5. Chapter Five
Chapter five
Nash
“You.”
It sounds like an accusation but I can’t figure out why. I haven’t done anything to him. I was friendly enough. Conversed a bit. Didn’t let him spiral too much. Didn’t take advantage of the fact he was drunk and talking to me about fucking.
At least, I hope that’s what I did. I could’ve made it worse without realizing.
“Hi,” I say. “Detective Nash Bennett. Can I come in?”
“That depends,” he says, eyes slightly narrowed.
He’s suspicious.
Why? Of what? What did he do?
“On what?” I ask.
“Why you’re here,” he says carefully.
Over the years, I’ve become good at keeping my expression neutral. The only time I let myself go is around my brother because I need to be different for him. I need to be the light to his darkness, but that’s not who I really am. It’s just who I am when I’m being a brother.
As a detective, I have to be unreadable. Stern. I can’t be soft, weak, and let people get one over on me. Unless it’s for a reason, of course. But I’m always the one in control.
This feels different. Carter feels like a scared mouse trapped in a corner, afraid to escape because he doesn’t know where the hungry cat is hiding. I need to convince him I’m not the hungry cat. Because I’m not. I’m not out to get him.
“I’m here to help.”
“Help what? I told you I’m not suicidal, and I don’t have a drinking problem. I just—”
“It’s not about that,” I say with a shake of my head. “I’m here about Ryan Kinsley.”
The blood drains from his face, and he reaches out to steady himself on the doorframe. I flinch forward, ready to grab him in case he faints.
I’ve seen this before. Plenty of times, when I’ve had to tell people their loved ones have died.
You’d think I said that all over again with the way he just reacted. But sometimes even the memory can hurt as much as the initial news.
“Is there a break in the case?” he asks, his eyes hopeful.
He puts his weight on his feet again, standing straighter.
“Not exactly, but I am planning to re-open his case.”
Pain crosses his face, his eyes watering. His cheeks start to pinken up a little. I’m no longer worried about him passing out. Now I’m worried about the anger.
That doesn’t come though. He’s just kind of… there.
“Can I come in?” I repeat.
He sighs, then moves aside.
“Don’t mind the mess.”
I step into his small apartment that has me feeling claustrophobic.
There’s nothing in here to make a mess with. It’s bare. A couch with one end table and a small entertainment center with a tiny flat screen on top of it are in the left half of the room, while the right side is the smallest kitchen I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure I could even turn around in there.
Nothing hangs on the walls. There are no plants, or any splashes of color in here. The one window in the kitchen is covered by a set of brown curtains that aren’t long enough to cover the entire window.
I clear my throat and turn to face Carter, who is watching me carefully.
“As I said, my name is Detective Nash Bennett. I’m a Cold Case Homicide Detective, meaning I go through older cases, re-evaluate them, and decide if there is enough evidence to open a case again.”
“And you think Ryan’s should be re-opened?”
I think I want to give you some peace.
“I’m going to look over interviews, evidence, and speak with witnesses again.”
“And then you’re going to re-open the case?” he asks.
“If it’s determined that there is enough—”
He scoffs. “Get out.”
“Excuse me?”
He pulls the door open. “Get out.”
“I—”
“You said you were going to re-open the case. Now that you’re in my apartment, I’m getting a different story. If you’re not here to help me and Ryan, then get the hell out of my apartment,” he seethes.
“I am here to help,” I say. “I want to help you.”
“Why? Why do you care about ‘some gay boy who got it coming to him’?”
“Excuse me?” I say again, this time I can’t hide my anger. My face heats and my hands ball into fists. I’m not angry at him, of course, but where the fuck did he hear that?
“Yeah, I know how you cops think. Trust me. I have really good hearing.”
If I didn’t have as much self-control as I do, my jaw would be on the floor.
“Look, I don’t know who the hell said that to you, but if it was someone in the department, I want their name right now.”
His eyes narrow slightly.
“My brother is gay,” I say firmly, leaving out the part that I am too because it doesn’t matter.
My sexuality isn’t a big part of my life.
“And even if it wasn’t something close to home, I would never look at any other innocent human in any way other than respectfully.
I don’t care about sexuality, religion, life choices. What I care about is getting justice.”
His lips purse, looking away for a moment as if he’s considering my words. His expression hardly changes, so when he brings it back to me, I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
“Why do you care?” he repeats. Watery, red eyes meet mine, and something twists in my chest.
I step up to him. He’s a few inches shorter than me, and I try not to use my height to make him nervous. Even if I did, he doesn’t look like he’s about to back down.
“Because I lost someone I loved too, and I can’t imagine knowing their killer was out there running around freely while they lay cold in the ground.”
Not my finest or kindest moment. But the truth hurts.
His lips part, understanding flashing across his face. But only for a moment. That mask is right back on.
“Are you re-opening the case or not?” he asks, lifting his chin slightly. He’s a fighter.
I like that. He probably doesn’t realize it, though. Or else he wouldn’t be living like this.
“I am going to do everything in my power to open this case and find Ryan’s killer.” I step closer. “But in order to do that, I need you to help me.” His brow raises. “It’s not only my decision to open cases. I have to present information. It takes time and—”
“Resources and money. Yada, yada, yada. Tell me something I don’t know.”
I sigh. “If you want to find the person who did this, then you’ll work with me, Carter.
Not against me.” I pull a card from my inner jacket pocket.
“Keep this one. Call me when you’ve thought about it and you’re ready to talk.
” I step into the hallway and look back at him over my shoulder. “The sooner, the better.”
I don’t take case files home with me. Work is at the office.
Home is home, even if it doesn’t feel like it.
I’ve got everything I need in my house, plus more, to make it livable and somewhat relaxing, but there’s something missing.
Or maybe I’ve never known what it is to have a home, and maybe this is all it is.
Maybe there is nothing special to it. Maybe this house is too goddamn big because why does a single guy need a four-bedroom house?
I need boundaries to keep myself sane. I know that after years on the force. But old habits die hard. Ryan Kinsley’s case file sits on my dining table, waiting for my dinner to finish so I can look through it again.
Everything that should be here is here. Lab reports. Autopsy report. Statements. Evidence logs. Crime scene photos.
It’s just not enough. Not because we couldn’t have gotten it, but because this was “just another stabbing in New York City.” Cops do what they can with what they have, and if they don’t find someone quickly, they let it go to move on to the next five that just happened ten minutes ago.
It’s not an excuse, and that’s why I’m here. These people deserve closure too.
It’s true that it’s not only up to me to re-open cases.
I need to present them to my boss, Roger Daniels, and give him a good enough reason why we should put resources into them.
Resources meaning just me. I’ve spoken to Daniels enough times, but I haven’t had to ask him to open a case yet.
I’m not sure how rigid he’ll be on it and what his main goal is.
Because maybe resources will have a different meaning over here; maybe it does mean more people, time, money.
Did he hire me to fill a position to make the force look good, or does he really care about solving these cases? I just need one little thing in this file to run with, and I’ll get my answer.
Whether or not Carter Evans is going to help is still a mystery, but I need to give him time. It was only a few short hours ago that I spoke with him, and it looks like it’s going to take time for him to make up his mind on the matter.
It seems he’s had bad luck with cops. I’m not surprised, but I am determined to do better.
So I’ll be patient and let him come to me. For a little while. A week, maybe. If I don’t hear from him by then, I’m going back.
I bring my leftover chicken parm to the table and sit, leaving it off to the right so there is no chance of getting sauce on the file. I have an office here, but if I use it, then I’ll keep using it. And I’m trying not to do what I did before. Spend every waking moment working.
With my right hand, I eat. With my left, I flip through pages and scan each one carefully.
Not a single person was re-interviewed. Not even Carter, even though it’s noted he showed up at the precinct multiple times to speak with someone. No one ever gave him the time of day. It’s bullshit.
Reading over the narrative tells me it won’t be an easy case to solve.
Someone was being assaulted in an alleyway.
Ryan and Carter were taking a shortcut through to get home.
They came across it. Ryan stepped in. He got stabbed.
The woman being assaulted took off and was never found.
The man who stabbed him took off and was never found.
The two main people we need to solve this case are just… ghosts. Like they never existed at all.
Carter called emergency services. They showed up. Rushed Ryan to the hospital. He died during surgery.
It’s sad that this is a basic and predictable situation.
It happens too often, and some part of you has to become numb to it, otherwise you feel it all, and then you can’t do your job.
But you need to feel it a little or you’re just another asshole cop who doesn’t care. Balance. It isn’t fucking easy.
I have two things here that could help me get the case re-opened. The notes are bare, and no one was interviewed a second time. It’s enough for me to look into it again. It’ll just be easier if Carter calls me back so I can speak to him first. I’m just not sure that is going to happen.