Sarah
Four years ago
I once dated a drug trafficking cop. It was an experience. But that’s not the point.
I’d been having a rough couple of months and Don Harris walked into the department one afternoon. He spilled his smoldering cup of coffee down my shirt. I swore and then screamed.
I didn’t date him because we practically got to second base as he tried to dab my chest dry with paper towels. Or because he wouldn’t take no for an answer. But because everywhere I turned, somebody was in a growing relationship, and they all seemed blissfully happy. I was miserable, so there was no harm in seeing if some romance would help to ease my depression.
It didn’t. But that’s not the point either.
The point is, we’d broken up two months later; because I couldn’t seem to put him before the one man already in my life. It had really gotten me reflecting on all my relationships.
I was drowning my reflection in a glass of white wine at a bar that I’d bought, for the sole purpose of being able to privately drown my sorrows whenever I pleased.
Jake had strolled in at some point during the night. Apparently he’d been walking by and supposed I might be in there, as I was very often. He had no idea I owned it and I didn’t think he needed to know. It was closed for the night, but the bartenders knew Jake and assumed I wouldn’t mind him joining me. I did. Very much.
“Bad night?” he asked.
I shrugged, feeling uncomfortable about his presence. You’d think his powers of detection would come in handy. Apparently not.
“What’s wrong? Donny piss you off?” he asked jokingly. He didn’t like Don and had made no moves to hide it.
“We broke up,” I murmured. I wasn’t so torn up about it, but I was wondering, if romance couldn’t cure my depression, what could?
“Oh,” he said, barely audible, “What happened?”
Like I was going to say it. ‘We broke up because I love you more than I do him.’ It sounded very weird, considering I felt no romantic feelings for Jake, but it was what it was.
“We got bored,” I lied.
Jake raised his brows, “Wow. So, that’s it?”
I raised my glass, “Cheers,” I muttered sarcastically.
“I’m sorry, Sarah. You seemed happy.”
‘Seemed’ being the operative word.
“Yeah,” I murmured.
“How about I make a night of trying to cheer you up, for every mean thing I ever said about him?” he said, getting up.
“It’s going to be a really long night, Jake,” I said with a sarcastic smile.
“Then, the sooner we begin, the better,” he replied pulling me up.
He paused as his phone rang, and stared at the screen for a few seconds.
“What?” I asked wary.
“Um . . . It’s Carla. Her cat died. It’s been sick,” he said with an embarrassed wince. Carla was his current girlfriend and one of the longest lasting. I settled back onto my seat, starting to sip my wine again.
Jake frowned, “What are you doing?” he asked, his hands held out and apart in question.
“Carla. Don’t you have to go?”
He looked at me like I was crazy. “What, and leave you alone and unhappy?”
“Carla’s alone and unhappy,” I said, déjà vu setting in.
“Well, Carla doesn't come first, you do. So, unless you have a problem with it, I’m going to do everything in my power to turn that upside-down smile right side up,” he said with a smile, pulling me back up.
And then, I could suddenly see why Don had broken up with me only three hours earlier, and I really didn’t blame him.
Depression? What depression? Jake and I ended the night on the roof of his apartment. And for the first time I started to see Jake less as my partner, my friend, my colleague, but simply as Jake. I can’t explain it.
Every time Jake dated any woman after Carla – they broke up a few weeks later. I’d always wondered what would happen when he found the woman who came before me, and because of that, each time, I felt a pang. Some would translate it as jealousy, but I don’t think that was it. It was simply a fear of becoming insignificant. Especially with Jake. Anyone but Jake.
Present Day
I expected the Boston Conservatory to be more high-brow, with a parking lot full of high-powered cars, but it was just . . . plain, and simple. Jake slid into a spot next to a silver Toyota, and we stepped out into the stillness of dawn.
It was the morning after we’d driven through the storm, and the air was still cool around me. Jake and I had taken turns driving, but that didn’t make me feel any less drowsy. We strolled up through the revolving doors, and made our way up to the eighth floor. We’d called ahead to ask to speak to the head of the conservatory about an employee. So that way, it was more of a casual interrogation, rather than an official one. Official meant warrants and Addie Torres, both of which we weren’t acquainted with at that moment.
“Mr. Finchley, Miss Parks, come on in. I’ve been expecting you,” Ollie Burrows said, pumping our hands as we stepped into his tiny office. The storm had slowed us down, making us almost a half hour late.
I took in the unexplainable equipment, and piles and piles of files lying on his desk; I felt my face scrunch up uncomfortably.
“Hi Mr. Burrows,” Jake said, plopping into the seat across from Ollie Burrows.
I gave him as pleasant a smile as I could muster, even with the distracting smell of chlorine and some other chemicals with names that I probably couldn’t even pronounce.
“So, what’s this about?” he asked, trying to clear up his desk, but his attempts were futile. It seemed to be creaking under the weight of the books.
“Well, it’s about your February lecture on ‘The tales of biochemistry in a more modern world’,” I put in, really wanting the entire thing to end as soon as possible.
He beamed, “Ah. We analyzed the future of biochemistry with quantum physics; fascinating findings, I tell you. Using powerful supercomputers to analyze the interplay of the dozens of electrons that whirl in clouds about these molecules, a team of physicists led–”
I cut him off, “Actually, it’s about your attendance list,” I said quickly. In my half-asleep state, I wasn’t ready to hear him go on about things that I could care less about.
“We wanted to know if you’d seen this girl,” Jake said, passing Mary Santiago’s image over the piles of files.
Ollie Burrows scanned the image with a frown, probably taking in her long porcelain-skinned legs. I cleared my throat, and he looked up, red in the face.
“Yes, sorry. Where would I have seen her?”
“She supposedly attended that lecture in February,” I replied.
“No, she didn’t,” he said.
“How would you know? Don’t you have like a list you have to look at?” I asked, wondering just how – if he did have a list – he’d find it in all the junk.
Ollie Burrows snorted, “Apparently, people aren’t interested in the collaboration of biochemistry with quantum physics; they believe that it belies every firm theory that each field has assessed and created. There were only fourteen attendees at that lecture, none of which were women,” he finished, by pushing the picture back.
“Well, she could have been an assistant or something,” Jake said.
“Mr. Finchley, I have never seen that woman in this building. Trust me, I’d remember,” Ollie said, with a nod.
I looked over at Jake, who was frowning in concentration. “Mr. Burrows, can we see your video footage?” he asked. And, I groaned inwardly. In order to make it informal, we couldn’t make requests like that.
“Who did you say you people were again?” Ollie Burrows asked.
“Friends of Mary Santiago; the girl in the picture,” I replied quickly.
“Well, I’m sorry that you can’t find your friend, but she’s never stepped into this building. I’m sure of it,” he said standing up, and signifying that it was time for us to leave.
Jake heaved a sigh and stood up; I hadn’t even sat at all. It wouldn’t look good if I’d started to doze off, and that was exactly what would have happened.
“One more question, please,” Jake said pleadingly.
Ollie Burrows was already holding the door open, as he hesitated and said begrudgingly, “Fine.”
“Who has access to your brochures? Like, the really detailed ones?” Jake asked.
“Well, one only need make an application, stating their background, field of work, and their address,” he answered.
I smiled, as I realized what Jake was getting at, “So, basically anyone can make an application,” I stated.
“Well, not anyone. One would have to have an interest in the field of Biochemistry or quantum physics. These lectures are very expensive to carry out, so we try to ensure that they do indeed have matching educational backgrounds,” Ollie replied.
Jake and I looked at each other slowly.
“Don’t tell me,” Ollie began, “you’d like to see the application list,” he said with a bored look.
“Please?” Jake asked.
Ollie Burrows shook his head and said, “No, you can’t. But, I can check for you.” He trotted over to a series of cabinets, and pulled out a sheet of paper.
“Mary Santiago,” I said, before he could ask for the name.
His eyes scanned the sheets, and then he looked up at us with a nod, “Well, she did make an application, but I’m very sure she didn’t attend. Like I said, there were only fourteen attendees, all–”
“That’s all we need,” Jake said, standing up suddenly.
“Thanks, Mr. Burrows,” I said, following Jake out the door.
He was walking much faster than I could, and I could barely keep up in my laggardstate. The sun was peeking out from behind a cloud, but the sky was still a dull greyish-blue color. I stepped back out into the parking lot, which was slightly fuller than it had been a half hour ago. Jake was already flipping through a file in the passenger seat, as I caught up.
“So, what now?” I asked, pulling open the driver’s seat door, and getting in.
“Well, if she wasn’t at the lecture, then she was up to something else entirely. I’m just checking out the timeline Devon sent to you,” he mumbled, not looking up.
I hesitated, and then said, “Actually, I noticed something. I didn’t think it was important at the time, since we hadn’t checked out the conservatory yet, but . . .” I trailed off, taking another file out of my bag.
“What?”
“Well, do you see the states each of these kids were placed in? They match all of the states Mary’s lectures were happening in.”
He raised a brow, to signify his confusion, or the simple irrelevance of my findings. In my book though, nothing was irrelevant. Ever.
“Okay. Look at this. Harriet Mitchell lives in Georgia; Mary applied for the Georgia Tech lecture on biochemistry in amphibians. Janelle Myers lives in Denver, Colorado; Mary supposedly attended the Science of the Future lecture at the Denver Museum of Natural Science. You seeing the pattern here?”
“Yeah, but that could just be a coincidence. Or a way to save time; I mean, she had house visits and reviews, didn’t she?” Jake said.
I sighed, “Yeah. Or it could be that Mary Santiago was up to something.”
“I doubt it,” he muttered.
I was getting kind of tired of having the invisible rift between us. It was getting pretty obvious that he was somewhat acquainted with Mary, and the fact that he thought I hadn’t figured it out just made me madder. I mean, come on! His worry lines were becoming a permanent feature on his face.
“Why?” I snapped.
“What?” he asked either confused by my tone, my expression of exasperation, or both.
“Why do you think that it’s an impossibility that Mary Santiago could have been up to anything unorthodox? Did you know her?” I went on, irritation swiftly flowing through my valves.
“No,” he replied, with a convincing frown of disbelief.
I grit my teeth, and started up the car, just as my phone vibrated in my pocket, causing me to turn the car right back off. Road safety.
“Detective Parks,” I said; my tone still full of irritation.
“Parks, it’s Sam,” Sam Branford said in a whisper.
“Hi, Sam. What’s up?”
“You said to give you an update if I heard anything, so . . .” he trailed off.
“You found her?” I asked, sitting up straighter. Jake stared at me with anticipating wide eyes.
I’d known that there was a chance that the rest of the NYPD kidnapping detectives might find her first, but I hadn’t thought it would be quite so soon. And, Addison Torres had swept the case aside, to pay attention to the more promising ones, because she felt that Mary might not really be missing.
“Well, sort of,” Sam replied.
“What do you mean?” I asked, although I had an idea of what exactly he meant. I mean, how else can the phrase ‘I sort of found the person you’re looking for’ translate?
“We found her body . . . well, pieces,” he said quietly, “Her place was blown up, with her in it.”
I glanced over at Jake, and I knew I didn’t need to say anything; my face said it all. He leaned back in his seat, and let out a sigh. His face was blank, as I hung up the phone.
“Did you get that?” I asked gently, treading carefully.
“Yeah. So, New York,” he stated, looking away from me.
I started up the car, and slowly backed out of the lot, feeling the mounting tension, with every growl of the car engine.
I tried to focus on the swift crunch of the road beneath the tires of the car, as we went back down the freeway, but it only made the air in the car feel even more intense. Jake was still staring out the window, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, I swerved onto an empty field, and parked the car.
“What’s wrong? We’re not out of gas, are we?” he asked, peering over my arms, to check the meter.
“We need to talk,” I said, not letting go of the steering.
“About?” he asked wary.
I took a deep breath, “About you . . . and Mary.”
He didn’t even bother to try to deny it. “You checked me out?”
“I didn’t need to. You pretty much said it, by not saying it,” I answered, honestly, conveniently leaving out the fact that I’d wanted to.
“But you wanted to,” he stated plainly; his eyes boring into mine. I winced at the strength of his glare.
“Jake, who was she?”
He turned away, “A friend. I barely knew her, but she seemed nice. And, I’m going to leave it at that.”
“A friend,” I stated unconvinced. Jake was never just friends with any women. Well, except for me.
“Yes Sarah, a friend; someone who you can trust completely,” he said in an accusing tone.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what? You were going to do a background check on me; I’m supposed to be your best friend!”
“You would have gone ahead and done it, Jake. You know it,” I snapped.
“No, because I’d take your word for whatever you say!” he exclaimed angrily.
“Why didn’t you just tell me about her?” I asked softly.
“Why would I? We were just friends,” he said, straight-faced. If I didn’t know him inside and out, I would have believed him.
“Jake,” I urged.
He winced and ran his hand through his dark hair. “Because we’d only been out a few times; I barely knew her, and I didn’t even know if it was going anywhere.”
“So, what is it?” I asked. I don’t know if it was the facial expression training we’d had at the academy, or just the fact that it was Jake, but I could somehow always tell when something was up with him. And vice versa. It seemed a little rude, though; kind of like reading someone else’s mind. Blatantly intrusive.
“She told me. You know? That someone was after her. I thought she was just being paranoid; she’d always been a bit jumpy anyway. She’d walked into the restaurant we were meeting at, all clad in a scarf and big sunglasses, even though it was about nine p.m. First thing she said was, ‘Jake, you’re a cop, right? I need your help; someone’s trying to kill me.’ I pushed on further, but she said she couldn’t tell me anything; she just wanted me to find a safe house for her. I told her I wasn’t authorized to do so under ordinary suspicion, she said she understood, and then, we ordered. Ten minutes later, she got a phone call, she freaked out and baled. Then, the next morning, she sent a text saying she was going to be in Maui for a few months, and that was it. Three and a half months later, here we are.”
I stared at the dashboard, and held on to the steering. “I’m sorry, Jake,” I mumbled.
“What for? Your distrust or Mary?” he asked bitter.
“I do trust you, Jake.”
“Who are you trying to convince? Me, or you,” he asked, not really wanting an answer.
“Jake,” I said, only slightly above a whisper.
“Sarah, I get it, ok? You’re used to not needing people, which means less trust bred. It’s just the way you’re wired,” he said with a shrug.
“Jake, I don’t know how to show it, but I mean it completely when I say, I trust you with my life. Yes, fine, I don’t like to need people, but you’re the exception. You’re not people. It was just curiosity that made me want to check if you had any connection to her. I swear it,” I said firmly.
He glanced over at me for a second and nodded, “Well, I’m sorry for not telling you . . . you know. I just thought you’d think I was using you.”
“Weren’t you?”
“Sarah, if my mom went missing, it’d be you I’d want on the case; no one else. This wasn’t entirely about the fact that you’re my partner, more about the fact that you’re the best at working kidnapping. But, I felt like if I told you we were helping out someone I’d been seeing, you’d be less inclined to do so.”
Most of Jake’s girlfriends were shallow, squeaky and all round annoying; I’d never really met one that I’d liked, so I got where he was coming from.
I scoffed, “Yeah, but I wouldn’t really be helping her as much as I’d be helping you.”
He smiled a slow, small smile, and replied, “Mary wasn’t like the others, though.”
“Oh, trust me, I can tell,” I said.
“How?”
“She wasn’t in high school,” I joked, causing him to chuckle lightly.
“So, what now?”
I thought of Mary, panicky and terrified, for some reason, and now, dead. And then, I thought of those nine foster kids, without a care in the world, probably drowning in the hustle and bustle of city life.
I was used to working big cases, but combined with what was possibly murder; it was too delicate to handle on our own. One wrong move and a lot of lives would be at stake. The fact that we didn’t even know what we were dealing with only made it worse. If we left it to be handled, it would probably be passed on to the FBI, and I knew I couldn’t just sit around and watch.
“You tell me,” I answered.
“Well, first off, I want to know how she died,” he said, straight-faced.
“Jake, I can do this if you want,” I offered.
“No. Look, I’d only been on three and a half dates with her; I didn’t really know her like that. It’s just . . . well, I should have found her a safe house, you know, bent the rules a bit. Or put a detail on her. It’s my job to protect and serve, after all.”
“You can’t save everyone,” I murmured.
“I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try,” he said, cocking his head.
“So, Mary first, then,” I said quietly, more like a question than a statement.
He looked away, with a faraway look, staring at the shrubbery in front of the car, “The victim, and yes.” It was a survival mechanism; to withdraw oneself completely from a victim, by not getting personal. For Jake, he needed more distance, since it was kind of personal.
“And then, the kids,” I added.
“And then, the kids.”
We were so going to get fired. I could feel it, and even though he didn’t say it, I had a feeling Jake did too. As I backed out of the dirt path, the dust rose against the windshield, and I could almost hear whispers in the wind. And if I paid enough attention, I bet I could have heard my name form; and that was enough for me not to mind being fired so much.