Devetko squinted at the photograph in the car. Rain ran down the windows and the lighting was bleary, but the overhead light was on.
"I suppose it's possible," he said after a long while.
Kristeva made a noise and took the photo from him. "'Possible' isn't quite the answer I was looking for..."
"Well, if you want me to lie and say sure, that's exactly what we just saw in the morgue..."
"You saw those markings on the neck, I figured maybe you'd see something here, too. No biggie if you don't. Just let me know if you find it compelling or not."
"Who exactly is this person?" Devetko asked instead, frowning at the photo. "And exactly how old is this case?"
"Wesley Singer. Disappeared ***, 198*."
"And you think those bones are him."
"Everything about the skeleton matches the case so far. If the necklace matches the one in the photo, then wouldn't you call that a slam dunk, or whatever stupid sports term people use nowadays?"
"If you have an ID then why didn't you inform the medical examiner...?" When Kristeva didn't immediately answer, Devetko's face grew dark. "So I was right, and this is something you're not supposed to be working on." He turned the photo over and set it down. "Lovely."
"I'd rather not jump to such a conclusion until it's set in stone," Kristeva said, half-lying. "And yes, you're right, it's a cold case and I could probably be looking into something more promising. But I told a relative I'd look into it, and the mere fact that it's a cold case is strange enough in itself. Nobody's been investigating this in years."
"Probably because there's nothing to investigate, did you think of that?"
"More like there's a lot to investigate, but it's all been locked up and hidden away. I know, because I've seen some of it. Much of the case was sealed."
Devetko sighed now and tilted his head back to look at the ceiling of the car. "I'm not even going to ask how you got a look at it..."
"Better that you don't know. But just the act of it being sealed points to something going on."
"Exactly who is this guy, then? Somebody important? Because otherwise..."
"He used to work with the MPD. An undercover detective."
Devetko dropped his head forward and looked at him, frowning again. "This guy--?" He picked up the photo and waved it a little. "This Wesley Singer person. He was a cop?"
Kristeva nodded.
Devetko looked back at the picture, seeming a bit more hesitant now. Sensing an opening, Kristeva went on. "The woman in the photo was his wife. Was left thinking he ran off with some woman and left her on her own, because nobody would bother finding out otherwise. The kid is his niece. At the moment, she seems to be the only one who gives a shit whether he's alive or not. If we ID the bones, I'm going to have to be the one to tell her he's not. And I'd really like to tell her why...but nobody has looked into that, yet. Except in some sealed records."
The other detective was silent for a moment. "It sounds weird..." He lowered the photo again. "But if they sealed the records, they likely had a good reason. They don't do something like that lightly. And it's like I said, just because they aren't looking into it doesn't necessarily mean they gave up on the case, it just means there isn't enough to look into anymore. This case is around twenty years old, what do you expect there to be left to look into by now...?"
Kristeva made the disgusted noise again and now put his own head back to stare at the ceiling. "Ugh...you're one of those, aren't you."
Devetko furrowed his brow. "One of what--?"
"One of those 'Ah-hroo-hroo-hroo, I'm by the book,' goody-two-shoes types like you see on TV all the time."
Devetko's perplexed expression started to sour. "Well, somebody has to be by the book, and not be too busy shoving people's heads in toilets to work a case they have a chance of actually solving--right?"
Kristeva actually felt a twinge at that, and bit the inside of his mouth to keep from saying or doing something he'd regret, reaching for the key instead and starting the car. "Well...it's like I said. You're always free to look into one of those cases if you really want. If you need me for anything, don't worry, I won't be in the bathroom, I'll just be chatting with the lieutenant."
He received a confused look again as they pulled out of the parking lot; apparently Lt. Kincaid's lack of interest in conversation was well known. "About what--?"
Kristeva turned the wheel and pulled out into traffic without bothering to look at him. "About getting permission to speak with somebody in state prison."
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