Chapter 12

It’s a sorry state of affairs when Jacob’s office is less cluttered than mine. I took a seat with Bly and admired the plant-free expanse of the credenza. Jacob said, “Normally, we’d be investigating Andy Parsons’ family, but he’s single and his parents are vacationing in Costa Rica. I’m looking at the co-workers—the ones with access to the same printer. What if one of them was responsible for the wild accusations and Andy was about to report them? Or what if they were in it together and it went sour? My thought is that we need to get to these agents as soon as possible and interview them. Between the three of us, we could feel them out, see how much they actually know.”

A decent plan. If one of them stuffed that woodchipper, either Bly would catch them feeling guilty, or, if we were really lucky, “Andy” would tag along to the questioning and helpfully point the finger.

Bly agreed. “We can’t let them know they’re being interrogated. Interrogations make everyone defensive, whether or not they’ve done anything wrong. If they have something to hide and we make as if we don’t suspect them, they’ll either feel nervous or relieved. Either way, that’ll be easy to spot among the normal things you’d feel if you got the news that someone died. And we should tell them all at the same time. Make sure no one’s got a chance to collude.”

Jacob considered the idea. “You can read that many people at once?”

Bly smiled, mostly with his eyes. “Not a problem.”

“We can assume they’re not stupid,” Jacob said. “Having the three of us in the room to break the news will raise suspicions. A one-way mirror would do the same.”

“I’ll act as if you and Vic don’t know,” Bly suggested, “and I’m telling everyone at the same time. We can pull it off. They’re two NPs and a low-level precog.”

“It’s still a little weird,” I said. “The setup is too random. Why gather us all in a group to break the news? Unless….” I flashed back to the last officer down at the Fifth. I hadn’t really known her. It was awkward. “We frame it as a grief counseling type situation.”

“That can work,” Jacob said.

Bly added, “There’s some therapist they call when they lose an agent. Bring them in and no one will be any the wiser.”

It was a solid plan. And while I knew I was supposed to be scoping out potential mediums, it seemed pretty damn important to me to check out Andy’s co-workers. Or maybe I just wanted to get away from Darla.

We made all the arrangements, and while Bly went off to escort the grief counselor, Jacob and I headed to the meeting room. Lucky I had him, since it was unlikely I’d be able to pin down the location without an app. It was one tastefully decorated conference room among many, though this one had softer furniture and lower lights. Shortly after we found the place, Andy’s colleagues arrived in a bunch, two Caucasian women—one older, one younger—and a Latino guy with his necktie loosened. The first thing I noticed about them was that they were smiling, like we caught them mid-conversation and whatever they were chatting about had nothing to do with a shredded body.

Jacob leaned over to me and whispered, “We look suspicious. Smile like I just said something nice.”

Jacob might be plenty of things, but “nice” isn’t one of them. I forced my face into the expression, though given how stiff it felt, no doubt it was an epic fail. Jacob smiled back. Not with his eyes.

The older woman turned to us and asked, “Do you two know what this is about? I’m supposed to be prepping for the field.”

“Sorry,” Jacob said. Which, technically, wasn’t “no.”

“I hope it’s a long assignment. Those are always more interesting, you can really sink your teeth into them. Once I was a middle school teacher for an entire term, September to June. You’d be amazed, all the things I learned—or, I suppose, how much I’d managed to forget. I’m unstoppable at Trivial Pursuit now. But good thing I got out of learning that new math.”

Beneath the fake teacher prattling on to Jacob, I was aware of another pair of voices out in the hallway, both male, drawing closer. Hard to mistake Jack Bly for anyone else. But with dawning horror, I realized I knew the other voice, too—a deep, booming voice I’d heard run the gamut from scathing insults, to big, shameless belly laughs, to phenomenally intimate descriptions of exactly how hard he wanted to make me come. The memory was so visceral, when he walked through the door, I did a double-take. I expected him in teased hair and eyeliner, not a flared overcoat and pocket watch.

I felt entirely unprepared.

Then again, would I ever really be ready to face Stefan?

It was as jarring as ever to see how he’d aged. Not because he’d aged badly. Even heavier and graying, he was still handsome to me. It was the sparkle in his eye and the wry twist to the corner of his mouth that had drawn me to him, and the excitement of discovering a kindred spirit among all the institutional washouts I’d known. The longing I felt when I saw him now wasn’t exactly a longing for him, or even what might have been…but the deep and worthless realization that if I’d been a better human being, things wouldn’t have ended quite so horribly wrong.

Bly paused briefly—surprisingly enough, my dismay didn’t knock him right off his feet—but he rolled with the punches, and introduced Stefan as if he’d encountered nothing more than mild curiosity. “Agents Marks, Garcia, Frank, Lipton, and Bayne. This is Steven Russeau.”

Stefan stared at me for just a fraction of a beat, but in that tiny glimpse of vulnerability, it was as if he’d seen a ghost. Our eyes met. My guilt-ridden longing hung there for a moment between us, then curdled into anger over his betrayal. Stefan recovered quickly—more quickly than me—and carried on as if he didn’t know me from Adam. He turned toward the others and shook hands.

“Have we met?” the fake teacher asked as they shook.

“It’s possible. I’ve been consulting for the FPMP for a few years now.”

Before she could pursue the matter, Bly cut in to stop the pleasantries from getting out of hand. “You’ll want to sit down, Veronica, because he’s got some sad news.”

“There is no easy way to put this,” Stefan said with a very convincing display of sympathy. “I’m sorry to tell you that your friend and colleague, Andy Parsons, has passed away.”

There was a sharp intake of breath, which Jacob managed to mimic with little enough lag that he actually seemed surprised. I’m no great actor. I just pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head. Even though the gesture was all about Stefan, it must’ve looked entirely apropos. 

Once the big shock sank in, the guy, Agent Garcia, demanded, “What happened?”

“I’m told it’s part of an ongoing investigation.” Stefan held up a hand in benediction. An elegant gesture. One that seemed to encompass all the world’s suffering and offer a gentle, if somewhat generic, bit of comfort. “Obviously, if you have any information that might be helpful, you’ll want to report it to your superiors. But here, now, take advantage of the opportunity to process the information in a private, supportive atmosphere.”

“I can’t believe it,” the fake teacher said. “I just can’t believe it. He was so young. His whole life ahead of him.”

Then the other woman spoke up, the younger one. She had a downstate twang to her voice that must’ve been accentuated by her shock and grief. “Well, why don’t we all just say what everyone’s thinking? I should have known.”

“Come on, sweetie,” the fake teacher said. “No one is thinking that.”

“How could you not? I had like five dreams before my sister’s freaking parrot died. And I don’t see it coming when the guy on the other side of the cubicle—?” a sob choked off the end of her sentence. She buried her face in her hands, and wept.

Stefan strode over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. To comfort her, or to push her harder in hopes of making her crack? No idea. It would depend on what Bly had told him to do. But the thought of him tinkering around inside that poor girl’s head made my skin crawl. I stood up and edged to the opposite side of the room to put more distance between him and me, even though I knew that if he wanted to poke a few holes in my emotions, a few feet of air would hardly be an effective buffer.

“It’s frustrating enough to lose someone you’re close to,” Stefan said, “and even worse when there are so many questions. But I’m sure there’s nothing any of you could have done.”

What a performance. If I were a normal person, I’d take it as token words of condolence. But if I’d killed Andy, I’d be squirming in my seat. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Stefan was a master of double-talk. 

Fake Teacher was hung up on the “how” of it all. “Was he sick? Was there an accident?”

“I have no details at all,” Stefan said. “I’m so sorry.”

Garcia said, “If this has to do with our job, they’ve got to give us the details. Ongoing investigation or not.”

The three coworkers hadn’t even seen “Andy” half-shredded in the chipper, and even still, emotions ran high. The precog cried harder, while the fake teacher tutted over her and encouraged her to “let it all out,” and the guy snapped, “It’s not your fault, Colleen—what could you have done?”

 Jacob had his head down, though in reality, he was watching them carefully for any physical or verbal cues. I gave up all pretense of acting bereaved and simply paced back and forth, back and forth, ticking down the time until I could put Stefan out of my line of sight, and more importantly, out of my mind. Funny thing was, just as soon as I tore my eyes away from Stefan, I found myself staring at him all over again as if I had no control whatsoever where I planted my eyes. And he wasn’t compelling me—not that I would put it past him. But it took a certain amount of focus for him to manage his big come-hither, and he was too occupied trying to look like a compassionate person to have enough spare attention left over to do his thing.

Thankfully, it didn’t take Bly long to get what he needed from the three agents. He stood, buttoned his jacket, and said, “I’ll be sure to keep you all informed just as soon as I have anything substantial. And if any of you need some one-on-one time with Mr. Russeau, I’ll let you have your privacy.”

A brief flash of memory. Me. Stefan. Under the weird afghan at the Camp Hell counselor’s office, laughing nervously because we were all the way naked together for the very first time….

I slammed shut the door on that thought, locked it up tight, and without a single word, strode out of the room.

* * *

“I think Stefan handled that well,” Jacob said. 

I stomped the snow off my shoes with extra vigor. Gray snow hunks scattered to the far corners of the cannery’s entryway.

Jacob ignored my discomfort and plowed ahead. “It only makes sense that you’ll run into each other. You’re FPMP now. And it shouldn’t have come as any surprise that he’s a consultant.”

“No one expects the Spanish Inquisition,” I said mirthlessly.

“You were the one who suggested the grief counseling tactic.”

“Which you don’t need to remind me. We did it. It’s done. Now let’s move on.”

Jacob waited until I was done punishing the welcome mat, then suggested, “Pizza?”

Pizza is never on the menu unless it’s way too late to make dinner, and I’ve just blown him within an inch of his life. “You don’t need to placate me. I’m not mad at you.”

Jacob hung up his coat. “It would be cliche to say time heals all wounds…especially since yours look like they run pretty deep. But it’s worth mentioning that when you and I started dating, I couldn’t stand to be in the same room as Crash. I could barely even look at him. And now he’s one of my most trusted friends.”

“Some people are just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” I said. “You and Crash were friends once to begin with. Stefan and me—we just happened to be in close enough proximity to collide.”

The darkened cannery was no comfort, even once I walked through and turned on every first-floor light. No amount of rearranging the furniture could erase the gap where Lisa’s big blue tent used to be. Why was it that Stefan could keep coming back like a bad penny, but my relationship with Lisa was so easily spent? Jacob lurked around, ostensibly clearing the dining room table, but it doesn’t take more than a couple seconds to throw the junk mail in the recycling and wipe down the tabletop. “I’ll heat up some leftovers. That casserole from my mom is still in there somewhere.”

“Eat what you want. I’m not hungry.”

He sighed heavily. “Vic.”

“I need to think. Just…let me think.”

Referring to my mental process as “thinking” was probably a stretch. It felt more like a broken record, and the part it kept skipping back to was the part where the world sucked, I sucked, and I was an idiot for thinking things would ever get any better.

According to both Stefan and Bly, we couldn’t rule out any of the coworkers. They all exhibited varying levels of distress. So might a potential killer. Agent Garcia was angry—and again, a killer might be angry too. Agent Frank, the crying precog, felt guilty. Because she should have seen the murder coming, or some more nefarious reason? And the fake schoolteacher, Lipton, felt smug. Normally, that would be a red flag for me. But when I took an honest look at my own feelings about Andy’s death, weren’t they tinged with a bit of smugness, too?

I stood there in the middle of the room and cycled through everything I knew about the case, over and over again. When my knees and hips balked about standing, I adjourned to the recliner with the intention of resting my eyes, then woke up at half past three with the lights off and a fleece blanket draped over me. I closed my eyes to see if I might drift off again, but no. I was up for the day, and I’d need massive amounts of coffee to see it through to the end.

I put on a strong pot, found a plate of cheesy chicken casserole covered with Saran Wrap in the fridge and stuck it in the microwave. While it nuked, I considered my options. I couldn’t go back to the Fifth Precinct. And I couldn’t really put up a fuss that my FPMP job was nothing like Dreyfuss had promised. Dreyfuss was gone. And besides, the things Laura wanted me to do absolutely needed to be done.

By the time our alarm clock went off upstairs, I didn’t have any earth-shattering ideas, but I did have a hell of a resolve. Jacob came down gingerly, maybe to avoid waking me, maybe worried that I was still too wound up to even speak to him. He found me standing in the middle of the vast living room, hands on hips, and brimming with purpose. “Even if it kills me,” I said, “I will figure out how Andy ended up in that goddamn chipper.”