Taking a few deep breaths, Ben had to rein in his rising fury as he finished reading the last statement in the file. The anger he felt wasn't just righteous indignation at shoddy police work. It was personal, visceral. The rage of seeing a young life discounted, diminished, forgotten.
No wonder Kelly had turned to investigating cold cases. She'd witnessed firsthand how easily the system could fail the dead when the living found the truth inconvenient.
He gathered the papers together, carefully reorganizing them into the folder. Kelly had been carrying this burden alone for years, fighting against not just a murderer but an entire community's determination to forget.
Well, she wasn't alone anymore. He wanted to help her, to bring some sort of justice to a teenage girl he’d never even met. For the first time in a long time, he had a goal.
Maybe there was more Seth Reilly in him than he’d realized.
Ben had barely slept.
All the images from the file had bounced around in his head, along with about a million ideas and theories. Of course, there was the anger, too. The investigation into the murder of Lori Powell had been botched from day one.
Tired of pretending to sleep, he’d crawled out of bed and headed straight into the kitchen to fix his first cup of coffee for the day. He had a feeling there would be many more, but the first cup always tasted the best.
He needed to talk to someone about the file, about what he’d seen, but he didn’t know many people who were up before the sun and the chickens, and were okay with discussing murder before breakfast.
Except for…
Picking up his phone, Ben's thumb hovered over Chase's contact information. Of all the people in the world, Chase would be awake. Hell, he’d probably already been up for an hour or two. The original early-bird, Ben’s brother, liked to get to the coffee shop before any other employees for some coffee and quiet time, usually around three in the morning, though it could be as early as two if there was a lot going on.
Before he could overthink it, Ben pressed "Call" and held the phone to his ear. Three rings later, a chipper, wide-awake voice answered.
"Ben? What's wrong? Is everyone okay?" Chase's voice sounded panicky, and Ben winced at what his brother must be thinking about this unplanned, early-morning call.
"Everyone's fine," Ben replied quickly, suddenly feeling foolish. Of course, Chase would assume an emergency. Ben never called before ten or eleven. "No one is dead or injured. No bail money needed. I should have sent a text first. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
Ben knew he hadn’t, but it was polite to ask.
“I wasn't asleep. I’m at the coffee shop, but I can talk." There was a rustling sound, as if Chase were moving around. "What's up? You don’t usually call this early in the morning. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Ben stood and paced to his window, looking out at the city lights. The sun would be up soon.
"It's all fine. I was just..."
The words wouldn't come. How exactly did he explain that his entire professional identity had crumbled, that he'd spent days in a fog of self-pity watching streaming shows he couldn't even name now, and that he'd just spent hours looking at crime scene photos of a murdered girl he'd never met, but now wanted to help?
“Ben?" Chase's voice had that edge to it, the one that said he was concerned, and Ben better start talking. "You can tell me anything, you know that, right? Whatever it is, we'll figure it out."
That unconditional support loosened something in Ben's chest. He’d held it all in too long. Something had to give.
"Scott joined a commune," he blurted out. "Or something like that. He's 'finding himself,' apparently. Renouncing capitalism. Living off the grid."
There was a beat of silence before Chase responded.
"Your business partner, Scott? Mr. Software Genius?"
"The very same. He just... left. Gave it all up. And then Martin—" Ben ran a hand through his hair, still finding it surreal to say out loud. "Martin decided that without Scott's genius, the company wasn't worth saving. So instead of hiring someone new, he's shutting it all down."
"Jesus, Ben. That's... When did this happen?"
Ben winced at the question. "Several weeks ago."
Although it hadn’t become real until the office had permanently closed last Friday, and Ben didn’t have anywhere to be anymore.
"Several weeks? And you're just telling me now? You didn’t mention this at all when we last talked.”
"I know, I know." Ben sighed, turning away from the window. "I should have told you before. I just... I didn't want to admit it was happening. Then I didn't want to admit how I was handling it. Or not handling it, more accurately."
