Readjustment (Restitution #2)

5

Caleb Straus

This is stupid.

I shoved my arms in my jacket and fastened the buttons. Totally freaking mad.

When the shock of the confrontation with Adam wore off, I went across the hall to talk some sense into him, but he wasn’t there. I should’ve let him wallow in his misery. But instead, I grabbed my keys, an extra coat from the rack and went to the roof.

With every step, I told myself I was doing this because Adam was my partner. Or that I wasn’t so in love with him that I could set aside my fury and still care.

The winter air was a stark contrast to the heat, and it stung my face as I stepped onto the rooftop. Bright stars linked puffy clouds like a connect-the-dot photo in the sky. At the barrier wall, Adam stood with his back to me, looking over the world below.

“You forget your fanny pack or—” The pale moonlight reflected off his wide eyes as he turned to look at me. “Oh.”

The word was so soft and desperate that it both captured and broke my heart.

“I tried your apartment first.” I motioned to the stairs with the jerk of my head.

He nodded. “Caleb, I’m sor—”

“Don’t.” I tossed the extra coat to him. “I’m just making sure you’re okay because we’re partners.”

“Right.” His head lowered as he put on the jacket. “I’m okay.”

“Really?” I shoved my hands in my pockets. “You didn’t look alright in the hall.”

Adam gave a single shake of his head. “No. I’m not.”

Another piece of my heart broke off. “Can I join you a minute?”

“Sure.”

There wasn’t much to look at past the ledge, but maybe that was the appeal. A vast nothingness covered in snow. Untouched. Undisturbed. The world was preparing for another day. A new beginning, another chance to get things right.

“I’m still mad at you,” I said.

“You should be.”

“This can’t bleed into tomorrow.”

“I can compartmentalize, Caleb.” Adam rubbed the middle of his forehead. “I didn’t make detective because I’m pretty.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“You can’t help it, can you?” His mouth curved into a slow smile. “Being nice.”

“No.” I kicked the barrier wall, and the vibration rattled up my chilled bones. “It sucks sometimes, if I’m being honest.”

The snow blanketed the sounds, leaving an unsettling quiet. We played chicken with the silence for thirty seconds, but we both knew I would lose.

“Did you know it takes snow an hour to reach the ground?”

Adam raised a brow. “Really?”

“Yep,” I said. “And even though their shapes are unique, every snowflake has six sides.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well, now you do.” I changed the subject. “That’s all the snow trivia I’ve got, so tell me what’s going on because that,” I pointed below us, “was irrational; even for you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Smartass.” He elbowed me, so I elbowed him back and some of the icy tension melted.

“Josh is coming to visit.” Adam tucked his hands in the sleeves of the coat I loaned him. “Probably in the next few days.”

“He’s been here before,” I said. “Did you guys get in another fight?”

“No.” Adam let out a defeated snort. “We don’t talk enough to fight.” He pulled his phone out. “I might as well show you.”

Clip after clip of Josh leaving cheap motels with random men played. Adam tried to play it cool, but the shudder of his shoulders conveyed his hurt.

“I hired a P.I. a few weeks ago.” Adam pocketed the phone. “He claims I’m the one not trying, and I can’t even be as mad as I want to be because…well.”

“You’ve been doing the same thing.”

“Yeah.” Adam’s lips pursed. “I was already in a bad place when he called. Then he started talking about how he misses me and wants to smooth things over. It sort of sent me over the edge.”

“What happened to your hand?” I pointed at the gash above his knuckles.

“Punched my wedding photo.” He lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers. “I told myself not to bother you with more of my shit, but I was desperate. Then I saw that guy and I lost my cool and just…” He clenched his eyes and released a shuddered breath. “You don’t have to lie, Caleb. I know we’re not dating. If you wanted to see someone else—”

“Ben’s just a friend from AA,” I said. “He was checking on me because I haven’t been to a meeting in a few weeks.”

“Oh.” Adam put his elbows on the barrier and put his head down. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

“Sometimes.” I slapped his arm. “But you’re right. We aren’t dating. I’m sorry about Josh, but that’s no excuse to act like that.”

“I know,” he moaned. “I’m so fucking embarrassed.”

“I know you are.” I put a hand on his back and even through the fabric, his skin was chilled. “Let’s get off this roof.” I turned towards the access door. “It’s freezing, and frostbite won’t help either of us tomorrow.”

“Good idea.” Adam picked up his whiskey and followed me back down the stairs. At the first door to the left, the savory smell of onion and garlic wafted from Ms. Wickett’s apartment, and my stomach rumbled.

“Thanks for coming up there.” Adam paused outside his door, took off my old coat, and handed it back. “I’m really sorry, and I wouldn’t blame you if you’re still mad.”

“I am,” I assured him. “But I’ll consider forgiving you if you’ll make my coffee again.”

“Deal.” He reached out like he might touch me, then curled his fingers back and ran them through his hair.

For an awkward moment we stood there, our gazes locked, and part of me wanted to hug him. Not because my anger was gone, but because I wasn’t sure how many moments we had left. What Adam and I had was so much deeper than just attraction. With Ethan, the confidence of youth convinced me it’d always be that way, but that’s where the differences started. Adam’s done nothing to make what we have sustainable. He gives me just enough to keep hope alive. I wasn’t soaring with Adam. I was free falling with no parachute, and it was getting harder not to resent him for not saving me as much as I try to save him.

“You should get some sleep.” He cracked his door open. “See you at eight?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “That’ll give us time to go over our notes before we interview the roommate.”

We said goodbye, and for the first night in weeks, I slept alone.

At ten to eight, I walked in the bullpen to see Adam mulling over a report. The shadows under his eyes and the tired lines around his mouth told me he’d had less sleep than I did.

“Morning.” Adam lifted his eyes and nodded at the paper cup on my desk. “Just got your coffee. Should still be hot.”

The rich scent of cinnamon rose from the travel lid. I cradled it between my hands, enjoying the warmth, and took a sip. It was perfect. And so was he in that sleek, dark green suit and that sexy curl that always escaped his slicked hair.

“Thanks.” He handed me a stapled document. “What’s this?”

“Copy of the M.E. report.”

My chair groaned as I sat down. I studied the autopsy diagram. Dr. Kane circled a small area on the chest with “bullet entry” written in her slanted scrawl. Healthy lung weight. Kidneys and liver were pristine. The twenty-two caliber tore through an artery and was lodged in the spine. X-rays showed a small fracture near the base of the skull and spine, as well as a subdural hematoma.

Adam ran his finger along his paper. “‘Skull fracture is consistent with a flat, blunt object,’” he read, “‘Cardiac incident likely suffered post-brain injury.’”

I winced in sympathy. “So, Keola was probably unconscious for the shooting.”

“He might have been dead when they shot him.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“He had a heart attack when they cracked his skull. That’d explain why his clothes weren’t soaked with blood.”

“He could have bled internally.”

“Maybe, but that’s neither here nor there.” Adam tossed the report aside, leaned back and stretched. “Either way, they dragged him to that spot and finished the job.”

“Anything from Brass?” I asked.

“Toxicology should be back in a few weeks,” he said through a yawn. “No sighting of Milo yet.”

I pulled a face. “We’ll have to touch base with them at some point.”

Adam circled his finger in the air. “Yippee.”

An hour later, my coffee cup was empty, my energy tank was full, and it was time to meet with Jordan Hawes, Keola’s roommate. It took fifteen minutes to get through town thanks to an accident that sent a Silverado crashing into the firefighter statue. Officer Kershaw, either frozen or stiff with jealousy, muttered something I’m sure wasn’t pleasant as we were waved through.

“Half inch of snow and people lose their fucking ability to drive.” Adam huffed.

The truck was being winched onto a flat bed. Its front end looked like a crushed beer can, and I spied a Michigan plate.

“A Michiganian,” I tsked. “Thought you guys knew how to handle winter driving.”

Adam turned sharply and pinned me with an unimpressed glare. “Did you just say Michiganian?”

“Isn’t that what you’re called?”

“We’re called Michiganders.” Adam slowly pronounced each syllable. “Mich-i-gan-der.”

“No.” I waved him off.

“What do you mean, no?”

“I like Michiganian better.”

“Fucking hell,” Adam muttered.

“Michiganian,” I said brightly. “See, it rolls off the tongue.”

“I will jump out of this car, Caleb.”

“Fine.” I raised a hand in defeat. “You know I’m right, though.”

Jordan Hawes lived in a cul-de-sac near the border of Quincy. Peyton’s affordable housing and proximity to the university attracted many students, who often shared houses. A large oak tree was in the middle berm with a fat-boy bike leaning against it. A man, presumably the owner, was grumbling as he snatched trash and cans from the grass and shoved it in a grocery bag.

The ranch style home was constructed with red brick that needed a good power washing. Dead ivy clung to a lattice next to the large front window. A lime-colored Prius was in the driveway that led to a garage that’d seen better days. The white paint was peeling from the wood, and the door was dented like someone used it for fastball practice (Ask me how I know.)

Jordan opened the door before we reached the porch steps. His bronze, shoulder length hair had a crimp in it like it’d been up in a ponytail for some time. He had olive skin, a well-kept beard, and honey-colored eyes. A black blazer hung loose over a tucked in turtleneck and grey chinos. For a moment, I thought I’d walked into an episode of 90210. Or Friends. Something from the 90s.

“You guys the detectives?” he asked as I pulled out my badge.

“I’m Detective Straus and this is my partner, Detective Dawson. Can we come in?”

Jordan gripped the edge of the storm door harder, his voice tinged with wariness. “Yeah. No problem.” He waved to us inside and offered us a seat in the dining nook off the kitchen. Empty pizza boxes were stacked on the stove, and a cloud of suds foamed in the sink.

“Sorry.” Jordan picked up a cluster of empty Heineken bottles and tossed them in a recycling bin. “I was gone two days and Key trashed this place. My parents would kill me if they saw this.”

Adam leaned back in the chair, relaxed yet still intimidating. “How did you and Keola meet?”

“During undergrad studies. We’re both Journalism majors.” Jordan pushed his hair off his slim face. “We had a lot in common and wanted to get off campus, so…” He waved his hand around the room.

“How long have you lived here?” Adam asked.

“Just over a year.” Jordan looked around the space, and his eyes filled. “Fuck, it’s hard to believe he’s not here anymore.”

“We’re sorry for your loss.” I said as I made a note.

“Have you had any trouble here?” I asked. “Rowdy neighbors? Any disagreements with your landlord?”

Jordan brushed his knuckle under his eyes. “Not really. We had some crazy parties when we first moved in that upset some neighbors. School takes up most of our time now.”

“Can you tell us more about Mr. Antu?” Adam asked. “Was he a good student?”

“Oh, yeah. Straight A’s kind of guy.” He picked up a bottle cap from the table and flipped it through his fingers. “And he was always pretty cool with me, but he was…a typical cop’s kid, you know?”

“I don’t.” Adam quipped. “Can you elaborate?”

Jordan swallowed hard. “I don’t mean it in a bad way. He was just cocky. Thought he could do whatever he wanted because his dad’s the sheriff.”

“He ever get in a situation where his dad stepped in?” I asked.

“Some tickets; stupid stuff like that.” Jordan shrugged. “Nothing serious.”

“Did they have a good relationship?” Adam asked.

“Eh,” Jordan made a so-so movement with his hand. “Not exactly. They weren’t hateful, but they weren’t close either. His dad didn’t like that Key wouldn’t go into law enforcement like most of his family. The sheriff’s a lot closer to Key’s older brother because he works at the prison, and I think Key resented him for it.”

I tucked a final note on a crowded sheet, then turned to a clean page. “Was Keola popular? Did he date?”

Jordan set the cap on the table and spun it like a top. “Not really. He only cared about being successful and rich, and that rubbed a lot of people the wrong way. I think because we live together, he’s more chill with me.”

The set of Adam’s jaw told me that’d piqued his interest. “Did anyone in particular have it out for him? Did he get someone fired? Snitch on a classmate?”

“No, nothing like that.” Jordan grabbed the cap again. “He was pretty private. Didn’t talk about his personal life much. Doesn’t have social media. He came and went without saying anything. If his car wasn’t in the shop right now, I’d have no idea where he was going aside from class.”

“Do you think he was hiding something?” Adam followed up.

“I didn’t ask.” Jordan shuffled in his seat. “So long as he paid the rent and didn’t bring problems here, it’s none of my business.”

“How long has his car been at the shop?” I asked.

“About six days.”

“Ever take him to the Great Pines trailer park?” Adam rested his ankle on the opposite knee.

“No.” Jordan tilted his head.

“Would you be able to tell us where you’ve taken him in the last week?” I asked.

“Um…” Jordan ran his knuckles under his chin. “He had a meeting with a professor last week. It was after hours, which was weird. He was supposed to talk to that politician guy, Peter Janson, a few days ago. He asked me for a ride, but I was leaving for St. Louis, so I told him to get an Uber or something. He doesn’t trust Uber, so he said he’d find another ride.”

I wrote the name Peter Janson down and circled it. Pete Janson was a homegrown local politician who’d gone from city clerk, to mayor, to council member, and was now vying for a spot as a State Representative. Smalltown conservative values were all the rage right now, and he was looking to cash in.

“Do you know why he’d want to meet with a politician?” I asked.

“I don’t, sorry.” Jordan straightened the collar of his blazer. “Like I said, he was pretty private. I assumed it was like a publicist internship or something. Or maybe something for an assignment.”

“Any idea who he may have called for a ride?” Adam said.

“No, but you could ask Harry across the street.” Jordan pointed towards the bay window. “He’s got like 100 cameras on his property. Nothing goes on here that he doesn’t know about. Nice guy, but a hardcore conspiracy theorist.”

“Noted.” I jotted down the name. “If you don’t have more to add, we’ll need to search his room.”

“That’s pretty much it.” Jordan ushered us back through the living room and pointed down the hall. The left door is his. “He was weird about anyone going in there, so if it’s a wreck, it’s not on me.”

Adam retrieved evidence bags from the Charger as I slid on booties and gloves and entered the room. A double bed was on the far wall, sheets, and comforter unmade. The particle board desk parallel to the foot of the bed barely had enough surface space to hold a laptop and an open notebook. In the closet, a collapsible laundry hamper was crowded under hanging clothes, and an array of Air Jordans were displayed on the top shelf. It was the only part of this room that was tidy. The ones in the center were mint green and black, and I kind of wanted my own pair.

“Jesus.” Adam snapped on nitrile gloves. “How many fucking pairs of shoes does a guy need?”

“College students actually represent twenty-seven percent of the resell market, so—”

“It was a rhetorical question.” Adam pulled the screen up on the laptop. After getting stuck on the password, he brought it up in safe mode, but met more password requests every step of the way.

“He didn’t want people snooping.”

“Guess not.” Adam closed the laptop, disconnected the charger, and bagged them both. “We’ll let IT take a run at it.”

I kneeled and checked under the bed, pulling out countless pairs of Calvin-Klein boxers, Nike socks and an army of dust bunnies that made me sneeze. After switching my gloves out for a new pair, I joined Adam back at the closet. Dark wool sweaters, polos and minimalist style V-neck shirts hung beside Dockers in a variety of colors, and dark washed jeans. I scrounged through the pockets but came up empty.

Adam bent down and dragged a blue nylon hamper into the room. “What’re you doing?” I asked, wrinkling my nose.

“What does it look like?” His lip curled in disgust as he bent down and pulled out a pair of black track pants. The sharp scent of body odor, and musty dried sweat broke loose. Adam gagged as he continued to pull out clothing until the basket was empty.

The last place I looked was the single drawer in the desk that held stationary, a pair of Air Pods, and two silver rings. I almost wrote it off until I realized it didn’t quite shut. The ledge didn’t align with the top, like something was stuck behind it. I wiggled it until it disengaged from the track and pulled it out. A small, clear plastic bag fell to the ground. Inside was a handful of long, white pills with divots that made them look like a ladder.

“Xanax.” Adam said as he looked over the pills, then tucked them into an evidence bag. “And not the prescription kind.”