Playing Dead

He put the picture back on the wall, walked away, then turned and pulled the picture down again, taking it with him. He left the house the same way he’d come in, locking the door behind him with the pick he had opened it with.

TEN

Parked in the lot next to the Fox amp; Goose, Mitch rested his head on his car’s steering wheel. He’d called Claire for the sole purpose of finding out where she was, where she was going to be, and to confirm when she planned to arrive tonight. All so he could get rid of Steve long before she showed up.

He was in way over his head with Claire.

Mitch walked into the bar early, claiming a small table. Antique wood doors-some with ornate knobs or etched glass-split the bar in two to allow more private seating, but Mitch wanted to see the entire room and the main entrance, so he preferred a spot in the far corner.

A waitress stopped by and he ordered a pint. He was off duty, and he needed a beer about now. First the dive this morning and the subsequent investigation-he and Steve hadn’t left Isleton until after four that afternoon. Steve had to follow up on another case, so Mitch had taken care of the ubiquitous paperwork at headquarters.

Tomorrow morning he’d observe Maddox’s autopsy. Though not required to attend, it would get him a cause of death and an ID faster than if he waited for the report. The sheriff’s department had jurisdiction and was handling the evidence, but Deputy Clarkston had extended the invitation, and Mitch jumped at it.

Why had Maddox gone down to Isleton in the first place? The canvass by the cops hadn’t yielded anything useful, and if the body had really been underwater for nearly four months, a casual witness would probably not remember anything helpful. Still, Mitch had suggested to Steve that they go back with Maddox’s picture and canvass Isleton again. Flash the photo around, see if anyone recognized him. Before leaving headquarters, Mitch had also put in a request for Maddox’s phone records.

They had an appointment with the Davis detective in charge of the missing person case, then they’d track down the girlfriend who reported Maddox missing and find out what, if anything, she knew. Confirm her statement to the Davis PD and see if she remembered anything else.

He was relieved that Meg had cleared him to work with Steve on this case, knowing that it could wind back around to Thomas O’Brien. Maybe his “punishment” was over and Meg wanted his eyes on the case. Or maybe Steve had put in a word for him. Whatever the reason, Mitch was glad to be back on the case. Something was going to break. Maddox had been murdered-of that Mitch was certain-and he hoped that the discovery of Maddox’s body would flush out his killer.

If they found out who killed Maddox, Mitch was certain it would lead back to Thomas O’Brien’s case fifteen years ago. It was no coincidence that Maddox had gone missing two days before O’Brien was moved to San Quentin’s dangerous Section B.

The waitress placed his pint of Guinness on the coaster in front of him. He sipped, remembering his first date with Claire.

After weeks of flirting and conversation and spontaneous dinners when they “ran into” each other in the evening at Starbucks, he and Claire had come to the Fox amp; Goose on an official date. Her favorite local band was playing, she said, and asked him if he wanted to join her.

“Do you want to meet there?” he asked.

“Well, I thought maybe we could make a date of it.”

He should have said no. Instead, he’d said, “I’ll pick you up at eight. We can have dinner first.” Why had he agreed? What was he thinking? He knew damn well what he was thinking. He was deeply attracted to Claire O’Brien. He could tell himself he was doing it for the job, but the truth was he wanted to be with her.

Everything that came before that night nearly two months ago Mitch could have justified, even if he had to stretch his arguments. After that night, he had no more excuses.

He’d put everything on the line: his career, his heart, Claire’s trust.

He picked Claire up just before eight that evening. She came to the door in jeans, a red spaghetti-strap tank top, and spiky sandals. Her black hair loose around her face, dancing above her shoulders, and she’d done something to her eyes to make them seem a darker, sultrier blue. A green Celtic knot tattoo decorated her upper right shoulder blade. He wondered if she had any other tattoos, and where they were.

All Mitch could think about was taking her to bed. His face heated. She’d hate him when she learned who he was and why he’d befriended her. Okay, just this one date. He wouldn’t sleep with her. He wouldn’t kiss her.

He should make an excuse that he had to work late. That wouldn’t work, he’d told her he was a writer. Maybe he had a deadline? He didn’t know. Hell, he should walk away, tell her he was ill, and never return to her Starbucks. Disappear from the face of the earth. He had to stop this right now.

Instead, he kissed her. Just a light kiss on the lips. A hello kiss. But that hello kiss whetted his appetite and he wanted more than just one. He stopped himself. She smiled. “Hello.”

She tossed a blazer over her arm and a bag over her shoulder. He told himself it was for the job. But it was no longer about the job. He had originally planned to befriend and keep tabs on Claire on the chance-the good chance-that her father would eventually show up. O’Brien was likely waiting for enough time to pass where he thought it’d be safe to approach his daughter, his only living relative.

But now Mitch saw the flaw in his plan. When O’Brien showed up-and he would, statistics put the odds firmly on that eventuality-Mitch would have to arrest him. It didn’t matter that Mitch had reviewed the evidence and thought there was merit to O’Brien’s claim of innocence. The fact was O’Brien was still a fugitive and Mitch would be risking not only censure, but imprisonment if he didn’t apprehend O’Brien when he had the chance.

And Claire would discover the truth. He’d misrepresented himself. He’d lied. She would hate him. And he wouldn’t blame her.

Deep down, Mitch hoped O’Brien never showed. He wanted Claire to himself, and he never wanted her to find out the truth.

Stupid. She would find out sooner or later. That first night out, while they ate, Claire said, “You know, when I first met you I thought you were a cop.”

Mitch’s blood ran cold, but he kept his face casual. “You did? Why?”

“I’ve been around cops all of my life. And a lot of Rogan-Caruso employees are former cops or military. Two things stood out. First, every time someone walks into your peripheral vision, you glance at them. Quickly, but it’s a habit. And when we sit at Starbucks, you always have your back against the wall. Just like you do now.”

“I was in the military for three years.”

She nodded. “That explains it.”

He didn’t know if it explained it. He’d almost forgotten who he was dealing with. Claire O’Brien was not stupid.

“Marines.”

“Semper Fi.”

He grinned.

“Why’d you leave?”

He didn’t want to talk about himself, but he wanted to share something real with Claire. And it didn’t get more real than this-his past, the past that made him the man he’d become. The good, the bad, and sometimes the ugly.

“The real question should be, why’d I join.”

“Okay. Why’d you join?”

“My dad.”

“He was in the Marines?”

“No. The Air Force.”