21 Weeks: Week 2 Read online

Emerging from the shower when the water temperature forced her out, Beck could hear the light roar of the crowd as she entered her bedroom, and knew Leo had turned the sound as low as he could get it and still hear without sitting two feet in front of the TV. Every bit as tired as she claimed to be, she realized it was more physical than mental exhaustion. If she settled down before her brain did, she would just end up running through the ways she might be wrong about the victim, and thinking about how much it was going to further strain her relations with her new squad.

  “Thought you were going to bed,” Leo said as she walked back into the living room.

  Glad to see he hadn’t gone to the refrigerator for a fifth bottle, Beck slid onto the opposite end of the sofa.

  “I think I can make it through a few innings,” she responded, and, smiling down at her, Leo clapped Beck’s ankle as his eyes returned to the screen.

  13 - Lieutenant Martinez’s Office - Friday, 3:00 p.m.

  “Do we have a consensus?”

  Beck wondered if Martinez meant it as a joke.

  Of course, they had no consensus. They had a woman who was most likely a moll caught up in a feud between competing career criminals, and a man who died of a heroin overdose with no signs of foul play. They had competing instincts. They had equal conviction. Though Bishop had more evidence, Beck had to acknowledge, most of that evidence only disproved his theory.

  “All right, you have thirty seconds each. Go.” Based on the time limit, exactly the same amount of time he had given them to explain away their fight the week before, Beck concluded thirty seconds was Martinez’s maximum limit for irresolution.

  “I know how the murder in the cabin looks.” Bishop didn’t even offer Beck first round. “But you know this killer’s standard. Cutting off fingers, gouging out eyes, that is right in his wheelhouse.”

  And every other competent criminal’s, Beck back-talked in her head.

  “While there are some connections that can be made to organized crime, this killer has never discriminated. There’s no reason to think he wouldn’t choose her just because she has connections to other criminals. Passing this case off as a mob hit, I think, would be a mistake.”

  “Nash?” Martinez looked over at her when Bishop was done, and it occurred to Beck she should really be compelled by his argument. After all, she knew this killer’s murders too. She’d read enough descriptions of the crime scenes, seen more than enough photos of the victims he had shredded and diced.

  Trying to figure out why exactly she couldn’t admit failure, or that Bishop’s vic fit the perp more than her own, Beck scanned back through Anthony Figueroa’s chat transcripts in her mind, to the final words he had typed to those people who had been providing him nightly support for months.

  Talk to you later.

  “He didn’t apologize to his friends,” Beck realized.

  “He didn’t… what? I’m sorry,” Martinez returned.

  I’m sorry.

  That was what Lionel whispered to her when he would only give Beck a light hug Wednesday night, too afraid his filth and stench would seep straight into her.

  I’m sorry.

  It was what Lionel had said every time they had seen each other over the past seven years. To Beck. And to everyone else who tried to help him. Because he felt bad they were putting forth so much effort, and he kept letting them down.

  “The people he talked to online, Anthony said he would talk to them later. He had talked to them every night for months. The night he died, he didn’t get online at all. Not even to tell them he was sorry.”

  “He didn’t apologize to his online friends? That’s your actual argument?” Bishop uttered.

  “Nash.” Martinez sent Bishop a silencing look, though he seemed equally dissatisfied by Beck’s answer. “I hate to toss aside a potential victim here, but that’s… I mean, that’s nothing but conjecture.”

  Yes. That was exactly what it was. Just a feeling, utterly devoid of evidence, that Beck believed with every ounce of conviction she possessed.

  “I guess the woman from the cabin it is.” Martinez didn’t sound all that convinced they were on the right path, but Beck did understand why he chose Bishop’s. It was certainly clearer than hers. “Sorry, Nash.”

  “What do I know?” Beck’s shrug gave nothing away, even as she came to the realization, despite her lack of logical argument or evidence, that she was utterly and thoroughly pissed.

  14 - Clark County Coroner’s Office - Friday, 4:00 p.m.

  Medallion flipping in her hand, Beck wandered down the bright white hallway, and into the lab where Baxton was sawing into a human skull without blinking an eye. It was a paradox really, the woman’s contradictory natures in the lab and in the field. Almost like two different people.

  “Hi,” Beck said as the rotating blade came to a stop.

  “Hi.” Baxton glanced to the shiny medal, unbagged in Beck’s hand. “CSU is going to be so mad at you.”

  “No, they won’t. It’s not evidence anymore. I got it cleared, so it can go with him whenever his body leaves the morgue,” Beck told her. “I take it no one’s claimed it?”

  “Not yet,” Baxton said, and it was sadly unsurprising. Funerals expensive, and Anthony Figueroa’s relationship with his family almost certainly strained, he was a prime candidate for cremation on the city’s dime.

  “Well, wherever he ends up, this should be with him,” Beck uttered as she slid the medallion onto the metal counter.

  “I’m surprised you brought it back so fast. Did you change your mind?” Baxton asked.

  “No.” Beck wished that she had. It would be a lot smoother of a ride if she jumped aboard Bishop’s train. As it was, she would just keep holding to the caboose and try not to get pulled under. “But it’s not exactly convicting evidence anyway. Even you say it’s an OD.”

  “Just because the science is right doesn’t mean it wasn’t manipulated.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Beck returned. “But I can’t prove it. No one can prove it. So, I guess time will have to tell.”

  “Tell what?” Baxton asked, and Beck was furious at Bishop for that too. With the shroud of secrecy he was insisting upon, she couldn’t even have an honest conversation.

  “If I even belong here,” Beck uttered.

  “Of course, you do. Martinez chose to hire you, right?”

  “I think he may regret it.” Beck smiled, and Baxton’s soft smile in return was more sympathetic than anything.

  “You sound like a woman who you could use a night out.” Peeling her gloves off, Baxton pressed them into the hazardous waste box bolted to the edge of the table. “Do you want to get dinner or something?

  “I would love to, but I have to go talk to my brother’s girlfriend. They had a fight,” Beck tacked on when Baxton tilted her head in question.

  “Wow. That sounds incredibly unpleasant.”

  “Yeah.” It did to Beck too. “Another time, though?”

  “Yeah, absolutely,” Baxton said. “And thank you. For getting the medallion out of evidence. You didn’t have to do that. I would have fought that battle.”

  “Well, now you don’t have to. See you next week. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” Baxton returned on Beck’s way out the door.

  15 - Smith’s Grocery - Friday, 6:15 p.m.

  Doors sliding open in front of her, Beck tried to think if there was anything she needed that could make this visit look like an accidental run-in, instead of like she was stalking Shelly at her place of work. Spotting her at once, though, behind the Customer Service counter, Beck was spotted in return, and she realized she was too tired to do any shopping anyway as she walked over to get the deed over with.

  “Hey.” Shelly clearly didn’t know how to feel about her showing up there, and Beck considered that, maybe, the fact it had been four days and Leo hadn’t heard from her said all Shelly intended to say.

  “Hey.” Staring at the faded purple mark that curved along Shelly’s cheekbone, Bec
k wondered if she had told anyone where it came from, or if Shelly had done as most women did in her position, made up some story that made her feel less embarrassed about getting smacked around by someone who said he loved her. “Back on the night shift?”

  “The guy who’s supposed to work tonight is running late. I’ll leave as soon as he gets here.”

  “Makes sense.” Beck at least knew now why Shelly wasn’t at the townhouse when she checked there first.

  “What are you doing here?” Shelly finally asked as Beck looked off toward the shelf of returned items, and Beck tried to swallow her discomfort to no avail.

  “Leo wanted me to check on you,” she said. “I’m sorry. For what Leo did. And that I’m here when you probably don’t want to see me. I don’t know what he was…”

  Shelly’s gaze rising abruptly from the counter between them, it went to the customer approaching at Beck’s back, and Beck moved aside for the woman who just wanted to sign up for a loyalty card. Putting on a smile that would fool anyone, Shelly looked completely confident as she talked the woman through the process.

  Shelly was confident. She was smart. She was sweet. Though she hadn’t grown up exactly as they had, thank God, she did come from the same financial strata, but she was determined to move out of it through sheer hard work. An employee of the store since she was sixteen, she had gone from a part-time cashier to the manager of Customer Service. It was Shelly’s intention to manage the entire store one day, and she was taking the business classes she needed to make it happen.

  Shelly had a plan.

  Leo really needed someone with a plan.

  The customer satisfied, she at last walked off, and Shelly’s eyes returned warily to Beck when she slid back across the counter from her.

  “I’m sorry,” Beck started again.

  “You didn’t do it, Beck,” Shelly said, and Beck would have done anything to turn back time and stop Leo from doing it. Shelly was one of the best things, if not the very best thing, that had ever happened to her brother. And Leo was a fucking idiot for not being more careful with that.

  “He wanted me to make sure you’re okay,” Beck said again. “Are you? Okay?”

  “Yeah,” Shelly responded. “I’m okay.”

  “I don’t know what else to say.” Beck shook her head.

  “Me either,” Shelly responded, and, for a moment, they just stood there, not knowing together.

  “You know…” Smiling a little, it occurred to Beck it might have been more her own wishful thinking than anything. “I really thought you were going to be my sister-in-law.”

  “So did I,” Shelly admitted. “But now…”

  “You’re not so sure.” Beck nodded her understanding. And she did understand. As good as Shelly had been for Leo, Beck wasn’t entirely sure it was in anyone’s best interest for them to try to stay together after this.

  “If I tell you something, do you swear you won’t tell Leo?” Shelly asked.

  “Yeah, you can tell me anything,” Beck said.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Fairly certain Shelly stole all the oxygen from the store to say it, Beck felt instantly lightheaded. “You are?”

  “Eight weeks.” Eyes drifting downward, Beck watched Shelly’s hand slide across her still flat stomach. “I was waiting to tell Leo until I was sure everything was going to be okay. I knew he wouldn’t handle it very well if I told him and then something happened. But I didn’t get the chance.”

  Heart thrumming in her throat, Beck’s eyes retreated to the white countertop. So, it wasn’t just the life he had already built with Shelly that Leo had destroyed, but the life they could have together. All because he had to make bad decisions he knew he couldn’t make.

  “I want Leo to come home,” Shelly confessed. “I’m going to need his help. If you tell me he will never do this again, I will believe you. Can you tell me that?”

  Shelly wanted Beck to tell her that, Beck could tell. She wanted for everything to just miraculously resolve itself on her word. All she had to say was Leo would never hurt Shelly again, that he would never harm their child, and everything would go back to the way it was before. Leo would move back home. He and Shelly would return to their life. Everyone would be happier.

  It was just that simple.

  16 - Beck’s Apartment - Friday, 8:30 p.m.

  Beck wasn’t sure how long she drove around the city, but, with the Friday night traffic around The Strip, she didn’t have to go far to kill a lot of time.

  “Did you talk to Shelly?” Leo asked as soon as she walked through the door, and it occurred to Beck why she had avoided coming home for as long as she could.

  “Yeah.” She nodded.

  “What did she say?”

  Guilt pressing in, Beck knew Leo had no way of knowing what Shelly had said, or anything she had said in return.

  “I think you need to stay with me for a while,” she answered.

  “She doesn’t want to see me?” Leo looked so pained, Beck thought about changing her mind for a moment. About calling Shelly and telling her she had full faith Leo would never lay a violent hand on her, or anyone else who came into their household, ever again.

  “Not right now,” she told Leo instead. “Just give it a few weeks.”

  “Weeks?”

  “Sorry.” Raising her eyes to his, Beck felt the guilt let go. Leo felt truly remorseful, she knew that he did, but he had given no indication he would “make sure” it didn’t happen again. Just the night before, he was drinking his cares away on her sofa. “It’s the best I can do.”

  Dropping Leo’s gaze, Beck went into the bedroom and closed the door.

  “Fuck.” The sound of a piece of furniture skidding across the floor filling her ears as she leaned her head against it, Beck realized, with all due regret, she had done the right thing.