Archer
ARCHER
M y phone buzzes in my pocket just as I step into my apartment. Not our apartment, the one I share with Minka and Cato and have done since earlier this year. But mine, the one I lived in for years before meeting my beautiful wife.
She’s out of town, and I have no desire to mope in front of my brother for the next few days, so I take up residence in my old home, sniffing the musty air as I wander in, and grinning when I spy Minka’s little blue winter hat still on the kitchen counter.
I don’t remember the last time she wore it. And I have no clue how or why it was left here. But I kick the door closed and snatch up the fluffy fabric, bringing it to my nose so I can breathe her all the way into the depths of my lungs.
Then I take out my phone and find her name flashing for my attention.
“Thank fuck.” Swiping to answer, I put the call on speaker—a perk I considered when coming here instead of going back to our shared apartment—then I head to the fridge to see what’s on offer. “I’ve missed you so damn much, Minnnka. I’ve officially become a simp for you.”
“I mean…” She’s in bed already. Snuggling into the blankets and breathing slower. Readying for sleep. “I don’t mind that you live to satisfy me, Detective. There are worse relationships to be in.”
I grab a bottle of water and slam the door shut, then I navigate to my food delivery apps and search for something fast. Something filling. This is the opposite perk of not staying at our shared apartment—no burger at Tim’s unless I want to go out again. “Have you simmered down since our last phone call?”
“You mean the pesky detail of me being mad about my own abduction?” I know she rolls her eyes. “It was na?ve of me to think he’d allow anything else. And it’s not so bad here. They let me eat and come to my room without a lot of fuss.”
“Really?” I settle on Mexican and hit ‘re-order’ on a meal I’ve had in the past. But then I halve it, because Minka isn’t here to eat with me. “Felix didn’t nag you to stay up and hang out?”
“Nah. But he asked to come to my room with me so he could listen in on our call.”
Working my way through the app’s steps and accepting the price, I cough out a small laugh that mostly comes out as a breath. “He’s such a little bitch. Christabelle hasn’t killed him yet?”
“No, I think she’s adapting. She’s accepted the fact that her fiancé is a complete whack job. While also possessive of her whack job. The fact that I’m intolerant of his advances keeps us both safe.”
“Good to know you’ve remained strong on rejecting him,” I tease. I receive a message indicating my dinner will be here in about twenty minutes, so I maneuver out of that screen and go back to our call, then I circle the kitchen counter and head to the couch. I have nowhere to be and no one else to talk to except right here and her. Bending, I untie my laces as I move, kicking them off and dropping onto the dusty couch with a thwump . “Everything feels weird without you here.”
“I know.”
“But add in that you’re there .” I shake my head. “My whole fuckin’ life has come three-sixty. We were taught to never, ever bring anyone we cared about to that house. Or else.”
“You’ve brought me here before. Several times.”
“Yeah, but doing so was to be defiant. I was breaking the curse and calling the Malone bluff. But fuck, Minka. I was with you every single time. I had my eyes on you each time. So although having you there went against my instincts, at least I had you in my sight and I knew you were okay. Now I’ve sent you there without me. It feels so wrong.”
“You trust your brothers, don’t you?” She’s not asking because she’s worried. Rather, she’s arguing for them. “Your father is dead, and he was the only Malone who ever hurt you. Your brothers are just…” She shifts, so the noisy movement of her blankets rolls through the line. “They caught a bad re putation by association. Sadly, though I want to dislike them, they’ve done nothing to deserve it.”
“Which is insane,” I admit in an amused huff. “I spent sixteen years distrusting them. It’s taking me a minute to accept that maybe they’re not so bad.”
“I mean… Felix is quite possibly the most annoying person I’ve ever met in my life,” she taunts. “Cato comes in a close second. Micah is redeemable, purely because he hardly speaks at all.”
“And me?”
She sighs. “You have my heart. Forever and always. Any movement on your case since we last talked?”
“Yeah.” I recline on my couch, opening my legs wide, and rest the back of my head against the cushions. I’m not moving again until my food is here. “So Wright and Mercer have been partners since two-thousand and fifteen. Both worked beat for a couple of years prior to that. Mercer was in homicide for a season or two, and Wright was in organized crime. They met up in narcotics in fifteen, which is where official introductions were made.”
“They hadn’t met before that?”
“Perhaps in passing, but not so far as we can find the documentation. Their lieutenant says they got along well, they were close, and in the last several years, there was no notable beef between the two.”
“Is there a reason you’re investigating the pair, as though they might be the reason for each other’s demise?”
“Just getting a clearer picture. They were partners for around seven years. Which is almost as long as me and Fletch have been partners. We have beef all the time,” I chuckle. “But we’re family, too. That matters. The girlfriends?—”
“Wright and Mercer’s?”
“Yeah. Lena and Deana; they’re friendly. They hang out on weekends. They’ve met each other’s families, yada yada yada.”
“So it all seems normal, right?”
“Right. Home front seems legit. So then we caught all of Mercer and Wright’s case notes, and that’s what we’ve been doing all day today and tonight.”
“Except for the stakeout thing?”
“Except for that,” I accept with a smile. “But I told you already, that was purely observation. We sat in the car for a little bit and got the lay of the land. Even then, Fletch and I were reading case notes in the cruiser.”
“You’re home now, right? ”
“Yeah.” I lift my head and glance toward the television, switched off and streaked with dust after being untouched for months. “I’m home. I’m not going out again tonight. So these case notes… think of it like me and Fletch; we work our cases together, because we like it that way. Not everyone does. Not everyone should. Some cops are better on their own, and some need a partner to hold them accountable. Whatever the situation, most everyone is managed by their lieutenant. Just like me and Fletch, Mercer and Wright were tight. They worked together, they hung out together outside of work. They weren’t always part of a task force, same as Fletch and I aren’t always part of one.”
“But you are right now?”
“Right. When a case gets too big for one or two men to handle, the department assigns more. Fletch and I have seniority on this one, which means we’re in our warm homes tonight while uniforms are still on the street.”
“Sucks for them.” She releases a yawn, noisy and cathartic enough to almost tempt me to do the same. “So what else have you figured out?”
“Wright and Mercer have been on numerous teams over the last seven years. I made contact with Investigator Gaines, so we could chat informally.”
“And Investigator Gaines is…?”
“A cop with many years of experience, and for most of them, his eyes were squarely on my family.” The fact I can be so blasé about it all is… surreal. But it is what it is. “He doesn’t work directly with our vics, but they have similar goals, so their workload sometimes overlapped. He knew the detectives enough to recognize their names when I called him.”
“What did he say about them?”
I shrug, looking to my left, tempted to lie flat and stretch my legs. But the second I do, I worry I won’t get up again. “He said they were solid enough. Middle of the line, they kept their noses clean and did the work. Neither stood out for doing anything particularly wonderful, but similarly, they didn’t cause trouble either. They were simply grunts who turned up day after day and maintained a solid close rate. Gaines described Mercer as a tenacious boy scout. Tenacious, because he was dogged and kept digging, even if something seemed irrelevant.”
“And the boy scout comment?”
“He was considered a snitch by some. He went to the lieutenant more than a time or two to report things he felt weren’t up to scratch.”
More alert, Minka noisily sits up in bed. “Like what? ”
“Like, one of his colleagues, Detective Lee, was reprimanded for what was concluded as police brutality. Lee arrested a homeless guy, tossed him around, roughed him up a bit. Mercer called him out on it, and Lee shrugged him off. Few days later, Lee was called in and slapped on the wrist for it.”
“Mercer told on him?”
“Made a report,” I clarify. “Another time, a cop he was working with allegedly, according to Mercer, violated the fourth amendment. Unlawfully searching a suspect’s property. He’d made no arrest, and therefore, had no right to do that search.”
“So Mercer snitched.”
“Right. Now, some of these infractions are a little…” I wrinkle my nose, “Gray area. Without coming across as a total fucking wanker, sometimes I get a little rough with someone who isn’t cooperating, too. I’ve asked questions, despite not making an arrest. I’ve done searches…”
“You’ve committed certain acts that might have landed you in front of your lieutenant had someone like Mercer seen.”
“Essentially. I don’t push the line too far, and Fletch doesn’t run off to Lieutenant Fabian if he feels my actions were unwarranted. The times he doesn’t agree with me, he calls me out and we deal with it between the two of us.”
“Like the Vigilante stuff,” she whispers. “Dealt with between partners.”
“Bingo. So it turns out Mercer had loose lips. Which isn’t a bad thing. He made a promise to his badge, and his partner and lieutenant were fond of him, so it sounds as though he knew where the line was.”
“Still… That might’ve created enemies.”
“Tension is typically dealt with via reassignment,” I explain. “Obviously, not everyone is gonna get along. Especially in our line of work. Psychologists suggest the personality types that go into police work verge toward egocentric narcissists.”
I know she smiles now, her lips curling wide and her cheeks warming. “No way, Detective. I don’t believe what you’ve just told me.”
I chuckle. “The point is, toss a bunch of egos into one room, and there’s bound to be clashes in personalities. But we have enough movement around Copeland that cops can be shuffled and shifts can be modified. In the end, a good captain will run his division at its optimum level, placing his players on the chessboard in such a way that ensures a win.”
“Nice analogy,” she drawls. “So, knowing all that, what new information do you have to aid in your investigation? ”
“I have stacks and stacks of case notes, and a little notebook with pages filling up. I’m working out which cases Mercer and Wright ran, who their perps were, and which officers they worked with. Then I’m drawing a big ass Venn diagram and I’m gonna find names that overlap.”
“Do you think…” She hesitates, her silence a sword that pierces my belly, because I know what’s coming. I’d deserve to lose my badge if I hadn’t thought the same thing. “Is it possible your cop killer is another cop? I mean, maybe Mercer or Wright pissed him off. Maybe they got him reassigned somewhere he didn’t want to go. Or maybe he was fired for misconduct. It’s not a stretch to consider a cop would know where to get more powerful weapons, and they probably have the connections to find armor-piercing rounds. Perhaps the killer was considered our vic’s friend at some point, and it’s possible it wasn’t a rat calling them out at night, but a colleague they trusted.”
Nodding, I bring a hand up and pinch the bridge of my nose to release the ache sitting right between my eyes. “Fletch and I have tossed it back and forth. We’ve considered it.”
“But you’re not convinced?”
“It’s a stretch. Looking at another badge is really fucking shitty. It’s the sort of behavior that’ll land a detective on everyone else’s hit list. But, even knowing the heat Fletch and I will catch, we’re not tossing it away until we’ve done the job. Having said that,” I add quickly, “we’ve started our dig, and I have every report Mercer ever made. There are only five.”
“Which isn’t a lot,” she accepts with a soft sigh. “I guess.”
“I mean, it’s a lot, in the sense I’ve never made a report like that. And neither has Fletch. There’s a code of conduct amongst cops that basically says, instead of snitching to the higher ups, we deal with shit ourselves. Like how Fletch and I had beef. Instead of running to the brass, we call the bad players out and apply enough pressure to either have them fix their behavior, or they request reassignment on their own. So in that sense, five is a lot.”
“But?”
“But, of those five, we’ve checked for alibis for them all. Three of the five were transferred out: they were ‘ accept this transfer quietly, or we’ll move you with force ’ kinds of situations. They each moved voluntarily, and their new COs speak highly of them. All three live hours from here, different directions, and all reported to work this week as normal. It would have been impossible for them to hit Detectives Wright and Mercer and still make their shifts on time. ”
“Okay… and the remaining two?”
“One still works out of Midtown, but he’s in a new division now. His C.O. vouches for him. No reports have been made since his transfer, and his shift schedule makes it difficult for him to be killing cops at four in the morning and arriving at work by nine. He’s married with kids, and the wife signed an affidavit swearing he was at home.”
“So you’ve already questioned them?” Surprised, I know her eyes pop wide. “That’s going to piss them off, too.”
“Gotta do the job.” Footsteps echo in the hall, then a plastic bag crinkles. I don’t smell my burrito yet, but fuck, my stomach rumbles as the delivery guy knocks on the door. Grunting, I push off the couch and grab the phone to bring it with me. “Our fifth cop retired and is now collecting a pension.”
Checking the peephole and making certain my visitor isn’t, say, a cop killer, I unlock the door and smile as food is exchanged from one hand to the next. “Thanks.” I reach into my pocket and snag a few dollars for a tip, then I back up and close the door once more. “Food’s here, Mayet. I’m starving.”
“I’m surprised you’re not eating at the bar.” Lying down again, she finds comfort in the bed I wish I was cuddling in, too. For her, I’d go to sleep hungry. “You didn’t wanna eat with Tim?”
“Nope.” I come around the couch and drop the bag onto the cushion, then sitting, I set the phone down and use both hands to unwrap my dinner. “So the fifth and final snitch is retired and living pretty in Florida. He hasn’t traveled out of the state this week, his financials look clean, and his wife and kids swear he’s been there with them. So if our killer is a cop, he’s not one of the cops Mercer reported over the years. And if he’s not one of them, then why is our cop killer a cop?”
“Fair point. So that brings you back to your killer potentially being a perp they’ve busted, instead. You’ve found all of them?”
I unwrap the top of my burrito and expose the end until a waft of steam billows free. “Working on it, Detective Mayet. Fifteen-ish years on the force, seven in narcotics. That’s a lot of files to work through. Strangely, several cases the duo has run in the past twelve months include, name, and or point toward Nathan Booth. That dude is like a fuckin’ cockroach. People know he exists, but he skitters and hides as soon as the light almost touches him.”
“It feels entirely too coincidental that the same guy who tuned Jada up last month is the subject of your cop-killer investigation this month. If that coincidence exists, shouldn’t it be you and Fletch who were called out and shot?”
“Dunno.” I bring my dinner up and take a hefty bite of steaming rice and beans, so I’m forced to hss-hss-hss around the meal. “I don’t like to admit it, but sometimes a coincidence is just that: a coincidence. So that’s my update. Nathan Booth is tickling my balls, Fletch is holding on to his temper every time we see Booth’s name in our files, we’ve collectively annoyed a handful of cops tonight, and our task force is doing… okay.”
“Okay?”
“Most other folks work slower than Fletch and I are accustomed, so while we run, most of the rest of them walk. Detectives Haightman and Taylor are keen to assist; they worked with our vics in narcotics and are proving helpful as we sift through the files. And I’m probably gonna formally adopt Officer Clay sometime soon. Can the mayor have those adoption papers drawn up?”
“Uh…”
“I mean, I know he’s a legal adult and all that, and since we’re married, you’d become his mommy on paper, but the kid has common sense and enough bravery to make me want him around more often. He’s the youngest on our squad, but he’s got more brains than most of the rest, put together.”
She smiles, snuggling into her blankets and happily sighing. “Ever since that case at City Park, I’ve always considered him a competent, smart officer.”
“This is why we work, Doctor Mayet. Our instincts align.” I glance up at the wall—eight o’clock—and frown. “But it’s eleven there, and you have a big day tomorrow.”
“I’m still on Copeland time. Which will suck tomorrow, when I have to wake at six, New York time.”
“Way too fucking early. You want me to be your wake-up call?”
“No. Because there’s no reason for us both to be conscious at three. I need you rested and alert, in case some asshole jumps out and tries to shoot you.”
I choke out a quiet laugh and trade my burrito for the bottle of water. “Noted. Are you falling asleep anytime soon, or is Copeland Time screwing with you?”
“I took melatonin just before I called you.” And because she says the word, a long yawn works through her system. “I’ll be out soon. Are you staying up late to work, or are you done for today? ”
I sip my water and enjoy the cold slide of liquid rolling into my belly. Then I set the bottle down and pick my dinner up. “I won’t be able to sleep for a little while longer, so I’ll finish my meal and turn the TV on. The Condors are playing tonight, so I’ll keep that on in the background while I numb my brain with someone else’s case notes.”
“So work, then,” she drones. “You’re living the bachelor life again, . On shift until you pass out and eating burritos on the couch.”
“ We eat burritos on the couch,” I chuckle. “Don’t lecture me now, Chief.”
“I had a home cooked meal tonight.” She makes a noise in the back of her throat, a pleasure filled rumble I know comes only when she finds her ultimate comfortable position before sleep. “Steak and salad. And these delicious little scalloped potatoes.”
“Mmm. Mary makes the best potatoes.”
“If I could stand having people in my home more, I would totally ask for a Mary.” She smacks her lips, her words growing slower. Softer. “I won’t, since people annoy the crap out of me. But maybe, when we eventually move to the waterfalls and have all that extra space, I suppose I could get on board with someone cooking for me.”
“You like to pretend you’re low maintenance, Minnnka. But you have expensive taste. Private jets,” I joke. “Fifth Avenue apartments. Now you want a maid?”
“Fantasy planning. Not real life. Maybe the mayor has a Mary? She can stay on his property and cook in his kitchen, but double the recipe every night and deliver ours around six. That’s a compromise I could work with.
“So glad to know you can compromise. Now go to sleep, beautiful.” I set my burrito down and pick up the fluffy blue hat instead. I could have gone back to our apartment and buried my face in her pillow. But I didn’t. I chose not to. I settle for the hat instead, pressing it to my nose and inhaling her all the way to the bottom of my lungs. “I love you so much. I’m proud of you.”
“Proud?” Her voice comes out a little too energetic. A little too loud. But she falls back into her almost-asleep state easily. “Why are you proud of me?”
“For a million reasons. But right now, specifically, I’m so fucking proud of the career you’ve worked so hard for. The education you’ve received, and the power you possess when, tomorrow, your expert testimony will lock a killer behind bars.”
“I hate testifying,” she exhales. She’s not here with me anymore. Not really. “Sometimes, they sit with their counsel and look directly into my eyes. Some of them are sorry for what they did. But too many aren’t.”