Page 119 of Skeletons in the Closet

“Can you do it?”

“Maybe, but my price has gone up.” He snapped the fifty from my hand. “I’ll take this for a down payment, but you’ll owe me another twenty-five upon delivery.”

I clenched my fists and tightened my jaw. Keeping my voice level, I muttered, “Fine. If that’s the case, I want answers today.” I gave him as many details as possible about Noah, including his date of birth and health card number, which I’d gotten from Faye.

“Give me a couple of hours.”

A couple of hours meant time to myself to think. I tried to keep busy with other minor cases, doing some research that I’d let pile up, and returning emails, but my mind continuously drifted to Tallus in my bed. Tallus in a hospital gown. Tallus with stitches and black eyes. Tallus passed out in Natalia’s office with blood on his face.

Three times last night, I’d stood next to the partition watching him sleep like the creep I was. Three times, I’d almost convinced myself to crawl in beside him to be sure he was warm, breathing, and alive.

Three times I’d failed.

When Jaxson called me at twenty after five, I agreed to meet him at a bus stop near the hospital in an hour.

“Did you find anything?” I asked over the phone.

“Did you doubt me?”

Kind of, but I didn’t say as much.

Tallus confirmed he was leaving work at five thirty, and since he’d left his car in the parking structure across the street from my building—I’d seen it when I’d gone out earlier—I told himI’d meet him at the police headquarters to pick him up before heading over to the hospital to find Jaxson.

“And? Do you know anything?” Tallus asked as he clicked the seat belt, and I pulled out into traffic.

“Don’t know yet. That’s where we’re going now.”

At a stoplight, Tallus held out his phone with a photograph pulled up. “Look. Tell me I’m wrong.”

On the screen was a younger version of Noah, holding a solo cup in the air at what looked to be a college frat party. But it was his face Tallus wanted me to see. The guy looked about as beat up as Tallus. Stitches across his forehead, a hint of black eyes, and a few other cuts and scrapes.

“After seeing him in countless athletic pictures, I assumed these were sports injuries. Like he’d had a recent game or something and took a bad hit on the field. Then Ruiz said I should tell everyone I was in a car accident, and I thought, whoa, wait a freaking minute. What if Noah’s injuries weren’t so easily explained. What ifhewas in a car accident?”

The light changed, and I drove on as Tallus continued. “When I found the picture again, I noticed the date wasfour daysafter Roan was killed. That’s too close for comfort.”

He didn’t need to say more. The implication was glaring. What if David Shore hadn’t been alone in the car? What if Noah, for whatever reason, had been with him? What if the second sample of blood they’d found on the rag, the blood that didn’t belong to David Shore, belonged to Noah?

Since there was no parking within a ten-mile radius of the hospital, I paid to use the emergency room parking section. Tallus followed me as I located the bus stop in question, finding Jaxson smoking a cigarette and playing on his phone.

My fingers twitched. I wanted a smoke so badly it hurt.

So far, I’d managed not to touch any more of the pack I’d bought the previous night, but I hadn’t found the strength tothrow it away. It was on my desk, beside the red rubber ball Tallus had given me. The poor ball had taken a lot of abuse in the last twenty-four hours, but I hated to admit it helped.

Jaxson lifted his head, clocked me, and immediately performed a thorough scan of Tallus.

“He’s fine,” I muttered. “What do you have for me?”

“You got a partner now?”

“No,” I said at the same time Tallus said, “Yes.”

I skewered Tallus with a glare, and he batted his lashes and blew an air kiss. “Get over yourself, Guns.”

I didn’t know what to do with that, so I turned to Jaxson, asking again, “What do you have for me?”

Jaxson flicked ash and blew a cloud of smoke into the air, where it dissipated. “Noah Willard was treated by Dr. Hubert in the early morning of October thirteenth, 2010. May the good doc rest in peace. He is no longer with us. Died last year of bowel cancer. Actually, he was a real jerk and will not be missed.”

Jaxson took a haul from the cigarette, the end glowing cherry red before continuing. He spoke as he exhaled. “Willard claimed he was roughhousing with some guys in his dorm and smashed his face in the process. Hubert noted on the chart the guy was drunk off his ass or stoned to high heaven. Of course, Willard denied it. Hubert stitched him, cleaned his cuts and scrapes, and kept him for observation since Willard had a minor concussion, but mostly, he didn’t want the guy returning to his party. He wanted him to sober up.”

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