Friends Like These(17)

The truth is, I loved Jane more than I will ever love anyone. Whatever actually kills me, it will always be her loss that stopped my heart.

But I’ve learned to tune out anything that turns her into a sideshow, including this podcast. At least I had the good sense to move from Hudson, where everyone knows my history, opting instead for Kaaterskill, the town where the murders actually took place. To take a job that requires me to work every day a floor above Jane’s case files, which still contain the rusted tent stake that was used to stab her to death.

I did comb through Jane and Bethany’s files once, not long after I joined the force. Only the one time, one whole Saturday. But that was enough to see there was nothing there except a bunch of dead ends. And I refused to get sucked into pointless obsessing. It wouldn’t bring Jane back. It wouldn’t do anything. The best I’ve ever been able to hope for is to keep on keeping on. Like right now— I’m going to do my job.

And Seldon’s not stupid. No matter what he thinks of me, he’ll be careful not to interfere. He’ll wait and hope I fumble the ball on my own. An actual misstep on a case this important, and he won’t have to explain to anyone why he passed me over for lieutenant. He might even be able to get rid of me altogether.

I nod firmly in Seldon’s direction. “Sir.”

“What we got here?” he asks, eyes skidding away from mine.

“Just beginning interviews,” I say. “Two in the car went out for cigarettes, didn’t come back. The three individuals here don’t know what happened. The group was up for some kind of bachelor party.”

Some kind of bachelor party. I hate that I said it like that. Like it’s not just a bachelor party because it’s two men getting married. The worst part is that I think I put it that way to appease Seldon— he doesn’t approve of gay marriage, or gays in the military. Or gay people. Seldon is a straight-down-the-line bigot. It’s the only thing he has going in his favor— clarity.

“Anything more from the scene yet?”

“Wallet, phone, and car registration are all missing,” I say. “Could be the motive was financial.”

Property crimes are rising even faster than overdoses in Kaaterskill. Bad economy has taken its toll— layoffs, closed businesses— plus opioids leave people cash-strapped and willing to take risks.

“Early to jump to that conclusion, wouldn’t you say?” Seldon says, working his jaw.

If asked, Seldon would definitely say that the Kaaterskill economy is booming, and that drugs aren’t a big issue. Denial is his favorite policing strategy. Effective, too, apparently. The entire town seems to think he’s doing a great job.

“There’s a sixth person who left after an argument,” I offer. “He’s also a possibility.”

“Ah, interesting.” Seldon lifts his chin and peers down at me in a way that makes my skin crawl. “You got someone tracking him down?”

This is the answer Seldon wants— if this is just the weekenders killing each other, that’s bad press Seldon can contain. Locals might hate weekenders, but they still want them showing up to spend money.

“Yeah, I’m on it.” And I will send an officer to check the train station for this Finch character, just as soon as Seldon’s gone.

“Still no sign of the driver?”

“We’ll find him,” I say. “State search and rescue is already there.”

Seldon checks his watch. He wants back to his warm bed, his pretty wife.

“Don’t talk to any reporters on this,” he says. “None.”

“Of course not.” My cheeks feel warm. It’s a dig about The River.

“I suppose I’ll leave you to it then,” Seldon says finally, an edge to his voice as he turns back to the front door. “But I want hourly updates. Earlier if anything noteworthy comes up. And find that sixth person. No way him being gone is a coincidence.”

My phone rings as I start back toward Jonathan in the dining room. Dan’s cell. I hate that I haven’t taken him out of my contacts. But it’s not that simple when you were best friends before you were a couple. I think about letting it go to voice mail. But Dan hasn’t called in at least a week. And at this hour, on this night?

“Yeah,” I answer. “What’s up?”

“I’m down here at the scene,” Dan says. “And I think— ”

“At what scene?”

“The crime scene,” he says, like I’ve forgotten I’m a police officer. Like I’ve forgotten he’s one, too. That we’re in competition for the same lieutenant’s spot. Dan’s eight years older, but he joined the force after a stint as an actuary. He loves facts and figures. “You know, where the car is?”

“What the hell are you doing down there?”

“Whoa, calm down,” he says— using that exact phrase and in that exact goddamn tone that had been the final nail in our coffin a month ago.

But in Dan’s case it’s probably not even on purpose. He’s not the passive-aggressive type. He’s opinionated, though— doesn’t know when to let things go. Especially when he thinks he’s helping. He grew up in Hudson— same class as Jane at Hudson High. But we didn’t meet until the academy. We hit it off instantly, half flirting, half razzing nonstop. Dan was married at the time, and the line was always crystal clear for both of us. We didn’t sleep together till three weeks after his divorce was finalized.