She’s put up with my crap, I can do this for her.
“Hey, Es?” I push open the door without looking up, instead jiggling the slightly loose handle. “I was wondering if you wanted to go out for dinner? We could try that new?—”
“Tova,” Esme croaks, giving me pause. I turn to look at her over my shoulder as I toss my keys on the table, and my fingers freeze midway through tucking my hair back as I catch sight of the man on the sofa.
“This is Detective Flanagan.” Her gaze catches mine and holds it, eyes wide. “Alan’s missing, Tova. They think he might even be....”
The man turns and tips his hat at me, looking me over with cautious interest as he clasps his phone in one hand. “Nice to meet you,” Detective Flanagan greets. “Could you come talk with us for a few minutes? I was hoping to get any information on Alan Byers that you might be able to give me. His family is starting to panic, and I’d like to get answers for them.”
Chapter
Nine
Seeing Esme’s face, I can’t help but wonder if this is the worst day of her life. Sure, Alan’s death might be a close second, but apparently she was under the impression that no one would come sniffing around. Which, to me, feels a bit naive.
Someone was always going to come ask questions.
“Alan’s missing?” I slip into the persona I learned at the hospital so many years ago, when I had to learn to seem like a normal person in order to get privileges like outside time and group therapy, instead of staring at my therapist one on one while she talked me through the worst times of my life. “Holy shit. I thought he was just on a work binge again.” Easily, I cross the room and sit down on the sofa next to Esme, keeping myself perched on the end of it though not to seem like I’m ill at ease.
I want him to feel like I’m checked in and concerned. I want him to see that my concern isforAlan. Not because of him. “I’m Tova Morwen,” I greet, putting my hand out to shake Flanagan’s as he holds it out to me. Coldness seeps through my fingers at the touch of his calloused fingers, and it’s hard not to sneer a little, but recover quickly.
I hate having to mask, even though I’ve put in a lot of hours to perfect it.
“I’m not actually a detective,” Flanagan informs me with a bit of a grimace-like smile. “I’m just a private investigator Alan’s mother hired.” His tone is meant to be disarming, and his smile friendly. He’s trying to wear down the barrier of us thinking he’s law enforcement, probably so we’ll talk to him in a less guarded way than we would otherwise.
It’s cute.
It’s obvious.
And fuck, it’s going to work on Esme. Her shoulders slump and she glances at me, then back at him. “Alan and I aren’t doing so well,” she admits, and I could choke her for the comment. “I haven’t seen him in a few days. I haven’t heard from him at all, actually. But I just thought he was taking some time for himself.” I can already tell she’s going to be an over-sharer, and everything about her posture makes it obvious she’s nervous for all the wrong reasons.
God.How is this the partner in crime I got stuck with? I don’t feel bad for what I did to Alan, but I’ll be pissed as fuck if killing him sends me to prison.
“I figured that was why he hadn’t been here too.” I shrug like it’s not that uncommon for this to happen. “So he hasn’t been in touch with his parents?”
Flanagan jots down a few notes, shaking his head as he does. “No ma’am. His mom said he missed family dinner, and no one has been able to get a hold of him for the last four days. It’s weird for him, they say. He never misses his mom’s birthday.”
NaturallyI killed him close to some fucking family holiday he was supposed to show up for. God forbid it couldn’t have been at a time when they wouldn’t have noticed his absence. That feels like my luck, and memories try to push into my brain from other times, from other places.
From other murders I committed.
My fingers tap on my knee as Flanagan talks, outlining his last known whereabouts, giving a few platitudes I don’t believe and theories I know aren’t real. His disarming tactics are getting old, and I watch him blandly, wishing he’d get to the root of the problem to ask us what he really wants to know.
After all, he’s not just here to tell us Alan is missing.
“So I was looking at his phone records…and it seems he called you quite a few times the day he was missing,” Flanagan says carefully. He watches Esme more than me, and I try not to look like I’m watching her too. I can’t look suspicious or worried. But I cast her a concerned glance, trying to just play at being the caring, supportive best friend.
“I was ignoring him,” she says, smartly deciding to tell him at least a portion of the truth. “We really got into it after work, and I couldn’t deal with him. I told him to leave me alone for a few days. Like I said—” She gives a nervous sound that could be mistaken for concern. “I figured that’s what this was. We’ve gone through phases like this before.”
Flanagan nods as he writes, scrawling his notes and without seeming like he actually gives a damn about what she’s saying. I catch sight of a few words, though most of them aren’t legible from this far away, and the cold in my fingers only gets worse.
Nervous.
Shaky.
Suspicious.
Check coworkers.
