The sun had set,and the city was unnaturally still. New Year’s Day was coming to an end. Most shops were closed, but the odd restaurant along Elgin remained open, including the Irish pub Ari Yates had entered less than ten minutes ago.
When I didn’t find him at home, I drove to the precinct. Kobe had mentioned Jolie’s statement. Had he ordered the man to come back in? Neither he nor Kobe was there. I drove aimlessly around the neighborhood for a while, wondering if Yates would head home, wondering if fate was friend or foe, and if I should give up and let the pieces fall where they may.
I was about to turn around and head home when I caught sight of his car heading in the opposite direction on the vacant street.Pulling a U-turn at the next intersection, I followed at a distance until he turned into the parking lot of an Irish pub.
The lack of cars suggested the establishment should have kept its doors locked for the holiday. Four or five customers at most, and that was a generous guess. I parked down the street, got out, and aimed for the restaurant, scanning intersections and alleys as I went. No one was about on this cold January night.
How easy it would be for Yates to vanish. The only witnesses to his demise would be a brisk north wind and the promise of snow.
The restaurant was warm and dimly lit, featuring dark wood and vintage decorations. A fire roared in an ancient fireplace, the scent reminding me of the Apothecary and smoky Morticians. Retro tin signs with cheesy Irish slogans decorated the walls. Others advertised Guinness and Carlsberg. Irish folk music played from a speaker system. It felt unnecessary and kitschy.
Tall, padded barstools lined an intricately carved wooden counter. The elderly server wore a black polo shirt with the pub’s name embroidered on the breast. His unsightly moustache curled at the ends and was as waxed and shiny as his carefully styled salt-and-pepper hair. He was in conversation with Yates, who had deposited himself at the end of the bar. A freshly poured Guinness with a generous head sat on a coaster within reach.
I checked the time, debated texting Kobe to see where he was and what he was doing, then shoved my phone back into my pocket instead. Kobe was busy solving a case and making decisions that would impact his life forever. This oversight was mine.
I approached Yates and slid onto the stool beside him.
“Evening,” I said to no one in particular.
The bartender nodded in greeting, and I indicated Yates’s drink. “I’ll have what he’s having.”
Another nod, and the bartender zipped off to pour my beer.
Yates stared at the side of my face.
I glanced over, offering a tight smile.
Momentary recognition crossed the man’s face, but it was swiftly followed by confusion. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”
“Yes, but not directly. Forensics.” I offered him my hand. “Dominique Chevalier. Recent transfer.”
“Oh, right.” His grip was firm. “Ari Yates. OPD.”
“I know who you are.”
“You do?” More confusion.
“Yes. You’re the shitty cop who didn’t listen to the pleas of a fourteen-year-old girl when she came begging for your help, telling you she was raped.”
His drink had been halfway to his mouth. Yates put it down and blew out an irritable sigh. “Fuck this night. What the hell do you want?”
38
Kobe
Yates ignored my calls.I tried five times, getting voicemail repeatedly, before he turned his phone off, and it stopped ringing altogether and skipped immediately to the robotic messaging system. I got Yates’s address from Jim at reception and drove to his house. His wife answered, their three-month-old daughter wrapped snuggly in her arms.
“He’s not here.” She didn’t know where I might find him and had no better luck getting him on the phone. “He’s been stressed,” she explained. “He tells me he needs air. I think he’s spending time at the bars.”
I left Yates’s and aimed for Dominique’s, prepared to unload all my research at his feet, but the second I saw his car in the driveway, I chickened out and found a café instead. I drank too much coffee and ate a sandwich I didn’t taste.
An odd numbness moved through my body, settling in my limbs. My ears rang, and I became increasingly aware of the sound of my heart thundering behind my ribcage. It felt like I was standing on the cusp of this dimension and an alternateversion of reality, witnessing both futures before they happened. Two paths. In one world, I obeyed the law. I did my job. In the other, I followed my heart.
Right and wrong.
Good and evil.
Black and white.
