Page 132 of Kismet

“I don’t know,” he said, breathing steam. “I guess that depends on what I discover. Until I know more, I probably won’t say anything.”

I considered the path he was on and the possible unfolding of the case. Would he uncover the name of a fourteen-year-old girl who had long ago reported rape to an unkind doctor? Would he learn her story? Would he empathize? Understand the decisions she would make in the future when the agony became too much to bear? Would he abide by the laws of our country and make an arrest?

Kobe was an emotional being with a soft spot for children. Would the truth render him incapable of acting? Fourteen was little more than a child. Would her pain become his? Would her secret become his burden?

Would he love her in all her brokenness and look the other way?

Or was the effort futile? The nurse may discover nothing. The girl, her friend, and their nervous companion may forever remain a mystery. A stain on Ari Yates’s conscience, if the man was to be believed.

The dismissive cop and his story bothered me in a way I couldn’t articulate. As an outsider looking in, all I had were Kobe’s regurgitated conversations with the man and the supposed report he had failed to file, but I didn’t trust Yates’s version of the truth. There was more he wasn’t saying.

“Did you confront Yates?” I picked at the snacks with less gusto than Kobe, who couldn’t seem to eat fast enough.

“He’s the reason I ended up at the hospital. I asked him to go through the report he never submitted and fill in the details he missed the first time, in case there was something there I could work with. When he brought it back, I read it more thoroughly and realized how many times he told those teens to go to a hospital. He told the boy to take them. It made me think, what if they did go? What if they left the police station and went to the hospital?”

“Yes, but did you ask him about Jesse? Yates claims he couldn’t locate him, but with Jesse’s reputation, I can’t believe that’s true. He’s lying.”

Kobe didn’t seem concerned. “I asked. He stuck to his guns. He seemed distraught that he was never able to find him. To be honest, I don’t think he looked. I think it’s a story he tells himself so he can sleep at night. I do think his grief over the whole thing is genuine, though. Jesse turns up dead, and it all comes back. In retrospect, as a mature officer with a newborn baby, he sees the error of his ways. Those feelings of guilt are probably more compounded because he became a father himself.”

“I see.”

I didn’t and wasn’t sure I agreed, but I let it go. Kobe was on a high, and investigating suspects wasn’t part of my job. My involvement started and ended with the dead bodies on my table.

“How do you normally celebrate New Year’s Eve?” I asked, changing the subject after we’d eaten through most of the snacks.

“Depends.” Kobe drained his rum and Coke and sat back, balancing the empty glass on his knee. “If Elifet doesn’t have plans, we usually share drinks and entertainment.”

“He’s your neighbor?”

“And friend.”

“And sometimes fuck buddy?”

“When neither of us is attached.”

“It was never more?”

Kobe rolled his eyes, a gesture that shed years off his life in an instant, reminding me of the slight age gap between us. At times like this, I felt ancient. “No. We don’t go together, and our hookups were much rarer than you’re probably imagining. Elifet is unfairly hot, financially comfortable, wildly intelligent, has the perfect job, a boss who dotes on him, and a family that loves him to the ends of the earth. I feel inadequate in his presence. The kicker? He never rubs it in.”

“Sounds like a bastard.”

Kobe laughed. “That he is, but he’s the closest thing I’ve had to family in years, and he puts up with my whiny, sorry ass more than I deserve.”

“I don’t think you’re whiny.”

“Oh, I’m like an eight-year-old being made to wash his hands before dinner.”

We shared a smile, and I motioned to Kobe’s empty glass. “Another?”

He followed me to the kitchen, where I mixed two fresh drinks. Rum and Coke for him. Rum and eggnog for me. As I measured and poured, I felt Kobe’s inquisitive gaze on the side of my face.

“You’re staring. What?”

“Nothing.”

I replaced the lid on the ground cinnamon. “No. You’re wondering something. Ask it.”

“It’s not a question. It’s an observation.” He accepted the new drink but didn’t retreat to the living room. Hugging it between his palms, he leaned a hip against the counter. “When I first asked you out, and up until about date number three-ish, you always seemed reluctant to pursue this.” He waved a finger between us.