Chapter 18
The Dead End
Thorsen
“What else can you tell us about Sophie?” Carter asked the man sitting on the sofa across from him as I circled the room. One glance at my surroundings told me what I already knew—a single man lived here. Not a very hygienic one.
“I don’t know what else to say.” The man replied. He was short and buffed, with a receding hairline and fidgety eyes, but not because he was hiding something. He simply didn’t like people bigger than him because he was a former boxing champion. And I was bigger than him.
“As I already mentioned, Sophie was a quiet girl. She was shy, modest, and well-behaved. Awkward around men.”
“How long have you worked together?” Carter asked him.
“For two years, ever since I joined the staff as a security guard.”
“Was she the type to go clubbing?” I said, observing the photo of him holding a bronze Olympic medal.
“No way,” he replied, glancing at me. “It wasn’t her scene.”
“What was her scene?” Carter asked him, scribbling into his notepad.
“A library?” The man suggested it as if it were the likeliest bet.
“So, she liked to read?” I concluded. “Was she a bookish girl? A daydreamer, perhaps?”
“More like someone who didn’t live life to the fullest.”
“Do you think she would do something out of character?” Carter said, looking at the man. “Like behaving differently? Dressing differently? Visiting places that she otherwise wouldn’t?”
The man across from him nodded. “Oh, yeah. All the above.”
***
“So, Sophie Malik came to Allure with Luz, or she met him there,” Carter said, opening the car window to throw the leftover fries into the trash can. “She wanted to be a party girl, a girl having fun, a city girl. She liked the attention she was getting in the club, and Luz encouraged her. Bob threw them out. After that, she went home, probably alone.”
“Because Luz wasn’t her type?” I said, finishing the rest of my burger.
“More likely because she wasn’t his type,” Carter replied, wiping away the ketchup from my lip with his thumb.
“She wasn’t manly enough for him, non?” I said what was obvious.
“Yeah. I don’t think he killed her, but he probably saw the person who did it.”
“So, all roads lead to Luz,” I concluded, starting the car. “By the way, why are we going to Pete’s? Because I feel like sleeping. And cuddling. Let’s just go home. Your place or mine?”
It was a joke, but it also wasn’t. Sleeping in bed without him seemed more like hell than an option since my housewarming party. He was so cuddly then. And drunk. But cuddly enough to let me get away with a few kisses I never thought would happen. Did they mean something? Probably not, but they left a flicker of hope inside me that made me tiptoe around him for the last few days while dropping sexual innuendos like a thirteen-year-old. But this was Dominic Carter, and I wasn’t fucking it up by rushing things or imagining things. I was just… testing the waters. Trying to dismantle the bomb without getting blown up.
“Neither.” Carter answered my question that I already forgot. “And we’re going to Pete’s because Officer Slade invited us for a round of drinks. After you suggested it.”
I frowned. “I did?”
“You did.”
“Fucking hell.”
Half an hour later, we were sitting in a crowded bar, celebrating the arrival of a new officer in the LD as was customary.
“We’re glad you’re here, Slade,” Bruce said, munching on potato chips. “We are a colorful bunch, but you will learn our shades with time.”
Jordan Slade smiled awkwardly, resting his elbow on the table and almost knocking down Adam’s beer in the process. The scowl Adam gave him made his smile disappear.
“What does that mean?” Jordan mumbled, avoiding Adam’s glare.
Bruce shrugged. “It’s the LD. We’re all different, but kinda the same. I, for example, took a bribe, mostly to feed my morbid obesity. Adam punched his superior because he called him a bully with no friends. John Smith fabricated the autopsy reports for the Albanian mob. And our sweet Shelly was caught stealing heroin from the evidence locker.”
“I was being blackmailed,” Shelly said, defending herself. “They were threatening me with my daughter. I had no choice.”
“Tye stuck his dick into someone he wasn’t supposed to,” Bruce continued, “and Carter almost killed a person. And yourself?”
Jordan hesitated with his reply. “I… I knifed a guy.”
Shelly blinked in surprise. “You’re kidding?”
I could understand her confusion because he didn’t seem the type.
“Yeah,” Jordan replied. “But also no.”
“Which is it?”
“Both. I’m a pathological liar. And single. And asexual. Anyone else asexual here?”
Bruce chuckled, burping. “I don’t think so. I’m happily divorced with three kids. Adam here is gay and doesn’t know it…”
When Adam flipped him off, everyone laughed.
“Shelly is unhappy in love… Wink, wink, Shelly,” Bruce said, chuckling. “John Smith is single and will remain single for the rest of his life. Thorsen is bisexual, and Carter is practically a married man.”
When those jungle greens found me, I froze on the spot.
Did I ever tell him I was bi? I couldn’t remember. Was it even important?
Carter answered those questions when he stood up so abruptly that he knocked his chair over.
Shit.
“Are you homophobic, Trigger?” Adam mocked him. “Not cool.”
“He’s not,” Shelly said as Carter headed to the exit. “You know he’s not.”
“Actually, I don’t know that. In fact…”
I couldn’t hear the rest because I ran out of the bar only to collide with a wall. Well, I thought it was a wall. As it turned out, it was only a fist.
“What the fuck?” I muttered, blinking to clear my vision, but all I could see were little birdies flying around my head.
Carter was about to punch me again when I raised my hands in surrender. “Don’t! I’m dizzy.”
“You have five seconds to explain.”
“What?” I grumbled, licking my lip and tasting blood.
His eyes narrowed in a way that told me it was not time to fuck around.
“You mean that I’m bisexual? What does it matter?”
He pulled out his gun.
“Okay, calm down,” I murmured, spitting out blood. “Get that thing away from me.”
I was getting annoyed with him pointing his gun at me.
“I’m going to be clear, Tye. Have you…?” Carter paused, blushing. “Have you been coming on to me?”
It was the perfect time to tell him how I felt, but facing a barrel of a gun could make you a little tongue-tied.
“No!” I scoffed, looking more offended than necessary. “Of course not. Are you crazy?”
“Because if you pretended to be my friend while I trusted you, Tye… If you lied to me while I defended you in front of Vic… If you pretended to be the person you’re not, Tye, I swear to God…”
Fuck, it sounded bad when he said it like that.
“I wasn’t pretending!” I defended myself. “I am your friend. I care about you. Besides, you’re not… You’re not even my type, man.”
Now he just looked offended.
“What is your type, then?”
He was my type to a T, but ‘tall, dark, and brooding’ wasn’t the smart answer. The opposite of that was the smart answer.
I shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “Dunno. Someone… short and chubby. And ginger.”
He frowned, looking unconvinced.
“Like Shelly, for example,” I muttered. “I don’t know.”
When he remained silent, I stepped toward him, lowering my hands.
“I never lied to you, Dominic. I didn’t mention the bi thing because it never came up, but if it did, I would tell you the truth.”
“Do you swear?”
“I swear.”
“So, everything is as I thought it was and it can stay that way, correct?”
God, how to answer that?
“Things won’t change unless you want them to,” I replied, glancing at the gun in his hand.
His forehead furrowed as he lowered his weapon.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means…” I rested my hands on my waist, shaking my head in frustration. “It means what I said, Dominic.”
When I heard footsteps behind me, I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or angry about it.
“Sorry, guys,” Shelly squeaked, looking at Carter, then at me, and then at Carter again. “They found another body.”
***
Roxanne “Roxie” Brokowich was a sex worker. She was found dead in her apartment, lying on her stomach with her arms and legs spread wide, just like Sophie Malik. The crime scene was similar—the positioning of the body, the marks around her wrists and ankles, and the way she was strangled. The only thing missing was the rage. This crime scene felt cool, composed, and thought through. Also, it seemed that Roxie was raped, while Sophie was not.
“No forced entry,” I said, circling the bed. “Whom would both a banker and a sex worker let into their apartment?”
“A good liar,” Carter replied. “And probably a pretty man.”
“Why pretty?” John Smith asked, taking off his gloves.
“Because Ed Gein would have more trouble convincing a woman to let him into her apartment than Ted Bundy,” I replied. “And if Roxie wasn’t choosy, I’m sure Sophie was.”
“I want your reports tonight, John,” Carter said. “Not in the morning. Not tomorrow. We have to be sure these murders are linked.”
“They are,” I said once we were on our way to the station. “You know they are.”
Carter made a face. “Yeah, well… I want to make sure.”
“And if they are connected, are we talking about a…?” I paused, hesitating to say it.
“A serial killer?” Carter finished my sentence. “It crossed my mind. Just what this town needs.”
My thoughts exactly.
“Maybe you should call Vic,” I said when he stopped at a traffic light. “Tell her you’ll be late for dinner or whatever you two had planned. It’s going to be a long fucking day.”
“I think Vic broke up with me.”
I looked at him sharply. “What? I mean… she did?”
He shrugged. “It sounded that way. She told me she was going skiing and not to contact her.”
“Why?”
He made a face. “She was unhappy with how I behaved the other night at the party, and then things just escalated.”
“What do you mean escalated?”
“I don’t know,” Carter snapped. “What’s with all the questions?”
I should have read the room, but honestly, I was too excited about the news, so I kept talking.
“I’m just trying to—”
“Look, stop butting into my life, okay?” he growled, slamming his fist against the steering wheel. “Stop asking me questions and stop following me around like a puppy. I’m sick of you breathing down my neck. I’m sick of you showing up everywhere I am. Stop talking to me for a freaking second so I can breathe. I can’t… I can’t breathe around you.”
When he looked at me, I saw both the remorse and the apology in the jungle greens, but what the fuck?
“Stop the car.”
“What?” Carter said, glancing at me. “I can’t stop the car. We’re in the middle—”
“Stop the fucking car, asshole!” I bellowed. “Right now.”
He looked in the rearview mirror before pulling over.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said as I opened the car door. “I didn’t mean… Please, don’t go.”
“Fuck off.”
“Please, Tye, let’s just… Why are you limping?”
I flipped him off instead of replying.