Dead Falls didn’t have much in the way of crime, and the police station looked more like a reject from a ’70s cop show than a modern facility. There were no glass buildings or high-tech security passcodes here. Instead, the station was a box with a main counter that ran the length of the room, with four scarred wood desks, almond-coloured metal cabinets, and the smell of stale coffee.
“Have a seat by my desk,” said Nancy, “and we’ll figure this out.”
“Okay.”
She took off her brown coat and hung it on the rack. Unholstering her gun, she stuck it in the top drawer of her desk.
“Can I use the bathroom?”
“Sure.” She nodded towards the white door. “Go ahead.”
“Do you need to watch me or—”
“No. You’re not a suspect. I was only placating Milton.” A smiled ghosted her eyes. “I’ll talk him down from suspending you for telling him to kiss your ass.”
I rolled my eyes. “He deserved it.”
“I know.”
I left the main area. The bathroom was a white toilet, rusted sink, and handrails. I flipped on the lights. A few seconds later, the overhead fan hummed to life. Nice and loud. Good. I closed my eyes and thought of Serge. When I opened my eyes, he stood in front of me…with no shirt on.
Or pants.
“Are you kidding?” I hissed.
“What?” He scratched his chest. “I was lounging.” He ran his hand through his hair and gave me a worried grin. “I thought vegging would leave me less freaked about what’s going on, but truth is…”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “Listen, can you put on some clothes? You’re distracting?”
“Yeah?” A slow smile spread across his face.
“Not that kind of distracting, genius.”
He shrugged.
I blinked and he was dressed in a red sweater, sneakers, and jeans.
“So?”
“When we used the computer, did you send any email?”
His eyebrows furrowed. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. Your dad got some email signed from you—”
The blood rushed from his face. “Sorry, Maggie.”
“You—” I glanced at the door and lowered my voice. “You emailed your dad.”
“Not on purpose! I was just thinking about all the things I’d never said to him but wished I had.”
I groaned.
“You didn’t tell me that would happen—”
“Holy crap. You were using the computer to talk to my dad. How did it not occur to you—?”
“Maggie.” A sharp rapping sounded at the door. “Honey, are you okay?”
“Uh, yeah, Nancy. Almost done.” I moved to the toilet and pressed the cold metal lever. Then I went to the sink and let the water run for a bit. Glancing at Serge, I said, “Stay with me. I have no idea what’s going on, but I might need you to give me answers to Nancy’s questions.”
A smile flashed across his face, lighting his features. “Bet you never thought you’d say that about me.”
I caught myself grinning at him. “Bet you never thought you’d want to stay to help me.” I opened the door and stepped out.
“Were you talking to someone?”
“Just the air.”
The wrinkles on her forehead didn’t smooth out.
“Nancy, you know I didn’t send the email.”
She sighed and the muscles on her face relaxed. “I know, sweetie.” She led me to her desk.
I sank into the black plastic chair.
Serge hopped on the desk.
“Mikhail’s making a big stink—claiming harassment, and”—she blew out a breath and sounded like a bull about to charge—“he’s being an idiot.” She looked at me. “But you didn’t make things easier for yourself.”
“Me?” It came out as a squawk.
“Kid, you’ve led the charge to get him to give his son a proper burial—”
“Which he still hasn’t done. Flippin’ Serge’s been sitting on ice.”
“That’s because we can’t release the body until the investigation’s done.”
“You know that’s just an excuse for them.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re a thorn in their side and you had an altercation with the reverend.”
“The dead should be respected in principle. It’s about transitions and moving on. You can’t ignore that.”
“And you happened to be there when Debbie-Anne’s trailer exploded.”
I raised my hands. “How’s that—”
“She told me you were asking about Serge.” Nancy glanced at the deputy standing by the file cabinet. She rose and went around the end of the desk. Folding her arms, she leaned against its side.
Basically, she sat on—through—Serge.
His arms spread out behind her and made her look like a four-armed goddess.
“Well,” he said and poked his head through her chest. “This is a little weird.”
“You think he murdered his kid.”
I lifted my gaze to Nancy’s face and tried to concentrate.
Serge pulled back, then poked his head through again. “Hey, if I concentrate, could I see her blood vessels? ’Cause right now, when I stick my head inside her, all I see is dark.”
I ignored him.
“Let me try again.” He disappeared.
“Fact is, I think he did it, too.”
Serge’s head exploded out of her chest. He craned his neck to look up at her. “Excellent deduction, Sherlock!” Shooting me a pointed look, he said, “She’s hot but she’s no genius.”
Dad always complained about the amount of spirits that lingered at our house. I think it was practice for this moment right here: when the juxtaposition between ludicrous and intense intersected in the image of a ghost, cop, smart-aleck remarks, and me, pretending I saw nothing but Nancy.
“Tell her to arrest him,” said Serge.
“Arrest him,” I told Nancy.
“I can’t.” She stood.
“Almost.” Serge gave her a wistful look. “I’m sure I almost saw her blood vessels.” He froze for a moment. His face slackened, his eyes went blank. A couple seconds later, light crept back into his features, a human computer shut down and restarted. His spine straightened. He stared at me, then jerked his head in Nancy’s direction.
Dead or alive, a man’s hormones never stop. I sighed and started an internal count down: 5…4…3…2…
“What do I want to see organs for?”
He stuck his tongue out in what I could only assume was intense concentration.
Then he closed his eyes and flung his hand out in her direction. “Come on.” His eyelids snapped open. “Give me boobs.”
Seriously, if he wasn’t dead, I’d be tempted to kill him. “Why can’t you arrest Mr. Popov?” I stood and, as stealthily as possible, pushed Serge off the desk.
His limbs flew out in a perfect belly-flop position and he landed on the floor.
Nancy grimaced. “Evidence.”
“But he was beating his kid.”
Her scowl deepened and made her forehead pucker. “Do you know what his wife said to me when I asked her about it?”
“That he was a bad kid and they did the best they could.” I grimaced. “She said the same thing to me, more or less.”
Nancy let her breath out in a slow, long hiss. “That family.” She scrubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. “I never liked that kid, but the more I know the parents—”
“The more you understand him.”
She looked at me. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t send that email, Nancy.”
“I know, honey. I have to find out who did. Our technology’s basic. I can tell it came from your computer, but figuring out who really sent the email and hid behind your IP—”
The front door crashed open.
We whirled.
Dad stormed in. “What the—Nancy, what’s going on?” His head swivelled from me to his girlfriend.
I edged out of his view. “I’ll let you talk to him first,” I said. “You can calm him down better than me.” Better for her to deal with him when he was like this. She had a Taser.
Nancy moved to him. “Come here, babe. Let me explain.”
“All I got from Don was something about Popov, and Maggie in jail—”
“She’s not in jail.”
“Since I’m not in jail—” I jerked my thumb toward the door. “Can I go home? You know where to find me.”
“We need to talk, sweetie.”
Oh, I did not like the way she said that. It was a mix of mom and cop, and that couldn’t be good.
“Meet me at home?”
She watched me for a minute, then nodded.
“Be there, Magdalene,” said Dad. “Because you and I need to have a long talk.”
Crap. Just what I was afraid of.