On his way out of the file room, he hesitated, spotting the copying machine in the corner. Some subversive part of him had the sudden thought to photocopy the entire case file, even if only to continue looking at it in his spare time...but he then abandoned that idea, opting instead to read through it thoroughly a second time in the car, before returning to Buchanan's apartment building. He managed to get inside without needing to call up by flashing his badge at the door and then at the front desk, and took the steps to the eighth floor a second time. They went more easily this time than they had previously, as he discovered the crawling-skin feeling had returned, and just like in the shower he now wanted to punch a hole in the wall beside the apartment door. He slid the folder under it, took several breaths, and headed back down. Perhaps exercise was a better option than putting his fist through random objects.
He knew he could have saved plenty of time by just returning to the court building, but the thought of meeting the prosecutor face to face...he wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep his fist out of that other face.
When he returned to the station, he spotted a uniformed officer, DelBora, standing on the stoop, wringing her hands. She'd been transferred from the Sheriff's Department around the same time he had...he had the sneaking suspicion that Rhoades, not entirely trusting him to follow through on his own supposed mission to spy on Kincaid, had then sent her along to spy on him. None of this had worked out as planned, however, as DelBora seemed to consider him a friend. When she saw him she started waving almost frantically, like she didn't think he could see her in return.
"Where've you been?" she hissed under her breath, even though they were in the parking lot and there was nobody around to overhear. He frowned and opened his mouth to reply but she went on before he could. "Some lady showed up asking for you. I told her you'd be back soon. Thank goodness you were or I'd look like a total moron! I told her to sit and wait at your desk and you'd get to her as soon as you show back up." She pulled open the door and actually started nudging him inside. "Go on, go on, go on! Before she gets impatient and stuff. I'm just glad Chief Bowen didn't notice her waiting..."
Kristeva made a face now--she had a point, if Bowen found out he was still poking around at this case, it probably wouldn't go well--but did take the chance to gently slap away DelBora's hand--"All right, Mother"--before entering the main office.
He blinked--for some reason it hadn't occurred to him that Cheryl Singer would be the woman waiting at his desk. He fought down a grimace at the thought that, despite all the information he'd gathered since last seeing her, he still had no concrete answers to give regarding her uncle's disappearance, and no matter how good he might be at telling people he had no information for them yet, still, he always hated doing it. She turned in her chair and saw him before he could think of any way to put off having to share his lack of information, but the way her face lit up made it clear she hadn't come for an update. As he approached the desk and sat down opposite, she started digging in her purse.
"Detective. Sorry to show up so suddenly, but I've been looking and looking around like crazy, just like you asked, and I was starting to think I'd never find anything...but first off...I meant to give you this the last time I was here, it was in the folder of things I have."
She reached across the desk, holding out what looked like a family photo. Kristeva took it. He recognized Singer, sitting on some porch steps with his arm around a woman, a young girl sitting near his knee. All three were smiling at the camera.
"My parents died when I was young so Fox--Uncle Wes--and Aunt Brenda pretty much raised me," Cheryl said. "I guess that's why we've always been so close even though he wasn't my dad. I want you to have this. Just so you know who it is you're looking for." She fidgeted a little. "I know you must get that a lot..."
"No, it's all right." Kristeva opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a folder, placing the photo in it. "I'll hold on to it. Thanks."
Cheryl fidgeted a bit more, then sat up stiffly. "Oh!--right...why I came here." She fished in her purse again and this time brought out an envelope. "Like I said...I just about tore the house apart...I knew it had to be in there somewhere, I just didn't know where. I guess Aunt Brenda really didn't want me finding Fox's things...but anyway, that photo I told you about, the boy he said he was looking for, I found it. Here." And she held out the envelope, looking like she was forcing herself not to bounce up and down with excitement.
Kristeva received the envelope. "If you'd like to make me a copy instead?--we have a photocopier right over there..."
"No, it's okay," Cheryl said this time. "I already made a copy," she admitted. "And...I don't know, I just think it's better if you have the original. Since you're the one looking into the case and all." She gave an awkward cough, then abruptly stood up, so he followed suit. "That's all...don't want to keep you from anything. Just wanted to make sure I got it here before I went and lost it again. I really hope it helps, though I'm not sure how."
"It's like I said, maybe if he was looking into this as a missing persons case, the kid's name will be on file and we can locate somebody who might know more about what your uncle was up to at the time. Maybe even some witnesses. It's a long shot, but better than nothing." Cheryl held out her hand and he reached across to shake it. As he did so, he noticed her eyes drop a little, and then grow wide. She leaned forward with a soft murmuring sound, and before he knew what she was doing, she'd taken hold of something in her free hand and held it up close to her face to look at it better. Kristeva blinked on realizing it was his mandala necklace, which must have swung forward when he'd reached for her hand.
He prepared himself to give her some bullshit story about its meaning--that seemed to shut people up faster than admitting it meant nothing, because everybody always assumed that everything meant something--but when her eyes started glistening, and she tilted her head and smiled at it a little as if she already knew the story, his voice failed him. She met his eyes again and her smile grew.
"Detective...I'm so, so grateful you're taking my uncle's case seriously. I don't know when somebody last did that. You're the only one. So I appreciate it, I really do." She let the mandala go and gently patted it against his chest. "Just...please don't let this case consume you, all right? I know how it can be with cops...I know you'll be giving it everything you have. Just try not to lose yourself in it, okay?"
Kristeva just stared back at her, unable to think of anything to say. Cheryl smiled again and offered a small wave before picking up her purse and exiting the room. As if out of reflex, Kristeva glanced toward Chief Bowen's office windows, but the blinds were drawn. He looked back toward the exit and Cheryl was gone. After a moment he sat back down with the envelope in his hands, staring at the door as if he expected her to return. He turned back to his desk and to the still-open folder with Singer's family picture in it. He'd thought he'd put it back in the desk drawer, but had apparently not gotten the chance. He flipped the cover closed and opened the drawer but then let go of the handle, flipping the folder open again and leaning over it for a closer look. Something he hadn't noticed before had caught his eye.
The photo was old, faded and tinted and slightly blurry, with slight damage and nicks all over it; he squinted at first, then opened another drawer and dug around in the mess until he located a bar magnifier. He placed this on top and slid it down until it reached the space below Det. Singer's neck. He was obviously off duty and dressed casually, jacket and shirt and jeans, but there was something else there as well. Kristeva wasn't sure why he'd suddenly noticed this now and not before, but now it seemed incredibly obvious. Singer was wearing a necklace. Something small and circular and shiny.
Kristeva took hold of his own necklace and held it forward, even though he knew its design by heart, and looked between this and the photo. The image quality was too poor to know for sure what the design was. But Cheryl's reaction...
Without even thinking about why he was doing it, he let go of the necklace, and now rolled up the left sleeve of his jacket, which he hadn't had the chance to remove yet. The tattoo design there--which he'd presumably gotten at the same time as the one on his shoulder, during a period which he no longer recalled--stared back up at him. A stylized fox head.
Kristeva stared at this for a moment before rolling the sleeve back down and shutting the folder. His heart felt like it was creeping up into his throat, and he had to swallow a few times to force it back down. Perhaps Cheryl's advice had been right...perhaps he was letting this get to him too much.
He took a breath and let it out, and dumped the folder and bar magnifier into the desk drawer and slammed it shut. Out of sight, out of mind. He swept the envelope toward himself and opened it, deciding to focus on this instead, since at least it would serve more purpose than dwelling on whatever the rest of this weirdness was.
When he pulled the photo out, it was facing away from him--nothing was written on the back, no date or identifying information--so he turned it over, and got his first look at this mystery child, the boy Det. Singer had apparently been so obsessed with helping that he'd almost turned his back on his own family, and had ended up going missing.
Kristeva stared at the blurry black-and-white image of the boy with the wide pale eyes.
He knew that face.
It was the same face that stared back at him out of every one of his own childhood photos.
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