Edge of Midnight

31



A squad car with two sheriff’s deputies inside sat in front of the bungalow, in a wide berth of sand on the street’s shoulder. Parking his vehicle in the driveway, Eric walked over to it. The driver’s-side window lowered as he approached.

“Everything okay tonight?” he asked.

“It’s been quiet, Agent,” the young deputy behind the steering wheel responded above the roar of the unit’s air conditioner. Eric glanced at the halo of light emanating from behind the bungalow’s closed curtains.

“You need us to stay?”

“No. I’ll take it from here. Good night.”

The deputies nodded and pulled away, leaving him standing under a starless evening sky. A hard breeze blew in from the ocean, ruffling the line of tall pampas grass that grew along the driveway and suggesting rain. It had been a long day, punctuated by Penney Niemen’s autopsy and the continued canvassing of Mia’s San Marco neighborhood. No one, however, claimed to have witnessed anything, although one neighbor admitted to hearing what he thought might have been a scream. Eric went up to the bungalow’s stoop, knocking and announcing himself. Momentarily, he heard the muted beep of the security keypad inside. Opening the door, Mia wore denim shorts and a smocked top, her hair pulled into a short ponytail.

“Is there anything new?” she asked, appearing tense. Eric entered, and then closed and locked the door behind him.

“Just that the M.E. gave confirmation on Ms. Niemen’s cause of death. But you probably already heard that on the news.”

Her expression indicated she had. The segment had also included the interview with Karen Diambro’s ex-husband. Eric had watched at the FBI offices along with Cameron, feeling defensive as well as culpable. Because the truth of it was, no matter how hard they were trying, they had so far been unsuccessful in coming up with a suspect. The Bureau, JSO and Duval County District Attorney’s Office were all feeling an increasing juggernaut of pressure.

“You look tired, Eric. Are you hungry?”

He realized it had been hours since he’d eaten. “Yeah, I am.”

“We’ll have to order takeout. You know about the dismal state of the kitchen pantry.” She offered him a weak smile. “Maybe the deputies escorting me from work tomorrow can be talked into taking me by the grocery store.”

“It’s late. You didn’t have to wait for me to eat.”

“I wanted to. There’s a place on Jax Beach that has good fried oysters and shrimp. I think they deliver.”

He gave a nod of agreement. As she went to look up the restaurant’s number in the out-of-date phone book in the kitchen, Eric’s cell phone rang. Its screen identified Cameron as the caller.

“Someone from the temp agency finally checked their messages and got back with me,” he said through the phone. “The guy was hedging—it sounds doubtful they’ve checked backgrounds thoroughly on people they’ve sent out on jobs. I told him we need the paperwork, including job applications, for anyone used by the security company for maintenance or repairs over the last three years.”

“When will we have it?”

“He asked me to give him until end of day tomorrow. He said they had a computer meltdown a few months ago with no disaster backup plan, but he has paper files that he has to find and cross-reference.”

Eric ran a hand through his hair. He wasn’t as concerned about criminal records, especially since none of the fingerprints on the car parts had been a match to those in the FBI database. But what he did want to know was whether anyone on the list had lived or worked in Bethesda, Maryland, or the surrounding areas during the same time as the murders occurring up there.

“Did he estimate how many people we’re talking about?”

“Ballpark? Twenty to thirty.”

“Give him until two tomorrow and not a minute later,” Eric instructed. “In the meantime, we can file for a subpoena to produce in case he fails to deliver.”

As he completed the call, Mia returned from the kitchen. “I placed the order. Oysters and shrimp with cocktail sauce, hush puppies and coleslaw. It’ll be here in thirty minutes.”

Thinking of all the fried food, he shook his head. “I’ve got to make time for a run.”

Mia walked over to him and laid her fingers against his shirtfront. “I don’t know. You seem in pretty good shape to me.”

Despite his fatigue, her nearness stirred him. He lifted her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. “As delicious as it is, not everything has to be breaded and deep-fried, Southern style. In Maryland we have crab cakes—sweet lump meat, a little bit of mayonnaise for a binder, and a hint of Old Bay. Maybe I’ll make them for you sometime.”

Sometime. A shadow in Mia’s eyes told him that her thoughts paralleled his. If it were possible to imagine a day when all this might be over, it would also mean something far less pleasant, as well. He belonged to the VCU, and she was established here in Jacksonville, with a career and a life. They would have to discuss how, or even if, they could go further in a relationship. It was something he didn’t want to think about now.

“How bad was it here today?”

She shrugged. “A little like being an animal in the zoo. Cooped up in here with the deputies watching from outside. They kept coming to the door every half hour to check on me, like I was thinking about sneaking out the back.”

“Were you?”

“Maybe a little.”

Eric worried she wasn’t joking.

“I went over Hank Dugger’s notes again. I’ve been through them so many times I’m pretty sure I can recite entire pages from memory at this point.” She shook her head. “No matter how much I want it to, nothing stands out. It looks like he and his partner really did do a thorough investigation on Joy Rourke’s disappearance. Just like he told me, they eventually ran out of people to talk to and were assigned to more active cases.”

He could sense Mia’s frustration. At least letting her go into the newspaper would give her something to focus her nervous energy on.

“The interview with Karen Diambro’s ex-husband had to be tough,” she remarked softly.

“It didn’t help,” he admitted. Eric looked into her eyes. There was nothing more he wanted than to have some downtime with her and try to decompress. If they slept together, he would still need to make up a bed on the couch. The deputies would arrive early the next morning to escort her to work and he wanted it to appear that there had been no impropriety. It felt dishonest, but it was necessary. Law enforcement could gossip like schoolgirls. He didn’t want Mia being talked about in that way.

“Will called me,” she said. “He got back tonight—he left Justin in Chicago. He said an unmarked car showed up out of nowhere when he pulled into the driveway. He had to show them his ID.”

Which meant the field agents assigned to the property’s surveillance were on top of things, Eric thought. “He didn’t have to come back for the investigation. Any routine questions we have for him or Mr. Cho as the property owners could’ve been answered by phone.”

“He knows. I think he just feels horrible about what happened and not being here.” A few strands of hair had escaped Mia’s ponytail and she brushed them from her face, her expression pensive. “He spoke with Penney’s family. They’re taking her back to West Virginia to be buried as soon as the body’s released, despite her wishes. She wanted to be cremated and have her ashes scattered here on the ocean, but they don’t seem to care.”

Eric recalled Rebecca’s funeral service and burial, as well as the pain-numbed days that had followed in their wake. As bad off as he’d been, her parents had been worse, emotionally distraught and looking for someplace to lay their anger. Most of it had been directed onto him.

“Burials are for the family,” he said. “They may need it in order to let go.”

“Will says they’re very religious. They never approved of Penney’s lifestyle. Not being married and living so far from home, all by herself in a large city…maybe they were right.”

He studied her, aware of the survivor’s guilt she felt knowing she’d been the intended target. “What happened isn’t your fault, Mia.”

She appeared doubtful. “I just need to do something—”

“I know.”

“Will’s going back to Chicago later this week. I want to see him before he leaves. Privately.”

He nodded his understanding. “I’ll make it happen.”

Taking her hand, Eric led her to the couch where they sat side by side. He placed his arm on the cushion behind her. Mia looked up at him, her dark eyes filled with yearning. Eric lowered his mouth to hers, their kiss lingering. Then with a small sigh, she laid her head on his chest as they waited for their food to arrive. Above them, rain began to thud on the bungalow’s roof, making the small living quarters seem cozy. Eric leaned his head back on the couch. Tomorrow and whatever it might bring would come soon enough.

“He wasn’t supposed to call you,” Mia said as she stood in Grayson’s office the following morning.

“Well, he did. And even if he hadn’t, I would’ve made the same decision. From here on out, you’re on the news desk, kiddo. You field calls, monitor the police scanner, assign out the smaller stories and assist with editing, but you’re officially off the street.”

She sighed, realizing it made the most sense. She couldn’t have two deputies following her around the city while she tried to do her job. Since her abduction she hadn’t been allowed to operate at full capacity, anyway. But being officially relegated to the news desk felt like another step down.

“I’m sorry about all this,” she offered. “I know it’s an inconvenience at the least—”

“Close the door.”

Feeling a wave of dread, she did as told. Grayson removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He looked tired and a little hungover, the lines deeper in his face. Mia wondered if his drinking binge had extended over the remainder of the weekend. She felt responsible.

“Don’t take this as a punishment. The fact that this guy came after you again changes everything, Mia. Macfarlane’s one-hundred-percent right about keeping you underground until this psycho is caught. You’re to stay in the newsroom. We can use you there.”

She started to say something, but thought it better if she just listened. Grayson clearly wasn’t done. He cleared his throat, uncharacteristically subdued.

“I realize our relationship’s changed, too. After what was said on Saturday night, we probably won’t be able to go back to where we were before. That’s my fault.” He appeared pained and lowered his voice. “But I still wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything happened to you, Mia… I think I’ve made how much I care about you embarrassingly clear.”

“I just want things back like they used to be,” she murmured, wistful.

“And I wish I hadn’t gotten drunk and acted like a jackass. Or spilled my guts to you. But I did. I can’t forget that.” There was no malice in his words or expression, just sadness and a bit of chagrin.

She couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. “We’ll get through this.”

Grayson didn’t comment, however. Through the window behind him, she noticed the sun had already begun to burn off the remaining clouds from last night’s rainstorm. It was supposed to be another beautiful day, but all she felt was gloom.

“You can start by fact-checking Clarkson’s piece on the drive-by shooting in Brentwood.” He returned his attention to his computer monitor. “I want it online ASAP.”

Sensing she’d been dismissed, Mia left his office. She passed Walt Rudner, who was leaned back in his desk chair, its frame creaking under his considerable girth as he yakked on the phone. Upon seeing her, he lowered his tone, but Mia had already heard enough to know he was talking about her deputy escort to work. They’d driven the squad car into the parking garage, then walked her into the newspaper lobby through the enclosed rear entrance to draw as little attention as possible. Mia had been instructed to call when she needed to leave the building. She’d also heard Eric telling the deputies to make sure they weren’t followed.

It was a strange way to live.

She collected her things from where she normally sat in the maze of cubicles that held the features reporters. Her new responsibilities would transfer her to one of the desks up front, facing the newsroom. She’d just gotten settled in when Walt brushed by, shoving his thick arms into his blazer as he lumbered toward the lobby. He had the look of a hungry jackal that had just been told a rabbit dinner was about to be served.

“What’s going on?” His excitement made her uneasy.

“I just got a tip. A dead female. The Feds are involved.”