It was good news, but strangely, bitterness tinted his relief. “Good.”
“Rich, are you coming back? To Chicago?” The fight seemed to have gone out of her, leaving her voice flat.
“No,” Rich said without thinking about it.
“Why not?”
Her simple question was like a crowbar prying open a door to his soul. The truth poured out before he could stop it. “I fucked up, Jules, made a mess of things. Not just the firm, the money, my father…you. Everything. I need to clear my head, figure some shit out, and I can’t do it there. You understand?” He wasn’t sure he did—he’d never tried to put these murky emotions into words before.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “So how’s it going?” There were barbs in her words, but he couldn’t blame her.
“Too early to say.” So far he’d been making a mess of things again. He should do something about that.
On the other end of the line, Julie rallied. “You’re staying with your sister, then?”
“For now.”
“How’s Sandy?” she asked. Julie and Sandy had met only a couple of times, but they’d gotten along.
“She’s fine. How have you been doing?”
“Good. I met someone.”
“I’m happy for you. Honestly.” He was, but not without selfish reasons. If she found happiness with someone else, there would be one less thing for him to feel guilty about.
“Yeah, well, you should be.” There was a moment of awkward silence. “I hope you find what you need. I mean it, Richard,” she said at last, in a tone of finality.
“I know, Jules. I’m glad you called. Take care, all right?”
After the call, Rich went to bed, but sleep didn’t come easily, and when it did, its refuge didn’t last. Around midnight, Rich was wide awake again, full of restless energy. He had to do something, move, act, or he’d blow apart into tiny pieces.
He pulled on his riding gear and hopped on the Shadow. He could’ve just ridden around aimlessly, not caring where he ended up or if he’d find his way back, but he had a destination. Something Olly said had stuck with him—that photographer… What was his name…? Kane. The guy still had the clip and could use it to hurt Rich’s baby sister. Well, it was time to find out if the asshole was an early bird or a night owl.
Rich took the same route he and Olly had taken together earlier. He had to circle around a few times to find the right street—everything was different in the dark—but the yellow house was easy to pick out. The SUV with the AAA sticker stood in the same spot in the driveway. Rich parked the bike behind it and walked up to the front door. Light filtered through the living room window. Rich knocked, rang the bell and knocked again, but harder. He strained his ears for a response, but all he heard was one of the neighbor’s television—not the nosy old woman’s but the one on the other side.
The window shutters weren’t fully closed, and, peeking through the slats, Rich saw a comfortably furnished living room. A camera bag sat on a coffee table as if someone had just plopped it down. There was more light coming from farther in the house. On a whim, Rich decided to check the back door. No fence barred his way after all, and since he’d come all this way, he might as well go a few feet farther. In an atypical fashion, the yard didn’t butt against that of the next property but opened to a narrow alley. Tall hedges surrounded the backyard on three sides, with a gate on the far side.
He rapped his knuckles on the back door of the house, and it came ajar. He pushed it open more. “Hello? Kane?” he yelled. No reply. Rich stepped inside and found himself in a dark kitchen. He saw a light in the hallway beyond. He took another step, and his foot slipped on something. He bent down and picked it up—it was paper, some photo. It was too dark to make out what, so he stuffed it into his back pocket and kept walking.
The light came from the first room. It had to be some sort of office—shelves on the walls, messy desk, computer. All very ordinary, except with the odd metallic scent in the air. Not ordinary were the pair of feet in brown loafers sticking into view from behind the desk. Their position indicated an awfully vertical body, and unless their owner was taking a nap, facedown, behind the desk, they meant nothing good. It was the perfect time to do an about-face and get the fuck out of there, but Rich had to look.
The man lay in a congealed pool of blood. Rich assumed it was Kane—height and clothing matched, as far as Rich could tell. Kane was very dead with a big fucking dent on the back of his head.
Rich swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. Just to be sure, he crouched and peeled off one of his riding gloves. There was no fucking way he was going to go anywhere close to the man’s head, but he touched Kane’s ankle. It was cold and stiff. He pulled his glove back on. That was when he noticed the safe in the corner. Not a huge one, but big enough to hold whatever a blackmailer needed to keep their goods in. The safe was open and empty.