Page 49 of Flint’s Strike

He lifts his gaze from his laptop, pen bouncing back and forth between two fingers fast enough it’s practically a blur.

“Male. Age: Forty-five to fifty-three. Brown hair, stubble. Found at the base of an exterior stairwell at a warehouse on Burnet Road. No ID. Blood alcohol: Point-one-four. Cause of death: Impact after a fall. Ruled accidental.” I pull up Haight’s last driver’s license photo and put it next to the very broken face of the John Doe. “What do you think?”

“The fall did some damage. But look at the hairline.” Nate taps his temple just above his right eye. “The scar. It’s old.”

“Shit. That’s him.” A few more clicks and I find the original detective assigned to the case. “Phil Mallon. APD. I don’t know him, but AJ’s mentioned him a time or two. He was one of the guys on Grace’s kidnapping case.”

“What’s in the medical examiner’s report?” Nate asks.

I read it through twice before I understand what Mallon missed. “Nothing good.” The words are raspy, and Eliot shifts closer, his hand resting on my right thigh under the table for a beat before he pulls it away.

“Bruising to the soft palate. And along his jaw. Chipped front tooth. His stomach was mostly empty. He hadn’t eaten in at least eight hours. The ME noted some sticky residue on his forearms and his socks. Fibers under his nails that came back as wool, yet he was wearing jeans and a polyester shirt.”

“Goddammit. And Mallon closed the case?” Nate slams his pen down so hard on the table, the ice in his coffee cup rattles.

I nod, the horror of what Roger Haight went through settling in my chest.

Eliot leans forward, looking from Nate to me. “Explain it to the fire guy?”

“Duct tape,” I say. “That’s the residue. The broken tooth and bruising to the top of his mouth were probably from someone forcing the alcohol down his throat. And the fibers…”

“He fought back. Against someone wearing wool.” Nate pushes to his feet. “I need a break. Touch grass for five minutes so I don’t drive over to APD right now and rearrange Mallon’s anatomy in a way that isn’t conducive to life.”

He stalks out of the room, and I close the autopsy report before reaching for my coffee. But my hand shakes too much to trust my own grip.

“Hey.” Eliot turns my chair toward him and scoots forward so our knees touch. “You just gave Roger a chance at justice.”

He’s right. But that doesn’t stop me from thinking about Jerry Hollis. About his last minutes trying desperately to escape a utility room he thought was a stairwell. And how the only man who might have known about it was murdered.

Eliot’s phone buzzes on the table. “Shit. That’s my boss.”

“Take it. I’m goin’ to my office to call that asshole, Mallon.” Shoving my chair back from the table, I stalk out of the room.

Chapter Eighteen

Parker

I shut my office door with more force than I intend, the frosted glass rattling in the frame. The case file lands on my desk hard enough to send a pile of sticky notes fluttering to the floor.

For a few blessed seconds, I’m alone and struggle to pull myself together. As reassuring as it was to have Eliot’s hand on my knee or his gaze locked on mine, I shouldn’t have needed either. I’m a Ranger. This is what I do.

My left leg twinges as I lower myself into the chair. I refused to let myself limp through the bullpen, and I’m paying for it with a dull ache that reminds me the muscles are healing, not healed. I barely notice. My brain is too busy replaying the most embarrassing thirty seconds of my professional life.

Licking chocolate glaze off my fingers.

The strangled sound Eliot made.

God.

In that fleeting moment, the hard, professional facade I’ve built over ten years in law enforcement cracked open. Eliot didn’t see Captain Elmore reporting on a case or commanding the room. He saw Parker. At the office. Where I’m always in control.

What am I supposed to do with that?

Scrubbing my hands over my face, I mutter, “Get it together.”

Roger Haight deserves my full attention. This existential crisis can fuck the hell off.

I pull up the case file on my computer, find Mallon’s number, and pick up the phone.