Брайан Фриман - Alter Ego

“So we think we know what happened, but we can’t prove it,” Stride said.

“Right.”

“That seems like the story of this case.”

Serena nodded. She glanced over her shoulder again, and the concern in her eyes told him that something was wrong.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“It’s out there,” she said. “The article about you in the National Gazette . It went online a few minutes ago. Guppo found it.”

Stride eased back in the chair and exhaled as he ran both hands back through his hair. “How bad is it?”

“Savage.”

She held up her phone, so he could read the headline:

“Just give me the greatest hits,” he said. “Does it talk about you and me?”

“Oh, yeah. You cheated on Andrea with me. I stole you away from her. Then you cheated on me with Maggie. By the way, they imply that your affair with Maggie has been going on for years. Even back when you were with Cindy.”

Stride swore under his breath. “Unbelievable.”

“They also hint that you cheated on Cindy with Cat’s mother, Michaela. Basically, you’re just a serial adulterer, Jonny.”

“Should I get a lawyer?” he asked.

“They use just enough weasel words to stay out of trouble.”

“Plus, some of it’s true, right?” Stride said.

Serena stared at him. Her eyes said that this was a road they didn’t need to travel again. “Whatever’s true is out of context. We both know that.”

“Thanks. What else is in there? What about the job?”

“They dredge up the Mort Greeley suicide from years ago. Nothing about Ray. Nothing about Art. They make the whole thing sound like it was your fault. They also suggest that you were friends with Art and that’s why you overlooked evidence that implicated him in The Caged Girl case. So three women died because you refused to consider Art a suspect.”

Stride shook his head. “Dean Casperson wants to make sure I get the message: don’t mess with him.”

“Right.”

“What about Cat? Anything about Cat?”

“No, nothing about her, thank God. And they didn’t use the photo of the two of you on the porch. Honestly, I don’t know why they left it out.”

“This was the shot across the bow,” Stride concluded. “If we keep going after Casperson, then they come back and slime Cat. Whatever they do to her will be ten times worse.”

“We can’t let that happen, Jonny.”

“I know.”

Dean Casperson had them in a box. Stride didn’t care what the tabloids said about him, but attacking Cat was a different story. He would do whatever was necessary to protect her.

Before they could say anything more, another shadow crossed the doorway of Stride’s office. His day just kept getting worse.

“Hello, you two,” Police Chief Kyle Kinnick said in his distinctive reedy voice that whined like a badly played clarinet. The chief wandered inside, dressed in a light gray business suit that didn’t fit him well. He was a small man with a comb-over draped across his head, droopy bloodhound eyes, and ears that jutted out like angel’s wings. His feet pointed away from each other when he walked, as if they didn’t get along.

K-2, as he was called, had been Stride’s boss for years. They were both Duluth lifers. At sixty years old, the chief was stubborn and gruff, but the two of them had carved out a relationship that worked well most of the time. K-2 did the politics and rarely interfered in day-to-day police work. He yanked the leash on Stride only when crime started bubbling over into the newspapers.

Like now.

Serena took the hint and made a quick exit and closed the door behind her, leaving the two of them alone. K-2 leaned over with both hands on Stride’s desk. The chief’s mouth wrinkled into a scowl.

“You’re famous, Jon. And not in a good way.”

Stride shrugged. “It’s tabloid crap.”

“Of course it is, but that’s not the point. Now the story becomes the story. You don’t think the local media’s going to pick this up? Everyone in town is going to be gossiping about you.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“Well, I care. It’s not good for you, it’s not good for us. Any idea why they came after you?”

“The murder investigation is getting close enough to Dean Casperson to make him uncomfortable. If Casperson picks up the phone, the tabloids do his bidding. He’s trying to warn me off.”

“Dean Casperson? You sure about that?”

“It’s him or the people around him.”

“Uh huh. You’re poking a beehive with some pretty big bees, Jon. And what the hell is Maggie doing in Florida? I told her I wasn’t paying for that.”

“She went on her own dime. There was a murder in Naples that’s connected to the dead girl up here. She’s checking it out. Casperson’s name keeps coming up with the police down in Florida, too.”

K-2 dropped into the chair and dug in his ear. “I’m not sure you appreciate the kind of people you’re dealing with, Jon.”

“I think I do,” Stride replied. “I’m the one with my personal life all over the papers.”

“A tabloid headline is the least of your problems. The mayor was already on the phone with me today to ask why my detectives have been showing up on film sets and harassing the actors and crew.”

“If by harassing you mean asking questions about a girl who was murdered, then that’s true,” Stride replied.

“Oh, hell, I’m not saying your team is doing anything wrong. Thing is, if you push, these people push back. You’re dealing with folks who have money, fame, and influence and aren’t shy about throwing it around. This film is very important to a lot of people in state and local government who want to put Minnesota on the map for Hollywood projects. If they get complaints, they call me.”

“I appreciate your running interference, sir. I always do.”

“Well, that’s fine. That’s my job. I don’t care who you go after as long as you find the proof to get them. But this is one where the evidence better be signed, sealed, and delivered. People love Dean Casperson. Hell, my wife loves him, probably a bit more than me on some days. So tread carefully.”

“Very.”

“If you can make a case, great. If you can’t, my strong advice is that you let it go.”

“Understood.”

K-2 pushed himself out of the chair and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Don’t feel too bad about the article, Jon. No one will take it seriously. We’ve all done stupid things from time to time.”

“I’m not concerned for myself. I’m concerned about who they go after next.”

“You’re thinking about Cat?” the chief asked.

Stride nodded.

K-2 eyed the closed door behind them. No one could hear their conversation, but he lowered his voice anyway. “Every now and then we get a case that’s better off unsolved. You might want to think about that.”

The chief wandered out of his office.

K-2 was a practical man who saw justice in shades of gray. In his world, some battles weren’t worth fighting. It wasn’t the first time in Stride’s career the chief had suggested that his team consider backing off on a high-profile investigation.

But it was the first time Stride had ever thought about doing it.

Cat stood on the snowy beach. She picked up chunks of ice with her cold bare hands and hoisted them into Lake Superior one after another. She did it until she could barely feel her fingers. Her cheeks were pink. The wind tossed around her brown hair. Tears had frozen like tiny glaciers on her face.

“Those bastards,” she murmured. “Bastards bastards bastards bastards.”

Curt Dickes stood beside her. His wool coat was buttoned from top to bottom, and his scarf blew behind him like a flag. “Hey, I hear you, kitty cat, but you have to let it go. Stride’s a big boy. This article isn’t going to bother him.”