True to my word, I left the bedroom, Griffin following as my torrent of words continued, my brain running at a million miles an hour. “Have Dougie prepped for an interview. I want to talk to him, and I’m not going to stop till I get the truth out of him. Either what he told us is an absolute crock of shit, or they were in it together and he knows who it is. I’m going to get the truth out of him, even if I have to shake it out of him.”
“Weaver?”
“I know what you’re going to say. You don’t think I should be the one to do the interview. Well, tough shit! I stood back before and look where it got us. Another murder. I got him to do what I wanted in the club, so I can do it again. That’s what they say, right? If you want a job doing well, do it yourself. I should have been the one to interview him before.”
“WEAVER!” Baros’ voice was strident now. Like he was rapidly losing patience. “You can’t interview Dougie Elrod.”
“Oh, can’t I? Just watch me.”
“You can’t interview him because Dougie Elrod hanged himself. We found him unresponsive an hour ago, and no matter what we tried, we couldn’t revive him. I just had to break the news to his mother.”
I stopped dead, the news hitting me like a slug to the chest.
“Ben?” Griffin’s voice, his tone one of concern.
“Dougie’s dead,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper. “He hung himself.”
Griffin’s reaction wasn’t what I’d expected. I’d expected shock, but I got cold calculation, his eyes narrowing. “How long ago?”
I ended the call with Baros as soon as I got what Griffin was getting at. Maybe I could talk to Dougie after all.
Chapter Twenty-three
Griffin
The corridor of the station was silent and empty, not a soul to be seen as Ben and I traversed it. Mind, that was probably because we’d done our best to avoid bumping into anyone—Ben’s route deliberately bypassing the main office. He held up a hand as we reached the left turn before the custody cells, a strip light flickering above our heads as he peered around the corner before giving the all clear signal.
“How do you know he’s still here and they haven’t transported him to the morgue already?” I whispered.
“It’s the middle of the night,” Ben replied, his voice pitched equally low. “Nothing happens that fast in the middle of the night. Besides, we know where Patrick is. He’d want to look at the body first. Check for any signs of foul play.”
“Foul play?”
Ben nodded. “We can’t rule it out. Did Dougie strike you as someone who wanted to kill himself?”
I thought about it, picturing the different sides I’d seen to him during our brief acquaintance. The sweet boy who’d sat and drunk tea with us definitely hadn’t come across as suicidal. The crazed man in Eclipse waving a knife around had seemed more keen on hurting other people than he had himself. And the more composed version I’d watched being interviewed had demonstrated no signs of depression. In fact, he’d seemed quite pleased with himself. He’d enjoyed having one over on the police and forcing them to root out his secrets. Like people finally taking notice of him made him feel important. Or at least that was my reading of the situation. Ben’s might differ. “You might have a point,” I admitted. “That’s why you’re the detective and I’m just the hired help.”
Ben shot me a look of fondness that despite all the crap that had happened tonight, reminded me that there was at least one person on my side. “I really want to marry you,” I said, the words coming out before I could think better of them.
Ben gave a quiet laugh. “Now?”
A door lay at the end of the corridor, the room silent. We were hoping—although hoping seemed a strange word to use—that the room would contain our second dead body of the night. As dates went, this had to be the shittiest. “Maybe not now. But soon.”
“Soon,” Ben echoed as he approached the door. This was his workplace, so it wasn’t as if he couldn’t be back here. However, for what we had planned, we needed to be alone, and we needed it to stay that way for as long as possible. I hung back as Ben opened the door, only joining him and stepping inside when Ben beckoned me to do so.
Despite expecting it, the body on the narrow bed came as a shock. Whatever his state of mind, Dougie had always been so animated. Now, he was still. I examined the red mark around his neck while Ben closed and locked the door. It supported the story of him having hung himself, but that didn’t mean someone else couldn’t have strung him up. It was easy enough to make something look like an accident.
Ben might have locked the door, but the room had windows and no blinds. Therefore, the probability of us pulling this off with no one happening along and discovering us was slim to non-existent. We stared at each other, both presumably thinking the same thing, that there was no coming back from this. “You could lose your license,” Ben finally pointed out.
“I could.” I slid my ‘borrowed’ scissors from Aaron’s house out of my pocket. I healed fast, but not that fast, the palm I’d sliced open less than an hour ago still bearing a jagged red line across it. It was lucky then that I had another. “Cade’s had practice at getting licenses back recently. He should be good at it.”
“And if he can’t get it back?”
I shrugged. A few years ago, the idea of losing my license to practice necromancy would have seemed like a significant loss, but I’d spent the last few years suffering an even greater loss: living without Ben. It was just a job. And not one most people would view as that pleasant. I paused with the blade of the scissors resting against my palm. “What about you? You could lose your job.”
Ben reached up to massage the back of his neck, his expression contemplative. “Before this case, I would have said nothing was worth losing my job over. Now, I don’t care.” His voice cracked. “I can’t visit any more crime scenes like tonight’s. I might be a homicide detective, but even I have my limits and I’ve reached it.”
I wanted to take him in my arms and tell him everything would be alright, but it wasn’t a promise I could keep. The only thing I could do was bring Dougie back so he could question him. “Are you sure?”