“Not the time, Vaughn.”
“It wasn’t the time for you to bring up Ivy’s father. And it wasn’t time to tell the captain that she was at the other crime scene.”
“I brought up Ivy’s father because I got a hunch. This whole ‘can’t speak, can’t write’ thing is a farce. He—”
“He’s a fucking vegetable, Darnell!”
Darnell looked apathetic. Went so far as to shrug.
Ho hum, that’syouropinion.
“I’m trying to figure this shit out, Vaughn. I got my hunches, you know that. Sorry if I hurt your girlfriend’s feelings.”
That was it.
Vaughn lost it.
“Fuck your hunches! Nothing you’ve fucking done is helping figure this out.Nothing.It’s just been about you. How many times have I covered for you? Huh?”
Darnell balled his fists and Vaughn took notice.
“You gonna grab me by the throat, too? ‘Cause I’ll tell you what, I’m not Delaney. That shit won’t fly with me.”
It looked like Darnell would do just that, and Vaughn tensed. Then the man spread his fingers.
“Go home, Darnell. Go the fuck home. Get your shit together.”
The senior detective bowed his head. Turned and left without another word.
Vaughn waited for him to disappear out the rear doors of the police station before finally exhaling.
Shit, that was intense.
Vaughn wanted to heed his own advice: Go home. It had been an insane day.
Night, week.Whatever.
He breathed again.
No—he still had to work. There was one tank of gas still out there.
Vaughn just had no idea where to look. He found himself back in his office staring at the murder board.
No help there.
Vaughn refused to follow Darnell’s hunch and look into Eugene Reeves. Not yet, anyway. His mind turned to something Ivy had said during her interview about a man in the bar. An unlikely suspect, but somewhere to start, at least.
Vaughn called the Marriott at Forrestal, gave his credentials, then asked if someone named Blake was staying there. The maître d’, a slow-speaking Latino man, searched the database and told him that a Blake Lane had stayed at the hotel, but he’d checked out a day ago. Vaughn pressed his luck by asking if they had an address on file for Blake, but the maître d’ informed him that he couldn’t give out that information. He thanked the man and hung up.
Probably just a dead end anyway.
Vaughn had calmed down considerably when he approached Bowes, this time with his tech partner Caine, in the bullpen.
“Hey, Bowes, did Darnell give you some printer pages to compare?”
The man glanced up from his laptop.
“Sure did. Actually, I’m surprised that Darnell brought them to me. Didn’t think you guys listened to anything I say.”
