stepped out of the inner office, hurried into the bathroom with its ancient porcelain fixtures, and filled a paper cup at the tap. He went back to his office and found Mitchell behind the desk, going through drawers.
“Where—” Mitchell was trying to say through his tears, pawing at papers and staplers and bottles of Wite-Out. “Where—where—” He kept trying to talk through the tears, but the only word Hazard could make out was where. And then he caught one other word: gun.
“No,” Hazard said, setting down the water. He took Mitchell by the shoulders and walked him back around the desk. “No guns. Sit down. Here’s what I tell Evie when she gets worked up like this: you take one big breath, and then you take one tiny sip of water. Ready?”
Mitchell was trying to say something through his sobs.
“Great,” Hazard said. “One big breath. Right now, Mitchell.”
To his credit, Mitchell tried.
“Now, water.”
Mitchell sipped and sputtered and coughed.
“Big breath,” Hazard said, slapping Mitchell on the back. “And now, water.”
They did it a few more times before Mitchell was finally breathing normally, and then he took a few longer sips of the water and wiped his face and sat back.
Hazard nudged the tissues toward him. Then, when Mitchell didn’t move, Hazard gathered a wad of them and held them out. “Am I going to have to blow your nose for you too?”
Something cracked then, and a weak smile worked its way across Mitchell’s tear-stained face. He took the tissues, blew his nose, and then leaned forward, resting his forehead on the desk. Hazard hesitated; then he set his hand in the center of Mitchell’s back and felt the tremors still working their way through him.
“So,” Hazard said. “Is that a no about the makeup?”
Mitchell giggled; it was a weak, watery noise, but it was still the best thing Hazard had heard from him all day.
“No,” he finally said in a soft voice. “I’m wearing makeup. Isn’t that ridiculous? It’s so fucking femme, and I’m not femme, not really, but, oh my God, I’ve been crying all night and I look like shit, and I don’t know. I thought it’d make me feel better.”
“What’s going on?” Hazard asked.
“He tried to get me last night.”
“The Keeper?”
Mitchell nodded. “I was asleep. I heard something; I guess that’s what woke me up. I wasn’t thinking too clearly because I’ve been taking these sleeping pills. If I don’t, I just lie there with the lights on, staring at the ceiling, or I have these terrible nightmares. So I got out of bed, and I went out to the front room, and he was working on the deadbolt. Picking the lock, I mean. I could hear this clicking noise.”
“And?”
“And I started shouting like crazy. I told him to go the fuck away; I said I had a gun and I’d blow his head off if he came inside.”
“Did you have a gun?”
“God, no. I didn’t call the police. I didn’t even grab a knife. I was scared stupid, Emery. I just stood there and shouted until my neighbor started hammering on the wall, and then I—I kind of snapped out of it. When I stopped yelling, I didn’t hear anything else, so I figured maybe he’d gone away. I stayed awake the rest of the night, just sitting there against the door, listening. When I heard some of my neighbors leave for work, I risked a look, and the hallway was empty. It took me a couple more hours to work up the courage to leave.” He dabbed at his face with the tissues. “I look like a clown, huh?”
“More like a cheap rentboy.”
With another wet little laugh, Mitchell continued working the tissues against his face. “I want to hire you, Emery. Personal protection. I don’t care what it costs. I called my mom and told her what I was doing, and she said they’ll pay whatever you want.” He dropped the tissues on the desk and got a wrinkled check out of one pocket. “Was it a thousand dollars last time? I can’t remember what you said.”
“Hold on,” Hazard said. “I want to talk about this a little bit first.”
“Oh my God, did you hear me? He tried to get me last night. I’m . . . I’m unfinished business, Emery. You said so yourself, remember? At the coffee shop? You told me he’d come back for me, and he did. He’s active again or whatever they say about serial killers. And he’s going to—” A