A Friend in the Dark - Gregory Ashe Page 0,67
high-gloss black. He paused at the staircase landing long enough to take in all the sounds of the building, but it was afternoon and no one—on that floor, at least—sounded as if they were home. Rufus moved to the first door on the left, broke in with such speed and dexterity that he could have made it an Olympic sport, and motioned Sam inside with a sweeping gesture.
“Wow, what a dump,” Rufus said after closing the door. His nose wrinkled a little. “All right, so I know it’s conjecture, but what do you think we’re even looking for?”
“Let’s make some educated guesses. Educated guess number one: Jake had something tying Heckler to those trafficked kids. We know Juliana pointed him at the kids, and we know Heckler’s dirty. That doesn’t seem like too much of a leap. Educated guess number two: whatever Jake had was solid enough that Heckler was worried—otherwise, she would have let Jake flail. Educated guess number three: Jake waffled because he’s Jake, classic fucking waffler—otherwise, he would have sent the evidence to the FBI or the state attorney general or somebody instead of standing around with his dick in his hand.”
Rufus was frowning as he moved into the garbage-littered living space. He listened to Sam while watching a roach scurry out from under a pizza box—the damn pest was big enough to wield a knife. “Incriminating evidence against a badge,” Rufus began. “If Jake trusted a petty thief more than anyone else.” Taking his sunglasses off, Rufus turned and added, “More than one of the ‘good guys.’ So a tangible item, yeah? Like a notebook? Tablet? Something used to keep track of the comings and goings of the business?”
“Photographs,” Sam said. “Videos. Shit, what if he was going to tell you a name?” He shook his head. “Never mind, that’s a dead end, so let’s not even think about that. Something physical. Something you could carry. Let’s start there. Did Jake ever have you do other pickups? Did he ever give you anything—I mean, anything, ever?”
“Yeah. A few in the past. He’d text me a meetup address—always different—have me hang on to something or do a drop-off. Then I’d ditch the burner.” Rufus was thoughtful for another moment, and then he smiled at a recollection. “Jake bought me dinner sometimes. As a job well done, I guess. He bought me a book at the Strand too.”
“Well, I don’t think he gave Marcus a book.” Sam glanced around the apartment. Then he looked back at Rufus. “What book?”
Rufus felt his cheeks warm but he shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
Another moment passed, and then Sam turned away. “Great. Really helpful. You can remember the numbers on streetlamps or whatever the hell you were talking about. Fine. Let’s look.”
Rufus ignored the dig and nudged a plastic bag on the floor. It was full of wadded tissues and empty soda bottles. “I guess Jake failed to mention any X’s marking the spot in those e-mails to you, huh? In between the keyboard smashes and relationship comments?” Rufus regretted the words even as he said them.
Sam’s shoulders straightened, but he was still studying the other side of the room. “What’s that supposed to mean? That little jab about relationships.”
“Nothing. Never mind. Jake never said anything in an e-mail?”
But Sam was quiet for almost a full minute, and when he did speak, he only said, “I would have told you if he had.”
“I know. You have them memorized.” Rufus went to the mattress on the floor and warily picked up a blanket, checking underneath.
“And what the hell does that mean?”
“Nothing. I didn’t mean anything about anything. I’m stating a fact—you have the e-mails memorized.” He didn’t turn around.
“For fuck’s sake,” Sam said, breath exploding after the words. He spun to face Rufus. “I can’t do this. If you’re hung up on Jake, if you… I don’t know. I just can’t, ok? I like you. I told you stuff I don’t tell anyone. I’m too fucking old to be in my own fucking head about whether you’re hung up on a dead guy. And, apparently, I’m too fucking old to be cute. And I know I’m the one who said that, so don’t—” The words cut off as he tucked his hands under his arms. “I’m really, really fucking overloaded right now. I think I need some fresh air or something.”
He staggered toward the window and yanked on the latch.
Rufus’s stomach was doing somersaults. He dropped the blanket to the mattress and studied Sam—his