When No One Is Watching

The rich trumpet peals of Miles Davis billowed from the open window of an apartment. Mia noticed a shift in Gray’s posture as he slumped slightly forward. “You criminal profilers talk a lot about victims.”

“It makes some investigators uncomfortable to think about a dead body as a human being. That’s understandable. They want to distance themselves from the victim’s humanity as a way to keep from feeling horror and sadness at what the victim suffered. But in my experience, you can’t know the criminal without also knowing the victim. Sometimes that means admitting that the victim wasn’t a perfect angel. Sometimes they engage in behavior that makes them more susceptible to an attack. If we know about that behavior, we may be able to obtain a profile of a criminal who would take advantage under those circumstances.”

Gray appeared lost in thought as he chewed on the statement, gazing at the sidewalk before them. “So, hypothetically speaking, if I were trying to find the person who attacked you last summer, I should first get to know everything about you, even if that means having to air some skeletons in your closet?”

Her spine stiffened at something pointed in the tone of his question. “Yes. Hypothetically speaking.”

They stopped in front of the café. Many of the patrons were sitting outside at round wrought-iron tables with red umbrellas, enjoying the cloudless morning. “Should we dine alfresco?” Gray asked.

Opportunities to indulge in summer sunshine were rare enough that even the temptation to eat indoors, where service would surely be faster, could not dissuade Mia. “Why not?”

They selected a table in the corner, closest to the brick edifice of the café. Gray pulled out Mia’s chair, scraping the feet along the concrete sidewalk and then brushing the seat free of crumbs. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“My pleasure. Thank you for inviting me to breakfast.”

She opened her mouth to remind him that he’d invited himself, but then she remembered what he’d said the night before about her need to be the smartest person in the room. Maybe he’d had a point. But telling him that she was delighted he could join her would be a lie, so she settled on a tight smile.

With strong hands, he helped her to adjust her seat until she was comfortably at the table. Then he seated himself directly beside her. He ordered a coffee with an omelet and sourdough toast, and she ordered an oversize cranberry-orange muffin with a cappuccino. “The cranberry muffins are amazing,” she said as the server left the table. “They use cranberries fresh from Cape Cod. You should take a few with you when you leave.”

Gray didn’t respond for a time, and his demeanor darkened. Mia brushed a hand across her throat. Gray’s friendliness had vanished abruptly. Something was off. She twisted the glass beads in her necklace and looked away from him toward a group of sparrows pecking at a piece of discarded bagel. She envied those birds. If she’d had wings, she’d have flown away right then.

Then Gray cleared his throat and punctured the silence. “Mia, have you ever owned a gun?”

* * *

Gray had learned investigation techniques from some of the best cops in the department. When he was a rookie officer, his sergeant had taken him under his wing and given him morsels of advice that had proven as valuable as any formal training Gray had received. “Use the element of surprise” was one of them.

Mia looked more than surprised. She looked stunned, and then she looked furious. Her dark eyes blinked several times before narrowing, and she leaned closer and hissed, “What’s this about, Gray?”

He leaned back in his chair and held up his hands innocently. “It’s just a question. I didn’t mean to offend.”

“You startled me on my walk this morning, waiting outside my apartment like some stalker. Then you asked me without any provocation whether I knew the murdered woman, Samantha Watkinson.” She counted out his offenses with her fingers. “Then you suggested I may have skeletons in my closet and asked me if I’ve ever owned a gun.” A mirthless laugh sputtered from her throat. “I guess my question is, do I need a lawyer?”

“You’re not under arrest. You’re not even under investigation. I’m just making conversation.”

“Well, if this is how you socialize, you must not have many friends.” She thrust herself back in her chair.