Brian Freeman - The Burying Place

Stride didn't want to be surprised in the morning. 'Yeah, all right. Come with me. Let's put it on.'

They returned to the office halfway down the hall, where Stride turned on the lights and dropped his coat on the back of a chair. Blair tottered on her heels, and her eyes drifted to the stacks of paper littered around the room.

'No spying on anything in here,' he told her. 'Got it?'

'Yeah, OK. Did you see me on the air last night?'

'I did. You better be careful, Blair. You pretty much accused Marcus Glenn of murdering his daughter. You're going to get sued if you keep it up.'

Blair shrugged. 'Oh, I say "alleged" and all those other weasel words. All I do is point out the facts.' She peeled the lid off the cookie tin and pulled out a round peanut butter cookie with a chocolate kiss pressed in the center. She popped the whole thing in her mouth and chewed. 'You sure you don't want one?'

'I'm sure.'

She.licked her fingers and studied him through her thick glasses. 'How do I look, by the way? The network paid for my hair and makeup. Pretty smokin', huh?'

Stride realized that Blair did look more polished now. Her hair, which had been dirty and stringy when he first met her, was now cut, swirled, and sprayed into place. Her once-blotchy skin was smooth and pink. 'You're looking good, Blair.'

'Good? That's the best you can do?'

He pointed at the DVD in her hand and then at the television stand in the corner. 'What's on the disk?'

Blair popped the disk into the DVD player on the shelf below the television. 'This is an interview that a Las Vegas reporter did with a black bombshell down there this afternoon. She strips at a club north of downtown. Her name's Lavender-something.'

'Lavender?'

'Yeah.'

Stride chuckled. 'How did this reporter find her?'

'She came to him. She saw the story about Callie on the news.'

As the video rolled, Lavender filled the screen. She had straightened black hair and full, pale pink lips, with white teeth that looked capped. She tapped a long fingernail against her cheek impatiently as the camera man took his time to get focused, scrolling up her long legs and lingering on the surgically enhanced breasts filling her T-shirt.

'How did you meet Marcus Glenn?' the reporter asked.

'He's a regular at the strip club where I work. He's in Vegas three, four times a year.'

'What's he like?'

Lavender's broad lips curled into a smile . 'He's a doctor, baby. Doctors have the whole God thing going on. When they screw you, it's like they're delivering the seed of the Savior, know what I mean ?'

Blair laughed. 'I love that part.'

'So this was a sexual relationship you had with Marcus Glenn?'

'Oh, yeah:

'Did you know he was married?'

'Sure. I like it that way. No strings. They don't come around on one knee with a ring. It's expensive dinners, a few sweaty rides, and then they go home.'

'Was this a… paid relationship?'

Lavender's eyes flashed with anger . 'Nobody buys me .'

'Yeah, except for the lobster dinners and the bling,' Blair commented.

'Did Marcus Glenn tell you much about his personal life?'

'Not a lot. Men in Vegas are looking to forget what they've got back home, you understand? But I saw a photo he had of his wife. She was a looker. One time I asked him if his wife wasn't enough for him, if that's why he was with me.'

'What did he say?'

'He said you only use the good china on special occasions. ' Lavender's laugh was deep and throaty.

Stride winced, imagining this video on the news, knowing it would drive a knife through Valerie Glenn's heart. He didn't have any sympathy for Marcus Glenn. Stride just hated the collateral damage that always seemed to strike families when they became crime victims. It wasn't enough to lose a daughter. Now Valerie Glenn had to face the hollow reality of her marriage.

'This is the good part,' Blair told him. 'Listen.'

'You know about Marcus Glenn's daughter? That she's missing?'

'Missing. Yeah, that's what he says. I don't believe it.'

'What do you mean?'

'I saw Marcus in the spring. April, I think. He let slip over dinner that his wife had had a baby a few months earlier. So what am I going to say? I told him congratulations.'

'What did he say?'

'He said it was his wife's idea. He said he would have been a hell of a lot happier if the baby had never been born at all.'

'Never been born? He used those words?'

'Yeah, he did. Honestly, for me, that was the end. Next time he was in town, I ducked him. As far as cheating goes, boys will be boys, OK? But any man says that about his own kid, I don't want him in my bed.'

Blair hit the stop button on the machine and ejected the disk. 'That's it. Does that freeze your blood or what? I told you Glenn was a cold character.'

'Are you going to run that?' Stride asked.

'You bet. Tomorrow morning. I tried to get one or both of the Glenns on camera too, but they won't talk.'

'I'd like a copy of the disk,' Stride told her.

'Sure. How about a quote for my story? Or better yet, a live interview?'

'Not yet.'

Blair's face wrinkled in frustration. 'Seems like this source stuff is all one-way, Lieutenant. I'm giving you dirt, you're giving me squat.'

'When I have something, you're first in line,' Stride said.

'Yeah, promises, promises. So what do you think, anyway? Does this change your mind about Marcus Glenn?'

'Off the record?'

'If it has to be.'

Stride stuck a hand in the cookie tin and pulled out a peanut butter blossom, which he ate in two bites, saving the chocolate kiss for last. 'You're right, these are good cookies,' he said. Then he added, 'Off the record, Marcus Glenn has been lying since day one. I'd like to know why. I'd like to know what he's hiding.'

Stride removed his clothes silently in the bedroom of the cabin. He saw the moonlit glow of Serena's bare shoulder above the blanket, but he wasn't sure if she was asleep. When he was naked, he slid under the blanket and lay on his back with his hands laced behind his head. On the night-time drive along Highway 2, he'd struggled to keep his eyes open, but now he was wide awake. He stared at the rounded log beams lining the ceiling. Outside, snow hissed and pricked at the window, and he could hear the wind, which had been calm during the daylight hours, roar back to life.

Beside him, Serena turned over on to her back. The blanket drew down, exposing most of the cream-colored slopes of her breasts. Her black hair fell in loose strands across her face. He could see that her eyes were open. They lay next to each other for long minutes, not speaking. He wanted to talk, but it felt like a momentous effort to say anything at all. Talking about his panic attacks, his depression, his hopelessness, his fear, was impossible. So he said nothing.

Under the blanket, Serena's hand slid closer until their fingers touched. He didn't move his hand away, but he didn't reach over to lace their fingers together, as he usually would. He closed his eyes, pretending to sleep, but after a while, he gave up and opened them again. On Serena's cheek, he thought he saw a wet trail of silver. Tears. He wanted to reach out and comfort her, get inside her head, let her back inside his life. All he could do, though, was lie motionless on the bed. Paralyzed.

Serena turned on her side. She stared at him in the darkness, but they still didn't say a word. She lifted his arm and stretched it out behind her, and then she folded herself into the crook of his neck. Her bare skin bonded with his own body; she was soft and smooth against his muscles. He was conscious of the touch of her nipples, hardened by the cool air. Her left leg draped over his, and the warmth of her mound pressed against his hip. Her face was damp on his shoulder. She laid her arm across his chest and made circles on his breastbone with her thumb, but her warmth and pressure against him felt sterile. His nerve ends were dead. His mind and body drifted apart, as if they were separate and unconnected things.