The Deceiving Look (Shepard & Gray), page 25
“The other guy, Steven Hall, he’s got a criminal history going back to 1985, but I’m looking at this guy’s picture and there’s no way. He would’ve been like five probably.”
“A forgery,” Billie said. “A good one, too.”
Solomon couldn’t make out much in the driver’s license photo. “Can you make the photo larger?”
“Yeah. It’s a DMV photo and they kinda suck, but . . . there.”
The driver’s license came up on one of the other screens. Blown up in high definition.
Solomon stared blankly at the screen. He felt a warmth dribbling down his body from his head, covering his limbs, making his muscles burn and his bones ache. Then he felt nothing. Numb and stunned. He took a deep breath to steady himself, but it didn’t help, and he nearly lost his footing as his leg gave out.
Billie grabbed his arm, preventing him from falling, and said, “Solomon, are you all right?”
He pulled away from her and said, “I need to go.”
“Where?” Billie said.
As Solomon rushed out the door, the cold winter air hit him, causing his head to spin. His stomach churned, and he felt hot bile rising in his throat. He stumbled down the porch, barely holding on to the railings, and doubled over and vomited. He heaved and gagged. His eyes watered, and his body convulsed as he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the ground. Finally, as the last of it came up, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling the chill of the winter air against his damp skin.
He took out the Nokia phone and turned it on. Billie was outside now, approaching him, and he hurriedly texted one line:
I know who you are
A moment later, the text came back:
Good. Then we can meet
46
Solomon washed his mouth out with Scope in Einstein’s bathroom. After he splashed water on his face, he looked down into the sink, only to see the clear water slowly getting darker and darker until it turned into a thick black liquid that splashed up out of the sink. Blood.
The sight of the blood made him freeze, and his heart raced. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. When he opened his eyes again, the blood was gone, and the water in the sink was clear again.
Solomon turned off the faucet and wiped his face with a towel. As he reached for the doorknob, he hesitated, feeling a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. He looked back at the sink, half expecting the water to have turned to blood again. The air felt thick and oppressive, and the bathroom seemed darker than before. Suddenly, he heard a faint whisper, like a voice on the edge of his hearing. He spun around, heart pounding, but the bathroom was empty.
Solomon walked into the hallway leading to the living room, his hands still trembling. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.
When he opened his eyes, his vision was spinning, and he had to grab the wall to steady himself. He took a step forward and stumbled, his head feeling heavy and his vision blurry. He made his way to the living room, feeling like he was moving in slow motion. The smell of fresh coffee filled the room, and he could hear the soft hum of music coming from a nearby speaker. He collapsed onto the couch, feeling drained and weak, and closed his eyes for a moment to regain his composure.
Einstein lounged on a recliner, with one leg casually draped over the armrest, while the other anxiously tapped against the carpet in a flurry of restless energy. Billie had gone into the kitchen. She came out and handed Solomon a coffee and said, “No tea here.”
“Tea’s for the British,” Einstein said. “We drink coffee in America.”
“Thanks,” Solomon said to her.
“I think we should have someone look at you.”
He grinned. Instead of asking him what caused his reaction, she had first asked if he was okay.
“I’m fine now, thanks.”
Solomon winced in pain, the brightness of the light worsening his already pounding migraine.
“I know who he is.”
“Who is he?” she said calmly.
“I can’t tell you.”
“What?” Billie’s voice carried an incredulous tone, the disbelief evident in the way her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth twisted in a mixture of shock and anger. She leaned in toward Solomon. “I know you can’t be serious.”
Einstein, on his phone and seemingly not paying attention, blurted out, “He’s serious.”
“You have to trust me on this one, Billie.”
“I don’t have to do anything. Do you know what this sounds like?”
“I do, and I’m sorry, but I have to do this myself.”
She sighed and looked away, and he softly said, “I hate this. I wish I could fix it all with a snap of my fingers, but I can’t. I can only do what I think is best.”
She let a breath out and said, “All right. I’ll trust you.”
“Okay, then I need to go somewhere, and I need you not to follow me. Can you do that?”
“Solomon, what is going on?”
“Just tell me you won’t follow me. Promise me. Let me handle this. I’ll call you as soon as I’m able and tell you where I am.”
They held each other’s gaze a moment and then she said, “If that’s what you think is best. I’ll be waiting with tactical ready to go when you give the word.”
“Tactical?” Einstein said, turning his head now. “Is that like the SWAT team? I wanna see the SWAT team.”
Solomon looked at her, his expression one of both regret and sorrow. “Promise me you’ll let me handle this my way.”
She hesitated but then nodded.
As the car drove on, a vast field opened up before Solomon in the dark night, and he gazed out from the back seat at the horses and cows. In the moonlight, he could only make out their silhouettes, but the flash of the headlights occasionally revealed their features. Many animals froze when headlights hit them, an instinctual response to potential danger. Humans had a similar reaction.
“There’s nothing up here,” the Uber driver said. “These houses are all empty. I don’t think anybody’s lived up here for years.”
Solomon kept his gaze out the window. “There’s a small road coming up on the right. Please take it.”
The driver’s car bounced and jolted as they traveled down the old road with its cracked pavement. This neighborhood had seen better days, back when it was filled with middle-class families. Now, the abandoned homes and empty storefronts painted a picture of decline and neglect.
Solomon peered out the window, taking in the boarded-up buildings and empty lots where gardens and playgrounds used to be. He could see the faint outlines of where signs and awnings used to hang, faded remnants of a time when this was a bustling little town center.
As the car turned onto a cul-de-sac, Solomon’s heart started racing, and his stomach twisted into knots. The headlights illuminated the beige house, its shape a hauntingly familiar sight. The windows were dark and ominous, causing a chill that sent shivers down Solomon’s spine.
As the car came to a stop in front of the house, Solomon gazed at it in disbelief, his childhood memories flooding back to him. It was the same house his parents had brought him to when he was born, the same house where he had grown up, the same house where his mother had died.
Solomon stepped out of the car in silence, the wind whipping around him as he approached the front door of his childhood home. The door was blocked with red tape in an X shape, the word “Caution” printed in bold letters along its length. A torn and weathered notice of demolition was pasted onto the front door. Without a word, Solomon pulled the tape off and tried the door. It let out a creak as he pushed it open.
As Solomon stepped inside, the silence was deafening. The musty air made it hard to breathe. The cobwebs clung to his face and hair, making him feel like he was trapped in a spider’s web. The darkness was suffocating, and he fumbled for a light switch, his hand shaking. When he finally found it, the flickering light only added to the sense of unease. He took a step forward, but his foot hit something and he stumbled, nearly falling to the floor. He quickly grabbed onto a nearby table, trying to steady himself. The sound echoed throughout the house, making him feel as if he wasn’t alone.
Solomon froze, his body locked in place as a wave of memories washed over him, threatening to overwhelm his senses. The pain was all consuming, every inch of his being screaming with it. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down, but the memories continued to assault him. The peeling wallpaper, the creaking floors, the sounds of his parents screaming at each other late into the night. The sound of his father’s fists hitting her, the feel of a belt against his face and chest and arms . . . the stickiness of his mother’s blood all over his hands.
He felt trapped in this place. It was as if the walls were strangling him. The pain wasn’t just physical but spiritual, a deep ache that he couldn’t fight.
In the living room, there were only a few items left, all from previous tenants who had lived in the house after it was sold. Solomon’s parents had died with no heirs of legal age since he and his brother were minors. The Court sold the house in probate, and after fees and taxes, there was barely any money left in the trust. But he didn’t mind: he was going to give all the money to charity anyway. He didn’t want anything from this place.
The old wooden floors beneath Solomon’s feet groaned with every step. He made his way to the kitchen, the linoleum creaking and crackling under his weight. As he entered the room, a sudden image flashed in his mind—a young boy rounding the corner and catching a glimpse of his mother at the sink. He remembered how beautiful she looked, the sunlight streaming through the window and illuminating her face. But that image quickly morphed into a horrifying memory of her corpse, pale and lifeless with milky-white eyes. The thought sent a chill down his spine, making him shudder.
Solomon found an old wooden table pushed against the wall. The surface was scratched and stained, and the chairs surrounding it were worn and creaky. As he sat down, a drumbeat sounded in his chest, and he struggled to catch his breath. He focused on the table, tracing the grooves and knots in the wood with his fingers, trying to ground himself in the present moment. He started to breathe deeply, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth, willing his nervous system to calm down and his body to relax. He repeated the process until he felt his heart rate slow and his mind clear.
Solomon rose and went to the master bedroom. His parents’ bedroom.
He approached the door, and his heart pounded so hard against his ribs he thought he might pass out. As he turned the knob, the door creaked open slowly, revealing the dark, musty room inside. The air was thick with dust, and the furniture was covered in white sheets, giving the impression that no one had been there in a long time. Though lots of tenants had lived here since, he thought the room was frozen in time, just as it had been the day his mother died.
Solomon stepped inside and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The memories flooded back, overwhelming him. The sight of his mother’s lifeless body lying on the bed, the sound of his own screams echoing in his ears, the smell of death lingering in the air. He closed his eyes, fighting back tears, and then opened them again to face the room.
As he stood there in the doorway, Solomon’s breathing grew shallow.
For a moment, a part of him had expected to see his mother still lying there, lifeless and pale.
But the room was empty, and the only sound was the faint creaking of the old floor beneath his feet. There was no furniture here.
He went back to the kitchen table, sat down, and waited.
47
Billie left Einstein’s shortly after Solomon.
As she waited at a stoplight, Billie stared out the windshield, her mind racing with all the ways she could track down Solomon. But she didn’t act on any of them. She had promised to let him handle it, and as she thought about it more, she realized it was for the best. Solomon clearly knew who they were looking for, and if she was right about who it was, she understood why Solomon hadn’t said anything.
As she entered the station, a wave of discomfort came over her, and the thought of interacting with anyone made her stomach churn. But she needed her coat and firearm, so she pressed on. The first people she saw were two deputies who acknowledged her with a nod but didn’t greet her. Billie returned the gesture and hurried on. She wondered how her work with internal affairs, investigating these people’s comrades and colleagues, would affect her relationships with fellow officers.
Internal Affairs departments weren’t like other departments within a law enforcement agency. They policed the police, so there was some natural resentment from rank-and-file officers. The problem was when IAD investigators identified more with the rank and file than the public. That was when bad shootings became good shootings through vague reports, or officers that were accused of horrible things were quietly transferred to other divisions.
The power of investigation that was held by IAD was transferred by the legislature to the county attorney in the same county where the law enforcement agency was located. The idea was to reduce bias, but it didn’t really help. Most prosecution agencies worked closely with the police and saw them as part of their team. If prosecutors couldn’t be trusted to uphold the law equally, even for one of their own, the system would break down and not work.
As Billie approached her desk, she noticed a Post-it Note from her assistant informing her of a delivery of documents that had been locked away in her bottom drawer. She retrieved her keys and unlocked the drawer to find a manila folder containing the commissioner’s ruling in Dax’s stalking case. The commissioner had determined that there was insufficient evidence to suggest that she was an immediate danger to him, and thus had denied his request for a protective order. She grinned to herself as she tossed the papers onto her desk and gathered her things before she left.
Billie parked her truck in her driveway and took a moment to breathe in the cold air. She gazed up at the full moon with its yellowish tint and shivered as a gust of wind swept over her. Once she had locked up her truck, she made her way inside.
After she turned off the house alarm, Billie switched on the foyer light. The floor was mostly covered by a rug that had been passed down from her grandmother to her mother, and then to her. Though Billie didn’t like the rug, and found it to be ugly, she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it. It was the only thing she had that reminded her of her grandmother.
As she walked to the kitchen, Billie felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She took it out, annoyed at the interruption. But when she answered, the voice on the other end was unfamiliar. Before she could say anything else, her eyes caught a glimpse of something in her peripheral vision. Something wet and red in the center of the kitchen floor. Her heart leaped in her chest as she slowly turned her head to look.
Dax.
Lying face down in a thick pool of blood that surrounded his body like a macabre halo.
Billie’s phone slipped from her hand and clattered loudly against the floor. She let out a gasp, her mind racing with a mix of horror and disbelief.
“Elizabeth,” a male voice said from behind her. “It is so nice to finally meet you.”
48
Solomon’s eyes fluttered open, and he was disoriented for a moment, not sure where he was. As he tried to move, he felt a sharp pain in his neck and realized he had fallen asleep in a chair. Slowly, he straightened his back and stretched his muscles. He looked around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings of his childhood home.
As he came to his senses, he realized a sound had woken him up: it was the engine of a car that had since stopped running. He rubbed his face and stretched before making his way to the front door with the help of his cane. When he stood a few feet away from the door, his heart thumped loudly, and he felt acutely aware of the sound of his own blood flowing through him.
Solomon heard crunching snow and the approaching footsteps, growing louder and louder until they reached the porch. He heard the boots stomp on the wooden surface, and a muffled sound followed as if the person was wiping snow off. Then, the door creaked open, and a man came in, his form silhouetted by the dim moonlight that filtered in through the windows. Flakes of snow clung to his hair and coat, and his shoulders were damp from the wetness outside.
Ethan Shepard’s face lit up with a wide smile, revealing his perfectly straight, white teeth. His curly brown hair, damp with snow, framed his chiseled features, and his athletic frame filled the doorway. Unlike Solomon, who had always been slight and sickly, his brother had developed a strong and muscular build during his teenage years. Solomon always felt a twinge of envy at his brother’s robust physique, and he became suddenly very aware of his cane.
“Hi” was all Solomon managed to say.
“Hi.”
Solomon and Ethan stood in a heavy silence, each waiting for the other to break it.
Solomon couldn’t tell if Ethan was at a loss for words or just didn’t want to speak first. He studied Ethan’s face, searching for any clues in his expression.
“You actually didn’t bring anybody else here,” Ethan said. “I’m both impressed and shocked.”
Solomon put his hands over his cane. “Why are you doing this?”
Ethan looked around as he inhaled a deep breath. “When was the last time you were back here?”
Solomon’s eyes were fixed on Ethan’s face, which had now lost its youthful sheen. Lines etched across his forehead, and there were faint creases around his mouth that suggested a lot of smiles and a lot of frowns. Not the face he remembered from youth.
“I haven’t been back here. I want you to leave, Ethan.”
“Leave? You mean you’re not arresting me? I thought you were a lawman? Out to get his bad guy? Only in this case, the bad guy turned out to be you, didn’t it?”
Another silence passed.
“I knew you’d be here, Solomon, but I don’t really like it here. I want to take you somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“A forgery,” Billie said. “A good one, too.”
Solomon couldn’t make out much in the driver’s license photo. “Can you make the photo larger?”
“Yeah. It’s a DMV photo and they kinda suck, but . . . there.”
The driver’s license came up on one of the other screens. Blown up in high definition.
Solomon stared blankly at the screen. He felt a warmth dribbling down his body from his head, covering his limbs, making his muscles burn and his bones ache. Then he felt nothing. Numb and stunned. He took a deep breath to steady himself, but it didn’t help, and he nearly lost his footing as his leg gave out.
Billie grabbed his arm, preventing him from falling, and said, “Solomon, are you all right?”
He pulled away from her and said, “I need to go.”
“Where?” Billie said.
As Solomon rushed out the door, the cold winter air hit him, causing his head to spin. His stomach churned, and he felt hot bile rising in his throat. He stumbled down the porch, barely holding on to the railings, and doubled over and vomited. He heaved and gagged. His eyes watered, and his body convulsed as he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the ground. Finally, as the last of it came up, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling the chill of the winter air against his damp skin.
He took out the Nokia phone and turned it on. Billie was outside now, approaching him, and he hurriedly texted one line:
I know who you are
A moment later, the text came back:
Good. Then we can meet
46
Solomon washed his mouth out with Scope in Einstein’s bathroom. After he splashed water on his face, he looked down into the sink, only to see the clear water slowly getting darker and darker until it turned into a thick black liquid that splashed up out of the sink. Blood.
The sight of the blood made him freeze, and his heart raced. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. When he opened his eyes again, the blood was gone, and the water in the sink was clear again.
Solomon turned off the faucet and wiped his face with a towel. As he reached for the doorknob, he hesitated, feeling a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. He looked back at the sink, half expecting the water to have turned to blood again. The air felt thick and oppressive, and the bathroom seemed darker than before. Suddenly, he heard a faint whisper, like a voice on the edge of his hearing. He spun around, heart pounding, but the bathroom was empty.
Solomon walked into the hallway leading to the living room, his hands still trembling. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.
When he opened his eyes, his vision was spinning, and he had to grab the wall to steady himself. He took a step forward and stumbled, his head feeling heavy and his vision blurry. He made his way to the living room, feeling like he was moving in slow motion. The smell of fresh coffee filled the room, and he could hear the soft hum of music coming from a nearby speaker. He collapsed onto the couch, feeling drained and weak, and closed his eyes for a moment to regain his composure.
Einstein lounged on a recliner, with one leg casually draped over the armrest, while the other anxiously tapped against the carpet in a flurry of restless energy. Billie had gone into the kitchen. She came out and handed Solomon a coffee and said, “No tea here.”
“Tea’s for the British,” Einstein said. “We drink coffee in America.”
“Thanks,” Solomon said to her.
“I think we should have someone look at you.”
He grinned. Instead of asking him what caused his reaction, she had first asked if he was okay.
“I’m fine now, thanks.”
Solomon winced in pain, the brightness of the light worsening his already pounding migraine.
“I know who he is.”
“Who is he?” she said calmly.
“I can’t tell you.”
“What?” Billie’s voice carried an incredulous tone, the disbelief evident in the way her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth twisted in a mixture of shock and anger. She leaned in toward Solomon. “I know you can’t be serious.”
Einstein, on his phone and seemingly not paying attention, blurted out, “He’s serious.”
“You have to trust me on this one, Billie.”
“I don’t have to do anything. Do you know what this sounds like?”
“I do, and I’m sorry, but I have to do this myself.”
She sighed and looked away, and he softly said, “I hate this. I wish I could fix it all with a snap of my fingers, but I can’t. I can only do what I think is best.”
She let a breath out and said, “All right. I’ll trust you.”
“Okay, then I need to go somewhere, and I need you not to follow me. Can you do that?”
“Solomon, what is going on?”
“Just tell me you won’t follow me. Promise me. Let me handle this. I’ll call you as soon as I’m able and tell you where I am.”
They held each other’s gaze a moment and then she said, “If that’s what you think is best. I’ll be waiting with tactical ready to go when you give the word.”
“Tactical?” Einstein said, turning his head now. “Is that like the SWAT team? I wanna see the SWAT team.”
Solomon looked at her, his expression one of both regret and sorrow. “Promise me you’ll let me handle this my way.”
She hesitated but then nodded.
As the car drove on, a vast field opened up before Solomon in the dark night, and he gazed out from the back seat at the horses and cows. In the moonlight, he could only make out their silhouettes, but the flash of the headlights occasionally revealed their features. Many animals froze when headlights hit them, an instinctual response to potential danger. Humans had a similar reaction.
“There’s nothing up here,” the Uber driver said. “These houses are all empty. I don’t think anybody’s lived up here for years.”
Solomon kept his gaze out the window. “There’s a small road coming up on the right. Please take it.”
The driver’s car bounced and jolted as they traveled down the old road with its cracked pavement. This neighborhood had seen better days, back when it was filled with middle-class families. Now, the abandoned homes and empty storefronts painted a picture of decline and neglect.
Solomon peered out the window, taking in the boarded-up buildings and empty lots where gardens and playgrounds used to be. He could see the faint outlines of where signs and awnings used to hang, faded remnants of a time when this was a bustling little town center.
As the car turned onto a cul-de-sac, Solomon’s heart started racing, and his stomach twisted into knots. The headlights illuminated the beige house, its shape a hauntingly familiar sight. The windows were dark and ominous, causing a chill that sent shivers down Solomon’s spine.
As the car came to a stop in front of the house, Solomon gazed at it in disbelief, his childhood memories flooding back to him. It was the same house his parents had brought him to when he was born, the same house where he had grown up, the same house where his mother had died.
Solomon stepped out of the car in silence, the wind whipping around him as he approached the front door of his childhood home. The door was blocked with red tape in an X shape, the word “Caution” printed in bold letters along its length. A torn and weathered notice of demolition was pasted onto the front door. Without a word, Solomon pulled the tape off and tried the door. It let out a creak as he pushed it open.
As Solomon stepped inside, the silence was deafening. The musty air made it hard to breathe. The cobwebs clung to his face and hair, making him feel like he was trapped in a spider’s web. The darkness was suffocating, and he fumbled for a light switch, his hand shaking. When he finally found it, the flickering light only added to the sense of unease. He took a step forward, but his foot hit something and he stumbled, nearly falling to the floor. He quickly grabbed onto a nearby table, trying to steady himself. The sound echoed throughout the house, making him feel as if he wasn’t alone.
Solomon froze, his body locked in place as a wave of memories washed over him, threatening to overwhelm his senses. The pain was all consuming, every inch of his being screaming with it. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down, but the memories continued to assault him. The peeling wallpaper, the creaking floors, the sounds of his parents screaming at each other late into the night. The sound of his father’s fists hitting her, the feel of a belt against his face and chest and arms . . . the stickiness of his mother’s blood all over his hands.
He felt trapped in this place. It was as if the walls were strangling him. The pain wasn’t just physical but spiritual, a deep ache that he couldn’t fight.
In the living room, there were only a few items left, all from previous tenants who had lived in the house after it was sold. Solomon’s parents had died with no heirs of legal age since he and his brother were minors. The Court sold the house in probate, and after fees and taxes, there was barely any money left in the trust. But he didn’t mind: he was going to give all the money to charity anyway. He didn’t want anything from this place.
The old wooden floors beneath Solomon’s feet groaned with every step. He made his way to the kitchen, the linoleum creaking and crackling under his weight. As he entered the room, a sudden image flashed in his mind—a young boy rounding the corner and catching a glimpse of his mother at the sink. He remembered how beautiful she looked, the sunlight streaming through the window and illuminating her face. But that image quickly morphed into a horrifying memory of her corpse, pale and lifeless with milky-white eyes. The thought sent a chill down his spine, making him shudder.
Solomon found an old wooden table pushed against the wall. The surface was scratched and stained, and the chairs surrounding it were worn and creaky. As he sat down, a drumbeat sounded in his chest, and he struggled to catch his breath. He focused on the table, tracing the grooves and knots in the wood with his fingers, trying to ground himself in the present moment. He started to breathe deeply, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth, willing his nervous system to calm down and his body to relax. He repeated the process until he felt his heart rate slow and his mind clear.
Solomon rose and went to the master bedroom. His parents’ bedroom.
He approached the door, and his heart pounded so hard against his ribs he thought he might pass out. As he turned the knob, the door creaked open slowly, revealing the dark, musty room inside. The air was thick with dust, and the furniture was covered in white sheets, giving the impression that no one had been there in a long time. Though lots of tenants had lived here since, he thought the room was frozen in time, just as it had been the day his mother died.
Solomon stepped inside and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The memories flooded back, overwhelming him. The sight of his mother’s lifeless body lying on the bed, the sound of his own screams echoing in his ears, the smell of death lingering in the air. He closed his eyes, fighting back tears, and then opened them again to face the room.
As he stood there in the doorway, Solomon’s breathing grew shallow.
For a moment, a part of him had expected to see his mother still lying there, lifeless and pale.
But the room was empty, and the only sound was the faint creaking of the old floor beneath his feet. There was no furniture here.
He went back to the kitchen table, sat down, and waited.
47
Billie left Einstein’s shortly after Solomon.
As she waited at a stoplight, Billie stared out the windshield, her mind racing with all the ways she could track down Solomon. But she didn’t act on any of them. She had promised to let him handle it, and as she thought about it more, she realized it was for the best. Solomon clearly knew who they were looking for, and if she was right about who it was, she understood why Solomon hadn’t said anything.
As she entered the station, a wave of discomfort came over her, and the thought of interacting with anyone made her stomach churn. But she needed her coat and firearm, so she pressed on. The first people she saw were two deputies who acknowledged her with a nod but didn’t greet her. Billie returned the gesture and hurried on. She wondered how her work with internal affairs, investigating these people’s comrades and colleagues, would affect her relationships with fellow officers.
Internal Affairs departments weren’t like other departments within a law enforcement agency. They policed the police, so there was some natural resentment from rank-and-file officers. The problem was when IAD investigators identified more with the rank and file than the public. That was when bad shootings became good shootings through vague reports, or officers that were accused of horrible things were quietly transferred to other divisions.
The power of investigation that was held by IAD was transferred by the legislature to the county attorney in the same county where the law enforcement agency was located. The idea was to reduce bias, but it didn’t really help. Most prosecution agencies worked closely with the police and saw them as part of their team. If prosecutors couldn’t be trusted to uphold the law equally, even for one of their own, the system would break down and not work.
As Billie approached her desk, she noticed a Post-it Note from her assistant informing her of a delivery of documents that had been locked away in her bottom drawer. She retrieved her keys and unlocked the drawer to find a manila folder containing the commissioner’s ruling in Dax’s stalking case. The commissioner had determined that there was insufficient evidence to suggest that she was an immediate danger to him, and thus had denied his request for a protective order. She grinned to herself as she tossed the papers onto her desk and gathered her things before she left.
Billie parked her truck in her driveway and took a moment to breathe in the cold air. She gazed up at the full moon with its yellowish tint and shivered as a gust of wind swept over her. Once she had locked up her truck, she made her way inside.
After she turned off the house alarm, Billie switched on the foyer light. The floor was mostly covered by a rug that had been passed down from her grandmother to her mother, and then to her. Though Billie didn’t like the rug, and found it to be ugly, she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it. It was the only thing she had that reminded her of her grandmother.
As she walked to the kitchen, Billie felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She took it out, annoyed at the interruption. But when she answered, the voice on the other end was unfamiliar. Before she could say anything else, her eyes caught a glimpse of something in her peripheral vision. Something wet and red in the center of the kitchen floor. Her heart leaped in her chest as she slowly turned her head to look.
Dax.
Lying face down in a thick pool of blood that surrounded his body like a macabre halo.
Billie’s phone slipped from her hand and clattered loudly against the floor. She let out a gasp, her mind racing with a mix of horror and disbelief.
“Elizabeth,” a male voice said from behind her. “It is so nice to finally meet you.”
48
Solomon’s eyes fluttered open, and he was disoriented for a moment, not sure where he was. As he tried to move, he felt a sharp pain in his neck and realized he had fallen asleep in a chair. Slowly, he straightened his back and stretched his muscles. He looked around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings of his childhood home.
As he came to his senses, he realized a sound had woken him up: it was the engine of a car that had since stopped running. He rubbed his face and stretched before making his way to the front door with the help of his cane. When he stood a few feet away from the door, his heart thumped loudly, and he felt acutely aware of the sound of his own blood flowing through him.
Solomon heard crunching snow and the approaching footsteps, growing louder and louder until they reached the porch. He heard the boots stomp on the wooden surface, and a muffled sound followed as if the person was wiping snow off. Then, the door creaked open, and a man came in, his form silhouetted by the dim moonlight that filtered in through the windows. Flakes of snow clung to his hair and coat, and his shoulders were damp from the wetness outside.
Ethan Shepard’s face lit up with a wide smile, revealing his perfectly straight, white teeth. His curly brown hair, damp with snow, framed his chiseled features, and his athletic frame filled the doorway. Unlike Solomon, who had always been slight and sickly, his brother had developed a strong and muscular build during his teenage years. Solomon always felt a twinge of envy at his brother’s robust physique, and he became suddenly very aware of his cane.
“Hi” was all Solomon managed to say.
“Hi.”
Solomon and Ethan stood in a heavy silence, each waiting for the other to break it.
Solomon couldn’t tell if Ethan was at a loss for words or just didn’t want to speak first. He studied Ethan’s face, searching for any clues in his expression.
“You actually didn’t bring anybody else here,” Ethan said. “I’m both impressed and shocked.”
Solomon put his hands over his cane. “Why are you doing this?”
Ethan looked around as he inhaled a deep breath. “When was the last time you were back here?”
Solomon’s eyes were fixed on Ethan’s face, which had now lost its youthful sheen. Lines etched across his forehead, and there were faint creases around his mouth that suggested a lot of smiles and a lot of frowns. Not the face he remembered from youth.
“I haven’t been back here. I want you to leave, Ethan.”
“Leave? You mean you’re not arresting me? I thought you were a lawman? Out to get his bad guy? Only in this case, the bad guy turned out to be you, didn’t it?”
Another silence passed.
“I knew you’d be here, Solomon, but I don’t really like it here. I want to take you somewhere else.”
“Where?”
