Eric climbed out of Fletcher's patrol car and shut the door. "I'll catch up with you later," he said over the top of the car. "I'm gonna head back to the mall and see if there's any more help I can offer there."
"Sounds good," Fletcher said. He could use some peace and quiet anyway. "I'm going to take a look at Renee's profile to see if there's anything of interest before Tim cuts me off."
"Let me know if you find anything."
"Will do."
After Fletcher parted ways with Eric, he headed into the station and grabbed a cup of coffee before proceeding to his desk. He looked up when he heard a familiar voice call his name as he passed the dispatchers' area. Tina was walking toward him.
"Hey," he said when she drew near.
"Hi," Tina said. "Just wanted to see if everything was okay."
"What do you mean?"
"It's just, you hardly said a word last night. I could tell you weren't your usual self and you were gone before I got up this morning."
"Sorry. I've just got a lot on my mind." He didn't really feel like talking to Tina about his marital troubles. And he certainly didn't want to talk about how inappropriate whatever it was he was feeling for her was. The metaphorical wall he'd built between himself and her was already crumbling, and he didn't want to tear it down completely by opening up to her and confiding in her. Not while there was still a chance for him and Kate. But just as he was about to continue to his desk, their eyes locked. God, she's gorgeous. Images of him gathering her into his arms and kissing her flashed into his mind. He forced himself to break eye contact.
"Well, I just want to let you know I'm here if you ever need someone to talk to."
"Thanks. I appreciate that." He didn't know what else to say, so he turned and continued on his way.
When he sat down at his desk, he fired up his computer. While he waited for it to boot, he checked his voicemail. He had a new message from ATF, which he listened to with great interest. Turns out Renee had bought the gun from Pawn Paradise over on Sheldon the same day she'd murdered Marlon Williams. Another thing she lied about, he thought as he hung up the phone. He was glad the ATF's rush was indeed rushed. This fact would give him that much more ammo, so to speak, at her upcoming grand jury hearing. He would need to visit the pawnshop later.
He keyed in www.youridealmate.com. After it loaded, he found himself looking at a smiling man and woman holding hands on the left side of the screen and an advertisement on the right side stating it was free to sign up and view matches. The ad included a large sign-up button. There were also several tabs across the top of the page. One was titled "About," another "Testimonials," and third "How YIM works." A login button in the top right corner was the last item. He clicked on it and entered Renee's username and password.
A photo of Renee appeared in the top left corner. She was wearing shorts and a zipped up purple windbreaker, sitting on a large granite rock with Ollie, the black and white border collie, sitting next to her. Pine trees surrounded the rock, creating a picturesque backdrop. He recognized the setting: She was somewhere in the Granite Basin Recreation Area.
Below the photo were a few thumbnail photos of her, which he clicked on individually to see the larger version. The first one was a selfie of her face, neck, and shoulders. It looked like she was wearing the same purple windbreaker and was leaning against the trunk of a pine tree. The next one was a closeup of her and Ollie. It looked like a selfie as well. The third photo was of her leaning against a building—he recognized it as the front of CJ's on Montezuma Street—wearing a tight-fitting black mini-skirt that showed off plenty of cleavage. She had one leg bent slightly with her foot pressed back against the building, stretching the skirt material and making it ride up higher on that leg, showing plenty of thigh.
Next to the photos of Renee was a window titled "About Me." He clicked on it and started reading:
A brief description of myself: a nature-loving, animal-loving, enjoyer of life
Occupation: waitress
Do I want kids: yes
Do I already have kids: no
Religion: none
Smoke/drink: no/yes
What I care about most: animals and nature
What I am most thankful for: my dog and the outdoors
My friends would describe me as: happy-go-lucky
In 5 years I see myself: married to my ideal mate
Describe my ideal mate: someone who enjoys the outdoors as much as I do
The first thing people notice about me is: my smile
What I do for fun: I like to be outdoors as much as possible. When I'm not outdoors I like to be curled up with a good book.
When Fletcher finished looking over Renee's profile, he scrolled further down the screen. Below her profile information the page was divided into three sections: New Matches, Active Matches, and Closed Matches. She had ten new matches since October 19, the day Marlon was killed. All but three of them had a picture. The three that didn't were simply empty silhouettes. Two of them had a ribbon next to the picture, indicating the person had interacted. The only other information given was a name.
He clicked on the first profile, a man named Victor, and the icon expanded on the page to reveal his profile. He read over the information Victor provided about himself, then studied the buttons at the bottom. There were three available: Interact with Victor, Send Victor a message, and Close Match. He contemplated clicking on the first button to see how the site worked but decided against it—at least for now. Instead, he clicked the X in the top right corner and shrank Victor's profile back down, which made his picture move from the New Matches column to the Active Matches one.
Fletcher scrolled through the rest of the new matches and clicked on one of the matches that didn't have a picture. Eric was his name. Eric's profile expanded and looked identical to Victor's minus the photo. He scanned Eric's information then closed his profile. His icon moved columns as well.
Fletcher moused over the Active Matches column and scrolled down. He counted twelve active matches. The first four, after Eric and Victor, which were now at the top, had a little ribbon next to their photo indicating that they had sent a message. He didn't click on any of them; instead he moused over the Closed Matches.
"Aha," he said when his eye saw a particular name. The icon had a picture of a shirtless man—cropped about mid-chest—who looked muscular. He had bright blue eyes, straight teeth, and wavy dirty-blond hair. He was, Fletcher figured, the type of guy women would gawk over. The picture wasn't what interested him, though. It was the name: Sam.
Before opening the profile, Fletcher scrolled through the rest of the closed matches—twenty-two of them in all—and saw that there were no more guys named Sam.
He clicked on Sam's icon to expand his profile. At the top of the expanded page, to the right of Sam's picture and above his profile information, there was a message in large black font: Match closed by Sam on 10/20/15 at 9:41 a.m. The day after Marlon was killed, Fletcher noted.
He read through Sam's profile more carefully.
A brief description of myself: I'm shy at first but open up once I get to know someone.
Occupation: salesman
Do I want kids: one day
Do I already have kids: no
Religion: agnostic
Smoke/drink: no/yes
What I care about most: loyalty
What I am most thankful for: being able to get out and enjoy nature
My friends would describe me as: someone that is fiercely loyal
In 5 years I see myself: I would like to be married and possibly have kids
Describe my ideal mate: someone who accepts me for who I am
The first thing people notice about me is: people say I have captivating eyes
What I do for fun: I like hiking and reading
The bottom of his profile had the same three options as the others, though the "Close Match" button was greyed out. He clicked on the "Interact with Sam" button. Another window opened and displayed a message: We're so sorry, but Sam has chosen to close the match. There was also an arrow pointing left in the bottom left corner of the message, so Fletcher clicked on it. This time there was a question from Renee: What's your idea of a perfect date? Sam answered: a day out in nature followed by an intimate dinner.
Fletcher clicked the back arrow again and got a similar page, only this time the question was from Sam and the answer from Renee. He clicked back a few more times and after one more question from each with written answers, the questions turned to multiple choice. They were all tied one way or another to relationships, questions people who just started dating might talk about.
After reading through the questions—six in total—he closed the window and clicked on the "Message Sam" button. A new window popped up that looked like a series of emails. It opened at the end, a message sent on October 18, in which Renee agreed to meet Sam at Connie's Coffee Shop at 3 pm the next day. He scrolled through the exchange—which was quite extensive—scanning the content. Nothing in particular stood out to him. He went back to the beginning of the profile and saw that Sam had matched with Renee on September 30. Renee initiated the first interaction on October 1, and Sam first responded on October 4.
Fletcher sat back in his chair. So they'd matched and seemed to move along pretty quickly, interacting back and forth, culminating in him inviting her to meet for coffee. She agreed, then he didn't show. That didn't make sense. Did it?
He retrieved the USB drive Connie had given him and put it in the computer, then brought up the surveillance video. He started it at the beginning, which was ten minutes before Renee arrived. He scanned all the patrons who came in or went out, as well as those sitting at tables, looking for someone who resembled Sam Gilkons. However, over the entire duration of the video, he didn't see anyone who resembled him. He'd need a larger sample of video if he wanted to definitively determine that Sam hadn't been there.
Something told him he needed to dig a little deeper. Why would two women get stood up by the same guy for a date, then go out and kill someone they didn't know? At this point, Sam was the key connecting the two murders.
Fletcher dialed the number for Judge Walter Sinclair.
"Judge Sinclair."
"Hey, Walt. It's Fletch."
"What can I do for you, Fletcher?"
"I need a couple of warrants. One for Pawn Paradise and another for Connie's Coffee."
"Another for Connie's?"
"Yeah. The girl who shot the guy in Book World was also on a date at Connie's right before."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I think they might be related."
"Really? Then sure. I'll get them for ya."
"Can they be expedited? I'd like to head over there as soon as I can."
"Well, you actually caught me right as I was about to leave…"
"Please, Your Honor. If these cases are related there's a good chance it could happen again."
"All right," Walter said, "I'll make it happen."
"Thanks," Fletcher said. He hung up the phone and looked at the video on the screen. He dragged the location bar at the bottom until it showed Renee sitting at the table looking at her phone. He'd hoped there would be a phone number for Sam on her phone when he'd reviewed it after it had been turned in to Evidence, but there hadn't been. Now, having read through their online interactions, he knew all their communication had occurred through the dating site.
Fletcher closed the video program, unplugged the USB drive and stuck it back in his desk, then logged off his computer. It was almost five, and as much as he wanted to go get a beer, he couldn't quit yet. That was how he was—whenever he got something on his mind, he couldn't stand to not see it through to resolution. It drove Kate crazy, especially if it had to do with something he wanted. She always complained that he was hard to buy gifts for because whenever he wanted something, he just went out and bought it.
He called Connie's Coffee on his way out of the station to his car. Before he drove over, he wanted to make sure someone was there who could actually help him.
"Connie's Coffee," a peppy female voice said.
"Hi. This is Detective Wise with the PPD. Is Connie there?"
"She is. Just a moment."
The line was silent for a bit then another female voice said, "This is Connie."
"Hi, Connie. This is Detective Wise."
"Hello, Detective. What can I do for you?"
"I was just checking to see if you were there. I need more video, so I wanted to make sure you were in before I headed over." Fletcher's stomach rumbled. He became acutely aware of how hungry he was. His ride had done wonders to bring his appetite back.
"Well, I'm here. Is there something specific you were looking for? I can have it ready when you get here," Connie said.
"That'd be great, actually. I'd like a larger version of what you already gave me, starting about an hour before Renee Denovan came in to about an hour after."
"Okay. Remind me what time again?"
"From two o'clock to four o'clock on the nineteenth."
"Okay."
"I also need a video of earlier today, from about ten o'clock to noon. I'll have a separate warrant for that one."
"All right."
"About half an hour good?" Fletcher said. He needed to stop and get something to eat after he swung by the courthouse.
"Yeah, I'll have it ready."
"Thanks, Connie. See you in a bit."
Fletcher hung up the phone and got into his car. He drove the few blocks over to the courthouse, retrieved the warrant from Judge Sinclair, offering him effusive thanks, then made his way to Connie's. Fortunately, there was a burrito joint right next door. When he pulled into the parking lot his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at it. It was Kate. He let it ring a few more times then decided to answer. "Hello?"
"Oh, hey Fletch. I didn't expect you to answer," Kate said. Fletcher didn't say anything—he didn't really know what to say. "Are… are you going to be home soon?"
"Why?"
"I wanted to… I just thought we could go over the papers together."
"Kate—"
"I know what you're going to say, Fletch, and the answer is yes. I do think this is best. I didn't come to this conclusion lightly, but ultimately I think it's for the best."
An awkward silence hung in the air. Fletcher remembered how there never used to be awkward silences between them—at least not until the first time Kate had suggested they go to counseling. A feeling of resignation washed over him. If she didn't want to be married to him anymore, there really was no point in even trying. "I'll sign them," he conceded.
"Do you want to go over it together?"
"What's the point? I already looked at them and I just said I'll sign them."
"You don't have to get snarky."
"Snarky?" Fletcher said, his voice betraying the anger rising in him. "You're asking me for a divorce, Kate. You don't really have a say in how I may or may not respond."
"I'm not going to argue with you over the phone."
"Then don't. I gotta go." He hung up the phone and immediately received a text from her: Can we sign them tomorrow?
Un-fucking-believable, he thought. He texted her back: Whatever.
When he got out of his car and shut the door, he got another text: How about 9?
He stepped up onto the curb and texted back: Why are you in such a hurry to do this?
Kate: I just want to move on.
Move on? When he thought about it, though, she was acting exactly like he would. If he had settled it in his mind that he wanted a divorce, he would try to move things along as quickly as possible as well. Once he decided on something, he wanted immediate resolution. He'd just never thought it would be this.
He shook his head and texted: Where?
Kate: What do you suggest?
Fletcher: You're the one who wants to do this, Kate. You figure it out.
Fletcher shoved his phone into his pocket. He bypassed the burrito joint, his appetite suddenly gone, and went into Connie's instead. Connie was behind the counter steaming milk when he walked in. She looked up at him and said, "Oh, hey, Detective! I'll be with you in just a sec."
Fletcher nodded, then got in line behind the two patrons waiting at the counter. Connie's bubbly atmosphere was the exact opposite of what he needed right now. He ordered a small drip coffee when it was his turn, then waited at the end of the counter. His phone buzzed incessantly in his pocket.
Connie finished the coffees she was making, then said, "Be right back." She went back to her office and returned after only a moment. "Here you go," she said, holding out another USB drive.
He took the drive from her, then retrieved the envelope holding the warrant from his pocket. Handing it to her, he said, "Thanks."
"You're welcome."
He turned to leave but stopped when she said, "Detective?"
"Yeah?"
"Does this have to do with what happened earlier today?"
"I… Sorry, but I'm not at liberty to say," he said.
"Oh. I just… I saw on the news about Renee. Then with what happened earlier… I thought they might be connected. And if there was something I could do to help—"
"I appreciate the offer. And I promise, if there is something you can do to help me, I won't hesitate to ask."
Connie nodded.
"Thanks again." This time he left, sipping the coffee as he pushed the door open.
He sat in his car and finally pulled his phone from his pocket to see who had texted him so many times. He already knew before he even woke his phone.
Kate: Being a jerk isn't going to help, Fletcher.
Kate: We could do this at any notary. Do you have a preference?
Kate: Fletch?
Kate: Fletch?
Kate: Fine. I'll pick one and let you know.
In a considerably fouler mood, he made his way up Sheldon to Pawn Paradise.
"Detective Wise-guy," said Phil, the owner of Pawn Paradise, when he entered. It wasn't the first time a case had required him to visit the pawnshop.
"Hi, Phil."
"What can I do ya for?"
Fletcher held up the picture of Renee and said, "Do you recognize this woman?"
Phil picked up the narrow glasses hanging around his neck on a thin chain and placed them on the end of his nose. He took the photo from Fletcher and said, "Yeah, I recognize her. Bought a gun from me the other day." He handed the picture back to Fletcher, pulled the glasses off, and said, "She in trouble?"
"Wouldn't be here if she wasn't."
"That was rhetorical, you know."
"Can I see her records?"
"Sure, sure." Phil turned and walked to the seventies-style metal desk. A mono-chrome computer sat half buried in a pile of paper. He sifted through the paper and returned with one in hand. "You want the bill of sale, too?"
"Please."
"Just a sec." Phil returned to the desk a second time.
Fletcher looked over the paper Phil gave him. It was the background report.
Phil returned shortly and handed Fletcher a receipt. "I don't suppose you got a warrant?"
Fletcher pulled the warrant out of the manila envelope and handed it to Phil, saying, "Thanks."
"Sure, sure." When Fletcher turned to leave, Phil said, "That it? No small talk?"
"Sorry," Fletcher said. "Not really in the mood."
"What? Trouble in paradise?"
Fletcher snorted. "See ya, Phil."
He sat heavily in his car. The motivation he'd had when he'd left the station was gone. Now he wanted nothing more than to just go home. He was tempted to go straight there, but he realized he had his bike in the back of his truck and didn't want to leave it there overnight. Before pulling out of the parking lot, he tapped on his phone to bring up his texts with Eric and typed out: How are things going on your end?
The reply came within moments: Good. We're pretty much finished up.
Fletcher: All right. I got some more surveillance video from Connie's and was gonna look it over, but I think I'm just going to call it a day.
Eric: See you in the morning?
Fletcher: Yeah, but I'm not sure what time.
Fletcher: Kate wants to sign the divorce papers tomorrow.
Eric: Damn.
Eric: All right, I'll see you when you get in.
Fletcher set his phone on the center console then put the car in reverse. "Fucking papers," he said as he backed out of the parking spot.
He drove back to the station, parked his patrol car, and went straight to his truck. He shook his head and cursed to himself the entire drive home. When he pulled into his driveway and saw that Kate's spot was empty as the garage door went up, he drove into the garage and parked.
He hadn't heard back from her yet, but he knew that in the morning he would be signing papers, under the supervision of a notary, to dissolve his marriage. He walked straight to the kitchen and opened the fridge, peering inside with a hopeful eye. He counted nine beers.
Fletcher took two out of the fridge and popped both caps off with an opener.
If this was his last night as a married man, he was going to enjoy it.