The Depth of Darkness (Mitch Tanner #1) (4 page)

“How about we grab a beer?”

“Now you’re talking.”

I followed him through the gate. We passed in
front of the black crime scene van. Both of us stopped when we saw
Carla. She leaned against Sam’s Camaro, holding a large golf
umbrella. It protected that fine, dark wavy hair. Her eyes still
looked blacker than the night. To what did we owe the pleasure of a
visit from the local news superstar?

“How’s it hanging, fellas,” she said.

“We’ve got nothing to say,” Sam said.

“You sure about that? It’s the day after an
apparent accident, and I find you two, Philadelphia PD’s top
homicide detectives, back at the scene with forensics. This after
chasing the corpse’s widower up a water tower and then knocking him
out?”

Neither of us said anything. Sam opened his
door and got in. I walked around the trunk, past Carla.

She reached out and grabbed my upper arm.
“Come on, Detective. Something’s up. At least toss me a small
bone.”

I looked over at her. Our eyes met. She
smiled.

“Least you can do for an old friend,” she
said.

I broke free from her grasp, pulled my door
open and stopped before getting in. “Go to hell, Carla.”

Her mouth dropped open an inch. I think I saw
her smile. It was hard to tell in the darkness.

“And you can run that sound bite.”

A little after two in the morning, Sam parked
the car in front of my house. I stared out the window at the yard
leading up to the two-story colonial. The weeds had been bad this
year, and my failure to get them under control had drawn the ire of
the neighborhood HOA. My fault, I suppose, for letting Marissa
convince me to buy the place half a decade ago. I’d been happy
living next to Sam in the old neighborhood. Sure, it was a bit run
down. But anytime I wanted to have a beer with a buddy, he was
right there. And if he was out, Jerry lived across the street.

“When you gonna ditch this place and move
back home?” Sam asked.

I hadn’t sold the old place. My cousin lived
there. I could kick him out any time I wanted. Not that I
would.

“The memories inside there gotta drive you
crazy, Mitch.”

I nodded. They did. “I can’t leave until
Robbie comes home. It’s the only home he remembers. You know
that.”

Sam nodded, reached over and grabbed my
shoulder. “Go on inside now, my man.”

“I called her the other night.”

“Who? Marissa?”

I shook my head. “Cassie.”

“Man, you know I’m not crazy about that
woman.”

“She gets results.”

“Half the time, if that. The rest of it,
she’s just crazy.”

I shrugged and said nothing.

Sam took a deep breath. “She have anything
for you?”

“Nah, still nothing.”

Sam reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “Go
inside, man.”

I opened the door and stepped into a puddle
that had formed in the gutter between the street and the curb. Cold
water rushed inside my shoe and soaked my sock. I cursed the rain
again. Then I started toward the front porch. In my mind’s eye, I
could see both my kids playing on the porch. I knew that only Ella
would be inside. It still hurt.

Before I reached the screened-in front porch,
I glanced toward the garage. Maybe once Dusty Anne Miller’s case
was wrapped up I could take the old ‘Stang out for a spin.

I pulled the screen door open and shuffled
across the front porch. Experience had taught me that if I tried to
walk at a normal clip, I’d likely trip over a toy fire truck, or a
doll’s stroller, or a play shopping cart. I’d almost made it to the
front door when I banged my shin against the all-weather sofa I
kept out there for those evenings when the humidity was low and the
temperature somewhere around sixty-five. I glanced down and saw
that someone had moved the sofa a good twelve inches to the left. I
grunted and groaned as I reached for the door handle. The knob
turned, but the deadbolts were locked.

I tapped my fingertips against the window
while freeing my keys from my left pocket. The deadbolts slid and
clicked as Lana turned them. I waited for her to open the door. The
door cracked open and her perfume enveloped me. She greeted me with
a smile, then a soft kiss. Her eyelids opened and shut slowly over
her golden brown eyes. She wore one of my pinstripe button ups, top
two buttons undone. There weren’t any pants to speak of. The shirt
hid the curve of her hips and came to about mid-thigh. I admired
her mocha colored smooth legs.

Lana Suarez and I had been dating for a tad
over four months. Ella had taken to her pretty quickly, and now
Lana gave my mother a break every now and then and watched Ella for
me when I had to go out at night. Most nights she was happy to do
so. She had been tonight. Until she realized why I was so late.

“You smell like beer,” she said as her eyes
narrowed and her lips drew tight. I’d ignited her Cuban temper.

“It was a rough night, Lana.” I reached for
her hand. She pulled away and stepped behind the door, pulling it
open a few feet. I stepped inside, and said, “Sam and I hit up
Schmitty’s on the way over for a couple beers. I needed an alcohol
laden detox.”

“What happened?” she asked as she walked past
me, avoiding contact at all costs.

We stopped in the great room and I said, “I
stopped by the house from the day before—”

“The woman who fell or something like that?”
The anger eased from her face.

I nodded. She knew all the details. I’d
stayed up half the night telling her about it. “And on my way out
tonight, I spotted something. When I turned to say something to her
husband, he took off like a bat out of hell. I chased after him. He
led me up inside the water tower, out onto the ledge.”

“You went out there?” She slipped into the
kitchen and disappeared behind the refrigerator door.

“Yup.”

“What about your fear of heights?”

I shrugged and then fell back into my
recliner. “We have the power to overrule our minds, especially when
the situation dictates our beliefs to be something other than what
they truly are. Truly, as defined by ourselves, for those of us who
want to hang onto old habits, whether good or bad.”

“That’s deep, Mitch.” She twisted the top off
a Bud Light and handed it to me.

I grabbed the cold bottle and took a deep
long pull. “I know. I’ve been taking guru classes online.”

She rolled her eyes and then pointed at my
bottle of Bud. “You’re almost forty, you should upgrade from that
swill you like to drink.”

“I’m in my late mid-thirties, and I enjoy
this swill just fine, thank you.” I took another pull and held the
bottle up to the light. Half-full, at least tonight. Any other day
it’d be half-empty.

I watched her as she retreated into the
kitchen area and pulled the cork out of a bottle of red wine. She
reached up for a wine glass. The shirt lifted as she did so, but
not far enough so that I could catch a glimpse of what she had on
underneath.

“You sure you want to do that this late?” I
asked.

“Tomorrow’s Sunday. No school. Might not have
school on Monday. Principal Bennett said it depends on what kind of
damage this tropical storm does.” She came back into the room and
stopped in front of me. I noticed her shirt had loosened around her
chest by a couple of buttons. A tiny drop of wine had slid along
the curved glass and dripped from the glass’s stem onto the
cream-colored carpet. She followed my eyes and saw the red spot on
the floor. “Shit, I’m sorry, Mitch.”

“It’s no problem.”

She set her glass down on the table next to
me and went back to the kitchen to grab a towel, which she ran
under the faucet. “I’m so careless,” she said when she
returned.

“It’s no biggie,” I said. “Like I told
Marissa when she chose this color, we got little kids, it’s bound
to get dirty and stained.”

Lana looked up at me, eyes big and brown. I
knew why she watched me. I’d said Marissa and kids in the same
sentence. That never led to a happy moment.

“I’m OK,” I said, taking another drink from
the bottle. I set it down next to her wine glass and slid out of
the chair and onto my knees on the floor. The plush carpet felt
like a foam mattress. I grabbed her hand and stopped her from
wiping the floor. She rose up on her knees and pushed her breasts
into my chest. I wrapped my arm around the back of her waist and
pulled her in even tighter. Our lips met. I rose and pulled her up
to her feet.

“You want another beer?” she asked, her mouth
less than an inch from mine.

“You want to finish your wine?” I asked.

She reached for the glass, took a sip and set
it down. “I’m good.”

“Then so am I.”

She grabbed my hand and turned and pulled me
toward the stairs. We climbed, stopping every fourth or fifth step
to kiss, and then we crept past Ella’s room. By the time we reached
my room at the end of the hall, she had her legs wrapped around my
waist and I supported her with my hands on her buttocks. I grabbed
the handle and kicked the door open, then reversed the direction of
my leg and pushed it closed. We fell onto my bed, leaving the
lights off. The lightning outside provided all the ambiance we
needed.

The storm whipped up something fierce
throughout the night and into the early morning hours of Sunday. I
lay in bed with Lana draped across my chest until about eight in
the morning. Her breath was hot and soothing against my neck. I
lifted her arm and slipped out of bed, then went downstairs and
cooked up a batch of chocolate chip pancakes for the three of us.
Ella had been in the kitchen waiting for me. She helped mix the
batter. I did the rest of the work. She took all of the credit.
Nothing new there. The storm didn’t let up all that much, so
getting out of the house was pretty much a wash. I phoned the
hospital throughout the day, but Roy Miller remained
unconscious.

So we stayed on the couch all day. Watched
cartoons in the morning, pre-game shows until one, then football
the rest of the day. Opening weekend. Every team with a blank slate
with no wins and no losses. There was hope yet for my Eagles. Lana
left before Sunday Night Football started. I put Ella to bed at
halftime. By the end of the fourth quarter, I was asleep on the
couch.

Monday started for me at five a.m. A whole
hour before my alarm was set to go off. My cell phone started
ringing and vibrated across the coffee table. I grabbed it and put
an end to the ruckus. With my eyes closed and my mouth dry, I said,
“What?”

“He’s gone.”

The words hung there for a minute until I
placed the voice. Sam. Shouldn’t have taken so long, but it was
five a.m.

I licked my lips and swallowed, and asked,
“Who’s gone?”

“Miller.”

This caused me to sit up. “Roy Miller? Our
suspect?”

Sam paused for a beat, and then said, “Yeah,
that Roy Miller.”

“Son of a…” I rubbed my eyes with my left
hand, kicked my legs over the side of the couch and rose. My knees
popped like cap guns. “How the hell did this happen?”

“No one can tell me.” I could feel the anger
in his voice. It matched my own.

“Didn’t we have someone watching over his
room? Please tell me we had him on twenty-four hour watch.”

“Affirmative.”

“Okay. And?”

“Working on it, man.” Sam’s voice sounded
hushed, like someone was nearby he didn’t want to hear this
conversation. “Someone else is laying into the guy that screwed up
right now.”

“Huff?”

“You know it.”

I didn’t envy the recipient of Huff’s tirade.
Good boss? Yes. Grade-A prick? Hell, yes.

I said, “Why am I the last to know about
this?”

Sam had no answer. I imagined him with his
lips drawn tight, shaking his head at me.

“Where you at now?”

“On my way to the hospital.”

“I’ll see you there.”

I leaned my head back and stared up at the
ceiling. There was a dark spot in the corner. Rain had seeped
through again. I’d had the roof patched there a year ago. It never
ends.

I stepped into the kitchen and refocused.
Where would Roy have run off to? Not home. Our files said he had no
family in the area. Maybe a friend’s house. We could check that.
The only chance we had at getting to the true cause of his wife’s
death remained with him. If we didn’t find him, her voice wouldn’t
be heard.

I started the coffee, which I’d wisely
prepared before falling asleep during the fourth quarter of last
night’s game. For a second I wondered who had won the game, then I
remembered I didn’t care for either team. I could Google it later
if I felt that I needed to know. I found my way upstairs and into
the shower. Ten minutes later I was downstairs, pants on, shirt
half-buttoned and untucked, shoulder holster unbuckled, socks and
shoes by the front door.

I drank my coffee black while scarfing down
two eggs fried in butter to the point where the yolk was intact but
no longer runny. A bit of salt added all the flavor I needed. The
doorbell rang as my laptop hung on that stupid start up screen.
Five-year-old piece of crap. I thought about replacing it with one
of those new laptops and giving this one to Ella. Maybe someday.
Roof repairs and all were still hanging in the balance.

“Hi Mom,” I said as I opened the door.

She had on her blue robe, cinched tight at
the waist. I presumed the plastic bag in her hand contained the
clothes she intended to wear later that day. She yawned and stepped
inside. “Coffee?”

“Already poured you a cup.”

“Two sugars and milk?”

“Two packs of Splenda and half-n-half.”

“I don’t like that stuff.” She pulled her
graying hair back in a ponytail as she walked past me. She smelled
of smoke.

“When did you start smoking again?” I
asked.