Split Black /#Wattys 2021

Chapter Twenty

John drove home on automatic, finding himself past Williamsburg before he even realized it. The bracelet and all that it implied put a gauzy film between him and reality, shrouding his consciousness in white noise.

Why had Pride had the bracelet? Surely he couldn't have been seeing Julie Samuels. Pride had been murdered at forty-three; at the time of her death, Julie had just turned seventeen. Distasteful though it was, John could see a police officer, in pain from recent surgery and old injuries on the job, unwillingly becoming addicted to OxyContin, but underage—that took it to a whole new level. How would Pride have known the young model? Was he Clay's customer for more than just drugs? Or—please, God, no—were he and Clay actually in business together? A pain traveled from the lump in John's stomach straight up to his throat at that thought, but he had to consider it.

How much did John really want to know? How much did he want to reveal? His palms sweated on the steering wheel. He was still grieving a friend and mentor, and now at the same time he wished he could resurrect Pride somehow and punch his lights out. The paradox flashed through his shock-dulled mind like a blown-apart mosaic. Not only that, but what about the department? What about Pride's mother? If he pursued this case to its end—and right now its end looked extremely bad—it wouldn't be a blow just to him.

Some younger impulse within him struggled to life, saw himself saving the day, clearing Pride's name, proving that all this wasn't what it seemed. He reminded himself that Pride hadn't killed Clay, Clay had killed Pride. Why? That much could argue for a happier end to all this. But still, Pride had been an addict. That was nearly impossible to dispute, and impossible to ignore.

He had to find out more before he could decide what to do. He could drop it, let it all fall into the cold case files to remain gracefully unsolved, but he didn't want to do that. He wanted to pursue it, he wanted to solve it, and he wanted Pride to come out clean in the end.

If he were going to have any prayer of that, though, he'd have to figure out who had designed a website full of marble statues, courtesans of centuries past, and scarlet bodices waiting to be ripped. Who had done that, how had that person ensnared a model who had graced the pages of British Vogue, and how had that person had any connection to Clay and to Detective Sergeant Bill Pride?

Sad to say the person most likely to have any insight on that angle was Mike Little. Who has it in for me, John thought with a wry twist of his mouth. Before that Greenhouse bullshit, he could have leveled with Mike and told him everything he'd just done, but now ...

Now he might be risking his career to tell him anything.

                                                                                            ***

He spent that night trying to sleep while fending off advances from Lizzie, who apparently was in the mood, and battling his own thoughts and worries. It might be safe to tell Mike about the beach photo, he concluded, as long as he said he found it online. If Mike went online looking, John could say it must have been taken down.

He got to the precinct early and spent the time checking reports on things he'd submitted to the lab. The report on the sweet-tasting powder from the dummy rounds in the Greenhouse case pistol was back: Nutrasweet. John thought back to Donna Greenhouse's breakfast that morning. She looked like a woman on a diet. He was going to have to go out this afternoon and interview Tyler Greenhouse about the death threat complaint by his daughter. First Mike, then that. Things could only improve from there.

Mike came in, hit the coffee table for a mug of Joe, spoke to Savonn and Trish across the room on his way back to his desk, then sat down and started typing at his computer. He did not speak to John.