Page 28 of Jar of Hearts
Despite none of this being useful to his investigation, Kaiser finds himself curious. “What was he writing to them about?”
“Initially he was fascinated with how they ended up there, but after a while he was only writing to the female inmates. Some of them sent love letters. I think he liked the attention.”
Kaiser stifles a chuckle. “Well, I appreciate your time—”
“I think about him often, you know. He had a rough start, was in foster care since he was very young.” Ursula sighs into his ear. “But he has exceptional survival skills. That, I believe.”
“He did use superhero names on all his correspondence,” Kaiser says.
“That’s something he’d do,” Ursula says with a laugh. “He always wished he was someone else.”
It takes Kaiser another minute before he can wrangle himself off the phone politely, but he’s not too annoyed; the woman sounded lonely.
“Seriously?” a voice behind Kaiser says, and he turns to find Kim standing there, coffee in hand. “You realize you have your own desk three feet away, right? I hate it when you sit at my desk. You make everything… messy.” She waves her free hand in a gesture of distaste.
“I like your desk,” he says, but he picks himself up out of the chair and moves over. “It’s so clean. Even the air around it smells fresher. Thought you weren’t going to be in for another half hour.”
“I decided to come in earlier after all,” she says, and very subtly,her body language changes in a way that would only be noticeable to someone who knows her intimately. And Kaiser knows her intimately. Her voice drops. “Dave was waiting for me when I got home. He didn’t ask me questions,” she adds quickly, seeing the look on Kaiser’s face, “but he did say he thinks we need to get away for the weekend and spend some time together. So we’re going to Scottsdale on Friday, back to the resort where we got married. He already booked it.” She holds Kaiser’s gaze for a full ten seconds before looking away.
“Ah.” He keeps his tone light. “Sounds nice. I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”
It’s all he can say. The heaviness in his heart surprises him, even though he knows the affair should have ended ages ago.
Fuck that. It should have never started in the first place.
He busies himself with tidying up his desk so they don’t have to talk. Their relationship plays out in his mind in a series of snapshots: Kim propped up in bed beside him as he catches up on some computer work, her bare breasts glowing from the light of the laptop screen, nipples like fresh mosquito bites. Kim snaking her hand into his boxer briefs as she makes a phone call to her husband to tell him that she’ll be working all night. Kim in the shower only that morning, the water sliding down her back as she bends forward so he can take her from behind. He swallows the memories down with a long sip of hot coffee, burning his throat in the process.
His desk phone rings, and he’s grateful for the distraction. It’s Julia Chan, returning his call. She’s the roommate of Henry Bowen’s biological mother, and he tried calling her last night, after Claire’s parents met him at the morgue to confirm their daughter’s identity. It had been a long night, especially since Kim had come over afterward.
“I just got your message. I’m heading into work, Detective,” the young woman says, sounding distracted and put out. “I have an early meeting and I’m already late. What’s this about?”
“I have some questions about Claire Toliver,” he says. “Can I stop by your office and speak to you today?”
“Sure. Do me a favor and flash your badge. It’s the only way they’ll let me out of the meeting early.”
He leaves the precinct without saying good-bye to Kim. But at the elevator, he takes one last look at the back of his partner’s head, blond hair pulled back neatly into her signature ponytail. She seems to feel his eyes on her and looks up. He avoids eye contact and steps into the elevator.
It’s over.
Thank fucking god.
11
Strathroy, Oakwood & Strauss looks like every other big law firm Kaiser’s ever been in, and at eightA.M., it’s already bustling. A giant engraved logo behind the reception desk greets him, where two young women, probably fresh out of college, are wearing headsets and answering the phones with bored efficiency. The badge gets their attention, and he’s assured that the person he’s asking for will be located as soon as possible. In the meantime, would he like a cup of coffee while he waits?
Yes. Yes, he would.
The coffee is hot and frothy and covered with cinnamon sprinkles. It’s also damned good, and he sips it slowly. Claire Toliver’s parents took the news of their daughter’s death terribly the night before, as there’s no other way to take it. Her father demanded questions Kaiser had no answers for. Her mother’s sobs could be heard from one end of the long morgue hallway to the other. And now here he is at the law firm, waiting to speak to Claire’s roommate in order to learn more about the young woman’s life.
He uses the downtime to investigate his dead victim’s social media accounts. There’s only one that he can find, a LinkedIn profile, and this surprises him, considering Claire came of age at the height of social media. She has no Facebook, no Instagram, no Twitter. Her LinkedIn profile tells him she graduated from Puget Sound StateUniversity with a bachelor’s degree in political science and a French minor. She was in her second year of law school at the same university and doing a three-month internship at Strathroy, Oakwood & Strauss, “because they have a special focus on women’s rights, which are human rights.” She was clearly a fan of Hillary Clinton.
The professional photo Claire uploaded to her LinkedIn account looks nothing like the corpse on the table at the morgue. And yet there’s no mistaking it’s her. Same long, dark hair, same face shape. The only detail the photo adds are her eyes. Blue. A beautiful young woman who had a bright future ahead of her.
“Detective?” a voice says, and Kaiser looks up to see an attractive woman in her early twenties standing there. “I’m Julia Chan. Sorry to keep you waiting. I was in a meeting and my phone was on silent. Someone had to track me down.”
“Not a problem,” Kaiser says, shaking the outstretched hand. The hand is small but the grip is firm.
“We can talk in one of the conference rooms,” she says. “Interns are only assigned cubicles, and we wouldn’t get any privacy there.”
