Face of Murder

“Yeah, well, we do get them,” John laughed, finishing his drink. He was clean-shaven, but there was a spot just under the bend of his jaw on the left that he had missed, a tiny piece of stubble. “I bet you get a lot of that in your line of work, too. Idiots, I mean.”

“You could say that. Although I have been known to think they are the people who work alongside me, not the people we arrest, at times.”

“Ouch,” John said, but he was grinning. “Office politics?”

“Something like that.” Zoe would normally stop there, but something made her want to go on. Maybe it was John’s wonderful narrative skills brushing off on her. “I have a hard time keeping a partner. I am not great at not telling people what I think of them to their face, and apparently you are not supposed to do that in the workplace.”

John’s eyebrow quirked. “Oh, dear. Am I about to find out what you really think of me?”

Zoe waved a hand. “I have not known you long enough yet to form a fair assessment, but I am of the opinion that you are an excellent storyteller, at least.”

“That’s good to know.” John took a handful of nuts out of a small dish in the middle of the table and started crunching his way through them. His arms muscles flexed. Zoe had already noted previously that he must have been a regular gym-goer. “So, what’s your partner like at the moment? Is he hard to get on with?”

“She,” Zoe corrected, then shook her head thoughtfully. “Actually, I get on with Shelley better than with anyone else so far. She is not an idiot. She is a lot quicker than I gave her credit for at first, even. And she has such a perfect little family. Really. She is a wonderful person.”

John made a face. “She sounds boring.”

Zoe laughed briefly. “Fortunately she’s not. She can be fierce at times, too. In short, she is a far better agent than I am.”

“But you’re smarter than her.”

Zoe cocked her head. “I did not say that.”

“You didn’t need to.” John tossed back another nut and swallowed it before continuing with a twinkle in his eye. “I can tell. You’re the smartest person in any given room you walk into, aren’t you?”

Zoe flushed a little. “I would not… I mean…”

John waved a hand. “Don’t be modest. Anyway, tell me about this case. Something’s happened between you and your partner that you don’t know how to deal with, right?”

“You are perceptive.”

“You’re talking about this woman like she’s the best thing since sliced bread, but you’re obviously struggling in some kind of way. Or you wouldn’t have accepted my invitation.” Zoe opened her mouth to protest, but John cut her off with a short shake of his head. “It’s okay. I don’t mind how I get you here, so long as I can charm you while I’ve got you. That way I might have a shot at date number three. So, what’s the problem?”

Zoe hesitated. There were a lot of things here that she could not talk about, not without getting into trouble. But there were things that were already in the papers—things that other people would already know.

“Did you hear about the killings on campus this past week?”

John’s eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up. “That’s your case?”

“Yes. And we have a suspect in custody.” Zoe drew in a heavy breath. “Unfortunately, not only am I sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that this suspect is innocent, but I also have a close personal connection with them. Which means…”

“Which means that no one is going to take your word for it, because they assume that you’re too close to see the big picture.” John shook his head. “That sucks. Listen, do you want another drink?”

Zoe paused, thinking about how the martini was already swimming in her system. “I will take a soda.”

She was expecting pushback, but John nodded respectively and got up. “School night—no heavy drinking. Got it. I’ll be right back.”

When John returned, Zoe was quite surprised to find that she had been waiting for him. That she was eager, indeed, to tell him more.

Perhaps John’s skill was not just in telling stories, but also in listening to them, because she did tell him more. She told him all about Dr. Applewhite, minus a few details—like her name, the exact nature of the evidence against her, and the diagnosis that she had helped bring about. She even ended up telling him about getting emancipation from her mother as a teen, about how she had supported herself for a long time. And when she was done with that, she circled back around to her original point, and the equations—which had been mentioned openly in the press—that she was trying to solve.

It was only when she finished this part of the story, and looked up to see that the bar was almost deserted, that Zoe realized she must have been talking for quite some time.

“Oh, I am sorry,” she said, embarrassed suddenly by her loquaciousness. “You must be tired of hearing me talk by now.”