City of the Lost (Casey Duncan #1)(92)

Anders frowns. “No.”

I nod, and Dalton and I head out for Isabel’s while Anders goes to do a walkabout and see if he can spot Mick.


As Dalton and I walk over to Isabel’s, I say, “About Mick, I heard you fired him.”

He snorts. “Someone’s spreading stories. It wasn’t like that at all. Mick didn’t much like being a cop. I think he only agreed to be one up here because it helped him get into Rockton. When the council brought Will in, they were willing to keep Mick on, but he jumped at the chance to quit. He did militia duty for a while. Then he hooked up with Isabel, and the only enforcement he’s done since is kicking drunks out of the Roc.”

“What’s his story before that? Why’s he here? If I can ask.”

“He was on a task force taking down some drug guys, and he was the only one they couldn’t pay off. They decided to get rid of him. He decided he’d rather not be gotten rid of. And he wasn’t all that keen on a law enforcement career after that.”

“Can’t blame him.”

“Nope, really can’t. Either it’s your thing or it’s not. I need people on my team who want to be there. You do. Will does. Mick didn’t.”

A few more steps in silence. Then he says, “Earlier, you talked about vengeance and protection. You think someone took revenge for Abbygail’s death. You meant Mick, didn’t you?”

I nod. “Yesterday, Mick came to me about the raspberry thing with Abbygail. You remember that?”

“Her secret admirer?”

“At first, Mick said he suspected Lang. Then, yesterday, he changed his mind. He said it was Hastings.”

“Fuck. He framed Hastings for it?”

“No, I checked a few things afterward, and I’m ninety percent sure it was Hastings who left those berries.”

“Which means Mick handed him over after Abbygail’s body was found. And after he’d sent you sniffing in another direction. Shit.” Dalton rolls his shoulders. “If Mick thought Hastings murdered Abbygail and he executed him for it …”

“But would he kill Hastings like that? I know, I can’t underestimate someone’s capacity for violence. Still …”

Mick is no longer just Isabel’s beefcake boy toy. He’s a real guy. A likeable guy. Can I imagine him murdering Abbygail’s killer? Yes. Murdering him in such a horrible way? No, I cannot.

“And then there’s Irene and Powys,” I say. “I haven’t found any connection between them and Abbygail.”

“They barely knew her. They moved in different circles.”

“Then what’s the answer? That Mick somehow thought Irene killed Abbygail and then whoops, my bad? Maybe Powys? Nope, wrong there, too. Ah, Hastings. That’s it.” I shake my head. “Makes no sense.”

Silence falls.

“You’re thinking maybe it wasn’t revenge,” Dalton says finally. “That Mick killed Abbygail, too.”

“I have to consider it.”

“Okay.”

“Do you think it’s possible?” I ask.

“I think I need to keep my mouth shut unless I can say something helpful.”





Four



Isabel’s place is hard to miss, given that it qualifies as positively palatial in Rockton. A two-storey home, twice the size of mine, right in the downtown core. It’s a rooming house, but since the extra beds aren’t currently required, Isabel is allowed to rent the whole building.

She’s sitting by the fireplace when Dalton and I walk in. She rises with, “About time. I was starting to think Will headed off to bed.”

I take the seat beside Isabel’s. “All right. Walk me through it.”

“So that’s how you’re going to play this, Eric? Let your detective ask a few questions, so I feel you’re taking me seriously? All right. First, let’s clear the elephant from the room. Mick is not in anyone else’s bed. I give him no reason to stray.”

“Which—” I look at Dalton. “Maybe you should step outside.”

“Why?”

“Because we’ll be discussing my sex life,” Isabel says. “Which would be less awkward if you’d step out, but I know you won’t, so ignore him, Casey. If he gets uncomfortable, he’ll leave, but I don’t think Eric knows the meaning of the word.”

“Okay, well, I was going to say that, given what you do here, you know as well as anyone that cheating isn’t always about sex. Sometimes—hell, most times, I suspect—it’s about filling other needs, including novelty.”

“Having been a psychologist, I know that very well. It doesn’t apply here. Mick is a simple man with simple tastes. And whatever you might think of our relationship, we care about each other. Deeply. But I’ll set aside sentimentality and put it in words you’ll better understand. Mick knows if I ever catch him stepping out, it’s over. My ego’s too healthy to take back a cheating bastard.”

“Okay.” I take out my notebook. “Give me your story.”


We’ve been searching the town for two hours. We haven’t mobilized the militia yet. It’s just the three of us, going door to door. I’m with Dalton. I knock on a door and nicely ask if the occupant has seen Mick. Most times I get a sleepy, “No, I haven’t. Is something wrong?” If they complain about the hour, Dalton shoulders past and tramps through their house, throwing open every door with a look that dares them to utter the phrase “private property.”