His ex-partner, Archie Calvin.
“That’s your guy, isn’t it?” Darius asked.
“Yeah.” Bishop’s own voice sounded distant. “That’s Archie.”
Mechanically, Bishop set his beer down, then moved towards the living room. All his thoughts felt distant too, the gears struggling to turn. How the fuck did Archie get out? Why did Bishop find out like this, instead of from his contacts on the force?
Did this have anything to do with his visit, Archie taunting him through the plexiglass?
Why did Archie break out?
“Where’s the remote?” Bishop asked, then found it a second later. Fuck. He was slow. “I need to listen to this.”
And what did Archie plan to do next?
Bishop’s shock crystallized into focus. He locked in on the news anchor’s voice. The mugshots. Every word rolling across the chyron.
“—urges citizens to be alert and cautious,” the woman said. “Report any sightings of Calvin or Renaker to the hotline number, but do not approach—”
“Going to be a long night, huh,” Kit said, veering towards the staircase. “I’m going to make coffee.”
Efficient. Helpful. Kit was better in a crisis than Bishop right now.
“The coffeemaker’s in the kitchen,” James pointed out. He had his phone in hand, attention darting between screens.
“Half the mugs are upstairs,” Kit explained innocently. “No idea why.”
“Because you left them there!” Darius accused, but Kit was already upstairs. “Are you okay?”
A drawn-out silence later, Bishop realized Darius was talking to him. “I’m fine,” he said, the least believable lie he’d spoken in years. Bishop shook himself. “I just didn’t see this coming, and I don’t know what it means.”
Archie’s mugshot was familiar. Grizzled jawline, ruddy cheeks, a rare scowl. When they patrolled together, Archie was always smiling, even in the worst circumstances. Bishop used to think Archie was good-natured. Now he knew Archie just lacked empathy.
Laird Renaker’s name and mugshot were familiar too, but only glancingly. No details came to mind. Laird looked to be in his late fifties, with dark hair and intense eyes. The sort of punchably arrogant mugshot that always pissed Bishop off.
According to the anchor’s ongoing summary, Laird was a murderer.
A text buzzed into Bishop’s phone. He expected to see Archie’s name, even though that didn’t make sense. Archie wouldn’t contact Bishop. The text was from Paula—San Corvo Police Department’s chief of gossip.
Paula:Heads up, Archie broke out
Little fucking late on that.
“Old colleague,” Bishop told James and Darius, then called back.
Paula waited a few rings to answer. “Hey, give me a second.” Footsteps took her to a quieter environment. Probably the ladies’ room by the echo. She must be at the station. “Okay, now nobody’s breathing down my neck. Crazy, isn’t it?”
“Not that I’m unhappy to hear from you,” Bishop said, “but why am I hearing this after the press?”
“They sent someone to your house,” Paula said, voice hushed.
Bishop considered turning on speakerphone, but Paula might hear the change in tone. Instinct told Bishop not to trust her. Something about this was weird. “I’m not at my house.”
“Where are you?”
“I’ll be home soon,” Bishop lied. “Who did they send?”
“I can look that up.” Paula hesitated, as James edged closer, blatantly eavesdropping. “They might want to ask some questions. You visited Archie.”
