Death of a Nightingale

CHAPTER 23: WHO ARE YOU? - LUKE

It's been a very long night. The police officers have continued to check in with us every few hours. One remained stationed here to make sure he'd be on the scene when Ness returned.

Part of me thinks, however, he stayed because of me. They didn't trust me. I'm her boyfriend and I must have had something to do with her disappearance. I can't even be mad at them. If I came to a house and someone was missing, I'd suspect the partner too.

So, I've been sitting here, nurturing my scotch for the better part of an hour without a word. Just watching my wonderful mother-in-law, Beth, and the officer. I think he's desperately trying to flirt with her. This guy has terrible timing.

"So how long have you lived here?" He asks, but his hands shift nervously from his utility belt to his hips as he tries to lean against the door frame and, to my amusement, misses. He stumbles a bit but catches himself.

Beth indulges him. She's such a sweet woman.

"It feels like forever. I've always liked Victorian architecture." She smiles a bit. That practiced, polite expression that looks almost painful.

The officer nods and returns his hands back to the belt, right above his firearm for no reason.

"Oh, so you like architecture? There are a lot of interesting spots all over Atlanta nowadays. They really changed the city quite a bit." He's fishing and has very little idea. But Beth smiles again. Part of me is grateful for this distraction. She needs it. So do I.

"I love the historical preservation of the buildings. Did you know that the local art school has an incredible historical preservation program?"

He feigns even more interest and pulls up a chair, spins and straddles it, eyebrows drawn together in poorly-faked fascination. I almost roll my eyes. Is this what flirting looks like when you get older? Or does he just not have good game?

I squint. Through the kitchen window a rare sight during this time of year: sun-flares. It's already morning. This long, arduous and difficult night is finally bleeding into dawn. The sun momentarily peaks through the cloud cover. Probably won't stay, but it takes me out of my trance. I take a deep breath and savor another sip of the Glenlivet Beth poured to calm us down. 

It helped for a moment. For a short hour or so. We told the officers everything we could possibly think of. Matt told them about her work and dedication to the rules and clients. He choked up when he told them why she was so relentless about suicide. That's when Beth emptied her own glass in one smooth drop. She didn't want to think of her late husband, but there is no denying that it affected Ness deeply. Matt went over and over and over the events of this night: She arrived at work. Disheveled and not herself. She denied a call with one of her regular callers. Something she would never do. Then she asked for a cigarette and fresh air, went outside, and hasn't been seen since. I found myself clinging to every detail, analyzing, thinking about them, and trying to see what happened. I know that part of the city like the back of my hand. The alley and the restaurant next door are on the bottom floor of the tall office building. I close my eyes and picture it again. The lights from the Fox Theatre creeping across the street.

Matt is now thoroughly passed out on the couch in the living room across the hall. One generous pour is all it took to put him down for the night. 

I'm still thinking... and clearly still being analyzed.

I went over my story too. So many times. Filled in times as best as I could remember, every small detail and every location. They should now know more about my research than my assistant. Maybe they'll solve immortality. But then I look at officer hot stuff over there trying his best to have a conversation about historical preservation in architecture. He nods a lot. So much nodding. And even though he sat down, his hands still rove back from his pockets to the seat and to his knees. He has no idea what to do with them.