“Except the English and all the Irish, apart from Rory, and none of the Germans, and—”
“All right, all right, ya sassy wee thing. I don’t hate all of them; just more often than not they are assholes. And don’t be fooled, I do hate Rory. Who ya kidding on that one? The man’s a savage. And when he kisses, he spits too much. Got a glandular thing. You have to rein him in or you’ll drown.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Oh gross, too much!” I shake my head, still scanning the page. “No. I don’t think I’m that good a judge of character. And even if I were, everyone has a preconceived notion of people they know through someone else, which changes everything. You would not know in a case like that.”
“Enlighten me, O wise one,” she snarks and leaves another orange mark on the page.
“Firstly, you go into something like meeting a person’s family with preconceived notions. These people raised Dash, how bad could they be? They’re upper class and clean, so you assume they aren’t half bad. We can’t even fight it; as a people we find it hard to find attractive people guilty. Secondly, your preconceived notions are usually confirmed in your first few minutes of meeting them, when they’re on their best behavior. You’ve already given them several chances, and they have behaved in the way they have, so you automatically make a judgment. It’s called a first impression, and we absolutely do it. So that means that later on, when they fuck up, we make excuses for their behavior, instead of seeing them for what they are. Thirdly, the moment someone is family or friend or friend of a friend, we offer them more of a chance. We don’t want to hurt the person we love, and we offer the offender an olive branch out of the kindness of our hearts.”
She rolls her eyes. “All but you, ya mean.”
I shrug. “I’ve had the unfortunate opportunity to see that most people are awful, and watching a person make excuse after excuse for their loved one’s terrible behavior is hard, but you learn a lot by seeing it. I don’t trust people because I have to, not normally. I trust them because they earn it, and there are not many who have. But it’s always someone I least expect to trust.”
She scoffs. “I have yet to see ya make a bad call as far as a man went, friend went, or suspect went. You even nail it when it’s a vic and the rest of us believe, but you’re not sure. It’s ’cause you’re so quiet and creepy, sitting there taking it all in.”
“Well, it’ll happen the other way one day, and you’ll see. No one is a perfect judge of character.”
“Dogs are.” She looks up at me and sighs. “But to make fun of and try to ruin the happiness of an orphan who has made her way in the world? They really are special people.”
I lift my cup of tea and she lifts hers, and we clink glasses before returning to our work.
She passes out an hour later, and I want to too, but I have to keep going, scanning through the videos on the thumb drives Mark gave me. Angie doesn’t have the show in her head that I do. I have to solve this. It’s never happened before.
My eyes are closing and the clock strikes three when I finish cross-referencing all the people who bought the beds with the information left in the system. My phone vibrates with a message from Dash—Miss you, come home! Binx is making me pet him. He’s worried.
I roll my eyes and plug the next thumb drive into my laptop and fast-forward to the time of the purchase. Each person resolves themselves in my mind when I can cross-check them in the system, check their social media, and scratch them from the list.
In my head I know it’s likely I’m looking for law enforcement or a spouse of an officer. Or I’m looking for someone who works with the City of Seattle and has access to inside information. When I come across a banker who’s five feet tall and chubby, I don’t even bother with the social media.
There were seventy-nine of those beds sold in the time frame I have. I believe the bed was purchased in January or February, when he knew he was going to abduct or kill her. He’s made himself vulnerable then.
The majority of the purchases were made by women; I eliminate them immediately. I might not have seen Mr. X, but I know he was handsome enough to land a bunch of college girls, and he wasn’t a she.
My eyes grow heavy, so I get up to make another coffee. From the kitchen I am still sort of watching the video as I fill the water reservoir in the coffee machine. I am yawning and stretching when I swear a section of the video glitches. I hurry over, rewinding and watching as a man wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses comes up to the counter. He points as he talks, waving his hands back to where the beds are. He’s white, tall, broad, and fit, and that’s about all I can see. All shit I knew before we started this.