Staying With Her

Chapter TWENTY

Eliot Bowles, the weary tenant of The University Way Unit 5 explained his fury above the rational interrogation–and what's not to be bitter at the five hundred dollars underpaid rent deposit? Water payments, sewer free payments all for losing six months lease underpaid. His annoyance was justifiable. His statement delivers her last payment from early March and has still to carry out. "A dime she can't pay off." He slammed the countertop and sat on the stool.

Kate steps forward and scanned the vacant off-campus dorm. "When was the last time you'd saw her?"

"The Lyft service, two nights ago." He squints. "She showed up reeking of booze."

"She had company?"

Eliot shook his head. "The only one getting through that door is a pussy."

"Ain't he bitching and moaning?" His sonorous voice rolled like rocks down a cliff.

"Who the hell are you?" Eliot eyes pressed and created lines of rage.

"Watch your tone, sweetheart." Blackhawk grinned.

Kate rounded and drew up a testimony of curses for the headstrong officer sporting a shoulder sling and sweats. Her search was for a man built of years of Seal. A younger man. As if he could read her mind, Blackhawk reports Hobbs route to the precinct in line for paperwork–his paperwork. He looked fresh out of the shower. His hair came wet–damped. Cinnamon rolls off his sleeves and sweats, building up a thickness in her throat. She'd never forget the feel of his bulge beneath her as she grinds harder, burying him in his swirl chair. If it were the man, she knew a year ago, she'd be in his arms day and night. But they had already written her fate.

"Aren't you on bedrest?" she asked.

He drew out a file, inside held the proof of a small caliber bullet. "It matches to the one that shot me."

Kate gripped the file and skimmers her eyes over the ballistics provided by Brandon. Control samples displayed the DNA typing of debris from under Michaela's fingernails to belong to Richard Costello. It was suspected the first two blows to the front and back of her head rendered her helpless. Defensive wounds were present. A tear of neck flesh, as if a necklace were ripped off. Her head turned at the moment of impact and force of a push toward the fountain rising in a head-to-head basin tragedy. A contrecoup, he says.

Blackhawk receives the document from his back pocket and hands it over to Kate. "We picked up a search warrant for the Lava Lounge."

"What for?" she asked.

He reached the door and fixed Eliot a flashy grin. "A gun."

Later at the precinct's jointed interrogation rooms sat Richard and the alternative, Debra. Hobbs and Lieutenant Carter stood over their shoulders through the one-way mirror. The first door opened and in walked Blackhawk and he flung himself into the chair along the laminated evidence.

He files the deceased's in order. "Remember them?"

"It's hard to forget," Richard grinned.

Out came the rest. First, the conversation. Second, the small caliber. And third? The necklace. Blackhawk set his stony eyes to the old man in tattered clothes. Richard gazes upon two-by-two photographs all while picking at his dry skin. It looked like a rash of some sort. Or the inflammation of years of drinking. It made Blackhawk want to crawl away from the spread of itchiness.

"Start talking."

Richard's eyes wander the room as if looking for clues. Hints. When the answer tingled at the tip of his tongue. "I've got nothing to say." He leaned into the chair and if free hands he'd cross them around the back of the chair.

Blackhawk moves closer. "We've got you pinpoint from the DNA under the victims nails to the caliber under your bar table." Richard remained quiet. "No? How about first degree murder texts and life without parole?"

Richard's mouth cornered in a grin. "You know me. I would never do such a thing." He moves forward. "Debra walks in at happy hour and asks for her worthless baby daddy."

"It's late and I'm no longer amused." Blackhawk stands and heads for the door.

"I ain't lying! She got wasted and started talking about my girls cheating with her hubby. How she knew they were pregnant and wants them dead," he calls out.

"And that's where you come in?" Blackhawk meets the wall and leans into it.

"Not at first. But then she–"

"She offered bricks of cash."

"I've got repairs, man. It ain't a doodle." His pointer finger swings in a big no-no. "Then came Yola, she was easy. Cleared her up in early February. Not long came Char. Damn that was a struggle!" he laughed. "Bitch wouldn't stop scratching."

"They were of value to your bar. Why kill them?"

Richard shrugged. "Money doesn't fall from trees bud."

A moment of silence passes through the cold room. A sniff came from Richard as he twitched his nose to the left unkemptly.

"Why her necklace?"

"It's worth a buck load of bricks. I'd be out of Seattle in a flash!" He shakes with a smile. "Now Michaela. She was my baby. Always so kind–barely legal but fuckable." he chuckled. "Wewere in love."

Blackhawk groaned and pinned Richard to the wall, "Blindsided. That emerald? It's an imitator of peridot." His fist tightens with the grit of his teeth. "A fake you idiot!"

At that moment, Richard's eyes grew. "You're talking shit."

He pushed at Blackhawk's hands, only to press further into the wall. "What's shit is that people like you think you'd get away with it–"

His phone buzzed. It's Clarissa. Her voice was all of a quiver. "Hospital," she whispers before the line cuts and Blackhawk sprints out of the room.

• • •

"Thought I'd find you here."

Blackhawk brought the glass to his lips and licked. "There's no place I'd rather be."

Martin sat in the chair next to him. "It's a done deal, huh?" he beckons Billy.

Blackhawk sighs and sips at his Backbeat Bourbon. The lingerings of sweet vanilla and caramel are present, but then changed to that whiskey flavor with spice and pepper. He groans at the taste and let his eyes follow the dark amber. It sits beautifully in the glass. Its swirl coats the glass with just this side of a smooth coating texture before running back down the glass edges into the drink.

"What brings you here partner?" he growls.

Martin was silent, sitting on the fence. "Last year April, Sarah and I came from the fertility clinic," he sighs. "I lost it. Came here and left."

Blackhawk raised his left brow. "It's natural."

"I didn't leave alone." He looks over his right shoulder and nods. "Table 4 by the wall. We spoke, laughed and touched."

"It was her wasn't it?"

Martin nodded and gulped down his drink. "My seven month rebound." he chuckles. "Paternity tests and fishing around the past gave me proof. I'm going to be father, Adriel." A tear dropped to the table.

Blackhawk pats his shoulder and rounds for two rock glasses of rye spicy whiskey. "What about Sarah?"

Martin downed the drink and fixed his eyes to the table. "She knew."

A baby. The word was unethical and scared his pants off. He couldn't imagine the squalling sound of a newborn in a crib at 2 in the morning. Josiah passed that stage and got his head down for a couple of hours. But a little one? Fresh out of the oven brought him into a panicked rush. He had Clarissa–family orientated and ready to brood the next bunch. Perhaps he was getting old, the lucky number forty-two was his written fate.

"Something on your mind?" Martin asked.

Blackhawk coughed and dropped a thirty-six to the table. "Tin roof rusted. That's all."