The Real Deal
PATRICK
Patrick pulled into the pub parking lot and turned off the vehicle. The short ride had been quiet but not uncomfortable, each of them processing in their own heads.
“Here,” she said, reaching into her pocket and extracting two zipped plastic baggies.
“What’s this?”
“Prints and hair samples,” she said. “I’m hoping you know a few more guys. Normally, I’d do it myself, but I can’t tap my resources for this.”
He stared at her.
“Oh, and I got this too.” She held up her phone and showed him pictures of the dead guy. Full face, left and right profiles. “For facial recognition software,” she explained. “If you have access to that sort of thing.”
“You are… thorough.”
She nodded, not with ego, but as an acceptance of fact.
“I'll let you know what I find out,” he said.
He watched her walk to her car, reluctant to let her go. Would he be totally out of line if he asked her to grab a coffee or suggested another impromptu IHOP session?
She turned when she got to her door and for a moment, he thought she might be thinking the same thing.
“Patrick.”
“Yeah.”
“Thank you,” she said. “For tonight.”
“You’re welcome.”
He sat in the lot after watching her drive away, his gut humming ominously—a sensation he’d heard his uncles describe on more than one occasion, but not something he’d experienced himself.
Until now.
Then he got out of his car and went inside.
The pub wasn’t busy. Just a few diehards nursing their beers and watching the end of the game. Jake was shooting the breeze with someone at the far end. Riley was wiping up behind the bar, rinsing glasses and loading them into plastic trays for sanitizing.
She looked up when he entered, her eyes filled with questions.
He gave her nothing. Just caught her eye and held it for a beat.
“Hey Dad,” Riley said, “can you take these back into the kitchen?”
“Sure thing.”
The moment Jake disappeared, Riley said, “Give me an hour.”
“Come by the house when you're done.”
He left before anyone could ask him anything.
She arrived at twelve-fifteen with her laptop bag over her shoulder and excitement in her eyes.
“Talk,” she said, dropping into the chair across from him at the kitchen table.
So he did. He told her about the morgue visit. What Morgan had found, as well as what she hadn’t. The things the Pine Ridge PD had either missed or decided not to report.
Riley listened intently, interrupting only to clarify or ask a question.
When he finished, she was quiet for a moment. “Are you confident in her findings?”
“One hundred percent,” Patrick answered without hesitation. “She knows her stuff, Ri. I did some digging, looked up some of her old case files. She’s the real deal.”
Riley nodded, trusting his judgment. “All right. Let’s assume this death was intentional, and that Morgan’s right about the cause being a toxin that mimics a cardiac arrest. That puts a whole new spin on things.
Pulling something like that off requires specific knowledge and finesse.
We should talk to Uncle Mick and Aunt Nicki. ”
Their uncle Michael was a doctor with an affinity for biochemical compounds. Their aunt Nicki had a dark past and specific skill set that no one openly discussed.
“I was going to do that anyway,” Patrick said. “Morgan lifted prints and hair samples while she was in there. If that guy’s in the system, we’ll be able to identify him.”
“I’m liking her more and more,” Riley murmured.
Yeah. So was he.
“She’s intelligent. Methodical. Knows how to read a scene and a dead body,” Riley mused, her brow furrowing as she thought about it. “And those questions she asked about clothing, personal effects, physical state. Does that remind you of anyone?”
“You mean besides Aunt Nicki?”
Riley ignored him, opening her laptop, her fingers flying over the keys. Patrick sipped his water and sat back and watched as she pulled up the Thread and scrolled back through GraveDigger's posts.
He saw the moment it landed.
Riley stopped scrolling. Read something. Read it again. Then she looked up at him with an expression he recognized. Total lightbulb moment.
“Patrick,” she said.
“I know.”
“Morgan is—”
“I know,” he said.
Riley sat back. She looked at the screen and then at him and then at the screen again, her face scrunching up with something akin to betrayal. “How long have you known?”
“I didn't. Not for certain. Until tonight.” He picked up his coffee. “But I began to suspect the other night when we hit the IHOP. The way she talked about the scene, the questions she asked, the specific things she flagged. It was almost word for word what appeared in GraveDigger's post.”
“She was testing you,” Riley said slowly. “In the car. When she mentioned the forum details.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn't confirm or deny.”
“No.”
Riley studied him for a long moment. Then her face broke out in a wide grin. “You don’t just like this woman, you really like this woman.”
He did, more and more every day, and if what he suspected was true, that would only continue. That didn’t mean he was ready to announce it. “Riley.”
“What? You’ve been fangirling over GraveDigger’s posts for years.”
“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Finally! You found a woman who gives you the tinglies in more than just your bits.”
“You’re being ridiculous right now.”
“No, I'm being sincere.” She was, which was almost worse than if she'd been teasing. “She’s perfect for you. She thinks the same way you do. She asks the same questions. She's been in that forum for years, contributing work that you respect. She fits, Patrick.”
He had nothing to say to that, even if he’d been thinking the same thing.
Riley, mercifully, said nothing more.