Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
February 20
“Another fucking year of the Flyers playing worse than my grandkid’s Bantam league team.”
Aiden looked up from his computer screen to deadpan his partner, Dino Moroni. Dino was four months from retirement and had given zero fucks about police work for the last year. When he showed up to the bullpen, it was to jaw about hockey or eat. He was currently doing both, spewing crumbs from a cronut as he moaned over last night’s score.
With a sigh, Aiden finished typing up his notes for their most recent case. A straightforward shooting during a convenience store robbery. The perp had been caught on the surveillance camera and apprehended within a day.
The relative simplicity of the crime and the speed in which he had solved it brought to mind another case, still open but cold. Regina Phelps.
As was his daily habit, he ran through the details in his head. Freelance reporter Regina Phelps had been stabbed in an alley in downtown Philly. If that had been the end of it, maybe he wouldn’t be up nights, but it was all the irregularities that kept his thoughts churning.
Aiden hadn’t consciously moved his fingers to the cold case file he kept at the corner of his desk, but his partner noticed him thumbing the edge.
Dino pointed the remnants of his pastry at the case file. “That Phelps murder still got you up nights?”
There was no point in denying it. “Yeah.”
“Look, A-Mac, I may have one foot out the door, but I’ve been on the job for thirty-six years. Sometimes the bad guys get away with it. You’re not gonna catch ‘em all.”
“I don’t want to catch them all. I want to catch this asshole.”
Dino wiped the sugar from his hands with a paper napkin. “And you might. Then again, you might not. You gotta learn to live with that.” He hauled his substantial girth from the chair and passed behind Aiden on his way to the kitchen. Clapping him on the back, he said, “Shit, if the killer had left the body where it was, it wouldn’t even be your case.”
Aiden lifted a hand in acknowledgment and returned his attention to his computer. He wasn’t ready to let the Regina Phelps case go. Maybe the phone call he was about to make would shed some light. Aiden closed the case file and opened his email. After rechecking the number in the vague communication, Aiden placed the call. A clipped voice answered.
“Michaels.”
“Hey, It’s Aiden McIntyre up in Philly. I got your email. What’s up?”
“Mornin’ detective. I was on the force in Pittsburgh for twelve years. Moved to Tampa ten years ago. Gotta tell you, I’m not missing those Pennsylvania winters.”
Aiden glanced out the window as freezing rain pelted the glass. Driving home tonight was going to be a bitch. “Yeah,” Aiden sighed. “Whatcha got?”
“Probably nothing. But Regina Phelps’s name popped up in VICAP when I was entering my report on another homicide. You hear about Calvin Landry?”
Aiden sat up in his chair. The tech giant’s death had been all over the news for days. “Who hasn’t?”
“Well, here’s the thing. The guy’s penthouse looked like a Clean Room. Hold on.”
Aiden waited. “I thought he died at a restaurant.”
“He did. But building management notified us that shortly after his death, the alarm in the apartment was triggered. When they went up to investigate, the front door was open.”
“After he died?”
“Yep. An hour or so later. So we checked it out.”Aiden heard the familiar clicking of a keyboard. “I’m sending you the crime scene photos so you can see what I’m talking about. I mean, the guy must’ve had a disorder.”
Opening the new email, Aiden scanned the photos. Michaels wasn’t kidding. Every inch of the apartment was pristine. The bottles on the bar were lined up. The kitchen looked unused. The living area had no throw pillows or knick-knacks. Nothing was out of place. “Wow. My house wasn’t this clean when I moved in.”
“Which makes the last picture extra weird.”
The last picture was of Cal Landry’s office. Two things were out of place—the first was the desk chair; it was back about two feet. While not a glaring inconsistency, it was worthy of note. Surely the man who lived in this environment would tuck in the chair when he left his office.
The other, more intriguing item was the print edition newspaper on Landry’s desk. In any other circumstance, it wouldn’t have pinged, but here? Michaels voiced Aiden’s thought.
“No way this guy reads the print edition. His desk is completely paperless. He’s got ten different news sites on his phone and computer. And you know this guy couldn’t handle the ink stains.”