The 6:20 Man

Chapter 36

It was the same Sara Ewes. Devine was in his room staring at her picture on Hummingbird. He’d gone over her dating file. She’d had matches with three men. All had been right around the time she had signed up on the site, years earlier.

Ewes looked younger and carefree, though she would have already pulled time at the max prison otherwise known as Cowl and Comely. She had obviously been looking for someone to share her life with. And hadn’t found him. And perhaps she had grown disenchanted, because, after these three tries, there had been no more activity on the site for her.

She was smiling, her hair was set just so, grazing her shoulders. He knew she had a nice laugh, an easygoing manner. Nothing pretentious about the woman.

He had liked her. He could have maybe come to love her, given time.

And now her body had been autopsied, with the remains to be handed over to her crushed parents. At age twenty-eight. Nothing could be more tragic.

He looked up at his open doorway as Tapshaw appeared there. “Is... is it her?”

He nodded slowly.

“I’m so sorry.”

“You have a good memory for names.”

She walked over and stood beside him. “My first hundred subscribers were the only ones I had for a long time. I studied them every minute of every day, figuring out how to get more just like them. I knew them in some ways better than I knew my own family.”

“I can see that.”

She glanced at the image. “Was she nice? I mean, in person?”

“Yeah, she was very nice.”

“Did you two... were you dating?”

He looked away for a moment. “Maybe I would have wanted that.”

“I sense a but coming.”

“But she apparently didn’t.”

“Did you two...?”

“TMI, Jill.”

“Right, sorry,” she said, her face reddening. “It’s just the matchmaker in me.” She looked at the screen again. “Will this help find who hurt her?”

“Maybe. I looked at her profile. There were three men she had matches with. But I don’t know more than that.” He glanced at her. “Can you help?”

“Get up.”

Tapshaw sat in the chair in front of the screen, cracked her knuckles, and her long, slender fingers flew over the keyboard so fast he could barely follow the movements.

“Here are the three men,” she said.

Devine looked at the photos of a trio of handsome gents with refined features. They all looked remarkably similar.

“And here are their backgrounds.”

More key slashes and another screen came up with the bios.

“One in the theater, one in finance, and one in medicine,” he said, reading off the information. “Do you know what happened to them?”

Her fingers flashed again and multiple screens came up.

“Okay, the one in the theater posted that he’s in London working in the West End. I guess that can be verified. The businessman met his beloved on Hummingbird and is married with a newborn in Boston. Again, that can be checked. Now, the doctor.” She studied the screen, brought up still more screens, studied them, shook her head and said, “Let me try something.”

The keyboard rattled again as she attacked it. Then an obituary popped up with a picture.

“That’s him!” said Devine. “He’s dead? What happened? He was around my age.”

Tapshaw ran her eye down the page. “He was working in Chicago in a COVID ward near the beginning of the pandemic. He caught the virus and died. No wife and no kids.”

“Damn, when you think you’re having a bad day, think about people like that.”

She straightened and looked at him. “When I founded Hummingbird, I have to admit, I did it really for myself. It’s so hard to meet people and develop a relationship. But then I started thinking beyond myself.” She looked at the screen. “To people like them.”

“So, do you have a profile on Hummingbird?”

“I used to. And I got some matches. But none that really went anywhere. I think I’m resigned to building my business and then looking for someone.”

“Well, thanks for all this info,” he said. “You are a true artist with computers.”

“I got my first Apple MacBook when I was eight and never looked back.”

“I remember you telling me about your parents. Did they encourage you?”

“Oh yeah. My dad has a slew of patents he developed for companies like Microsoft and Intel. He also lectures all around the world. My mom teaches physics at Caltech.”

“Well, you clearly didn’t inherit any brains from them,” he joked. “You told me before that you had a brother?”

“Dennis. We’re twins. He’s a scholar-athlete, sort of the perfect sibling. It can be intimidating. But I love him to death.”

“Yeah, I’ve got the perfect-sibling thing going, too. It can be tough. But I don’t see how anyone can hold a candle to what you’ve accomplished.” He looked at the keyboard. “Hey, Jill, can I ask a favor?”

“Sure.”

He pulled out his phone. “I got a weird email from someone who I think might be involved with Sara’s death.”

“What?” she gasped. “Have the police traced it?”

“That’s the thing. It seems to be untraceable. I’ve had people try, including Will, but no go.”

She looked intrigued. “Will is very good.”

“But you might be better.”

“Send me the email and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Jill.”

After she left, he forwarded her the email. Then Devine took the two remaining names from Ewes’s match list and found them online. The actor was indeed in London’s West End. He was an understudy in a play there, and had actually performed in the lead role on the night Sara had died, so he was obviously out. The businessman was employed at Fidelity in Boston. Devine accessed his Facebook page by using the same skullduggery he had with Christian Chilton.

On the night Sara had been killed, the businessman and his family had been in the Netherlands on vacation, with pictures to prove it.

A total dead end.

Devine grabbed a beer, walked outside, and sat on the front porch of the town house. The air had turned cool, the sky was threaded with stars, and the quiet of the night was immensely soothing.

He looked over as Helen Speers walked up to him, dressed in a dark jacket and matching skirt, a briefcase in hand.

“You’re getting in really late. And it’s not safe to walk from the station at this hour,” he admonished.

“You do it all the time,” she retorted.

“Yeah, well, I outweigh you by over a hundred pounds and I’m a badass Army Ranger. What were you doing?”

“Working at a firm in town. Part-time until I pass the bar.”

She sat next to him and took off her high heels, rubbing her stockinged feet. “Why the sad face?”

“Just a long, shitty day, no other reason.”

“Yeah, I had one of those, too.”

“Then you could use this.” He held up the beer.

Speers took two swigs and let them go down slow. She handed the bottle back. “Need that lawyer yet?”

“Getting really close, I think.”

“NYPD any closer to nailing whoever killed that woman?”

He took another drink and passed the bottle back and told Speers to finish it. “I don’t know about that. I do know that the guy here asking me questions lied about being with NYPD. There apparently is no Detective Karl Hancock, or at least that’s my take from the reactions of the real detectives who questioned me.”

“A fake detective? What the hell is that about?”

“I wish I knew. I seem to be right in the middle of a little conspiracy.”

She shot him a look. “Are any conspiracies actually little?”

He eyed her. “Not when you’re in the middle of one, actually. You gonna do your yoga?”

“Thinking of bagging it, actually. Why?”

He gave her a look up and down, taking the woman all in; she was just mesmerizing to him right now. “I don’t know,” he lied as he looked away.

“Don’t you, Travis?”

He shot her a glance. “What?”

“You ever see me reading Braille? No. Because I’m not blind.”

She stood, put on her heels, and said, “Give me a few minutes to freshen up.”

He glanced up at her, thoroughly taken aback by this abrupt development. “You sure about this, Helen? I mean...” To Devine it all seemed sudden, but also a long time in coming, with lots of glances and sneaked looks and innuendos that danced around probably the most natural, and difficult, phenomena between two people.

“I’m attracted to you, and you to me. We’re consenting adults, are we not?”

Devine didn’t answer; he didn’t think he had to.

He gave her ten minutes and then headed up.

She was lying on the bed when he walked into her room. She had on a loose-fitting top and a pair of pajama shorts. As he slipped next to her, Speers met him with her mouth. After five minutes of feeling each other out in both familiar and unfamiliar ways, they slowly undressed one another. She pushed him flat on his back and climbed on top.

She looked at his shoulder where the shrapnel had torn through, with some of the metal still in there. She next glanced down at his damaged calf.

“Still hurt?”

“Not right now, no.”

Her lips curled into a smile. “Thank you for your service, soldier.”

He grinned back. “Fuck me, legal eagle.”

“Your wish is my command.”

Twenty breathless minutes later, she toppled off her perch and nestled beside him.

“Been a while,” she said, nicking his chest with her nails.

“For you or me?”

“Both, I think.”

“Yeah.”

Speers closed her eyes, her hand gripping his, and fell asleep.

He lay there with her for about an hour before quietly disengaging and heading to his room.

Later, when four o’clock came and his phone alarm went off, Devine didn’t budge.

The rain was pouring outside and he heard a crack of thunder. A moment later the accompanying lightning brightened his room briefly.

No workout this morning. He needed to sleep anyway. But he stared at the ceiling.

And on its surface Devine saw the image of a dead Sara Ewes. And his heart felt like it was about to break.