This felt like a prank. I knew it wasn’t, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there would be an entire camera crew bursting through my door at any moment. How in the world could we explain this situation otherwise?
Outside, the sun was beginning to set, washing the cotton candy clouds in a beautiful deep purple and red. A palm tree swayed gently in the ocean breeze outside of my window. I stood, opening the windowpane and letting the sounds of Miami Beach fill my space. It was much better than the silence that had taken over from the second Oliver left.
Oliver… what is it about you…
He was something else. He was bubbly and bright but not vapidly so. There was a depth to him that I wanted to plunge into headfirst. I wanted to feel his waters surrounding me, enveloping me. From my toes to my scalp.
And then, on the same token, I wanted to keep my distance. This might have felt like a meeting determined by the fates, but I knew there was so much more to this than “destiny.” Sure, I was extremely attracted to Oliver and intrigued by his person, but that didn’t mean we were a perfect match. I’d found out the hard way that not many men I meet are, in fact, a perfect match. Things somehow always fall apart, and I wasn’t about to get my hopes up over Oliver just because we couldn’t keep our lips off each other.
He was clearly younger than me by a good number of years, and that generational gap was a difficult one to cross. It’d sunk a couple of my past relationships, and I could only assume that this would be the same. It didn’t matter how well I felt I got along with the guy, our differences would begin to show and they would outweigh whatever we shared in common. It was just the way things worked. I couldn’t get my hopes up. No matter how attractive Oliver was. No matter how badly I wanted to trail my lips up those lean legs of his before holding them up in the air by his ankles and taking him another way.
Plus, he’s a bloody good kisser.
I stood up so I could stretch my legs. I could still smell Oliver’s fresh cologne in the air, notes of citrus and oak painting a smile on my face.
I could feel myself getting aroused, past the point of walking it off.
That couldn’t be allowed. Not when there was a case on my desk that needed solving. I’d pine over that smiley bastard when I got home tonight.
My attention pivoted. I looked down at the neatly stacked papers and files left on my desk. It was all the evidence Oliver had compiled over the murder and assault. Granted, there wasn’t a smoking gun in any of the morbid photos or documents, but there was still a good amount to go off of.
I took my seat and started digging through the information, searching through each page and photo with a fine-tooth comb. I had looked over them with Oliver, but now I could focus fully on what was in front of me.
One page of evidence jumped out at me. It was an interview done with a nearby bodega owner. The man said he’d witnessed two individuals, both men, running past his store late at night, and they appeared to be holding black ski masks in their hands. There were no other interviews or witnesses found, which was difficult for me to believe. I wondered how hard the police had worked on finding Derrick’s killer, because judging by these documents, they’d worked a total of three hours before calling it quits on the case.
I jotted down the bodega’s name and address and looked up the other stores surrounding it. The cops had asked the bodega owner if he had any cameras and the answer was no, but they’d never bothered to ask any of the neighboring businesses. I knew the chance of finding footage from six years back was slim to none, but that wouldn’t stop me from trying.
Next on the agenda was to dig into this Greg character. From what Oliver had said, he seemed to be a prime suspect. Funny enough, though, there were zero interviews recorded between him and the police. It started to make my blood boil. If they had only followed the trail before it had gotten cold, then maybe Oliver wouldn’t have been in the position he was now.
Another thought hit me with an equal amount of force: if the cops had solved this, he wouldn’t have been in my office.
I looked down at the notes I’d taken. Greg’s name was circled in red. On my computer, I typed his name in and hit Search. It took me some time and a lot of clicking, but I was finally able to find a Greg Williamson who lived in Florida and matched Oliver’s description. His social media was on lockdown mode, giving me only his name and the fact that he enjoyed watchingThe Great British Bake Off.
Wonderful. Just wonderful.
I sighed and clicked the log-in button on the corner. Before I could type in my information, a knock on the door drew my attention.
“Come in.”
The door creaked open and in walked Andrew Barker, the always jolly manager of this Stonewall branch. He and I had developed a quick friendship, and seeing his face always put a smile on mine. Not to mention, he had a flair for clothes, and his shirts were always a blast of color and design that grabbed attention wherever he went.
Today he was wearing a white shirt with a colorful bouquet of different flowers printed across his chest and shoulders. His hair had been cut fresh, too, with the sides short and the top long so that it curled into a small wave in the front. His pants were a bright blue and fit snug around his legs, drawing attention down to his eye-catching white-and-red trainers.
“Hey there, Beck,” Andrew said.
“You all right?”
He nodded, coming into the office. “I always get so thrown off by that question. Like… do you know something I don’t? Should Inotbe all right?”
I laughed. “It’s better than ‘hey,whatsssuuup, duuude?’” I tried to mimic the tone of a surfer boy the best I could. Even threw up a little hand wave the way I’d seen them do in films.
“Hmm.” Andrew cocked his head and hooked a finger on his chin. “Yeah, you’re right. But also, I don’t think anyone’s said that sinceBaywatchwas on TV.”
“Way to date me there.”
“I’m not dating anyone, Beck. I’m happily taken, thank you very much.”
“Mhmm. Nice save, mate.” More laughter.