Fury
Fourteen days after their arrival to the Twin Cities in Minnesota, it finally happened. Steve lost it.
“How is it that we find out after the police that creepy boy had a fucking apartment?” Steve picked up an unlit candle and threw it against the wall – crash. Wax pieces fell on the wood floor.
“And why do I not know that Mark had this second life up here, in the middle of God-damned nowhere, doing God-knows what and killing God-knows who?” Spittle flew as he screamed. He grabbed the nearest object, a knock-off French vase. Crash. Ceramic pieces joined the wax on the floor.
Regina stood there, waiting for Steve to calm down. She had given him the bad news, told him everything Zee had told her. Thankfully, Mark’s flight already took off. Otherwise, it’d be Mark’s pieces littering the floor right now.
But it was Steve that had found out the most damning information. Duane Beckwith had an apartment, listed under his own name. And the police beat them to the apartment, confiscating everything. And Regina knew what it meant. Mark’s fate is in whatever was in that apartment.
Steve paced the living room, speechless. When the phone rang, he jumped.
“What?” He yelled.
“Shit.” He ended the call.
“The office front desk. There’s a Detective Burrows downstairs, asking to talk to you.”
Regina flinched. “Is he one of ours?”
Steve cursed. “Hell, if I know.” He opened the front door. “Zee’s been busy figuring out Mark’s mess,” Regina rolled her eyes, “and she only refers to our new police escort as doughboy. Better not take any chances.”
Regina slipped on her shoes. “You’re not coming?”
“It’s best you deal with this alone. I’m already too involved and if anyone saw me snooping around, there’ll be questions.”
Regina nodded, took the elevator downstairs and used the connective corridor to enter the office building.
The lobby was large, and the tiled floor echoed her every step. A large man, crew-cut brown hair in an unimaginative, ill-fitting, olive-green suit, stood at the greeting desk. Regina heard the murmur of conversation.
Regina glanced at the visitor, head-to-toe. His brown shoes were clean but worn. He’s chubby enough to have earned the moniker doughboy.
The desk clerk saw Regina approaching. He straightened his posture and cleared his throat. “Mrs. Praeda, this is Detective Burrows.” He nodded to the visitor.
She put on her ‘I’m busy, so make it snappy’ face, refrained from giving a full smile and shook his hand. “What can I do for your, Detective?”
His grip was firm, warm. “Your clerk tells me you’re in charge here.” She nodded in agreement. “I actually didn’t need to talk to you.” He grinned and Regina knew she had just made a mistake.
She tilted her head. “It’s standard policy to call the controller when an unexpected visitor arrives.” Now she gave him a full smile. “Especially a detective.”
Burrows grinned, as if she confirmed something for him.
“I’m going door-to-door. I don’t know if you heard, but a couple of weeks ago, a young woman was abducted and raped. She works at the CafĂ© Noir, just a couple blocks from here. Your desk clerk tells me you guys often order pastries and sandwiches from there. We’re making the rounds, seeing if someone saw something, maybe surveillance cameras or anything.”
His eyebrows moved as he spoke. Maybe the salon down the street could do something with those furry things. Regina suppressed a laugh.
“We have several cameras overlooking the street. You’re welcome to them.” She nodded to the clerk to get them ready. “Just tell Martin what days you’re interested in, and he’ll get copies for you.”
Burrows glanced around the lobby. “I hear you put quite a bit of work into this entire block.” He ignored her cooperation regarding the tapes. “According to my Sargent, this used to be on the verge of collapse.”
Regina raised an eyebrow. “You’re new to Minneapolis?”
He grinned at her. “New to Minnesota. Got here two months ago, from New York.”
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