Page 57 of Sinful Sorrow

“Go!” Fletch barks.

“Dude.” I pull him around and start walking, if only to separate him and the girl he’s decided to parent. “You need to chill.”

“She needs to find a healthy way to cope with her loss. Not come out here, sleuthing like she thinks she can solve her own sister’s homicide.”

“Right. But just since we’re on the topic: she’s not your kid, and it’s not your job to protect her from bad choices.”

Silent and fiery, he looks my way and burns me with a glare.

“What?” I release his arm and keep walking. “I said what I said, Charlie. You’re obviously going through your own stuff. Add in that you’re a dad, and we’re running someone’s daughter’s murder, and I can understand that you’re feeling a little raw right now. That doesn’t mean you get to manhandle her. If she wants to file a complaint, guess whose ass ends up in the captain’s office again?”

“Both of us.” He busts through a heavy door until we emerge in a massive hall made up of glinting linoleum and countless lecture halls lining each side. “We’re both in trouble, because I’m taking you with me. I’m sick to fucking death of drowning alone.”

“Wow.” I start forward and pass doors, peeking inside to get a feel for who is in each one. “You’d drag me down too because you’re in a bad mood? Way to be the better man.”

“I’m sick of being the better man, too!” He checks the doors on the opposite side of the hallway. “I’ve tried being the gentleman, Arch. The ‘still married’ even when it wasn’t working. The hero when I was so sure she wanted it. And I tried to help a woman who, we know now, refuses to be better. So fuck it. Maybe I should give up on that shit, too. Being the villain might be a better lifestyle for me.”

“You’re the best man I know.” I know he’s spiraling, so I glance across and wait for his eyes. “The best. You’re having a bad day today, but tomorrow will be better. And the day after that will be better again.” I move to the next door and spy some rooms filled to the brim with students, while others have lights out and no one inside. “Eventually, the better days will outweigh the not so great days. And then these shitty days will just be a crappy memory.”

“Says the happily married, exceptionally wealthy?—”

“Son of a don who fucked, killed, and abused anyone I ever cared about.” I stop my search and turn to meet his eyes. “We can discuss kids with trauma, if you want. I have first-hand experience with some of the darkest shit you could ever imagine. But don’t start with your bitter asshole schtick and pick at me just because you’re unhappy today. You’re okay. Mia’s okay. And Jada is a grown woman making decisions for herself and her life. Those are the facts and those facts are the only ones that matter.”

“And Sera?” He swallows, so the movement of his Adam’s apple draws my focus. “She won’t return my calls. She won’t accept my apology. I’m the reason another woman is suffering today.”

“Fifi’s a grown woman too. And if you’re leaning toward Jada’s trauma being your fault, I’m about to smack you in your fucking face.”

“She was fine before?—”

“Gentlemen?” A man’s snapped tone brings me around and my hand to the gun poised on my hip. Reality slams me in the face when I remember we’re inside Copeland U. Arguing. Bickering about women, and probably not all that discreet about it. “What on earth do you think you’re?—”

“Professor Jene, I assume?” I swap my gun for my badge and leave Fletch behind as I show the old man my identification. “Apologies, Professor. We were discussing a case and lost track of where we were.”

“And as a result, I know there is a woman named Sarah somewhere in the world right now, displeased with his,” he nods toward Fletch, twitching his lip so a sandy colored mustache flows with the movement, “treatment. Hardly a private discussion, when random strangers are made privy to the details.”

“Apologies.” I put my badge away and step in front of the short, round fellow, shielding Fletch from his beady stare and demanding he pay complete attention to me. “You’re Professor Jene, I hope?”

“I am.” He stands as tall as he can manage. And still, his eyes are in line with my chest. “And you must be Detectives Malone and Fletcher. I’ve been expecting this visit.”

“You have?” I grab the closest door with no occupants on the other side and yank it open to gesture the man in. “We had meetings lined up with some of your colleagues today, Professor Jene. But not with you. So why have you been expecting us?”

“Because of Naomi Wallace’s murder, of course.” He follows my unspoken directions and steps into the lecture room. So I do the same and cast a look back at Fletch.

Is he coming, or does he intend to continue his meltdown all alone?

Fortunately for us both, he chooses the first option, though his shoulder slamming against mine as he passes brings a small grin flittering across my lips. Schooling my features, I pull the door closed and turn back to meet my one-man audience.

“So this murder…” I move slowly to the front row of desks, leaning back against the nearest one to get comfortable. “Why would a girl’s death matter to you?”

“Because Naomi Wallace was in my economics class.” He glances at Fletch, exasperated, “Is he always this obtuse?”

He drops his gaze, nodding as a small smile finally breaks up the rage hardening his face. “Our job is to find out what you know, Professor Jene. Not to tell you what we know. So if you would oblige us?” He motions toward the man. “How do you know Naomi Wallace?”

“She’s in my class. I make it a point to know who my students are.”

“You want to know them personally before you apply a grade to their papers?”

“I prefer to humanize them, so I don’t become eternally disinterested in my career and die from boredom. Marking papers day after day, and delivering the same content, semester on semester, is enough to turn a man’s brain to sawdust.” He meanders to the lecturer’s desk and mirrors my position, leaning and crossing his ankles. “If I can apply an ounce of personality to the names I see, I find myself less eager to step off the Bayview Bridge.”

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