weave of the upholstery. No old friendships. He never kept in touch with anyone from the Army. Of course not, Sam thought. Not when he had a new life, a new job, a new girlfriend. Just those blackout e-mails. Just those invitations to come, for a week or a month, and stay on the couch. But always with a return ticket already booked, always with the exit door propped open. The way it had always been. We fucked around, that way. Which was what Sam had wanted too. Always. Exclusively.
God, Sam thought. Did a guy ever get used to the taste of his own bullshit?
“Anything unusual in Mr. Brower’s behavior over the last few weeks?”
Natalie considered the question, started to speak, but looked over her shoulder as Rufus made his presence known coming back into the room. “Everything ok?” she asked.
Rufus nodded, smiled, and stood at the couch but didn’t sit. “Too much coffee.”
She blushed a little. “Coffee is bad for you, Mr. Hiscock.” Natalie looked at Sam again. “Maybe it’s not unusual, but he’d been working late recently. Like, a lot. Sometimes he wouldn’t answer his phone. He always answered, or at least he’d text me and say he’d call back.”
“How long had that been going on?”
“The last two weeks. Maybe three.”
Sam couldn’t help it; three weeks was just the right window of time, and she’d been twisting a knife in him, not even knowing it. Now he wanted to twist back. “Did this happen on your anniversary?”
Her cheeks got red again. But a dark red this time. An angry red. “He wasn’t having an affair, if that’s what you’re suggesting, Mr. Auden.”
“Interesting that you should raise that possibility,” Sam said. “Did Mr. Brower have any prior incidents of infidelity? Were you concerned about his relationships with other friends or coworkers? Did he give you any reason to believe—”
Rufus leaned over, didn’t touch Sam, but swiped the phone from his hands to disrupt the moment. “Mr. Auden, I think we’ve got the basics,” he said a bit too loud. “We really shouldn’t keep Ms. Miller all afternoon.” He looked at Natalie. “I’m very sorry for your loss, ma’am. Mr. Brower was a respected officer.”
Natalie was still staring at Sam, like he was a bug she’d squash with a rolled-up newspaper. Hell, maybe she’d squash Rufus too, simply due to his proximity. “Yes. He was,” she clipped out.
Rufus nudged Sam’s foot with the toe of his Chuck. “Come on.”
Whatever had gotten into Sam’s head, it was gone. He drew a deep breath, nodded, and stood. Following Rufus to the door, with Natalie trailing them, Sam said, “Thank you for your time, Ms. Miller. If we have any more questions, we’ll be in touch.” Then they were at the door, moving out into the July heat, the dense, green smell of the trees mixing with the baking asphalt. After another deep breath, Sam managed to echo Rufus: “We’re sorry for your loss.”
Natalie didn’t respond; she watched them from the doorway as they moved down the steps. Halfway down the block, a spot in the middle of Sam’s back was still itching, but he resisted the urge to look. When they turned the corner, though, he risked a glance and saw her still framed by sandstone, her gaze locked on them.
“Well?” Sam asked as they left behind the brownstones and passed a bodega.
“You’ve got no fucking chill,” Rufus answered, finally offering Sam his phone back.
“Don’t worry about my fucking chill. What did you find?”
Rufus looked about to answer, but his expression changed and he pulled a vibrating cell from his jeans pocket. He swiped to accept and held it to his ear. “The fuck you calling me for? … Tell it to my mother. No, Jake never…. … Did I stutter? No, I don’t have anything. Sure, I’ll work on my attitude. Smooches.” Rufus hit End while a tinny voice was still talking and shoved the phone in his pocket. He put his sunglasses on and looked back at Sam. “Where were we?”
“Jake never what?”
Rufus raised both eyebrows. “Oh. That was Lampo. He was asking about the pickup that never happened.”
“Huh,” Sam said. “Well, if you don’t need to take any more personal calls, maybe you can tell me what you found inside.”
Rufus moved under the awning of the bodega and casually leaned against an outdoor stand. “I found a purple Michael Kors bag,” he began with a wicked smile. “And inside was an iPhone worth more than my monthly rent. Also,