31. Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter thirty-one
Nash
“He hasn’t been doing much of anything,” Gendreau says, her voice loud through the phone speaker. “Spends most of his time in his apartment, walking to the corner store, and working. Seems pretty quiet.”
“If I committed murder, I wouldn’t want to bring attention to myself either,” I grunt. “Keep checking in with the officers sitting on him and update me with anything of importance. I’m going to see what’s taking so long on all these files and then get an update on this warrant.”
“Will do.”
I end the call and get up to go check with our tech guy, Martin, when he walks in the door carrying a folder.
“Is that Mercer’s file?” I ask.
I’d run my own search but kept coming to dead ends, so I had to forward it to the tech team so that they could dig even deeper, since they have the software for that.
“Sure is.”
“What the hell took so long?”
“Guy has four different aliases,” he says. “I wanted to make sure I got all of the information. You’re going to like this.”
He hands it over. I narrow my eyes. “I hope you’re right.”
“You got a warrant going yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, I bet it’ll be approved as soon as everyone sees what’s in there. Good luck.”
He gives me a two-finger salute then leaves. I sit at my desk and open the file.
It seems Jason Mercer also went by Michael Mercer, his birth name, David Richardson, and Ashley Thomas. He has IDs and rap sheets under all of these names, except Jason Mercer. So that’s what he does. Fucks up his record and changes his name. Well, that’s finally caught up to him.
I’m not surprised to see what’s here. Burglary, stalking, domestic assault, battery, and a few others that I’d expect from him.
I don’t call my boss. I walk to his office with the file in my hand, knowing this is finally enough to get the damn warrant. The door is open, but I still knock.
“Come in,” he calls out, his attention on his computer.
I drop the file on his desk. “We need that warrant for Jason Mercer. Guy’s got multiple aliases, all with rap sheets that make him good for the assault and murder.”
“What about your girl?” he questions, looking up at me.
“I told her other people would be in touch. She needs to keep it from her husband, but I think as long as we respect that, she’ll be fine.”
“You’re sure?” He takes the file and opens it up, flipping through the different pages to scan what’s there.
I shrug. “Nothing in life is sure but death and taxes. But I’m confident this isn’t a dead end.”
“We can get Glint on her. Can you set that up?”
“Of course I’ll set it up,” I say.
“Good. I’ll work on this warrant then.” He looks up at me, nodding approvingly. “Good work, Bennett.”
“Thank you.” I take the file and go back to my office to call Mindy Glint. She’s a detective who works Special Victims. I’ve spoken to her a few times, but I haven’t had to work with her yet.
“This is Glint,” she answers.
“It’s Bennett from Cold Case. You have some time to chat?”
“You want to come down?”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” I say and end the call.
I grab the files I need, take the elevator to the second floor, and go right to her office.
It’s a different world down here, with phones ringing and officers at desks working on their computers.
Up on my floor, everyone has their own offices and it’s quiet.
I knock on her door and she pulls it open, standing on the other side in a grey skirt suit and ruffled white shirt. Her dark hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail. She’s tall for a woman, but nowhere near my height.
“Nice to see you again, Bennett. Come in.”
I step into her office and she closes the door behind me, then makes her way to her desk.
“Do you want coffee or anything?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“All right, what do you have for me?” she asks as she takes a seat in her leather high-back chair.
I hand her the files, then give her the rundown on the file and on Lilianna. I’m very specific about her husband, about the way he talked to me, and how I’m certain she will help, as long as her husband doesn’t find out.
Mindy shakes her head as she browses the files. “I hate men like this.”
“Me too.”
She looks up at me. “I can handle this.”
“That’s why I came to you,” I tell her.
“You should give her a heads up. Stop by her work, maybe. See how she wants to do this. She can come here; I can go there. Whatever she wants.”
“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “I will be in touch as soon as I talk with her.”
I get my files and go back up to my office.
I’d love nothing more than to update Carter on this, but if it doesn’t work out, it’ll destroy him. And I can’t do that. I won’t do that to him. I do call him though, because I want to hear his voice.
Only it goes to voicemail.
“Hey, just hoping we could get together later. You can come by if you want. Call me back.”
I end the call and put my phone on my desk, then stare at it.
I feel light, proud, and on top of the world.
I’ve been here nearly two months and I’m solving my first case.
It’s a great start. I know I won’t be able to solve them all, which isn’t a great thought, but this gives me more confidence than I’ve had in a while.
Coming here wasn’t easy, even if I convinced myself it was.
Starting over never is. It’s scary. But after a while, everything works out.
I feel like I’ve accomplished something, like I’ve helped someone, and I know I’ll feel that ten times over once Mercer is behind bars.
My phone dings with a text. Then another.
Carter: Sorry, at work.
Carter: Who leaves voicemails anymore?
I chuckle, then text back.
Me: Come over later.
Carter: I’d love to.
Me: What time do you get off work? I’ll pick you up.
Carter: 6. But I’m fine to get home on my own.
Me: I want to pick you up.
Carter: Fine, if you insist.
I spend the rest of the day going through other files, requesting evidence and reports, responding to emails. I’m antsy because I just want this done. Waiting is never easy, but that’s why I keep myself busy.
My plan is to stop at the Quick it’s just for now. And it’s for the good of the case.
“How about Jaws?” he asks.
“Isn’t that the killer shark movie?”
“Yep. Have you seen it?”
“Probably when I was a kid, but I don’t remember it.”
He pauses, dropping his arm and looking at me. “Do you notice that you can’t remember things around the time of your parents’ death?”
I think about that for a minute, because it’s not something I ever paid much mind to before.
“Yes and no. I have a lot of good memories from when I was a kid, but I know I’m missing a lot too.
I guess most of it started around that time.
A little before and a little after. Your brain is always trying to protect you, and not remembering or misremembering is a defense mechanism.
It’s kind of a pain in the ass sometimes. ”
He nods, his gaze on the floor. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m not remembering things correctly.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing with the case. Just… other things with Ryan.”
“If you’re worried about forgetting him, you won’t. Images of him in your head may fade. His voice may fade. But what you feel when you think of him won’t.”
He glances at me. “How do you know that?”
I take a deep breath, steadying myself so I don’t get overwhelmed. Bringing this stuff up isn’t easy for me, even if it seems that way. I just got really good over the years at pretending I’m fine.
“I don’t see photos of my mother often, but when I do…
she never looks the way she does in my head.
It freaked me out at first, but I learned that it didn’t matter.
I mean, it does, but it doesn’t. Because what matters is her love for me, and how much I love her.
What matters is how I felt when she was around and the way I felt when she loved me however she could. The feelings… that’s what matters.”
He looks up at me, his eyes glossy. I hate that he cries so much, not because it bothers me, but because he’s hurting.
“How are you so smart? How do you know all of this?”
I brush my finger over his cheek. “I’ve just been dealing with this longer, that’s all.”
“So you think I would have figured this all out on my own eventually?”
“I know you would have. Because you’re smart too.” I rest my hand on the back of his neck. “Do you have photos of you and Ryan?” I ask.
“Yeah, on my phone.”
“Do you ever look at them?”
“No, not anymore,” he says sadly. “I used to, but they always upset me.”
“May I see one of them?”
He looks up at me, confused. “Are you sure?” he asks carefully.
“Absolutely.”
He reaches for his phone on the end table, pulls open his photos and navigates to an album. He swallows hard then hands it over. “They’re in that folder.”
I take his phone and open it. There are so many. Hundreds. Even from the thumbnails I can see how happy they were together.
This doesn’t make me jealous. It only makes me want Carter’s happiness even more. He deserves to be this person again. He’ll never lose who he is now, but that happy, carefree smile? Carter deserves that.
I tap on one to make it bigger. They’re walking down a street in New York and look like they stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk to pose for the photo that Ryan is taking.
Ryan is wearing a red long-sleeved sweater, and Carter is in a light grey hoodie, his phone in his hand, mid text.
But he’s looking up at the camera and he’s smiling.
Probably because Ryan told him to. It’s not the biggest smile I’ve seen from him, but a content one.
I close out of it and scroll, finding quite a few of them on a beach. Must have been during a vacation or something. They’re lying together in the sand on blankets, skin golden from the sun, the ocean off in the background. They were happy, there’s no doubt about it.
“I can see that you two were happy here. You loved each other. You were enjoying life.” I scroll through a few others. “Don’t let his memory make you sad all the time, Carter.”
“I just miss him.” His voice shakes, a tear slipping from his eye.
“Yeah, and you always will. But you have to find a way to turn that sadness into something else. Something that won’t drag you down. It’s okay to miss him, it’s definitely okay to still love him, but you can’t let this grief control your life.”
“I know.” He takes his phone, letting out a ragged breath. “I’m trying. I think one day I’ll get there, where you are, I just need time.”
“This isn’t a competition.”
“I know that too.” He nods. “But you have inspired me to get better—to be better. To accept what’s happened. To accept that I will have to love Ryan without him here, and that it’s okay to do that.” His gaze meets mine. “Thank you for that, Nash.”
I pull him toward me and kiss the top of his head. My chest is tight, and I can’t speak a word. I don’t want him to see me break down, so I just hold him instead.