21. Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter twenty-one
Nash
Today is fucking hell. Every road I take is a dead end, and I feel like I’ve wasted hour after hour.
Monique St. Doran was a dead end to start all these dead ends. Found out first thing this morning and I’ve been scrambling to get something ever since.
So far, we’ve had four of the six places get back to us with an employee list from three months before and three months after Ryan’s murder.
My team has interviewed people from two of the places already.
Believe it or not, one place had all of the employees still working there and none of who were working that night fit the description based on height, weight, and skin color.
Wasted fucking time.
Another one gets back to me, only to tell me their files were destroyed in a fire that year, so that’s open-ended. Fucking hell.
The manager, who’s been there for nearly ten years, did say they are a small facility and they don’t recall anyone acting strangely around that time. Not that it helps, but it’s all I have. And I can’t waste all my time worrying about something I can do nothing about.
On top of all that, I started going through the new files they left on my desk. Normally, I don’t let cases get to me, but I’m already in a mood over Ryan Kinsley’s case, so this was just the cherry on top.
The first five I pulled off the top were all kids.
That’s something to prepare for. Something that fucks with you hard.
Those cases? They stay. And they tend to get more attention than the others, but whoever was working around here at the time didn’t give a fuck about a single thing, it seems. Because I’ve noticed most of these cases are within a five-year period.
Though, maybe it’s just the cases they pulled.
There are other positions and people working on older cases.
Like from the seventies and eighties, and they have to split them up somehow.
But damn, I really wish I would have gotten a fucking warning before opening up that file and seeing a crime scene involving a five-year-old girl who was killed in a hit and run.
This city fucking sucks. But that’s why I’m here.
To make it better, even if it’s only a little.
I lean back in my chair, staring at my computer screen. It’s black from being inactive, and I can barely make out my reflection in it. Blurry and twisted. I bet I look like shit. Always do by the end of the week.
I reach for my phone and open up the text with Carter.
I scroll up to look at the photo he’d sent me of Teddy lying on his lap.
Something about it brings me peace, makes me happy.
Seeing good things out there, I need that.
And I guess whether he notices or not, Carter has been that for me.
His strength, his light. Even if he thinks he’s miserable or not doing great. He’s doing the best he can.
My finger hovers over the call button because I have the strangest urge to hear his voice.
No, not just his voice, but his laugh.
That genuine, deep laugh that I’ve only heard a few times.
Yeah, I could really hear that right now.
As my finger moves to hit that call button, a call comes in. And unfortunately, it isn’t him.
“Detective Bennett,” I answer.
“We’ve got something,” Weber says. “On the Kinsley case.”
“What is it?” I shoot forward, sitting up straight.
“A potential victim. She fits the description and quit two weeks after the murder. And she was known for those sparkly clogs.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“We’re heading to her house now, we—”
“No,” I say as I get to my feet. “I’ll do it. Send me the address.”
“We’re two blocks away.”
“I said I’ll do it. Text me the address. I’m on my way.”
I grab all my things and head out of the office faster than I ever have before. My heart is pounding as I push the button for the elevator to go down.
The address comes in right as I step off the elevator. I hop in my truck, put it into my GPS, and I’m on my way to speak with Lilianna Travers.
Speaking with victims wasn’t what I did back in Chicago. I know how, but I’m not the best at it. I try hard to be kind, soft spoken, and caring, but I’ve built so many walls around me that it’s not easy to knock them down, even when I need to.
I give myself a pep talk on the way to Lilianna’s. I park on the street, in front of the one-story bungalow and get out of my truck before I can think too much of it. There’s a lot riding on this but getting anxious over it won’t help a thing.
I knock on the door, and a young woman matching the victim’s description as best we have pulls the door open. Her eyes are light brown, her hair dark, long, and wavy.
“Hi, are you Lilianna Travers?” I ask.
“Yes, that’s me,” she says warily. “Wh-who are you?”
“My name is Detective Nash Bennett.” I flash my badge. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
“Is Peter okay?”
“I’m not sure who that is, ma’am, so I’m sure he’s fine.”
She nods, stepping aside. As I set a foot inside, she holds up her hand. “Could I see your badge again?”
“Of course.” I hold it out to her, gesturing for her to take it. She does.
“It’s heavier than I thought it would be.”
She offers it back so I take it and put it away.
I step into a small living room, a couch and TV set up to the right.
It’s cozy, warm, the scent of spices thick in the air.
There are photos on the wall of her and a man that I assume is Peter.
I’m not here to pass judgment, but he could be the reason she never went to the cops about what happened. It’s common.
“Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Tea?”
“No, thank you.”
She gestures to the couch, so I sit, and she sits in the recliner that’s facing it.
“So, what can I help you with?”
I pull out my pad and pen. “You worked at Rayne Care Facility three years ago, is that correct?”
She flinches slightly. Barely. A normal person wouldn’t have noticed, but I saw it.
“Yes, but I haven’t worked there in a long time.”
“Three years ago,” I say with a smile. “You quit, right?”
“Yes, I did.”
“May I ask why?”
She blinks. “The hours weren’t great.” I can’t tell if she’s lying or not, but why the reaction if it was so simple? “Peter, he’s my husband, and he works during the day. I was working evenings. We never saw each other.”
“Fair reason to quit. Where do you work now?” I ask.
“At the Quick I do it to protect cases—but only when I need to. “They’ve bumped it up to us. Seems like it’s an increasing issue.”
“Well, maybe if you all did your job a little better, it wouldn’t happen.” He says it with a smile. One that makes me want to knock him out. But, you know, I need my job.
“I’ll pass the message along. Sorry to bother you.”
“I appreciate that. It is dinner time,” Peter says.
I give him the nicest look I can as I step toward the door. I look him in the eye as I pass him, making sure he understands that I’m still the one in charge here. He doesn’t seem to get the hint.
“Make sure you keep your doors and windows locked at all times. Have a good night.”
I leave the house without looking back, but the moment I get into the car, I call Carter.