Karen Rose - I Can See You

“Neither. Jack was approached, but said ‘no comment.’ Who was this guy?”

“Name was Kurt Buckland. How close are you to having an official homicide ruling?”

“Ian’s doing the autopsy this morning, but he found signs that Brisbane was drugged. We’re going to interview the Altman family while Ian files for exhumation.”

“Good. I’ll give a statement as soon as Ian rules it a homicide. That’ll take some of the wind out of the reporter’s headline. Be back at four. Tell Micki to be here.”

“Will do. What about a shrink? We need to start a profile.”

“Carleton Pierce will be here at four. I’ve put Sutherland and Kane on standby.”

Noah dropped his cell in his pocket. “Let’s move. We have a deadline.”

Monday, February 22, 9:35 a.m.

Eve carefully placed the receiver in the cradle on her desk in the graduate office. “Fuck you, asshole,” she muttered.

A chuckle had her swiveling her chair. Callie sat behind her, laughing. “I knew you couldn’t hold it in. What was that all about, then?”

“I got a new leak in my roof, right over my bed. I moved my bed, but then it dripped into a bucket for the rest of the night. I didn’t sleep a wink.”

“You have to find a new place.” Callie brightened. “My building has a vacancy.”

“Your building costs twice as much as I can afford.”

“The concept is called a roommate.” Callie drew the word out. “My roommate and I split the rent and utilities and everybody is happy. You should get a roommate, too.”

“No.” After years of living with others, she wanted privacy. “My rent’s cheap.”

“Your rent is a gift . You’re just lucky that old woman liked you.”

Eve smiled sadly. “Mrs. Daulton liked everybody.”

“I know. And I know you miss her. How much longer till your lease runs out?”

“Six more months. And I’ll be damned if Myron Daulton gets his greedy little mitts on my house a second before that.”

“Um, Eve, it’s not your house. Legally, it’s his.”

“Greedy SOB, thinking he can run all his mother’s tenants out. Wouldn’t surprise me if he was up on the roof with an ice pick himself, making the damn leaks.”

“Now you’re sounding paranoid. So was the asshole on the phone the greedy SOB?”

“No, that was a roofer who does not fix roofs. He only talks to people buying new roofs. Who needs a brand-new roof, for God’s sake?”

“Sounds like you do. You shouldn’t be paying for repairs on somebody else’s house anyway. It’s not your responsibility. It might even be a lease violation.”

“Well, it’s moot, because I can’t get anyone to do it. I’m thinking that roofing would be a good skill to master. Lately I’ve done plumbing, some minor wiring…”

Callie’s eyes widened. “You’re not planning to fix your roof. You don’t like heights.”

“I like Myron less. I even called an old friend this morning to ask how I should do it.”

“What did he say?”

“I got his voicemail. He’ll call me back when he’s off shift.”

“You know him from the bar?”

“No, from back home. He’s a firefighter.”

“You touch your scar when you talk about Chicago,” Callie said quietly.

Eve yanked her hand from her cheek. “Which is why I don’t talk about it.”

“Don’t you miss them?” Callie asked. “Your family?”

Dana, Caroline, and Mia. The thought of them and their growing families, so far away, made Eve’s heart ache. Not a day went by that she didn’t miss them. “Yes. But I couldn’t stay.” To stay was to remember. To hide in the dark.

“At least Tom is here,” Callie said. “And me. But I ain’t helping with your roof.”

“Tom offered. He said he’d bring a half dozen friends when the season is over.”

Callie’s smile became wry. “Tom Hunter plus six college basketball players. On your roof. In the winter. You’re a foolish girl. If you’d wait till summer they’d work shirtless.”

“If I wait till summer, everything I own will be underwater and Myron Daulton will have won. I’ve got to go. I’ve got Abnormal in fifteen.” Eve reached to shut down her laptop, then stopped. Abruptly. “Oh my God,” she murmured staring at her email inbox.

“Eve, who is Martha Brisbane and why do you have her on Google Alert?”

Eve had put Martha on Google Alert a week ago, after she’d been missing from Shadowland for two days. Any mention of Martha on the Internet would be flagged.

And it had indeed. Her heart in her throat, Eve read the short article that had been published in today’s Mirror. Martha Brisbane, 42, was found dead in her apartment last night, the victim of an apparent suicide. She had hanged herself. The article went on, giving statistics of Twin Cities suicides, but Eve could only see one line.

Suicide. I should have seen this coming. I should have stopped it .

But Martha had spent eighteen hours a day in Shadowland for months before joining their study. Who knew what had driven her to do so? Still… Martha was dead.

And Eve wasn’t even supposed to know she’d existed.

“Eve?” Callie tapped her shoulder gently. “Who is she?”

“Just someone I know.” Someone I shouldn’t have known. But I did. Eve closed her laptop with a snap. “I have to get to class.”

Callie hung back, studying her. “Will you go to the funeral?”

She slid her laptop into her computer bag. “If I can figure out where it is, yes.”

“You want me to go with you?”

Eve drew a shaky breath. “Yes. Thanks.”

“You bet. Don’t go climbing on the roof by yourself.”

Eve made herself smile. Her roof was now the least of her concerns. “I won’t.”

Monday, February 22, 9:40 a.m.

“Thank you for seeing us.” Jack set his hat next to Noah’s on the coffee table.

Mrs. Altman’s hands were clutched tightly in her lap. “What is this about?”

“Your daughter, ma’am,” Noah said. He’d lost the toss again. “We know Samantha’s death was ruled a suicide, but you and your husband weren’t convinced.”

“It’s a mortal sin. Samantha was a good Catholic. She never missed Mass.”

“We believe your daughter didn’t commit suicide. She may have been murdered.”

Mrs. Altman closed her eyes. “Dear God.”

Jack gave her a moment. “Do you have the clothing your daughter was wearing?”

“We put everything in a box,” she murmured. “We haven’t been able to look at it.”

“What about the stool found in her bedroom?” Jack asked.

“I gave it to a thrift shop. I couldn’t look at it.”

Noah wanted to sigh. “Can you tell us which location you took it to?”

“Grand Avenue. Why?”

“It may be important,” Noah said, then damned the toss he’d lost. He suspected Jack kept a two-faced coin in his pocket, because Noah lost the toss most of the time. “To rule your daughter’s death a homicide, we need to examine your daughter’s body.”

Mrs. Altman’s eyes filled with tears. “No. I won’t allow it. It’s a desecration.”

“I won’t say I understand how you feel,” Noah said gently, “because there is no way that I can. But please know we’d never take this action if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. If someone killed your daughter, he needs to be caught. Stopped. Punished.”

She was rocking pitifully, tears streaming down her face. “You can’t do this to her.”

“Mrs. Altman,” Noah said, his voice still gentle, “there’s nothing stopping the person who killed your Samantha from killing someone else’s daughter. I know you don’t want that. You don’t want another family to go through the pain you’ve endured.”