Page 28 of Go Home (Kate Valentine #1)

She waited for him in a Denny’s near to his gym.

Marcus worked out late, a habit, he said, from his military days.

And she was raw tired. She’d flown back from Pennsylvania, gone home, updated her notes.

Finally returned his calls. She didn’t approve of that sort of game-playing, generally: long silences, making the other person do the running…

She’d rather have an honest-to-goodness argument, say everything that was on her chest and move on.

But something was different this time. She’d been so shocked and hurt by Marcus’s response, by his obvious lack of trust in her.

It had made her replay every conversation she could remember having with him, trying to see if he’d always doubted her, if he was permanently watching her for signs that it had happened again. Because it hadn’t. And it never would.

After Denton’s attack, she’d spent several weeks recovering, first in the hospital, subsequently at her mom’s house.

But she’d been desperate to get back to work, to the camaraderie of the field office, the excitement of the role, to the sense of doing something worthwhile.

And she’d aced every evaluation they threw at her – physical, psychological, the lot.

She felt fine, in fact she felt great, and the only thing that got in the way of that was people being concerned about her all the time.

The little looks she’d catch, the cautious handling of her, as if she was made of glass and might shatter at any moment.

But they were right. Because she did shatter.

Her first case, post-Denton: a missing girl.

Kate became fixated on the uncle, an unpleasant character but, ultimately, no child-killer.

The uncle ended up lodging a formal complaint about her, and colleagues raised concerns as well.

There’d been a review of the handling of the case and Kate had lost it, in full view of a roomful of extremely important people.

In the aftermath, everyone was very understanding and accommodating.

And the experts provided her with all manner of handy explanations.

In her subconscious mind, the psychoanalyst said, the wicked uncle was Denton, Kate was the missing girl (who actually turned up, in the end, unharmed, acting out some Bonnie and Clyde fantasy with her much older boyfriend, sticking up liquor stores in the Florida bayous).

The psychiatrist said she’d had an isolated manic episode triggered by the trauma of Denton’s attack.

But the best explanation came from her mom after Kate had crashed and burned and returned to her childhood bedroom.

Your body has healed, but your mind’s taking longer.

And her mind did heal, slowly, with a lot of hard work, and support from people like Winters, who’d fought for Kate to keep her job, and won.

She made a second return to the workplace, rebuilt relationships with most of those colleagues she’d alienated, and in most respects put the episode behind her.

She had a list of things to watch out for.

Obsessing on a particular topic. Skipping meals and sleep.

Becoming convinced she didn’t need them.

Irritability with colleagues, a sense that only she was seeing the truth.

Unfortunately, most of those symptoms were part of her average day.

Marcus slid into the booth opposite. He smelled of soap and shampoo.

Suddenly, Kate felt oddly guilty about meeting him here, as if they were both cheating on someone else.

She guessed he wouldn’t be telling Cheryl about it.

And if there’d been anyone waiting at home for Kate, she, too, would have been economical with the truth. Why was that?

“Thanks for your message,” he said. “It was a frickin’ long message.”

She had decided to write it all out in an email: not just how she felt, but everything she wanted him to listen to and take seriously.

She had this idea that if she wrote it down, it might seem less crazy.

It was a technique her father had handed down to her.

It was a way of pressing “pause.” It meant people could take your point or argument or explanation at their own pace, and think about it before they replied.

Marcus ordered pancakes.

“Doesn’t that… undo the workout?” she asked.

“It wasn’t much of a workout. I mainly go there for the showers.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. At home, Cheryl uses up all the hot water.”

They both laughed for a little too long.

“Look, Vee…” He fanned his hands out on the table and stared at them. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like I thought you were crazy. I guess I…”. He looked directly at her. “I worry about you. I know you don’t want me to or need me to. But I do. Sorry, okay?”

“It’s fine, but I need to be able to trust that you’ll take me seriously. You know, just because a situation’s crazy, it doesn’t mean I am. It shouldn’t be your go-to position that Kate’s gone loco again.”

“Hey,” he said, sounding hurt. “It’s not.”

“And caring about someone doesn’t give you a free pass to treat them however you want.”

The waitress slammed the pancakes down and, in parting, shot Marcus a cold look.

Kate couldn’t help smiling.

“What’s funny?”

“She thinks we’re a couple and we’ve met up after a fight to sort things out, but you’re still being a pig to me.”

“How could she deduce all that from looking at a pair of people for about fifteen seconds?”

“She’s a woman.”

“And why do women always assume the guy’s in the wrong?”

“Because men are, usually, in the wrong and acting like pigs.”

“Now you sound like Cheryl,” he said, glumly.

“Is everything okay there?”

“It’s just…” He shifted in his seat. “It’s fine. Let’s… you know. Put it behind us. Tell me about this Cox guy.”

“Okay.”

He seemed to want to move on, and Kate still felt there were things to say. But on the other hand, the difficult part was behind them.

“Get this,” she said. “He handed in his notice on the day of Denton’s execution and didn’t come in again.

“Wouldn’t answer calls, wasn’t at the address he’d given, which was his mother’s house.

After three months, they contacted the Diocese.

The Diocese says, feel free to advertise for a new priest. They wouldn’t say whether he was alive or dead, left the priesthood or whatever. ”

“Suspicious?”

“Churches are often secretive. I think it comes from this idea that they’re guarding a mystery. Do you know, officially, the Anglican Church denies the existence of ghosts and bad spirits? But each diocese has an official exorcist.”

“Maybe they could help us find the missing Reverend.”

“He’s resurfaced a little since then. His mom died and he inherited the house, which he rents out to a young family.

They’ve had next-to-no dealings with him.

If they’ve ever got a problem with the house, they sort it out themselves.

He files a tax return every year; that’s for his rental income and some kind of online editing job.

But the address he gives is a mailbox here in Portland, Maine.

He’s also listed as an Elder of… hold up.

” She checked something on her phone. “The Blessed Tabernacle of Christ Fire Miracle Ministries.”

“That’s a new one.”

“Sounds kind of… snakes in a bag, if you get my meaning.”

“Cast out your demons for twelve dollars ninety-nine cents…” Something struck Marcus; he reached in his jacket pocket for a piece of paper. “Before I forget. The vehicle that was following you.”

“The SUV,” Kate said. “Thank you for believing me.”

“It’s actually a 2021 Jeep Renegade. Cute.”

Kate rolled her eyes. Marcus was such a boy.

“Registered to a Tavone Willem Kelly.”

“Spell out the first two names.”

“T-A-V…” Marcus obliged.

“The name sounds familiar.”

“It should. He lives downstairs from you.”

The tall kid who went running every morning.

That was weird. Alternatively, it was completely innocuous.

There was a big public library near to Gabe”s favorite café and on more than one occasion, she’d seen the kid – Tavone Kelly – with a big backpack full of books.

She also remembered literally driving everywhere once she got her driver’s license, just because she could.

Tavone was probably the same: flushed with the freedom and the newness of it all.

On top of that, she had no proof that the kid was following her.

She saw him. Actually, though, she didn’t see him, because if she’d seen him, she’d have recognized him.

It could have been the same for him – that he saw her, without recognizing her.

That was all. She should say something next time she saw him, though. Break the ice. She would do that.

“You want me to have a word with him?”

“No. But thank you. And why would you think I don’t want you to care?”

Marcus opened his mouth to answer. But she would never hear that answer because her phone rang.

It was Winters. “There’s a third. In his own home. I’ll tell you the address.

It was less than fifteen minutes away. They drove there in tense silence, arriving at the top of the street where the victim had lived, just as a light rain began to fall. A burly, genial looking biker-cop pulled them over.

“Have to park up here, boys, and walk down. Sorry, ma’am,” he added. “It’s wild down there.”

Crime scenes were often like that. Numerous mobile units competing for space alongside firetrucks, forensics, local news crews, and neighbors hopeful of appearing on TV. Lots of people with clipboards. Kate waved to a cop she knew – Enriquez.

“Seems like same MO as the other two,” said Enriquez, offering her some gum. “Diesel. Swift loss of consciousness. Think that might be deliberate?”

“What might?”

“Diesel’s got a higher flashpoint than gas, takes longer to go up but creates more fumes en route. Maybe what he’s aiming for. Ensures that they’re knocked out way before the fire gets to them.”