Page 9

CHAPTER NINE

It starts as soon as he walks into the office.

“Looky here,” Jobs calls from his desk. “If it ain’t the dishy detective.”

Rav gives a mock salute but otherwise ignores him. He goes straight to the lieutenant’s office, but she’s not at her desk. Don’t panic , he tells himself. She’s probably in the loo. Or getting a coffee. No reason at all to assume she’s been summoned before the chief of detectives to explain why one of her team is on the landing page of a bloody tabloid.

Jiménez picks it up again as soon as Rav walks back into the squad room. He’s perched on the edge of his desk, phone in hand. “The face you’re making in this photo. Did you practice it in the mirror? It’s fierce , bro. Real action hero stuff. You almost look like the real deal.”

“You should get that picture framed,” Jobs suggests. “Hang it up on the wall next to all the other pictures of yourself.”

“ Detectives. ” Lieutenant Howard darkens the doorway, wearing a scowl that could stop traffic. “You are not being paid to chitchat. Trivedi, my office. You too, Shepard.”

They haven’t even sat down before Rav starts trying to explain. “Listen, about this TMZ business—”

“That’s not why I called you in here. You’re off the Vanderford case.”

Rav stares. “Because of the other night? What was I supposed to—”

“Let me rephrase. We are off the Vanderford case. The FBI has assumed jurisdiction.”

“Since when?” Will demands.

“Since this morning. I just got off a conference call in the chief’s office. Apparently, the Bureau has evidence linking Vanderford to Joseph Miller and the incident at the Concord. They think his murder was an attempt to cover up his role, or at least silence him.”

Rav scowls. “If they had something on Vanderford, why didn’t they share it?”

“They are not obliged to explain themselves to us, as they made abundantly clear on the call. All I know is that they’re treating the Concord incident as a federal crime, and they believe Vanderford was involved. I would have liked for our teams to work together on this, but the Bureau wasn’t interested, and the chief seemed just as happy to let it go.” Her tone is cool, but Rav isn’t buying it. She’s just as pissed as they are. “Let’s look on the bright side. At least now this tabloid mess won’t matter. When the New York Post comes calling, we can truthfully tell them we are not investigating Jack Vale. Let the FBI deal with the media and city hall and the rest of the baggage this case brings along with it.”

Rav knows he should be relieved. This case gave every indication of going nowhere. At least now, nobody can say he failed. Nobody but him, that is. Handing it over to someone else feels like admitting defeat.

His morning doesn’t improve after that. Word of the TMZ piece spreads through the department like wildfire, and soon his inbox is overflowing with delightful witticisms. He has four missed calls from Carrie Campbell at the Times and about a million texts from Ana. His social media blows up too, his mentions an odd ratio of mockery and that GIF of the three Disney princesses swooning. By noon, his followers have gone from the hundreds to the thousands. His phone pings so often that he puts it on vibrate, and even then the constant buzzing is getting on his nerves. Just as he goes to shut the damn thing off altogether—

MESSAGES

Jack Vale????????????????????????????????????????????????????????Now

Shit man I’m sorry

Rav taps the notification and finds those agonizing little dots blinking away. Happily, he doesn’t have to wait long.

Photographers

Like oh hey don’t worry about us getting shivved over here, just make sure you get the shot

Sorry for dragging you into the relentless shitshow that is my life

Hope you’re not in trouble

It’s not your fault.

You still haven’t picked up your notebook, by the way.

Cruel of you, leaving it here to tempt me. I’m dying of curiosity.

It just sits there beckoning me with its sexy little hot-pink elastic.

Haha. Sorry got caught up in band drama yesterday

I can send someone by your place this evening if that works?

That’s fine.

I’ll be home on time for once, since apparently I don’t have a case anymore.

?

The FBI has assumed jurisdiction on the Vanderford case.

…

…

His phone rings. Rav counts to ten before answering. It wouldn’t do to come off as too eager. “Good afternoon.”

“The FBI?”

That voice. It thrums in his chest, but somehow Rav manages to keep his own voice casual. “Indeed. It might be a good idea to inform your attorney, just so she’s in the loop.”

“I will, but… why?”

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss it.”

“Right, of course.” Rav hears the low rumble of the sliding glass doors being opened, and a moment later a distant honk from the street below. He can picture Vale out on the terrace, barefoot in his faded jeans, wind tugging at his hair. “I just… putting two and two together… No, you know what? I don’t want to know. So, what does this mean for you?”

Rav shrugs and leans back in his chair, instinctively telegraphing nonchalance even though Vale can’t see it. “On to the next thing, whenever that comes around. As for you, you’re officially free of me forevermore.” He doesn’t know what he expects Vale to say to that, but he’s met with silence, and he finds himself talking to fill it. “Once you pick up your little black book, that is. Now that I put it like that, I wonder… is this a little black book in the traditional sense? Would TMZ be interested in it?”

The pause on the other end is a little too long to be comfortable. “It’s song lyrics,” Vale says quietly. “And yes, you would probably get a lot of money for it.”

“I’m joking. I would never…” He winces. “I’m an idiot.”

“You’re fine. I should run, though. We were supposed to do a set at the Uncharted festival tomorrow night. We canceled be cause of all this, but maybe it’s not too late to slot us back in. I should get a hold of our manager.”

Rav hesitates. This is probably the last time they’ll speak. Should he acknowledge that somehow? Take care of yourself , it was nice meeting you— something?

Before he can decide, Jack says, “Bye,” and hangs up.

Ten minutes later, he gets a call from ángel Morillo. “Hey, you’re on speaker with Erika.”

“I take it Jack told you about the Bureau taking over?”

“Just now. Anything you can share?”

“I’m sorry, but not really.”

“Can you at least tell us who’s running point? Is it Rice and Keller?” Rav confirms that it is, and Mo hums thoughtfully. “They’re on the Concord thing, so I guess they think Vanderford’s mixed up in that.”

Rav plucks an orange from Shepard’s desk and tosses it from hand to hand. “What is this, Mo? A fishing expedition?”

“Just thinking out loud. But you can confirm the NYPD is done with Jack?”

“Barring new evidence, which we would be obliged to transmit to the FBI.”

“Okay. That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah, but…” It’s Strauss’s voice now, sounding baffled. “Do you buy it, though? Vanderford teaming up with Miller?”

“Hypothetically, if that were the angle the FBI was taking, I would have questions. How does a New York record executive get mixed up with a conspiracy theorist from Georgia?”

“Are you going to tell them that?” Strauss asks.

“I’m not sure they care what I think.” This is a lie; Rav is quite sure they don’t.

The bodyguards are quiet, and Rav can’t help reading disappointment into their silence. Maybe they think he’s being overly deferential to the feds, or just plain lazy.

“Look,” he says, “the truth is, I don’t like having a case yanked out from under me. There’s a few loose ends I plan to look into, for my own peace of mind if nothing else. If I find anything, I’ll give the FBI a frank assessment.”

“Appreciate it, Detective,” Mo says. “Until next time.”

Rav doesn’t really expect there to be a next time, not with Mo and not with Jack Vale, and he’s already had quite a lot of wine over it when his phone pings a little after 9 P.M . It’s from Vale.

Congratulations you’re officially a meme

There’s a link; tapping it, Rav finds himself on a Twitter thread with the hashtag #DetectiveMcDreamy. It’s photo after photo of him, gun in hand, glancing over his shoulder (he does look rather fierce, doesn’t he?) as he hustles Vale into the car. Only the images have been photoshopped, the background swapped out to make it look like an action movie poster. Rav is rescuing Vale from the walking dead, or invading aliens; they’re running from a T-Rex, or the Terminator, or the monster from Stranger Things . Rav scrolls through dozens of them, ranging from crude to professional-looking. He types, Who are these people and how do they have so much time on their hands? Your fans are strange.

They’re your fans now baby

Vale is clearly enjoying this.

It’s mad.

Yeah but you’re kind of here for it

I do look rather dashing.

Imagine if you’d been wearing the blue suit. You would have melted the internet

He thinks Rav looked hot in the blue suit! Rav is dyyyying .

These hashtags, though. McDreamy?

That’s how you’re entered in my contacts btw. Detective McDreamy

By this point, Rav has his laptop open on the kitchen counter so he can text and scroll through social media at the same time. One of the comments freezes his fingers above the touch pad.

Beatrice @WrKrbee

SO, AM I THE ONLY ONE SHIPPING THESE TWO LOL

Judging from the replies, @WrKrbee is not, in fact, the only one. Rav feels heat on the back of his neck and is thankful there are no witnesses. After a moment’s hesitation, he types, So, look, are you sending someone to pick up this notebook, or…?

…

He sips his wine and watches those infernal blinking dots. “Why, yes,” he murmurs to himself as he paces about the room. “I thought I would see to it personally. I’m coming by just now.”

As if that would ever happen.

“You sad creature, Trivedi,” he mutters into his glass.

Ugh sorry. I completely forgot and now we’re on the road

Well… on a train.

I swear i’m not usually this scattered but we were in a scramble to pull this festival thing off

We’ll be back the day after tomorrow so i can pick it up then

I didn’t realize rock stars travelled by train. Do you at least have a private car?

Yeah. It’s pretty comfortable actually but i can’t sleep on trains

Or planes

Or buses

Tight spaces aren’t really my thing haha

Sorry.

I guess your options are limited, aren’t they?

Yeah

It’s one of the reasons we didn’t tour our last album

I’m getting better but it’s still not great

Well, if you need to take your mind off things, I’m here.

…

…

The dots. They’re fucking agony . And then…

Butterflies swirl in Rav’s stomach as he picks up. “You have reached the Rav Trivedi hotline, your twenty-four-hour source for frivolous fluff and distracting drivel.”

Jack’s laugh sends those butterflies into a frenzy. “Twenty-four hours? Wow.”

“No one ever accused me of being low energy.”

There’s an awkward pause. “So, uh, what are you up to?”

“No, no, it’s what are you wearing ? Are you new at this?”

“I didn’t realize this was that sort of hotline. Do you need a credit card number?”

Rav laughs. He’s quick.

“Besides, I know what you’re wearing. Something way too fancy to be doing whatever you’re doing in it.”

“Actually, I’m in jeans.” Rav stretches out on the sofa and considers his faded Ralph Laurens. “I’ve been trying to crib your look, but I just can’t pull it off.”

“Pretty sure you’d pull it off better than I’d pull off your look.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I bet you’d crush a bespoke suit.” There’s a pause. Rav consults his watch. “What time does the train get in?”

“Three in the morning.”

“Ugh. I thought my work hours were bad.”

Another pause, a long one. Rav can hear the low rattle of the train.

“Is something wrong?”

“No. Sorry, I just…” He hesitates. “I wish I knew if I was being stupid here,” he says quietly. “You’re not investigating me anymore, right?”

“No,” Rav says, instantly serious. “If I were, this conversation would be inappropriate. As it is, it’s still strange. For both of us.”

“Yeah.”

Several seconds go by. The train rattles along. Rav struggles to think of the right thing to say, but he’s so far out to sea on this. Maybe he should just be honest. I like you, but I don’t know if I’m allowed to like you, and it’s driving me mad. “Look, the last thing I want is for you to feel uncomfortable. This is supposed to be taking your mind off things, not adding to your stress. We can call it an evening and no hard feelings.”

“The thing is, you’re easy to talk to. Too easy, and I…” He trails off; Rav can practically hear him shaking his head.

“You can trust me, Jack.” He blurts it out without meaning to. It’s presumptuous. A little scary. It feels like a shot of whiskey in his chest.

“Okay,” Jack says quietly. “Yeah, I think I can.”

They talk for hours.

Jack is curious about Rav’s job, and Rav is fascinated by his. They trade war stories over drinks (wine for Rav and gin for Jack) and marvel at the sheer strangeness of each other’s lives. They bond over single malt whiskey and a mutual dislike for jazz (so naturally, when Rav has to take a pee break, he leaves jazz playing as holding music). They agree that cricket is the most bizarre sport ever devised and that electric scooters are a menace to society. They place a modest wager on the outcome of Top Chef .

It’s a little after one when Jack says, “I should probably try to sleep.”

“What time do you go on tomorrow?”

“You mean today?” He yawns. “Eight-ish. Won’t be on time. These things never are. We should be back in the city by six, seven tomorrow night.”

“Well, break a leg, or whatever it is you rock stars say.”

“Thanks. ’Night, Rav.”

“Sleep well.”

He thumbs off the call and scrubs a hand down his face. Did that just happen? He feels buzzed and jittery and exhausted all at once.

One thing’s for sure: that conversation wouldn’t have been possible if he were still on the case. He’s going to have to send the FBI a goddamned fruit basket.

Bananas and peaches, maybe.

He snorts a laugh into his wineglass, downs the last sip, and goes to bed.