Kit wrinkled his nose. “No way, that’s way too messy to eat on the couch.”
“I don’t care about my couch,” James said, frowning. “Why do you care about my couch?”
Kit immediately averted his eyes and snatched the takeout. “No reason. I just like being tidy.”
James broke into a laugh. “I can just buy a new couch. We can have an eating couch and a sex couch.”
Bishop groaned and grabbed the silverware. “I vote we eat at the table, if you guys have been having sex on the couch,” he said, following Kit.
Then Kit and James froze, making guilty eye contact.
Bishop swore under his breath.
“The table is safe,” Kit said, flushing to the tips of his ears. “For now. Wait until after we eat before you tell me about the murders, by the way. Unless they’re really un-gruesome murders.”
The campus murders were not un-gruesome. Bishop waited until most of the food was cleared away to set a folder on the table.
James grabbed more beer for him and Bishop, while Kit was still working on his second. He was a pretty casual drinker for a nineteen year old. Didn’t race to get shitfaced like the dumbasses Bishop was used to. Then again, back when Bishop was on the force, he only had to deal with parties that got out of control. Biased sample.
“Three SCU students have been murdered in the past month,” Bishop said. “Victor Wang, Timothy Wellington, and Marco Fernandez.”
“Wait,” James interrupted. “I thought there were only two.”
Bishop passed photos—all three of the dead boys got clean-cut school portraits this time—to Kit. “The first one, Victor, was originally ruled a suicide. He hasn’t been linked publicly to the others, but SCPD is reopening his case since he was friends with Timothy.”
Kit examined the photos quietly, solemnly, while James leaned over his shoulder.
“Who hired you?” James asked.
“Timothy’s parents. He was the second victim.”
“The one who got mutilated after he died, instead of before?” Kit asked, then shrugged when Bishop looked at him questioningly. “I read an article. Well, I skimmed an article.”
Bishop continued. “The Wellingtons are frustrated with the pace of the investigation. They think their kid’s death didn’t get enough attention until the third body turned up and forced more attention on the department. They’re probably right, but not for the reason they think.”
James got up and started clearing the rest of the table, still obviously listening along with Kit. He moved steadily, calmly, and Bishop might be the only one who would notice the tension running through him. San Corvo Police Department incompetence was partly why the Zhou family massacre was still unsolved. Why James had taken his revenge into his own hands.
Actually, maybe Kit noticed James’s tension too. He tracked James’s movements now and then as he listened to Bishop explain.
“Timothy was twenty years old, a straight-B student. He had a history with law enforcement. Public intoxication, destruction of property, and an accusation of roofie-ing a fellow student. That accusation didn’t go anywhere, and I don’t have the records for it.”
“So, the cops didn’t like him?” Kit said.
“He annoyed them with impressive frequency for someone who only transferred in his sophomore year,” Bishop grimaced. “But that doesn’t have much to do with the murder investigation. That was slow to start because SCPD is incompetent and lazy.”
Bishop had friends on the force, or at least people he would share a beer with. But as an organization, toxic inaction slowed everything more complicated than a routine traffic stop. Running smoothly meant not rocking the boat. Officers wanted to claim responsibility for successes but didn’t want to put in the hard work to get there.
Bishop liked to imagine he still would have left the force by now, even without the Archie incident. But maybe that was wishful thinking about the kind of man he wanted to be.
“SCPD started taking everything seriously after Marco turned up, because there’s too much public attention on them. But the Wellingtons still aren’t happy about how the first two days after their son’s death were handled.”
“What do they want you to do?” Kit asked.
“This is a normal PI case,” Bishop said. “Not an execution case. At least, not while it’s still active with SCPD.”
In normal cases, Bishop turned critical information over to the authorities. His old friends on the force still respected him, even if it wasn’t always mutual. They trusted him not to run hismouth to the media, and in return, they didn’t get in his way. Normal, legal cooperation.
Vigilantism was Bishop’s last resort. Even if sometimes he itched to pick up his gun sooner. Cut through the bureaucratic nightmares with a bullet.
