Page 96 of Bossman

She took a deep breath. “I have some news about Ms. Morris’s investigation.”

At first, after Peyton was killed, I’d needed to talk about her case. So much so that I’d frequently shown up at the police station to run through things I’d remembered or to demand an update. After I started drinking heavily, those visits became daily and were more like the tirades of an angry person. I didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, drank alcohol in my Cheerios for breakfast, and often forgot to add the cereal.

Eventually, Detective Balsamo showed up at my house at five in the morning one day, hoping to catch me sober, she’d said, and told me to stop coming down to the station.

I didn’t listen to her for a very long time.

When I finally did, she promised if she ever had news about Peyton’s case, she’d make sure I was the first to know. This morning was the first time I’d ever heard her say those words.

Detective Balsamo cleared her throat. “Two weeks ago, a woman was assaulted pretty badly. Stab wound to the chest.” Our eyes locked. “Happened at a homeless camp uptown.”

“The same one?”

“No, it was a different one. Different precinct, too. That’s why the detectives who caught the case didn’t make the connection at first. The woman was out for a few days, but when she woke up, we found out she was a waitress. Turned out she used to stop at the makeshift camp after her shift and bring the day’s leftovers from the place she worked. She was a do-gooder.”

“Like Peyton.”

She nodded. “When I heard that during our morning briefing, something clicked for some reason. So I had the medical examiner compare photos of the wound from the new case to the ones in Ms. Morris’s case file.”

“And it was a match?”

“It was. The knife blade had a small nick in it, so it made a pretty distinct mark.”

“So these kids are still at it? It’s been seven years.”

“That was our original assumption. The same gang of kids we’ve been looking for for seven years was still terrorizing homeless camps, and another bystanding victim was caught in the crossfire. But then we got to talk to the victim, and we found out it wasn’t a gang of kids that attacked her.”

This was what she needed to tell me in person, what was so important she had to show up at my office unannounced. She knew it was something I wanted to hear. Needed to hear. The rage I’d felt for so long after losing Peyton was back and coursing through my veins.

My hand shook, and I clenched my fist to steady it. “Who was it?”

She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Chase. But it was…Eddie.”

***

It had been more than two hours—I’d made the detective go through all of it with me, again and again. I paced back and forth like a caged lion trying to figure out my attack.

Somehow it had been easier to imagine that a group of drug-addicted teenagers from screwed-up homes was responsible for something so violent. The world was a much more fucked-up place when a homeless man people had spent years trying to help was guilty. I didn’t want to believe it was true.

“Where is he?” I demanded.

“Who? Eddie? He’s in custody.”

“I need to see him.”

“That’s not a good idea. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy for you to hear. But I’m hoping that eventually, knowing the case is closed and her killer will be locked away for the rest of his life will help you move on.”

But I had begun to move on. This…this felt like I was being robbed of light I’d only just begun to see after years of walking in a dark place.

I scoffed and then began to laugh maniacally. “Move on. I was moving on.”

Detective Balsamo’s jaw dropped. “I…I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Why? Why did he want to hurt Peyton?”

She swallowed and looked at her feet. When her eyes raised to meet mine, her voice was small. “He was in love with her. Apparently, when he saw that she’d gotten engaged, it set him off. He’s not stable.”

“Is he even fit to stand trial?”