Page 14

Quaid

J ordyn and I arrived at the Davises’ shortly after eight with meticulous plans for how we wanted to share Crowley’s abduction with family members so we could best evaluate individual reactions.

After finding extra vehicles in the driveway and lined up along the side of the road, I suspected we were too late.

Jordyn noticed them too and groaned. “Please tell me these cars belong to our people and not members of the Davis and Walsh clan.”

“I have a bad feeling.” By our people , she likely meant the constables brought in to canvass the neighborhood or perform the search, but the former finished the previous day, and the latter had met in the Soccerplex parking lot, so far as I understood.

The feeling of unease was amplified when Zoey Gershwin, the family liaison officer we’d left at the house the previous night, greeted us at the front door with a pinched expression and crossed arms. Zoey was young and inexperienced, only a few months on the job, and the best we could come up with on short notice .

“Nixon went behind my back and against your orders and called his parents and brother this morning to tell them about the kid. I’m sorry,” she said at my and Jordyn’s matching scowls.

Jordyn cursed under her breath, but there wasn’t much we could do except roll with it. A phone call warning us would have been nice, but managing a distraught household could be a lot to juggle, so I forgave Zoey for the oversight.

“What are we walking into?” I asked, calmer than my partner.

“Benedict and Bess are here. They’re Nixon’s parents.

When they arrived, the tension skyrocketed, and Imogen locked herself in the bedroom, claiming she needed to rest. Things calmed down somewhat until the brother showed up a short time later.

I believe his name is Flynn. The instant he stepped foot in the house, all hell broke loose. ”

I recalled Nixon mentioning bad blood between his brother and parents.

“The parents excused themselves and went into the backyard with Sparrow,” Zoey continued. “Flynn is consoling his brother in the living room. Nixon hasn’t stopped crying since… He hasn’t stopped crying. Full stop.” She raised her hands in a That’s it. That’s all I’ve got gesture.

“How is Sparrow holding up?” I asked, taking some comfort from the fact that she might do better with her grandparents around. At least then, someone might take notice of her.

“She’s okay. I ensured she ate and got dressed this morning. Nixon’s trying, but it’s clear he’s too distracted to be a full-time father right now. He’s more worried about what this is doing to his wife and baby. Imogen has shut down. She won’t talk to me or anyone. It’s like she’s gone numb.”

“That’s a normal reaction,” I explained. “It’s the brain’s self-defense mechanism when dealing with extreme stress. Not everyone reacts the same. Thanks for the update. Go take a break. We’ll be here for a couple of hours.”

When Zoey returned inside, I faced Jordyn.

“Not ideal circumstances, but we’ll work with it.

Let’s talk to Flynn and these grandparents before bringing more people into the fold.

After that, we’ll get Imogen’s parents and sister here and do the same.

I want to visit Jude and Clementine at some point.

Preferably individually. Surprise them with the news and see what kind of reaction we get. Costa found us addresses for both.”

Jordyn peered into the house. “Who do you want to interview?”

Fearing my emotional attachment to Sparrow might distract me, I offered to talk to Flynn. Jordyn headed around the house to the backyard to take care of chatting with Benedict and Bess Davis.

Hints of Old Quaid lingered, and I had to bite my tongue so I wouldn’t call out to my partner and remind her about the ransom note and what it contained, tell her to dig deeper into the fractured relationships between Nixon’s parents and Imogen and see if she couldn’t suss out why they didn’t like their daughter-in-law.

But Jordyn was a competent detective who could work a case as well as me—sometimes better.

The only place she faltered was in self-confidence, but her skill was never in question.

I swallowed the reminders and headed inside, finding Nixon with a slightly older gentleman who was definitely a close blood relative.

The two shared many of the same features: tawny brown hair, straight noses, thin lips, and angular cheekbones.

Flynn carried more weight, but not in an unhealthy way.

His bone structure was larger than his brother’s, the breadth of his shoulders wider.

Although they were sitting, I sensed Flynn was taller by a few inches.

Their age difference showed in the slight creases beside Flynn’s eyes and the smattering of gray at his temples.

Flynn looked like he’d lived a rougher life, worked a manual labor job, and didn’t sit behind a desk on a computer all day.

His neglected scruff and strong physique leaned toward ruggedly handsome.

Nixon, on the other hand, was smoother and more refined. Polished. Classically handsome would be a term a romance novelist might use.

Flynn noticed me first—Nixon had his face buried in his hands—and offered a haggard smile in greeting. “You must be one of the detectives.”

“Quaid Valor.” I offered a hand to shake, and Flynn rose from the couch to take it. His dry, callused grip was strong and confident. I was right. The man had height his brother did not inherit. He cleared my six feet with inches to spare.

Nixon glanced up, his red-rimmed eyes worse than the previous day. “I’m sorry, Detective. You said not to call, but I couldn’t do this alone anymore. I needed my brother.” His voice wobbled, and Flynn squeezed his shoulder.

You weren’t alone , I wanted to say. What about your pregnant wife and daughter? What about the warning I gave you that this abduction was personal.

I wisely kept my thoughts to myself and motioned to an available seat nearby. “Mind if I join you?”

Flynn retook his spot next to Nixon, and I settled onto the edge of a plush chair, bracing my elbows on my knees and aiming for casual but not comfortable. “Flynn Davis, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How are you, Flynn?”

The man didn’t seem sure how to respond, his gaze querying. “I… I’m devastated. This is unbelievable. Do you have any information about Crow? ”

“Not at this time. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“Me? Oh.” He glanced at his brother, surprise widening his eyes. “Sure. Whatever I can do to help.”

“Do you need me to leave?” Nixon asked, dabbing his nose with a tissue.

“You’re fine.” To Flynn, I said, “Please understand that none of these questions are meant to offend or accuse you of anything. They’re standard and for information gathering purposes only.”

“Okay. Makes sense. I have nothing to hide.”

“Good. What do you do for a living, Flynn?”

He huffed a humorless laugh and threaded his fingers through his hair.

“I’m between jobs at the moment. I was working construction with a road crew, but they let a bunch of us go at the beginning of the month.

Cutbacks everywhere. I’ve been in the city looking for work ever since.

Had a few interviews last week. Both were maintenance positions. I haven’t heard back yet.”

“So you’re between jobs?”

“Yes.”

“And where do you live?”

“In Pickering, but I’ve been apartment hunting locally. More jobs in the area. I’m staying with a buddy at the moment.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“John Christie. He lives out in the Flemingdon Park area. Has an extra room and lets me crash there when I need to.”

Jordyn had the iPad, so I wrote the information in a small notebook I carried around for emergencies. We could compile our data later. Flynn shared the address when I asked and offered his friend’s phone number.

“Tuesday evening, around the dinner hour, where were you at? ”

Flynn’s gaze shifted inward, eyes flicking back and forth. “Um… I was on the road, I believe. I went home to get more clothes and such.”

“And what time was that at?”

Frowning, Flynn scratched the back of his neck.

“I left Johnny’s around five, I think. Traffic was hell, so it was definitely rush hour.

It took me about an hour to get home. I was in the apartment for…

forty-five minutes or so, maybe longer. Got back to Johnny’s around eight.

He was still at work. It’s typical. The guy works insane hours. ”

“Did you stop anywhere? For gas? Food? Booze?”

“No.”

“Did you talk to anyone while you were at your place in Pickering? Landlord? Neighbor?”

“No.” Flynn’s forehead creased, and he dashed another look at his brother. Most people at this stage of an interview felt we were accusing them, and poor Flynn was no different. “Why is this important? Am I a suspect?”

“No. Standard questions.” I shifted the conversation before he grew too defensive. “How often do you visit your brother?”

“Whenever I can. He’s a busy man.” Flynn squeezed his brother’s knee, earning a wet smile from Nixon.

“And how would you describe your relationship?”

“Solid.” Nixon nodded, agreeing. “We’re best friends. He’s always had my back.”

“Do you have a good relationship with your niece and nephew?”

“Definitely. They’re great kids. I love them to death.”

“Do you have children?”

I hit a sore spot. Flynn’s expression turned stony as he exhaled a pinched breath and cracked his knuckles.

“No. It wasn’t the life I was gifted. Proposed to a girl once, but she had other things in mind.

If you want a family and success, you have to be like my brother.

Levelheaded. Focused. Goal-oriented. I’m the opposite of those things.

Always have been. Ask my parents. They’ll write you a book of Flynn’s flaws. ”

“Don’t talk like that,” Nixon said, frowning at his brother.