42. Adam
ADAM
Contrary to Jake’s numerous jokes, the police station doesn’t smell like donuts.
It does, however, smell like paper and stale coffee. The fluorescent lights flicker now and then, and there’s a hum of technology in the background, along with the ever-present scuffle of paper, grumbled conversations, and the sound of the phone ringing.
I walk to the very end of the hall, familiar by now with Detective Annison's office. I’ve been coming in nearly every week for updates on the case, and while he's clearly busy with a lot of cases that he’s also dealing with, making it such that mine gets shuffled around, he’s been pretty prompt in telling me of developments.
Today he asked me to come in, so here I am.
“Adam, glad you could stop by." He gets up to shake my hand, gesturing to the seat opposite him. I sit and eye his messy table, wondering just how he finds anything he needs there.
Nevertheless, in defiance of my compulsive paternal impulse, as Jake puts it, I don't mention it. “Detective. What’s up?”
“So, I told you that we were considering possible foul play for what happened, considering no fault was found with the machine."
“Yes, and I’m gonna be honest, I can’t think of anyone who could have wanted that to happen.
Sure, we have business rivals, but we’re on friendly terms with most of them, and none is unhinged enough to do something like that.
Plus, they would be pretty recognizable faces on the site.
It’s hard to think of someone who would do that and get away with it. "
“Well, we might have some follow-up on that,” he says, and then he slid me something.
At first, it looked to be a gift card or something of that sort.
“One of the officers found this on site, near the excavator. At first, he thought it was a gift card and tried to use it himself…” He coughs in slight embarrassment at the statement.
But then he realized it’s one of those gift cards that already has a name in their system. "
“What’s the name?”
“Eric Carmichael. Does that name ring a bell?”
My teeth clench, a near-involuntary movement. “As a matter of fact, it does.” I’ve looked up Chelsea’s ex-boyfriend before. Oh, who am I kidding? I’ve looked him up several times, especially after I discovered how shitty of a boyfriend he was.
I wanted to know if there was any way I could fuck with the bastard, just on principle.
I'm not usually so petty about exes, but she told Jake some of what he'd put her through, and Jake, of course, had rehashed it, with enough vitriol in his voice to drown the guy. I’ve never heard Jake speak with such hatred, not even toward his own father.
“Does this Eric guy have any reason to be beside the site?” the detective asks.
“No. Not at all.” In fact, we have no business with Eric, and neither does James. Eric shouldn't even know where we work. Unless he was somehow looking for Chelsea. Unless he had followed her there.
Suddenly, a terrible, piercing thought inflames my brain.
“You think Eric caused the accident?” I ask.
“No. There’s not enough evidence to speculate. But it was just an angle that we were looking into, and we thought we might let you know.”
“Thank you, officer,” I murmur, even though my mind is already far away. My entire body is tense, a sense of doom looming. My body vibrates like I’m suddenly on alert. I have to get home right fucking now.
“Anything else, detective?” I ask.
“No, that was all,” he says.
“Thank you," I say again and march out of there, already sliding my phone out of my pocket. I try calling Chelsea first. The dial tone rings, once, twice, then several times, but there’s no response.
My tension ratchets up a few notches.
As I get into my car and pull out of the parking lot, I'm about to start tracking her phone, but Jake calls first.
Hoping that he’s with Chelsea, I answer the phone, “Is Chelsea with you?”
“Damn. Not even a hello. Guess I'm just chopped liver to you, huh."
The amusement in his tone grates on my last nerves. “I’m not in the mood. Is Chelsea there?”
“No. Sam took her to her apartment for movie night with Jenna, remember?”
I don’t answer, simply slide my car to the next lane to change my route into the other direction.
“What’s going on?” Jake's voice is instantly without humor as he realizes that something is wrong and that I’m not playing around here.
“The police think that her ex might have been the one to cause the accident on site.”
“What? How?”
“They found a gift card belonging to him next to the excavator.”
“Fuck.” He swore. “Sam, call Chelsea right now.”
“Don’t bother. I already tried, and it went to voicemail. I’m on the way there right now. You guys should come out.”
“On our way.” The urgency in his tone reflects the one rifling through me.
The same urgency has me making the eight-minute drive last only five minutes, with some seconds to spare.
I jog up the stairs to the apartment and spot Sam and Jake pulling in as I start banging on the door.
“Chelsea!” I say. “Chelsea, are you in there?”
“Coming,” a groggy female voice calls out, and when the door opens, it’s Jenna peering up at us, wiping drool from the side of her mouth.
“Hey,” she croaks, clearing her throat, “What up?”
“Is Chelsea in there?”
“Uh, she should be." She glances behind her. "Her phone’s here. It's charging."
"Mind if I check it out?”
"Sure." She steps aside, and I hear Sam and Jake barreling up behind me, but I push into the home.
"Chelsea!" I head to the bedroom, throwing the door open, then the bathroom. "Chelsea?"
"She's not here," Jake says, his voice hard, without its usual humor. "Adam, she's not here."
"Maybe she just went for a walk," Jenna says. "Why? What's wrong?"
"We think Eric might have tried to kill me," Jake says. "And we think he might be stalking Chelsea."
I expect her to laugh or express disbelief at first.
But instead, her face turns thoughtful.
"Actually, now that I think about it," she says. "I think while I was asleep, I heard her having a conversation. I thought I was dreaming at first, but..."
"What conversation?" I demand, my heart racing. "Conversation with who?"
She stares up at me with a growing horror. "I think it was Eric."