Out for Blond Read online

  I’d been to talk to all of them, and this was the same thing I was getting everywhere. They were freaking consistent, that was for sure.

  “You know, Odette,” I said, “I’m starting to believe that maybe you really did do it.”

  “Good,” she said.

  “You could get the death penalty. Are you willing to die for this? To protect Gunner?”

  She pressed her lips together and didn’t say anything.

  “Look, what if Gunner wasn’t guilty after all?” I said. “What if I proved that someone else entirely did this? Would your story change then?”

  She hesitated.

  I leaned forward. “Odette?”

  “We’re the ones who killed Tess Carver,” she said. But she wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  * * *

  I shut the door behind me, happy to be back in my office. My head was swimming, and I was still a little hungover from last night. I couldn’t make heads or tails of this case at this point, and I didn’t know what to do.

  “Hey,” said Brigit. “Eden’s back in your inner office.”

  “Eden?” I said. “What’s she doing here?”

  Brigit shrugged. “I don’t know. She didn’t say.”

  It probably had something to do with the dirty cops that were taking money from the O’Shaunessys. I hurried back and closed the door after me.

  “Fine!” yelled Brigit’s muffled voice. “Shut me out, then. Literally.”

  From the other side of my desk, Eden Foxcroft raised her eyebrows. Her eyebrows were incredibly thick, and I realized that she’d darkened them in with a pencil. True to form, she’d changed her hair. It was short and spiky—platinum blond with streaks of blue in it.

  I sat down behind my desk. “Hey. I’m the blonde. People might get us confused now.”

  “What’s up with Brigit?” said Eden.

  I sighed. “The less she knows about this, the better. It’s for her own safety.”

  “Well, I’m sure she can hear through the door,” said Eden. “The walls here are pretty thin.”

  Damn it all, she was right. This place was notorious for having thin walls. I could usually hear everything through them. “Well, just keep it general, then. What’s up?”

  Eden and I went way back. She had been my roommate in college, and she was one of the few people I really got along with. She was probably my best female friend, even if we didn’t see each other all that often. Eden was a bit of a hermit. She lived on her computer, and she was really good at doing me favors that way. When I needed computer expertise, I called on her, and she always delivered.

  “Well, I went through the emails that you wanted me to look at,” she said, taking out a folder and sliding a stack of papers across my desk.

  I leafed through the papers. They were printouts of emails from Jack Cannon and Dexter Howe. I’d asked her to look at the two of them online, see if there was any kind of digital paper trail that could help me prove what they were up to. I figured if I could pile up a deluge of evidence against them, then the department would have to acknowledge that they were dirty and fire their asses. God knew they deserved it.

  “Find anything?” I said.

  “Not much,” she said, “but I do notice that they’ve both whitelisted the same email address, and it’s one that sends advertisements on how to increase your penis size.”

  I snorted. “Oh, well, that’s hilarious. Who knew that both of them were less than well endowed?”

  “I don’t think it’s really advertisements,” said Eden.

  “What?” I said. “I don’t understand.”

  “They get the exact same emails on the same day, and they’re oddly written. Look at that first one.”

  I peered down at it. “I don’t get it.”

  “Read it,” she said.

  I licked my lips. “Yes, you too can gain length, girth, and width. By your Thursday date at 7:30, you could be experiencing better sex, pleasing your partner more, and happier in general. Just send your check or money order to the parking lot behind Johnny’s Restaurant.” Well, that last part was a bit weird. There was a Johnny’s Restaurant in Renmawr. It was a known O’Shaunessy front. The food wasn’t half bad, actually. But the service there was laughable. If they hadn’t been getting a steady funnel of mob money, they’d never have stayed in business.

  “See?” she said.

  “See what?”

  “Thursday, 7:30, the parking lot behind Johnny’s Restaurant?”

  “Oh yeah, I do see,” I said, grinning. “So, you think these messages are communications?”

  “I do,” she said. “I think this is how the O’Shaun—”

  “Shh!” I said, eyeing the door meaningfully.

  “Man, why don’t you just tell her what’s going on?”

  “I told you, it’s not safe.”

  “Well,” said Eden, “if it’s not safe for her, then it’s probably not safe for you either, right?”

  “I can handle myself,” I said.

  She surveyed me. “You know, I worry about you sometimes, Ivy.”

  “Don’t,” I said.

  “How’s Miles?”

  I shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

  “What, you don’t know?”

  “We don’t speak all that often,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “He, um, he thinks that I have a problem, and he’s not interested in being around me until I get help or something.”

  “A problem? Like with the sex stuff?”

  “Shh!” I said again, looking at the door.

  Eden glared at me. “You can’t hide everything from her, you know?”

  I shrugged.

  “Well, does Miles know you’re looking into this?” Eden gestured at the stack of emails.

  “What does that matter?”

  “Just seems like something he should know about,” she said. “Crooked cops and all.”

  “I told you not to get into specifics. I don’t need Brigit to know about this stuff.”

  “Right,” said Eden. “Well, what can I talk about then?”

  “So, these messages are in code. You think they’re referencing face-to-face meetings?”

  “That makes sense,” said Eden. “Honestly, I hadn’t given it much thought. Figured that’s your department, figuring out what it all means.”

  “Right, well, then, I’d like to know the next time they get one.”

  “Oh, already on top of that, sister,” said Eden. “I’ve set it up to forward a carbon copy of the message to your inbox the next time it happens. Did it real stealthy like too, so they’ll never know that their email is being used to send you messages.”

  I grinned. “Thanks, Eden. You’re the best.”

  * * *

  “So, I guess I don’t get to know about any of that,” said Brigit after Eden left.

  “You were listening in, weren’t you?” I said.

  She was leaning against her desk. “I wasn’t trying to, not exactly. But the walls are pretty thin. A lot of what you were saying was just sort of easy to hear, you know?”

  “Don’t worry about it, really,” I said. “Let’s focus on the Gunner Bray case instead.”

  “What?” She pushed away from the desk. “I thought we quit that case.”

  I held up a finger. “Here’s the thing. When I went to look at the body, I distinctly remember thinking that it was the work of two different people, because the way that the symbols looked. It looked like two different knives had been used. Now, I’m not certain, but I think it’s unlikely that one person stops in the middle of cutting a girl and gets another knife.”

  Brigit winced, probably picturing that, then took a deep breath, getting herself together. “But, okay, what’s that mean? Gunner had help?”

  “I don’t know what it means,” I said. “I haven’t ruled Gunner out, but I talked to him last night—”

  “You went to see him?” she said, horrified. “Oh my God, he’s gotten to you somehow. He’s
charmed you, just like all those other women on the farm. He’s inside your head.”

  “He’s not inside my head,” I said. “Okay, I can’t really think of a good reason why he would be innocent, it’s true. But I just…” I massaged the bridge of my nose. “He’s not inside my head.”

  “He is so. You’ve been completely brainwashed. That’s the reason we’re on this case, and that’s the reason you aren’t quitting, even though it’s obvious—”

  “It’s not obvious,” I said. “I mean, maybe it’s ridiculous to think that Gunner would kill her using the ritual. If he’d spent all that time talking about it, it would make everyone think it was him. So, he’d never be so stupid as to talk about that ritual so much and then actually do it.”

  “Yes, he could be,” said Brigit. “He’s full of himself. He thought that he could get the entire farm to shut up about him talking about the ritual. He thought he’d get away with it. He even has those four goons in jail, taking the fall for him. But I guess you believe him when he says that he didn’t order them to confess.”

  “I…” Now it sounded stupid. Was I under Gunner Bray’s spell? Had he charmed me into doubt when it was stupid to think otherwise?

  “He’s the murderer, Ivy. It’s him.”

  “Well, then,” I said, “if he’s the murderer, let’s find some solid evidence tying him to the crime. Something physical. Something tangible.”

  “We won’t find anything like that,” said Brigit. “He’s covered his tracks too well.”

  “I need more information before I can let this go,” I said. “I’m not convinced.”

  “Brainwashed,” said Brigit, shaking her head.

  * * *

  It was late evening and I was just getting to the police department, so late that the secretary in Homicide had already gone home for the night. That was just as well, truly. She didn’t like me, and I was happy enough not talking to her.

  The department was completely empty, in fact, all the desks vacant. I made my way between them, all the way to the back of the room. I knocked on the door to the office in the rear.

  The door opened, and Miles Pike was standing there. He took my breath away, he was so handsome. I hadn’t been expecting to react to him, and I grinned.

  “I thought you’d still be here,” I said.

  He swallowed. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you.”

  “Is this more about Howe and Cannon, because I told you to stay clear of that, and if I find out otherwise—”

  “It’s not about that,” I said. “It’s about the Tess Carver case.”

  He furrowed his brow. “That again? Why are you going on about that?”

  “Well,” I said, “I’ve been hired by the Clayton Society to clear Gunner Bray’s name and prove he didn’t do it.”

  Pike’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding. You took a case like that? I’m disappointed in you.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, he’s so obviously guilty. You can’t clear his name, not in good conscience.”

  “Everyone keeps saying that.” I sighed.

  “Have you found any evidence that clears him?”

  “I think two people killed Tess Carver,” I said.

  He looked at me like I was crazy. “Why would you say that?”

  “The symbols that were carved into her body. I could swear that the same person didn’t do all of them.”

  He shook his head. “You can’t know that, Ivy. Come on, that’s thin. And besides, it doesn’t clear Gunner, it just means that he had help. I’m guessing he would have had his pick of anyone to do his bidding. He orders the people on that farm around, and they all listen to him. You have to know that.”

  “Well… yeah,” I said. “It’s a little bit disturbing.”

  “And yet, you still think he might be innocent.”

  “Well, I won’t stay on the case if I think he’s guilty,” I said. “I just need to be sure. I was hoping that maybe you could help me with that.”

  “How could I help?”

  “Uh, I guess I was hoping to, um, borrow some crime scene photos.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Oh, no you don’t, Stern.”

  “Come on, Pike, you give me stuff like that all the time when you’re kicking me missing persons cases.”

  “That’s one thing. This is completely different. This is an active, open investigation, and you’re asking me to interfere with it.”

  “Be serious, Pike. You already arrested the guy. No one’s actively investigating that anymore.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that once you guys have made the arrest, you consider the case closed. I know this, because I used to work here, so don’t act as if I’m some idiot who doesn’t understand.”

  “But the case isn’t really closed until it goes to trial, now, is it? And we’ll need those crime scene photos for the trial. Once Bray’s convicted, well, then I guess it wouldn’t matter if we kept the information, then.”

  “The trial might not be for years,” I said. “And it’s not as if I want the only copies of the crime scene photos or something. Print me off a copy. The original remains on your hard drive.”

  He shook his head, laughing under his breath. “You’ve got nerve, I’ll say that.”

  “Don’t make me beg.” I clasped my hands together in front of me.

  A harsh laugh from Pike. “Now, that would be something, wouldn’t it? Seeing you beg?”

  I furrowed my brow. “You’re angry.”

  “I’m appalled that you’d ask me for something you know I can’t give you.”

  “No, it’s more than that. You’re angry with me. What’s this about? Is this still about Crane?”

  Pike’s nostrils flared. He clenched and unclenched his fists.

  I took a step backward. I hadn’t been expecting that response from him. In the past, he’d never been so combative, but he was different these days. “What’s going on with you?” I said, my voice quiet. I was genuinely concerned.

  Pike took a step towards me. “Oh, you would ask that, wouldn’t you? As if it’s me with the problem, not you.”

  I pointed at my chest. “Me? What are you talking about?”

  He grabbed me by the shoulders. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  I was reminded of Gunner grabbing me like this. Gunner had been earnest and pleading, but Pike was full of rage, and I was stunned to think that I could be more frightened of Pike than of a possible murderer. “I don’t. And you’re starting to really freak me out. You aren’t yourself.”

  “No?” Another bitter chuckle. He shook me.

  My teeth clattered against each other. More fear jolted through me. “Let go of me.”

  “You’re so presumptuous, Stern. You think you can have anything—anything that takes your fancy. You want the crime scene photos. You want me to be okay with the fact that you’re not faithful. You want—”

  “What do those things even have to do with each other? Besides, we aren’t even dating. Let go of me, Pike.”

  He didn’t. He gave me another painful shake.

  But then something crossed in front of his eyes and his expression changed. He suddenly started to gasp, as if he couldn’t catch his breath. He let go of me immediately, stumbling backwards.

  He collided with his desk chair and sat down hard in it. He was still gasping.

  I hurried to his side. “Miles? Miles, what’s wrong?”

  He was clutching the arms of his chair, and he was wheezing as he tried to breathe. “Heart,” he gasped. “Pounding.”

  “What’s going on?” I said. “Can’t you breathe?”

  He was taking deliberate huge gulps of air. “Yes—yes, I’m fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine.” I reached for the phone on his desk. “I’m calling 911.”

  He caught my wrist, shaking his head firmly. “No.”

  “What is wrong, Miles?”

 
He shut his eyes, leaned his head back against his desk chair. He sat that way for a few minutes, just breathing noisily.

  I watched him, terror streaking through me. As every second ticked by, I worried he wasn’t going to open his eyes. I tensed, ready to grab the phone anyway.

  Slowly, he opened his eyes. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just feeling a little dizzy, that’s all. Probably should get something to eat.”

  I bit down on my lip. “I don’t think that’s what happens to someone who’s a little hungry. That was scary. What the hell?”

  He rubbed his forehead. “Scary, huh? So, you do care.”

  “How can you say that? You know that I do.” I was a little hurt. Our relationship hadn’t worked out, but it hadn’t been because we didn’t care about each other. I knew that for typical people, they’d show their feelings for each other by having sex. But we weren’t typical—I didn’t think of sex that way, and Miles didn’t want to have sex at all. Still, the only sticking point between us was sex. Everything else was just fine.

  He was still breathing a little heavily. “You’re right. That was a rude thing to say.”

  I knelt down so that I was eye-level with him. “Miles,” I said in a soft voice, “you have to know that you’re important to me. No matter what kind of issues we’re having with each other, that’s never going to change. If things were different, we’d be together. I love you. I always have, and I always will.”

  He swallowed. But he didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t even meet my gaze.

  We sat that way for several heavy moments. He looked away from me, and I stayed on my knees, watching his labored breath. I willed him to say something, to tell me that he loved me too, to make what I’d said better in some way, because now it was hanging between us like this embarrassing thing, and I half-wished I could just take it back.

  “You don’t,” he muttered.

  “What?” I got to my feet.

  “You don’t love me,” he said. “Or… I don’t know, maybe you think you do, but if you really did, then you wouldn’t choose your addiction over—”

  “I don’t have an addiction.” It came out sharp, but I wasn’t angry with him. I was angry with myself for saying something stupid like I was in love with him. I should know better than to say something so ridiculous. I should have kept that inside, because now it made me look idiotic, and I could never take it back. It would always be this stupid, stupid thing I’d said. I started for the door. “Look, I should probably go.”