Skin Deep

71

July 1.

The desk calendar hung right next to the photo of Dana.

July 1.

Twelve years ago today they walked down the aisle at the Unitarian church in Arlington center followed by a reception at Habitat on Belmont Hill. It was a glorious day and a glorious wedding, and they danced their first dance as Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Markarian to “As Time Goes By.”

Well, time went by, more than a decade, and according to national statistics they were supposed to be living in their happy suburban Carleton home with two point something kids and entering middle age with grace and contentment. Instead, Dana lived by herself in their happy suburban home with her new face and new prospects while Steve bumped around a monastic four-room flat with zero point zero kids and not much else.

The good news—and the only good news—was that nearly three weeks had passed since he had last consumed alcohol. It was the one thing that kept him going because he tied that to the belief that if he conquered this demon, he might win back Dana.

“Hey.”

Steve turned and his heart gave a kick. Neil was standing behind him.

“I’m on my way out, but I want to let you know I got your messages.”

His face was an implacable pink blank. The slender end of a toothpick stuck out of the corner of his mouth. It had been a week since the break-in, and Neil seemed more drawn and his eyes slightly muddy, as if he had not gotten much sleep.

Steve stood up. “What can I say? I’m sorry.” Steve held out his hand, uncertain if Neil would take it or spit at it. And for a moment that seemed to last a week, his hand posed in the air while Neil moved his eyes from Steve’s to his hand. Then he took it.

“You did what you had to do.”

“It was nice of you not to blow my head off.”

Neil nodded. “Until Dacey showed, I was convinced you were there to make a plant.”

“We’re even.”

Neil had not filed a complaint for their unwarranted creeping, and Steve did not file a report that Neil pulled his weapon on a superior officer. Neither would have accomplished anything but a lot of administrative wrangling and lost time on their cases.

“How’s the Farina thing going?”

“It’s going.”

Even though Neil had been cleared, Steve did not want to compromise the integrity of the investigation even within the department. Also, over the last several days, Steve had, in total confidentiality, contacted Neil’s superior at the Gloucester P.D. to determine if Neil had an alibi for the other cases. Luckily, as it turned out, during the estimated time window of Corrine Novak’s murder, he was on duty with other police officers investigating the vandalizing of a local high school by some townie kids. And on the evening when Marla Murphy was killed in Wellfleet, Neil was at a conference in St. Louis. His whereabouts on the other two cases could not be pinpointed, but Steve was satisfied that Neil had nothing to do with the murders.

“I guess it’s not official, but I hear it’s gone serial.”

So much for tight lips. Admitting what they both knew might convince Neil that Steve’s suspicion was dead. It would also serve as a gesture to make up. “Yeah. Got four so far.”

“Any suspects?”

Steve shook his head.

“Establish a motive?”

“Nothing yet.”

Neil shook his head. “So, what have you been doing?”

“Diddling with the files and hoping we get him before he gets the next one.”

“It’s that bad?”

“Yeah.”

Neil made a move to leave. “How are things with Dana?”

“The same. How about Lily?”

“She’s making progress.”

“Good to hear that.”

Neil put out his hand and Steve took it. “l wish I could make it up to you.”

“You can,” Neil said. “You get the son of a bitch, let me have five minutes with him.”

“You’re on.”