your cock swing, she’ll put you back on street patrol. Is that what you want? Control your mouth and your temper from now on.”
I bit my tongue, recalling the conversation I’d had with Dominique that morning and the shame that surfaced after I revealed too many personality flaws and opened my big, unfiltered mouth.
In no universe did he have to know about my sordid past, yet I’d spilled embarrassing details without thinking.
Then I’d gone and remarked about Jesse getting what he deserved, which was proving more and more true.
At least Dominique hadn’t run out the door, although I deserved no less.
“Being a protective brother isn’t a sin,” Rue added when I said nothing. “If you had a better relationship with your sister, you would understand Neo’s position.”
“Wow. Don’t you know how to sour the mood.”
“I’m just saying—”
“Drop it, Rue. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
We spent the rest of the morning doing research and making phone calls.
I left another message with Dominique’s doctor friend in Gatineau before focusing on Jesse Vargas.
He had been working an entry-level position at a local tech company before his death.
His boss was out of town, but I got him on the phone, not that I learned anything new.
Jesse had a drug problem, an ego problem, and an attendance problem.
Before getting his ass killed, he’d been written up three times and was on his last warning before being shown the door.
Brilliant. The one thing our two victims seemed to have in common was a slew of people who fucking hated them.
Rue located a few of Blaze’s friends. It turned out, three of them house-shared a few blocks from campus.
We arranged to meet with them in the late afternoon.
Classes were wrapping up before the holiday, so no one was willing to skip out to meet with a couple of detectives.
Especially fourth-year students, one semester away from getting their degrees.
“They’re twins,” Rue said as we shut down our stations, preparing to head out.
“Who?”
“Neo and Blaze. I looked into him. His attitude, although understandable,” she emphasized, “felt a bit… jarring.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? After you tore me a strip in the car for—”
“Kobe.”
Nostrils flaring, I forced a smile, deciding to mention something else I’d noticed since she brought Neo up. “Did you notice he got quiet when we mentioned Kordestani? Why do you think that was?”
“Shock at realizing his death was connected to Jesse’s?”
“Maybe, but he didn’t seem as surprised as his sister.” Something about the two murders troubled me. The doctor and student didn’t appear connected on the surface, but their personalities were too alike to dismiss.
We arrived at the address for our afternoon interview at three thirty.
The foursquare russet brick house was one of the largest in the rundown residential neighborhood a few blocks from the university campus.
The weathered veranda and hipped roof had seen better days, sagging in places that were worrisome.
Two ancient oaks stood proud on the front lawn, their bare branches reaching for the gunmetal gray clouds overhead.
The winter weather felt depressing, and it had only just begun.
Rotted wooden boards groaned under our feet as we climbed the stairs to the front door. A rusted porch swing sat off to the side. It didn’t look like it would safely hold a toddler, let alone a full-grown adult. Someone had abandoned a knitted blanket on the seat.
A sign above the doorbell read, Out of Order. Please knock.
I opened the creaking storm door and pounded with a fist, ignoring the ornate brass knocker. A short time later, a woman around Blaze’s age answered. She was curvy and white, with wavy blond hair and chiseled features. Wariness poured from her pine-green eyes as her gaze bounced between Rue and me.
“Hello, I’m Irina.” She had a mild accent I couldn’t place. It wasn’t French, which was common in the area. “Please, come in. We’re in the kitchen.”
Rue and I followed Irina through the house.
The warped wooden floors and dated plaster walls spoke of the house’s history.
The modern furniture and wall hangings contradicted the vintage structure.
We passed an archway leading into another room.
I spotted a well-decorated Christmas tree and various festive ornaments on every surface.
Since I was estranged from my family, I didn’t celebrate Christmas. The holiday tended to sneak up on me, especially if I was buried in complex cases. It was a time of year that weighed me down if I let it, so I tended to pick up overtime where I could to stay distracted.
In the kitchen waited two other women. One Asian and the other Caucasian.
They introduced themselves as Cheyenne and Harper, respectively.
The women dressed similarly in yoga pants and sweaters.
Both had fashionable scarves looped around their necks.
I sensed an emerging trend. When I was in university, a vast majority of the female population tended to show more skin—a lot more skin—as though in defiance of the oppressive parenting they had experienced during their teenage years.
A square kitchen island occupied much of the space and appeared to be the location of congress.
It was filled with laptops, textbooks, loose papers, pens, markers, and all sorts of school paraphernalia.
A scented candle burned in the middle of the table, wafting artificial cinnamon spice into the room, making it smell like a bakery.
Again, I was reminded of my date with Dominique at the café that morning.
He’d been on my mind all day, and I’d had to suppress the urge to text him.
I wanted to unload about the case and talk things out with someone who wasn’t Rue.
It was likely a reaction from having been reprimanded in the car, but something told me Dominique would be an excellent sounding board.
Irina slipped onto a stool beside Cheyenne, who methodically braided a section of her hair. Harper occupied another stool caddy-corner, picking at her chipped nail polish. Rue and I didn’t sit but positioned ourselves across from the women, leaving the island as a barrier between us.
Between their worried expressions, fidgety behavior, and huddled placement, I got the sense they were nervous. Rue took preliminary information, confirming full names and phone numbers, in case we needed to contact anyone later.
I locked gazes with all three women before beginning. “We assume you’re aware of the death of former university student Jesse Vargas?”
Irina answered. She seemed to be the most comfortable of the three. “We heard. It’s all over campus. Someone killed him. Is it true that Professor Kordestani was murdered too? Blaze texted this morning and said they were connected. Is there a serial killer on campus? Should we be worried?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Rue said. “What can you tell us about Jesse Vargas? Were you acquainted?”
Irina’s face soured, and Cheyenne dramatically shuddered as she wrapped an elastic around the end of her braid. Harper’s blank expression told its own story.
When no one spoke, I pressed. My partner and sergeant didn’t like my unfiltered mouth.
I’d been reprimanded several times in the past for stepping out of line, but I had a hunch I could get through to these women if Rue gave me half a chance.
I was closer to their age and had been told frequently how I seemed a lot younger than my thirty-two years.
I slid onto the stool opposite and weaved my fingers together, aiming to appear unthreatening. “Listen, ladies. That little punk asshole is dead, and I have a feeling he deserved what he got.”
“Kobe,” Rue snapped.
I didn’t stop.
Cheyenne’s eyes widened, and Harper broke from her daze, looking equally stunned at my comment.
I had their attention.
“We know Jesse had a shit reputation with the girls on campus. We know that when he drank too much, he got horny and handsy… Maybe more than handsy in some cases. We know your friend charged him with assault. We also know why she dropped the charges. His friends stopped harassing her, but their behavior at parties didn’t change, did it. ”
It wasn’t a question, and I didn’t need an answer. The truth was written on their faces. “Having the cops on his ass once should have been enough to scare Jesse straight, but it wasn’t, was it.”
Harper shook her head, her features cast from stone, but fear radiated from her eyes. I’d hit the nail on the head. I’d known guys like Jesse in university. The ones who thought they were hot stuff. Above the law. The ones who had no regard for human decency.
I stared directly at the young women across from me, ensuring they saw my determination. “He can’t hurt you anymore. Do you hear me? He’s dead. Even if what happened to him was justified, even if he deserved it, I still have a responsibility to find the person who did it. I need your help.”