Smoke

trying to find out who killed Katrina, trying to prove his innocence, trying to find Lily Samuels, but he felt like his legs were filled with sand, like there was lead in his belly. He knew fatigue on a level that he’d never experienced. Maybe it was all the baklava, but more likely it was the fact that no matter how he looked at it now, his life was over, or so changed as to be unrecognizable. They had taken his gun and shield; his career was over. Even if the charges were dropped or if he was acquitted, he’d never be a cop again. The thought of it was almost too much. He felt a heavy despair settle into his chest and his shoulders.

He was about to call Jesamyn and tell her he was out on bail when the phone rang.

“Hello?” he answered, rubbing his eyes and sitting up on the bed.

“You sound tired, Detective Stenopolis.” It was a sweet female voice, young and mellifluous. “I’m not surprised with all that you’ve been through.”

“Who’s this?” he said.

He heard the sound of a car alarm somewhere off in the distance outside his window and realized he was also hearing it on the phone. He walked to the window and on the street across from his house, he saw a young woman dressed in blue jeans and a short leather jacket, holding a cell phone to her ear. She smiled at him and his heart thumped.

“Lily?”

She laughed and gave him a little wave. As he turned and bounded down the stairs with the cordless still in his hand, he heard the line go dead. He threw open the door and ran out onto his front stoop, wearing only a pair of navy blue sweatpants. The street was empty but he jogged down the steps and onto his drive, the frigid concrete burning his feet with its terrible cold.

“Lily!” he called hugging himself and running up the street. “Lily!” But she was gone. He turned the corner and saw no one. There was no way she could have disappeared so fast on foot. He walked a little farther up the block, then turned around. The excitement he’d felt turned to fear and embarrassment. Some neighbors had gathered at their windows and were looking at him with worried faces.

“Did anybody see her? Did anybody see a woman standing here?” he yelled, looking from window to window.

But no one answered him; they moved back from the windows and soon it was only him on the cold street, half naked. Theo was coming up the block hurriedly, carrying a coat for his brother.

“What’s going on, man? Who was it? Who did you see?”

“Did you see her?” he asked urgently as he accepted the coat and wrapped it around his big shoulders.

“No, I didn’t see anyone,” said Theo, looking at him strangely. “I just heard you yelling. Shit, man. The whole neighborhood heard you yelling.”

The younger, smaller man put his arm around his big brother and pushed him back toward the house. Theo glanced back over his shoulder and looked around him, glaring, as if daring anyone to still be staring at his brother.

Matt saw his parents coming out their door and suddenly realized how crazy he looked. He pulled the coat tighter and moved faster toward his house.

“Who did you see?” Theo asked again.

“Lily Samuels,” he whispered. “I saw her.”

Matt looked at his brother’s face and saw something there that frightened him. Pity.

Twenty-Two

Your boy’s in trouble,” said Dax.

Lydia was lying on one of the queen beds in the hotel room they’d taken to wait for nightfall. The place was a dump. Lydia had scanned the faux wood nightstands with their worn surfaces and nicked edges, initials carved on their sides, water-stained ceiling, and gritty stained bedspreads the most hideous shade of mauve. Then she closed her eyes. Outside, through glass doors that led to a small porch, the Gulf waters lapped the shore and the salt air almost covered the smell, some combination of cigarettes, stale booze, and puke. Jeffrey tapped away on his laptop on the rickety table by the window.

“What?” said Lydia, not opening her eyes. Dax turned up the volume on the set.

“Detective Mateo Stenopolis was released on bail today. Charged with the beating death of prostitute Katrina Aliti, Stenopolis left the courthouse after his family posted bond. The lawyers for the prosecution were outraged by the decision.”

Lydia sat up quickly, shimmied to the end of the bed. The newscast continued.

“Obviously, special consideration was given to this man because he was a cop,” a polished-looking young woman in a gray suit with dark hair pulled back severely from her face complained into the camera. “Anyone else charged with a crime of this viciousness would be held without bail until trial.

“The prosecution claims,” the newscaster went on, “that they have overwhelming physical evidence as well as eyewitness testimony against Stenopolis and that their case against him is nothing less than airtight.”

“No way,” said Lydia. “Absolutely no way.”

Dax turned down the volume on the set.

Jeff had come to sit beside her on the bed. “I was wondering why we hadn’t heard from him after that message you left,” he said.

“I thought he was just pissed at us because of The New Day break-in. Maybe trying to distance himself,” said Lydia, standing up and walking over toward the glass doors.

They were all quiet for a second. “There’s no way he is capable of something like that,” Lydia said finally with an emphatic shake of her head.

“So what are you thinking?”

“He said that lawyer for The New Day threatened him,” she said.

“So you think that he was set up for this?” asked Jeffrey. He sounded skeptical.

She looked at him. “It’s easier to believe that than it is to believe he killed someone with his fists. He’s a good man, a good cop. Do you know what kind of sociopath you have to be to do something like that? You have to be in a narcissistic rage, utterly without empathy.”

“Lots of seemingly normal men are walking around with a terrible misogyny in their hearts, secretly believing themselves to be superior to women, hating them for the power of their sexuality,” said Dax. He leaned back in the chair that groaned beneath his weight and gave her a smile, proud of himself.

Lydia looked at him; he had a point. He was a complete clod most of the time but every once in a while he came out with something pretty insightful. It always amazed her.

“Trust me, it’s not as secret as they think,” she said. “Any intelligent woman can spot a misogynist a mile away. It’s in the way he looks at you, the tone in his voice. I got the sense of Stenopolis as very respectful, even when he was gruff.”

Dax lifted his shoulders. “But you don’t know.”

“Overwhelming physical evidence and eyewitness testimony,” said Jeffrey, repeating what they’d just heard on the screen.

“Can we find out what that means exactly?” asked Lydia.

“I’ll call Striker and see what information he can gather,” he said, reaching for the cell phone by the bed.

Lydia fished her own phone out of her bag and scrolled through the call log until she found Matt’s cell phone number. His voicemail picked up before the first ring completed; he had his phone off. She hung up without leaving a message. She wasn’t sure what to say. Chances are he wasn’t thinking about Lily Samuels at the moment. She thought about Matt Stenopolis, how he’d looked on the street that day when she suggested he might think about a move to the private sector. Like he couldn’t imagine himself as anything but a cop. She felt a strong twist of empathy and concern for him, even as she wondered if he was capable of murder-or if The New Day was doing this to get him off of Lily’s trail.

She walked over to Jeffrey’s laptop while he talked to Striker on the phone. She saw the satellite image of the New Day Farms that Craig had been able to obtain for them.

Lydia always called Craig “The Brain” behind his back. He stood a full head taller than Jeffrey but looked as