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He sat down on a metal bench that had been designed more for form than function. Directly in front of him, a flat screen TV mounted to the wall flipped between an ad for rooftop yoga and the status of the morning trains. Right now, all the lines had green dots beside them to indicate the trains would be running on time. Liam doubted that would last much past eight.

He called his receptionist’s office line. Even if he didn’t end up staying here all night, he’d be in no shape to go to work tomorrow. Her voicemail answered on the third ring and the message he left was brief. “Hey. I’m not feeling great. I’m going to be out Friday. Please reschedule any meetings.” (While she would get the time with the message and might think he’d been out late drinking, the nice thing about being the boss was it didn’t matter.) Then he called his business partner, David Hayes, and left a similar message.

After he watched the screen rotate a dozen or so times, Liam turned his attention to the bank of mailboxes beside the TV. 101. 102. 103. He read every apartment number up through the third floor and started again. Anything to keep from thinking about Elise’s body.

The few tenants who came in or out were rerouted through the garage, so at least Liam didn’t have to deal with them glancing suspiciously in his direction.

When the detective finally arrived, he stopped outside the building and spoke briefly with the cop by the door. He was wearing a charcoal suit and had a thick mane of gray hair brushed away from his face. The cop pointed to Liam. The detective entered the lobby and said on his way to the elevator, “I’ll be right back. Stay put, okay?”

Liam nodded and started reading the mailboxes again.

The detective sat down next to Liam. For several seconds, he said nothing. Then he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, and sighed. “That’s a real shame.” The detective waited another beat, perhaps giving Liam a chance to respond, before adding, “One of the officers upstairs tells me her name was Elise Whitman.”

It wasn’t a question, but since Liam could tell the detective was trying to engage with him, he said, “Yeah. It is,” then silently corrected himself. Was. It was Elise Whitman. Because that was what happened when you died. You were no longer anything. And you certainly never would be anything. Like Elise Parker.

Liam had never thought seriously about them getting married. They had only been dating for two months; it was too soon for those kinds of thoughts. But the fact that the possibility had been ripped away seemed unfair.

The detective nodded thoughtfully, perhaps even sympathetically, and tilted his head toward Liam. “Sebastian Wyatt,” he said. “Call me Bash.”

“Liam Parker.”

“How did you two meet?” the detective asked.

They had met at Ava’s. In fact, Elise had even been one of tonight’s six players, but had bowed out early, claiming a headache. Liam, of course, couldn’t tell Bash any of that. The games were illegal. Still, he had to say something. “A bar,” he replied. “Downtown.”

“Which one?”

More specificity. Think. “The Tap.”

“Nice place. A little out of my budget, but . . .” Bash shrugged. “So, tell me what happened.”

“Well, I knocked on her door and when she didn’t answer, I tried the handle to see if it was unlocked.” Liam shifted in his seat a little in an attempt to make the metal bench more comfortable.

“Was it?”

“Yes, it was, which surprised me.”

“Why is that?”

“Elise kept her door locked all the time.”

The detective looked past Liam at the computerized directory on the wall. “How did you get into the building?”

“There was a girl going out. She held the door for me.”

“Do you know who she was?”

“I’ve never seen her before.”

“After you got inside the apartment, what happened next?”

“I found Elise in the tub,” Liam said, uselessly trying to recount the actions without visualizing them. “I tried to pull her out. When I couldn’t, I called 911.”

“That’s how you got the blood on you?”

“Yeah.”

Liam remembered Chloe greeting him when he opened the door to the apartment. Where was she? He thought he’d seen one of the paramedics lock her in the bedroom, but he couldn’t be certain. He wondered what would happen to her. With no owner to take care of her, Chloe would probably get put in a shelter. If she didn’t get adopted, the shelter would most likely put her to sleep. Liam couldn’t let that happen. Elise wouldn’t like it.

“The dog,” he said, shifting his gaze away from the mailboxes to meet Bash’s, “can I take her with me?”

The detective frowned. “I guess so.” Then he asked Liam more questions. No, Liam didn’t know of anybody who was angry with Elise. He didn’t know if she kept a spare key with the neighbors. He was at home before he came here.

Bash ended the conversation by asking Liam if he knew how to get in touch with Elise’s family.

“I’m sorry,” Liam said, “I don’t.”

“That’s fine. I’m sure we can figure out how to reach them.” The detective gave Liam his card. “Call me if you remember anything important.”

Liam slid the card into his jacket pocket. “Detective Wyatt, you don’t think somebody . . . ?” He could barely get the words out. When the apartment had been designated a crime scene, he had figured it was standard operating procedure, even for suicides. Now he wasn’t so sure, and he didn’t want to leave wondering if his imagination was running away with him. “You don’t think somebody killed her, do you?”

“We don’t know,” the officer replied, which Liam figured was cop-speak for yes.

Fuck, Liam thought while he waited for Bash to return with Chloe. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Suicide was bad, but murder would be so much worse.

Jacob Reed

Jacob was, in all manner of ways, forgettable. Some of that was by