Double Indemnity (14 page)

“There's cash in the hall drawer,” Nathan called after him. His warm, deep voice betrayed a slight tremor. Sam wondered if he'd pushed too far.

“I hope you're hungry,” Sam yelled back, kicking the door shut with his foot. “I got extra cheese.”

“Sounds good.”

They grabbed plates and drinks from the kitchen and settled at the counter to eat. Nathan ate with a gusto unexpected in a man who'd been unenthusiastic about ordering in the first place. He'd nearly polished off his second slice by the time Sam finished his first, and Sam considered commandeering his half of the pizza before it disappeared completely.

Nathan swallowed his last bite and smiled sheepishly. “I guess I was hungrier than I thought.” He licked a crumb from the side of his mouth, and Sam tried not to stare at the pink sweep of his tongue.

“Have you been eating?” Sam asked and then immediately regretted the question. It was none of his business.

“When I remember. I've never been one for cooking. I'm fine, Sam, seriously. I shouldn't have dumped all my baggage on you back there. For some reason, I find you easy to talk to.”

“I've been called easy before, but not in that context.” Sam smiled at his own joke, but Nathan seemed unsettled. His eyes flicked away from Sam's face to his empty plate. A strange, twisting tension anchored itself in Sam's gut, and he pushed the remainder of his dinner away. He wondered again about the pool, and all those looks and smiles they'd exchanged over the past few years, and he hated himself for wondering. It wouldn't be right. But once his mind started churning, he couldn't stop it. Worst of all, he wasn't sure he wanted to. The electricity from their earlier conversation—or interrogation—still lingered.

“So what now?” Sam asked. Nathan returned his stare with equanimity this time, but there was something challenging about his gaze.

“About?”

“About the case, of course.” Sam wondered if Nathan noticed his quickening breath.

“Are you back on board?”

Sam thought about asking why a trained FBI agent like Nathan wanted someone like him around, anyway. He didn't. “I shouldn't have gone back on my word.”

Nathan nodded. “Good.” Then he stood. “There's something I want to show you.”

“Lead the way.”

The way turned out to be up the stairs and down a long, carpeted corridor toward the rear of the house. Nathan flicked a switch and illuminated a modest office filled with bookcases. A small desk faced a curtained window that looked out over the backyard. Nathan obviously hadn't made it this far with his packing. Though it was dark outside, from this vantage, Sam imagined the pool and garden would be visible, and he wondered whether Emma or Nathan had ever sat here while he worked below.

“My confession wasn't the only reason I called you over here.” Nathan pressed the switch to the desktop computer, one of those fancy-schmancy, huge-screen Macs. It flashed to life, and he ran his hand over the keyboard absentmindedly before taking a seat. “We shared this office, but it was mainly Emma who used it.”

He clicked a few more keys and brought up a browser and then a search history. “Take a look at this.”

Sam peered over Nathan's shoulder. “It's blank.”

“Exactly. She deleted her history.”

“Hmm.” He didn't want to add the obvious, but the insinuation was there, and it only confirmed the theory from the other night. Nathan frowned up at him.

“And it's not only the search history. The entire hard drive has been wiped. I did a sweep. No prints except for Emma's.”

“So either she did it, or someone else did it with gloves on.”

“Exactly.” To prove his point, Nathan opened a file marked with the current year. It was empty. Everything on the computer had been erased, save the basic programs.

“Okay.” Sam rubbed his hands together. “In scenario one, Emma decides to break off her affair with McCormick, or whoever it was, and knows that she's kept some incriminating evidence on the computer. So she deletes it, calls him over, and then….”

Nathan nodded as the words faded to silence. “Yes. And in scenario two, the killer gets rid of the evidence after he kills Emma. He would have had plenty of opportunity. The coroner estimated time of death at between three and five p.m. Emma was supposed to report for duty at six, and the cops didn't arrive here until after eight.”

“Why not take the hard drive?” Sam scratched his head.

“Disposal would be a problem.”

“True.”

Nathan glared at the blank search history page, as though by concentrating hard enough he could conjure answers. He spun around in the desk chair and clasped his hands together. “Think about it. How can it have been anything but intended murder? Hardly anything stolen, and then this.”

“I'd say it sounds pretty likely. Did you tell the police about the computer?”

“No. I have no proof it was wiped at the time of the murder. And if it's McCormick…. Well, let's say I want to keep my cards to myself until we have something more substantial to go on. If we don't have proper evidence, no charge is going to stick.”

“Do you know who found Emma?” Sam asked.

“It was Petersen—and McCormick.”

“Petersen's the type of asshole who likes to torture animals. It could have been him.”

“Maybe. But what's the motive?”

“Besides being a sadistic fuck? Yeah.” Sam wrinkled his nose at the thought. No way anyone would screw around on Nathan with that toad. “So we need to get the evidence. Do you know her e-mail password?”

“Yes. I guessed it. But nothing incriminating there.”

“You said her phone was missing. Can you get her call history from her carrier?” Nathan nodded as Sam spoke, like he predicted the question.

“Unfortunately I don't have any jurisdiction on this case. A judge has to grant a court order for any phone record requests.”

“What about girlfriends or other close friends she might have confided in?”

Nathan smiled up at him, and it took Sam aback. “What's so amusing?”

“You. These are all good thoughts, Sam. But believe me when I say I've done that and turned up nothing, so far. Whatever Emma was hiding, she was doing a damn good job of it. Or….” He straightened and turned back to the computer.

“Or what?”

“What someone else was hiding.” The roster of officers at the Stonebridge Police Department loaded on the screen. There were about thirty pictures, most of them familiar to Sam. Emma's had already been removed. They sure didn't waste any time.

“Hmm.” Nathan stared at the screen. After he'd scrolled all the way through, he blew out a breath. “She never had a serious problem with anyone, so far as I know, but that could have changed during the past few months of her life. We weren't exactly on a sharing basis by then.”

“Someone down at the station has to know something. It's just a matter of who.”

“And how to get the information.”

“Why don't you get your FBI cronies to come in and use some muscle? Isn't that what they do in the movies? I guess I still don't understand why you think
I
can help you.”

Nathan closed the laptop. “I've got some buddies looking into leads, but it's a delicate balance. If anyone gets suspicious, that could be it. Any remaining evidence might get destroyed. It's best for everyone to think I've accepted the break-in theory. And I haven't entirely ruled out the chance these two cases are connected. Until I do, I can't trust anyone.”

“Wait. You think the child trafficking thing might have something to do with Emma's death? What about the honor code?”

“At this point, anything is possible.”

Sam rubbed small circles on his temple. All this talk of conspiracy was giving him a headache—and making him thirsty.

“Okay. So if Petersen and McCormick were the first ones on the scene, they're the ones we should target.”

“We? No. All you need to do is to keep your eyes and ears open. If you go asking questions down at the station, people are going to get suspicious, and you're going to get yourself killed.”

“I thought you wanted my help.”

“You are helping,” Nathan insisted. “Just having someone to talk to about this has helped. I never would have gotten the McCormick lead if not for you.”

Sam ignored the little thrill of pleasure and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Sam? Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. I was just thinking maybe I could talk to Chief Sheldon. He was a friend of my father's.”

Nathan shook his head. “I think it's better if we keep this between us for now. Sheldon isn't going to take baseless accusations about his staff lying down, family friend or no. Leave the investigation up to me.”

“Because you're doing such a stellar job of it yourself.”

“Are you saying I'm a shitty detective?”

Sam grinned. “Uh, I plead the fifth?”

Nathan laughed, this time for real. His deep, rich chuckle made everything about him seem lighter. Happier.

As the sound faded and the seriousness returned, Sam remembered the time in his life when every laugh, every smile, felt like a betrayal. Some days it was still like that. It didn't take a genius to conclude why Nathan stood without another word, exited the room, and disappeared across the hall into a darkened doorway.

Sam went downstairs and waited. It was already nearing midnight, and he had to work in the morning, but his body didn't feel ready to sleep. Nervous energy and concern kept him pacing until Nathan rejoined him a few minutes later. He didn't mention his sudden disappearance.

“So are you going to tell me what you're thinking?” Sam asked.

Nathan stood so close Sam could feel his breath and the warmth of his body in the otherwise cold space. The proximity jumbled his mind and made him stupid. He mumbled something inarticulate and waited for Nathan to laugh at him, but he didn't. He didn't smile, either.

“The other night on the bridge, you asked me if I wanted to come home with you.”

Sam swallowed. “Oh, that. I only meant—”

“I know what you meant. But I thought something else.”

“Oh?” His heart thumped against his ribcage.

“I wanted to. I've wanted to for quite a while.” Nathan's gaze tracked down Sam's body, and the sudden rush of heat to his groin made Sam dizzy. Still, he anticipated the next words. “But I can't.”

“I know, of course. It wouldn't be right.” He tried to hide his disappointment with a shrug. He'd known nothing would come of his attraction to Nathan. Finding Emma's killer so justice could be served was their one and only purpose and the extent of their relationship. As it should be.

“You're a good friend, Sam. Did you call that guy who left his number the other night at the bar?”

“Yeah.” Sam flushed, unsure why he'd confessed. Nathan remained expressionless.

“Good. Now go home and get some sleep. I'll be in touch.”

As Sam turned to go, Nathan held up his hand. “Wait a second.” He jogged to the living room and returned with the bloomless orchid from earlier. “Don't forget this.”

Sam took the plant and wondered if something so fragile would survive the winter ahead.

 

T
HE
NEXT
week dragged by at such an excruciatingly slow pace, Sam could barely stand to be in his own skin. He hadn't spoken to Nathan since the night of unexpected confessions, but he had been doing a pretty good impression of a thirteen-year-old, checking and rechecking his phone for missed calls and texts so often he'd started to drive himself insane.

True, he didn't expect anything to happen between them. But to have the attraction confirmed as mutual, only to be told two seconds later it could never happen, was like telling a little kid he deserved dessert but was never going to get it. The circumstances couldn't have been worse. Then again Sam had never been very good at portion control.

Still, he did as he'd promised and kept his eyes and ears open around town. The neighborhood where McCormick lived wasn't far from Sam's, and it didn't take much digging to turn up people who knew him. He found McCormick's local hangout and spent some time there, striking up conversation with the bartender as he sipped a light beer and tried not to want another. From those casual conversations, he concluded people generally liked the guy. He seemed to be an honest cop, if a bit wet behind the ears. While a few people mentioned they'd seen Emma with him at various times, every incident seemed connected with work. Still, that didn't mean anything. A lot of people carried on secret affairs and never saw each other in public. Even so, though it was entirely possible Emma had been seeing someone on the side, Sam's instincts said otherwise. He was beginning to think his theory was bunk.