Double Indemnity (11 page)

“Yeah. We met a few weeks back. Briefly. I'm Sam.” Sam hesitated, torn between wanting to flirt back and feeling awkward with Nathan sitting at the table. He didn't hide his orientation. He simply knew from experience most straight guys preferred to be kept in the dark about gay mating rituals.

The guy—cute, a little shorter and more twinkish than Sam usually liked—smiled. “I thought so. Richard.” He extended his hand, and Sam took it. Richard's youth showed in his eagerness and lack of finesse. He bit one pretty lip between his teeth, eyes flicking between Sam and Nathan, whose expression remained impassive throughout the exchange. “Anyway, sorry to interrupt your date.”

“Oh,” Sam gave the kid's hand a squeeze before releasing it, and a small piece of paper slipped into his palm. “We're not on a date. Just friends having a drink.”

“Oh—
cool
.” Richard's smile widened. “I'll see you around, then.”

“Sounds good.”

The kid sauntered away, swinging his little ass, and Sam had to stifle a laugh. He tossed the number onto the table.

Nathan watched him with an inscrutable expression, but his jaw was ticking—a barely visible movement.

“That doesn't bother you, does it?” Sam gestured to the piece of crumpled paper. Thinking better of it, he picked it up and tucked it into his pocket, where it couldn't cause further offense.

“It seems pretty easy for you.”

“What, getting hit on?” Sam snorted. “Yeah. It's not exactly rocket science. Sorry if you're weirded out.” He didn't bother to mention the hookup apps on his phone that made finding guys even easier.

Maybe Sam imagined it, but Nathan seemed to stare at his mouth for a moment before glancing away. He chalked it up to wishful thinking.

“Wait a second,” Sam said to get them back on track. “Let me see if I've got it right. You admit you and Emma were having some problems, but say those issues have nothing to do with her murder—for which you have an alibi that you can't tell me about, but must have been good enough to keep you out of jail.”

Nathan ran his thumb over his full bottom lip. “I'm not answering that question. You can think what you like. None of it matters now. What does is the fact I'm not giving up on this case. And I think you can help, if you want.”

“How do you expect me to help when you won't tell me what's going on?”

“Think about it, Sam. Why don't you tell me what you think happened to Emma?”

The basic details arranged themselves into order. It did seem cut and dry. “I think whoever planned to rob your house freaked out and shot her when she drew her gun.”

Nathan frowned. “Interesting theory, and I'd be inclined to agree with you, but you don't have any of the facts. For one, there was no sign of forced entry.”

“Maybe she left the door unlocked.”

“Emma never left the door unlocked.”

Sam nodded. He couldn't remember ever going to the house and finding an unlocked door.

“And Emma hadn't drawn her gun. It was missing.”

“Her gun was stolen?”

Nathan took a sip of his drink. “And so was her cell phone. By the time I got home, the whole place had been swept clean by the cops. There were no broken windows. Oh, and aside from a few cracked eggs on the floor, which seem to suggest she was surprised, nothing was out of place. Nothing else was stolen save some petty cash in the front-hall drawer. No real valuables were missing, aside from the phone.”

“Wait a minute. Those eggs were already there.”

“What?”

Sam scrunched his forehead and closed his eyes. He remembered the eggs on the floor and how Emma had walked right by them as if she didn't even see—evidence of her troubled thoughts, but now so much more. “When I saw Emma that day, when we talked, I was in your kitchen. The eggs were there on the floor, already broken. She said she dropped them when I rang the doorbell. It startled her. Almost like she was expecting someone.”

Nathan narrowed his eyes. “And then there's the way she was killed.”

“I thought—”

“Emma wasn't shot. She was strangled. Her hands were tied. There was an impact wound to her skull….”

“Jesus.” It didn't sound like the type of crime committed by a random burglar.

Nathan's mouth went tight, his lips whitening. “I have a friend at the coroner's office. Whoever did this was careful not to leave any traces behind. Even though she was small, Emma was a fighter. She would have gouged the hell out of the person's eyes, at the very least. Fuck.” His eyes glazed over.

“Do you think she knew her killer?”

“I don't know. Nothing else makes any sense. Emma would have protected herself with her weapon if a stranger broke into the house. Someone surprised her and then killed her. A strong man with large hands. And it wasn't me.”

Sam hesitated before he spoke his next thought out loud. He had no idea how Nathan might react. “Do you think it was possible she was having an affair?” he said, as gently as possible. “I mean, I know you think she was talking about you, but what if she was talking about herself?”

Nathan stared at him with obvious shock. “I don't know. I hadn't even….”

“I'm sorry, and I know it hurts to consider the possibility, but if you two were having problems, it isn't so unusual to go looking for comfort somewhere else.”

If they did something terrible, could you forgive them
? Yeah. It sure as hell could have been Emma's way of working out her own guilt, maybe even getting the courage to break it off with whoever she was seeing on the side. And then tell Nathan.

And if the guy knew what Emma had been planning to do….

At the other side of the table, it appeared the same gears were turning in Nathan's mind. He looked like he might be sick. “I need some air.”

“Let's take a walk.”

After Sam settled up with Rachel, he met Nathan outside. The cool fall night cut through the hazy warmth of the alcohol and invigorated Sam almost instantly. He motioned toward the right, away from some of the seedier neighborhoods and down along the waterfront. It wasn't exactly a picturesque scene, what with the cargo ships and industrial docks. But in the darkness, the glowing lights shimmered on the water of the bay, lending it a sort of lurid beauty. The Baptist Street Bridge rose in the foreground, a gateway between the inner bay and the cold waters of Long Island Sound. They headed toward it, lost in their own thoughts.

Once they'd made it halfway across the bridge's narrow pedestrian walkway, Nathan stopped and looked down into the black, oily water.

“Can you think of anyone, Nathan, anyone who it could have been? Maybe someone from the force? Someone she spent a lot of time with, or talked a lot about?”

Nathan's frown deepened. “She was helping to train a new guy. McCormick.”

Sam nodded. McCormick was beefy and tall, definitely strong enough to strangle someone. The day Sam went to the station to ask about the mayor's plan, he'd seemed hesitant to speak too freely. At the time, Sam had attributed it to his newness to the force. Looking back on it, maybe he'd just been cagey talking to a reporter who knew Emma. He didn't give off a violent vibe, but a couple of brief interactions didn't prove anything. Sam tried, and failed, to remember if Emma and McCormick had flirted at all, or seemed closer than normal for colleagues when he'd seen them together.

“You ever meet him?” Nathan asked.

“A couple of times. We talked about the mayor's two-year plan.”

“Streets Clean for 2015?”

Sam snorted. “That's the one. I'm insulted you didn't read my article.”

“I didn't know you'd written one.”

“Yeah, for the
Gazette
. It was pretty crappy, so don't worry about it.” It hadn't even been published until after they'd lost touch. Sam shivered and wished he'd worn something more substantial than a button-down. The wind had picked up, making it feel at least twenty degrees cooler than it had been near the bar. “So, she mentioned him to you?”

“I've been traveling a lot over the past year, but she did talk about him on a pretty regular basis. I always thought it was sisterly affection.”

“Listen, I know Emma loved you very much. Whatever
happened, that much is true.” He patted Nathan's arm and let his hand linger there.

Nathan smiled sadly. “It's not about jealousy. If she'd told me she was unhappy, yeah, I would have been upset. But if this is true, and she put her trust in someone, maybe even loved them, and they—” He turned away and squeezed his eyes shut. “God, I'm a mess.”

“Maybe we should let this go for the night, all right?”

“Too bad it's so cold.” Nathan returned his gaze to the water under the bridge. “I could use a swim.”

“Not tonight.”

“No. Not tonight.” Sam thought he detected a hint of wistfulness.

“Do you want to crash at my place? You probably shouldn't be driving. My bed's all yours.” Nathan had downed several double whiskeys at the bar. He was a tall guy, but Sam got the feeling he didn't drink much under normal circumstances.

Nathan seemed to consider the proposition seriously, and Sam's stomach did a little flip. The look he'd given Sam at the bar returned for an instant. This time he didn't imagine it. But maybe he did. By the time Sam got his bearings to insist he hadn't meant what Nathan thought he meant, Nathan had turned away and started walking back toward the bar.

 

S
AM
GROANED
as he regained consciousness. His phone was ringing close to his ear.

He cleared his throat. “Hello?”

“Sam, where the hell are you?”

“Hey, Yuri,” Sam said, his voice gravelly. “What time is it?”

“It's after ten. You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

Sam realized several things at once. He was naked. There was another person in his bed. And his bed was actually… not his bed. Or his room. There was a Madonna poster on the wall. Shit. The curly-haired kid from the bar. He smiled sleepily at Sam and stretched, yawning. Sam turned away and started searching for his clothes.

“I'll be right there,” he said into the phone. “I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, well sorry isn't good enough. Sam, I know you're my friend, but if this happens again, you're fired.”

“You can't fire me, I'm your partner.”

“Not for long if you don't get your act together.”

“Goddammit.” Sam found his socks under the bed and sniffed them before pulling them on. His head pounded, and the foul taste in his mouth reminded him of all the whiskey he'd drunk after Nathan had left him at the bridge the night before.

At least the adrenaline shocked him out of his hangover. The kid reached out and touched his shoulder.

“Shit. Was that your boss? Are you going to get in trouble?”

“Nah, it'll be fine. My partner's a little testy before he's had his morning coffee.”

“I had a great time last night,” said the kid.

“Me too,” said Sam absently, shoving a foot into a shoe. “Hey, I'll see you around.”

“Sure. You've got my number.”

Sam hit the gas and caught up with the rest of his crew in record time. He hopped out of the truck, avoiding Yuri's gaze as he did.

Juan gave him a pat on the back, but his expression said he wouldn't want to be in Sam's shoes for anything.

Sam hated letting Yuri down. He felt small, like the time he'd gotten suspended for fighting with another boy at school—one of Petersen's minions. The asshole had deserved it. He'd been tormenting Sam all year, calling him a fag, leaving hate-filled notes in his locker, tripping him in the hall. Sam had taken it and taken it, letting it roll off his back until the day he couldn't bear it anymore. He'd punched the guy so hard, he'd bruised his own hand.

God, his father had been so disappointed in him. He'd come to pick Sam up that day and hadn't spoken to him for almost a week. His mother, always the peacekeeper, had tried to intervene, but Sam's father could be a stubborn asshole when he wanted to be. He was angry because Sam wouldn't tell anyone why he'd done it. And Sam had feared outing himself over everything else, even his father's silent treatment. With Yuri casting dirty looks his way, he felt suspiciously like his teenaged self again.

After they finished the last job, Sam tried to slip into his truck unnoticed, but Yuri caught him.

“I need to talk to you, Sam.”

“Look, I'm sorry about being late.” He shuffled on his feet.

“I'm not going to ask you where you were or why you were late, because I don't care.”

Ouch.

“Okay. Well, then I guess there's nothing else to say.”