We were seniors at Richards University,” Macy said, her voice low but still distinct in the crowded, noisy bar. “Richards was a great place to go to school. It’s easy, when you’re on campus to forget you’re right here in the middle of the city, but when you’re ready to live a little, all of Dallas is mere minutes away.”
Beck nodded and while she waited for Macy to continue, she took a drink from her beer and made a mental note to rideshare home. It had been a long, hot day and she’d consumed more than she was used to, but it wasn’t until she took a seat at the bar that she started to feel the effects. Liam had offered her a ride when he’d left a couple of hours before, but curiosity about Macy’s story convinced her to decline. Harrison and Donna were roaming Cedar Springs, on a scouting mission to find out which bar was playing the best dance music and report back. Meanwhile, she and Macy had adjourned to JR’s where Dawson kicked a couple of hipsters off of their barstools to make room for them. Score one for her new friendship with Dawson.
“I went to UT,” she said when Macy seemed stalled. “The school was great, but Austin was the big draw. I can relate to wanting to be in the thick of things.”
Macy nodded but still didn’t say anything. Beck noticed she’d been doing a lot of that since they’d walked into the bar, like she was conserving her words for the story she was about to tell. A story Beck was now dying to hear. She hoped the tale lived up to the hype, but mostly she was just curious what Macy thought made good information currency. Was she about to give a confession of sorts?
Quit playing detective. The inner voice was strong, and it wriggled under her skin. She was a detective—a role she’d aspired to, but now that she’d made it, there was nothing to detect, and she wasn’t about to begrudge herself the opportunity to test her skill against whatever Macy was about to tell her. First rule, give the witness space to talk. Too often investigators filled the silent pauses with words of their own, designed to fill in the blanks, and too often they led the story in a completely different direction than the witness intended or worse yet, never drilled deep on the details, assuming the narrative they’d shaped was fully formed. Macy would talk when she was ready, and no amount of pushing would change her truth.
“Lauren was the best kind of friend. We met freshman year, matched to a room at Jordan Hall, and instantly clicked. We were lucky. Other roommates argued and fought, but we managed to live together in the fifteen-by-fifteen space like we were an old couple who’d learned to navigate each other’s habits over a lifetime.” Macy stopped and stared right into Beck’s eyes. “Go on, ask.”
The question was a dare, but Beck had never shied away from getting to the truth. Besides, she was genuinely curious. “Were you lovers?”
“No. Insert heavy sigh here. Don’t get me wrong, after a few weeks of living together I had a serious crush.” Macy reached into her pocket, pulled out a small credit card wallet, and reached behind her driver’s license. She fished out a picture and handed it to Beck. “I think you can see why.”
Lauren was a stunner. Waves of dark brown hair cascaded around her shoulders, and her eyes were smoky gray-green with a hint of a flirty smile—dangerous combo. “She’s beautiful.”
“Inside and out.” Macy held out her hand for the picture, her fingers twitching slightly as Beck delayed, taking one more glance. When she finally handed it back, Macy hastily shoved it back in her wallet and shoved the wallet back in her pocket. “But a crush is all it ever was. We became fast friends and never crossed that line.”
Was she hearing a wistful tone in Macy’s voice? Whatever it was, Macy wasn’t interested in discussing it right now and Beck decided not to press. “When did you meet Harrison and Donna?”
“Lauren and I met them at a Sig Ep mixer.” Macy frowned. “I know, I know. Lauren had done some philanthropy work with them while she was working with the North Texas Food Bank, and they were presenting the food bank with one of those big, blown-up checks. I went along for moral support. Donna went along, hoping to meet cute frat guys, and Harrison was there as her wingman. We bonded over the bottle of Tito’s I snuck in, so we didn’t have to stand in line at the keg. The four of us started hanging out later and we all got along, so junior year, we decided to ditch the dorms and get a house together.”
Beck knew the story was headed somewhere dark. Lauren’s absence from today’s festivities told her that much, but she wanted to know the details if only to have some insight into Macy’s world view. She sensed Macy needed to tell this story in bite-sized pieces to get through it, so she helped her along. “I bet four of you renting a house was cheaper than the dorms.”
“And the food’s better. Only drawback is you have to cook it yourself. Donna’s the Top Chef wannabe in the group so we all chipped in on groceries and let her feed us. If it were up to me, we would’ve all starved.”
“Remind me not to accept any dinner invitations from you.”
Macy smiled at the words and Beck instantly regretted the familiarity, but it was silly really. Here she was sitting in a bar, drinking beer with a reporter after spending the entire day cheering at floats and jumping for beads. Lines had already been crossed. What were a few more? She cleared her throat and refocused the conversation on Macy’s story. “What happened to Lauren?”
Macy’s smile disappeared and she bit her bottom lip and looked off to the right, over Beck’s shoulder, like her next lines were on the wall behind her. Beck wanted to say something to nudge her along but knew the best way to get a full story was to wait, letting the silence between them rise to overflowing. This wasn’t an interrogation, but the skills were the same. Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long.
* * *
“It was a Sunday. Like this one. We’d spent all day at Pride. Lauren, Donna, Harrison, and I.” Macy took a drink from her beer while she contemplated her next words. She knew exactly what to say—the details were burned in her brain after she’d reviewed them every single day since it had happened, but she’d never told the story to someone who didn’t already know parts of it, and she wanted to make sure she didn’t miss a single detail in the telling.
“Lauren hadn’t wanted to go with us to Pride. She had a date that night. It was her first date with this guy, Joel, and she didn’t want to get all hot and sweaty and have to go home and shower before going out.”
“She was straight?” Beck asked, sounding surprised.
“Lauren didn’t like labels. She dated whoever she was attracted to in the moment. None of us knew this guy. She met him in her astronomy class. She liked to joke that their meeting was written in the stars. He apparently didn’t get the memo because he waited until the semester ended before asking her out.”
“So, she decided to go to Pride with you after all.”
Macy recognized the move-on tactic since she’d used it plenty of times in the past when interviewing subjects who tended to ramble. She had never considered herself a rambler, but writing about this subject was one thing and speaking the words out loud was something altogether different. “Yes. She was frequently plagued by FOMO. She rode down here with me, and the plan was she’d get a cab home when she was ready to go.”
“Did she?”
Macy wanted to hate the direct, pinpointed questions, but she appreciated Beck’s style too much to resent the fact it was being used on her. “I don’t know. She walked away from us at the corner of Knight and Cedar Springs. I never saw her alive again.”
And that was it. The end of one story and the beginning of another. Anticipating Beck’s next question, she plunged ahead. “A jogger found her body Monday morning in the wooded area near the Big Thicket,” she said, referring to one of the park buildings on White Rock Lake. “She was bound and strangled just like the others—the fifth victim of the Parks and Rec Killer.”
“The last one, right?”
Macy stared Beck in the eyes, but nothing she saw indicated she was making a foregone conclusion. “The last one, at the time.” She braced for a challenge, but Beck only sighed and shook her head.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said. “That must have been devastating.”
Beck’s words were delivered with a pained expression that struck Macy as genuine, and not at all what she’d been expecting. “It was. Is.”
“Is that why you decided to become an investigative journalist?”
“Partly. I’ve always had an interest in Nancy Drew-like endeavors, but Lauren’s death was definitely a motivating factor.”
“And you’re writing about it now?”
“It’s the tenth anniversary.” Beck nodded in response and Macy almost decided to let the statement lie and not mention anything else, but she couldn’t resist gauging her reaction even if it meant Beck decided she was crazy. “And I think he’s back.”
Beck swallowed her beer and calmly set the bottle on the bar before facing her with a neutral expression. Unflappable. No wonder she’d been a commended cop and had been promoted to detective. It was clear she was calm, cool, and controlled, which made Macy even more interested in getting her take on her brewing theory. “The woman you found near White Rock Lake? I’d bet money she’s another victim. Slight differences in the crime scene, but she was in her early twenties, just like the others.”
“Who’s assigned to the case?”
“Claire Hanlon.”
“But she’s a squad commander.”
“I know, and I think it’s telling that she would take a personal interest in this case. Do you know her?”
“Not well. Just to speak to in passing. What does she think of your theory?”
“I’m waiting until she has the final report back from the ME to bring it up. It’ll be harder for her to dismiss me outright then.”
“But you’re convinced the recent case is connected to the deaths from ten years ago.”
She barely detected the hint of incredulity, but it was there. She’d expected it, but it was disappointing nevertheless. “I do. And I’m going to prove it.”
“And I’m your gateway to the cold case files.”
“Yes. I mean I filed a FOIA request, so it’s not like I’m trying to skirt around authority here. I’m entitled to see those old reports.”
Beck took a deep drink from her beer. “I have to say, with all the buildup, I was kind of expecting a longer story.”
Macy met her stare, determined not to flinch. The story was ten years long, but she didn’t know Beck well enough to tell her the whole thing, or maybe she simply didn’t want to chase her away with the details. Whatever the case, she’d shared enough today. If Beck wouldn’t help her, she’d find another way. She always did. “Hey, if you don’t want to help solve this case, that’s fine. I’m sure there’s some other cop who cares more about the truth than placating their boss.”
“Do people usually respond well when you bait them like this?”
Beck delivered the words with a smile, but it was a fair question. “Who says I use this tactic with anyone else?”
“Well, if you don’t, I guess that makes me special.”
The smile again, but this time it was layered with flirtation or at least what Macy figured was flirtation. It had been a long time since she’d spent time in the company of a woman she was attracted to, let alone twice in one week. Hell, she rarely spent time in the company of anyone other than the citizen detectives in the online chat that had become her lifeline over the years. It was different being around people in real life, and while the evenings she’d spent with Beck could hardly be categorized as dates, there was no denying the magnetic pull she experienced in Beck’s presence. Did Beck feel it too? It was hard to imagine she enjoyed being hounded by a reporter. Could it be she was interested in something more? “You seem pretty special.” Not the smoothest rejoinder, but better than sitting and staring.
“Oh yeah, and why’s that?”
“You showed up today when I know it had to be uncomfortable. I caught you looking around every time someone walked by with a cooler. You were on guard even while you were acting like you were totally engaged in conversation with my friends. And speaking of friends, I know Donna and Harrison can be a bit much.”
Beck laughed. “And you’re not?”
“What? Seriously?”
“You can be a little intense. Surely you know this.”
She did, but the only people who ever said it to her face were her best friends, never the women she dated, though she figured that was one of the reasons they stopped calling, texting, picking up the phone. “Occupational hazard. Tell me you haven’t had the same complaint from the people in your life.”
Beck raised her hands in surrender. “True. True. But I’m working on it.”
“Let me know what you figure out. I do my best work when I’m hyper focused.”
“And you’re always hyper focused.”
Beck didn’t know her well enough to draw that conclusion, but it didn’t make it any less true. Harrison joked she needed a TA group, Truth Anonymous, where people admitted their powerlessness over the inability to solve mysteries. She wasn’t ready to admit the mystery couldn’t be solved. Not by a long shot, but she was interested in a new mystery and that was the woman seated right next to her. Maybe she should ditch the story about Beck and ask her out instead. Jerry would lose his mind, but she’d be able to calm him down eventually. And the corporate schmucks could kiss her ass.
“I’ll do it.”
Beck’s words didn’t compute. Had Beck read her mind just now? “What?”
“I’ll give you the interview. And I’ll look up the case files, but I can’t promise I can do more than give you whatever you’d be entitled to anyway from your FOIA request.”
“That’s great,” she said, summoning enthusiasm she didn’t feel. Beck was giving her everything she’d asked for, and under other circumstances, she’d count it as a win. So why was she left feeling unsatisfied?