Page 10 of Born Daddy

Fuck.

There was no point in pretending or deflecting. Maybe this would be better anyway, maybe he could find out whether Tate had anything to worry about after all.

“Well, I didn’t realize until after the ceremony that he’d been there. I only met him a few times over the years, so I didn’t recognize him right away.”

“Yeah?”

Dan tapped a pen against his desk, the wooden surface already a bizarre sketch detailing years of abuse from a long line of detectives. The piece of furniture boasted multiple scratches and dents, felt-tip marker and coffee mug rings—even cigarette burns from back in the day.

Dan glanced up. “What do you know about the guy?”

A thread of anger coursed through Rogan. Even if he understood why the investigators had shoved the gruesome pictures of the victims in Tate’s face, he couldn’t help but be upset.

“Not much. Other than he’ll be permanently scarred from discovering the truth about someone he loved.”

“You believe that? That it was something he discovered and didn’t know about already?”

Rogan sucked air in through his nostrils. These were normal questions, and this was a friend. Why he wanted to tell him to fuck off, he couldn’t imagine.

He locked eyes with Dan. “I didn’t know.”

Dan snorted. “Well, yeah. But I assume you weren’t sleeping with the guy. That’s a whole other thing right there. Me, the agents assigned to this case, and most of the investigators on the task force are convinced he had to know something.” He shrugged. “Who knows. The kid’s reasons for not coming forward could be innocent enough. Maybe Cam threatened him, told him he’d have the same thing coming if he breathed a word. Or, maybe the kid was suspicious but felt guilty he’d be ratting on his lover.

Dan shook his head. “But now?” He jabbed a finger in the air. “The asshole is dead. Unless the kid believes in ghosts, that fucker can’t do anything to him. So, the fact that he’s not talking?” He shrugged again. “Sounds more like he participated in some way. Could be he lured the victims in or scouted or whatever. But the kid fucking knows something.”

“I disagree.”

Dan’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh? Is there some special insight you have that I missed?”

Rogan supposed he’d always known he’d have to confess to the meeting with Tate. Perhaps he’d unconsciously come into the station that day to give himself the opportunity to come clean.

“We went and grabbed some coffee. Chatted for a while.”

Dan grunted. “That must’ve been one helluva chat.” He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. “That the real reason you stopped in today?”

Rogan gave a slight shrug. “Maybe. But I honestly believe he didn’t know anything. He’s in genuine pain, just as confused as I am over how we could’ve cared about someone so much and never realized what a monster Cam was.”

Dan leaned forward and dropped his head in his hands before glancing up at Rogan again. “Jesus. The little fucker is smart, I’ll give him that. He’s playing you, man. Using your own guilt against you so you’ll empathize with him and believe whatever horseshit he shovels your way.”

The anger at his friend bubbled beneath the surface of Rogan’s skin, an almost irrational reaction when a part of him had suspected the same when first seeing Tate.

“Look. I can see where you’re coming from. I was right there with you when he approached me after the service. And I warned him that if he confessed anything, my first stop would be here to let you guys know.” Rogan dragged his fingers through his hair. “But…there’s something. After spending almost two hours with him, my gut tells me he was as shocked as I was.” Rogan sighed. “Anyway, I’ll be seeing him again, so who knows. Maybe I’ll form a different opinion.”

He already knew he wouldn’t, but no point trying to hammer home intangible reasoning with a detective.

Dan regarded him with an eager expression. “That’s perfect. When are you meeting with him next? I can scramble a team together and we can fix you with a wire.”

Rogan tensed. The bond of friendship was sacred. But the compulsion to unravel the truth was the plague of every investigator, an inherent urge that couldn’t be denied. In every instance where the elusive answer to the puzzle of a crime might be found, friendship lost.

“I’m not wearing a wire, Dan. I’ll tell you the exact same thing I told him. If there’s anything worthwhile to share, he spills even the smallest detail that might be of use, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Yeah, but—”

“This isn’t up for debate.” Rogan favored him with his ‘I’m done’ expression. “There’s a reason I worked undercover for years. I have a keen sense about people, and I never needed a wire to do my job properly.”

Dan held up his hands as if in surrender. “All right, all right. Don’t get bent. I trust you.”

Rogan filed away a note in his mind to be on the lookout for tails and to check his place for listening devices on occasion.

What a fucking mess.

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