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“Dalton and MacGyver Security, Mac and Jack Investigations, JacGyver Consulting, any of these ideas sound familiar?”
- Christmas Eve Will Find Me
ImpossiblePluto
After spending the months after San Diego holding his breath, waiting for things to go back to normal, Mac’s surprised that he still hasn’t gotten there yet.
A year after being shot for, although not the first time in his life, by far the worst. And things still feel like they’re never going to be normal again. If asked a year ago, Mac would’ve thought that it just needed a bit of time. Three, four, maybe six months if he was feeling generous.
Not a year.
And even then, things aren’t back to normal.
Mac’s chest still bothers him and there are still days when it feels like he can’t lift his left arm all of the way up. Mac continues to have nights riddled with nightmares about salt water and darkness in the same way that Jack’s sleepless nights rarely improve.
Mc’s aware that these things take time.
He just thought it would be less.
That by now everything would be the same as they were before.
Uncovering affairs, sneaking into apartment buildings, and making a living out of bothering people until they reveal something crucial. Now Mac’s spending time wondering if his dad got his letter, Jack won’t take his eyes off of the top left of Mac’s chest, Bozer’s girlfriend has all but moved into the house, and Riley rarely comes over anymore.
Nothing like how it was before.
And it’s all Mac can do to pretend that things are. Maybe if he can start with his job, everything else will fall into place.
Laptop balanced on his legs, Mac takes a few sips from his mug and begins to look through his inbox. Due to the hiatus after Mac was shot, they have little word-of-mouth that they had carefully built up over the years, which means that emails are pretty much the only way Mac’s going to find them a client.
It feels a bit like their first few cases after they got home from Afghanistan. Before they helped out the Davis’ and Riley repaid them by making a decent-looking website.
Just Mac and Jack, scrambling to get by, adamantly refusing to do anything else. They either stuck together in LA as private investigators or go back to Texas and work on the ranch.
No in-between.
A knock on the door scares Mac out of his thoughts, coffee sloshing out of the mug and staining his long-sleeved shirt. Hissing at the temperature, Mac moves his laptop onto the cushion next to him as fast as he can once he’s deposited the mug back on the coffee table. “Shit.”
There’s another knock, and this time Mac twists to look at the door, as if he’s going to be able to see through solid wood. “Gimme a second,” He mumbles to himself, sleeves finally cooling down to a temperature that doesn’t feel like his skin is going to melt off.
Truthfully, Mac has no idea who could be at his door. The last time Jack actually knocked on his door was years ago, and even Riley has gotten into the habit of just letting herself in. Bozer has a key, and Mac’s pretty sure that Leanna has one now as well.
And as sad as it sounds, that’s about everyone that Mac knows. Everyone that knows where he lives, at least.
Opening the door, he frowns. “Hello?”
The man in front of him smiles at him with wide eyes and a grin that just makes Mac want to take a step back. “Hello. I have a job for you.”
He doesn’t even blink when he talks, and this time, Mac does take a small step back. “Uh, sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Oh, but I’ve heard so much about you, Angus.”
“I go by Mac,” Mac replies without thinking twice. He then frowns. Everything on their website has Mac’s name as his nickname, and on top of that, they haven’t taken any clients at the house since the first couple of months. The option hasn’t been there in years. “And, sorry, do I know you?”
“No,” The man replies, as if it was silly to even ask. “But I’ve heard just great things about you and your work as a PI. I’m… impressed.” The way that he says it puts a sour taste in Mac’s mouth.
Running his right hand over his eyes, Mac tries, “Okay, um, if you think that you could be a potential client, we have a little survey to do, you can find it on the website-”
“I won’t be doing that.”
“Then I can’t help you.” As far as weird clients go, he’s currently on his way to the top.
Sighing, the man continues, “I’ve been known as a bit of a luddite. I’m just not a fan of computers, and whatnot.”
“Okay.”
“I’d really appreciate it if you gave me a chance. There’s a colleague—friend, really—who’s gone missing on me, and I’m rather worried about him. I figured you could help me out.”
With a sigh, and the pleasant surprise that it doesn’t bother his chest, Mac gives a nod. “Okay. I can ask my partner and then decide whether or not to take your case. Can you give me a little more information?”
“I’m afraid not. Not unless you’ll help me, that is.”
The man is infuriating, but if Mac’s going to be taking his money within the next few days, it’s in his best interests to not act like it. “Uh, okay. Can I get a phone number for you?”
“For you? Of course.”
Really, Mac would just like to be done with this man. “So, you said your friend went missing? Do you have any ideas of where he might be? Or why?”
“Well, he owes me, you see. And when I went to go… collect on that, he jumped ship.”
“You said he was a colleague, does he work for you or do you work together?”
“A bit of both, I suppose. Now, I really don’t want to say much else until I know you can help me.”
Against his better judgement, Mac gives a tentative, “I’ll see what I can do. But if it’s a missing person, you really should go to the police.”
“I’ve considered it. But I believe you’ll be of more assistance to me.”
Nodding, Mac reiterates, “Like I said, I’ll talk to my partner and we’ll see what we can do. Can I, uh, have your name?”
“Of course. You can call me… Murdoc.”
“Egh. What a creep.”
Mac shrugs. “I mean, yeah, but the case did sound kind of interesting.”
“The dude came to your door, Mac,” Jack counters. “In the biz, we call that a red flag.” Adding to the dramatics of it, Jack takes a long swig from his mug, raising his eyebrows as Mac continues to watch him. “Red. Flag.”
Using his chin to point, Mac asks, “What’s in the mug?”
“If I said ‘coffee’ would you be mad at me?”
The words make Mac shrink down. “Why would I be mad? You know I’m not mad at you for having insomnia, right?”
“Yeah, ’course.”
“Okay. Good.”
“Good.”
Sighing, Mac sinks down into one of Jack’s kitchen chairs. “So, you wanna take the case?”
“Like I said, the man seems like a creep. He didn’t even give his full name?”
“Nope. Just ‘Murdoc.’”
“Also creepy.”
“Oh, c’mon, don’t tell me you’re judging names now? What the hell does that make me?”
“Weird,” Jack replies, “But you already knew that. If you wanna take the case, I’ll work it with you. But I want it on the record I don’t like the fact that he came to your house.”
“All of our clients used to.”
“Yeah, used to. They don’t anymore, and there’s a reason for that.”
Rolling his eyes, Mac replies, “C’mon, it’ll be a bit of excitement. A fun new case like the ones we used to take.”
“Fine. But only because missing persons are fun.”
Mac snorts. “Don’t say that in front of a cop.”
“Pshh, as if I’d say anything in front of a cop.”
“Dude, when you’re drunk you’ll talk to anyone about anything. It’s almost like a superpower. A really, really lame superpower.”
“Punk.”
Grinning back, Mac fishes out his phone to call back their new client. They’ll meet up with the man and find out the best way to handle a case like this. Something fun.
“So, you ever decide to keep looking for your dad?”
And just like that, any lie that Mac was telling himself is sucked out. “What?”
Glancing to Mac’s watch, Jack shrugs, “Just wonderin’. Kinda left Mission City fast, and you’ve been avoiding all of my questions about it.”
“I guess it’s more of a secondary thing. Passively looking for him.”
“What’s that even mean?”
“You know,” Mac awkwardly answers, hoping that the cryptic answers will work in his favor for once. “Just kind of deciding to look for him when I have time. But if I’m doing something else I won’t.”
“Hm.”
Mac crosses his arms. “Have something to say about it?”
“No.”
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
“It’s nothin’,” Jack says, shaking his head. “I hope that you find him.”
“Yeah, well. Me too.” Clearing his throat, Mac awkwardly looks away. Talking about his father has never been an enjoyable experience, but right now, he’d rather scale down Jack’s apartment building without the fire escape stairs. “Anyway. Want to meet up with this Murdoc guy? Get a bit more information?”
“Yeah, man. Just lemme get dressed and I’m good.”
“Are you going to be weird about it?”
“Why would I be weird about it?”
Mac snorts, incredulous. “Uh, you’ve been calling him a creep for the past ten minutes. Maybe don’t say that in front of the client.”
“Fine, fine, I won’t say it in front of him.”
“Or in the vicinity.”
“Or in the vicinity,” Jack confirms. “But I reserve the right to call him whatever the hell I want when it’s just between us.”
As Jack walks down to his room, closing the door behind him, Mac shakes his head before raising his voice. “Why are you so adamant that he’s creepy? You’ve never even met him!”
“He came to your house!” Jack shouts back, and Mac can hear a few dresser drawers open and slam back. “That’s weird, man. How’d he even know where it was?”
Mac shrugs, before realizing that there’s no way Jack could see it. “I dunno. We used to have it on the website. Maybe he knew someone who knew it.”
“Still weird.”
Dropping his head on the kitchen table he sits at, Mac groans. “Oh my God.” He really doesn’t want to deal with this for the entire case. “Just get pants on so we can go!”
“Ah,” As soon as Murdoc sees the two of them, he greets them with, “And Jack Dalton. The partner.”
Exchanging a glance, Mac nods. “Uh, yes. We’ve decided to take the case, so right now we’re just going to want to get as much information as we can. That way you won’t have to hear from us until we’ve found something.”
“Or someone,” Murdoc murmurs.
“In this case, yeah. Or someone.”
Jack sits with his back straight and legs taking up far more space than necessary, and Mac holds in an eye roll. Using tactics to appear bigger and scarier than he really is isn’t the best way to introduce oneself to a client, but Jack’s been acting weird since this morning.
On the plus side, it appears that Murdoc is just watching Mac.
“So who’s your colleague that went missing?”
“His name is Henry Fletcher,” Murdoc replies, a scowl coming to his face as soon as the name comes out of his mouth. “And he owes me, so it’s of utmost importance that you find him.”
Mac’s used to finding family members for worried siblings or parents, and the occasional granddaughter, so he can’t help but feel a little out of place. Most people are worried about what could’ve happened, or scared that there could be some nefarious reason why a family member is gone.
But in front of him is a man with an annoyed face spitting angry words. It’s clear that he isn’t trying to find his colleague out of the goodness of his heart.
“What does he owe you?”
“It’s personal.”
It’s not like Mac can argue about that.
Beside him, Jack clears his throat. “Where’d you last see Fletcher? When’s the last time you worked together?”
“I saw him here, in LA, two weeks ago. I checked his home, but he’s vacated. Though I can’t imagine he’d go far.”
“What makes you say that?”
Murdoc sighs, long and drawn out, gloved hands flat on the table, before answering, “Henry as a few… mutual acquaintances here. He knows too many people to just up and leave.”
Even though he doesn’t turn his head to look back, Mac can very clearly see Jack’s glance in his direction. The story that they’re being fed can’t possibly be the whole truth. But, instead of calling him out on it, Mac asks, “Where did you two work?”
“A private company,” Murdoc answers, voice sharper than it was a second before. A warning to not press. “Owned by myself. So I’m sure you can understand why it’s so important for me to find dear Henry.”
Jack puts on a nice smile. “Of course.”
“Now,” Murdoc says, “I’m sure this is all you need, hm?”
It’s barely any information, but Mac’s well past understanding Jack’s previous statement of the guy being a creep. He’s happy to just take what they have and go from there if it means spending less time around Murdoc. “We can work with this, yes.”
“Excellent.” Smiling at him, in the same way that he did in the morning when Mac opened his front door, Murdoc adds, “Now, I had scheduled a vacation with my son before all of this occurred. I’d hate for it to be… delayed.”
“We’ll work as fast as we can,” Jack assures him. “You’ll hear from us, hopefully soon, Mr. Murdoc.”
He doesn’t volunteer a first name. “Good. A pleasure to meet you.”
“You too,” Jack replies with a smile so fake Mac wants to slap him.
The two of them stay at the table while Murdoc stands to leave, dropping a few bills at the counter for the tea he bought and drank approximately one sip of. Watching him leave, and the door close behind him, the two of them stay silent and still.
Eventually, Jack is the one to break it, picking up his mug and muttering, “Creep,” under his breath before taking another swig.
This time, Mac’s not as inclined to argue.
Riley lets the two of them in her apartment without asking any questions, but Mac stops as soon as he’s stepped foot in. “When’d you change your living room?”
“I dunno,” She shrugs, closing the door behind them. “Like a month ago? I thought you knew?”
Frowning, Mac shakes his head. Sure, he’s not often over at Riley’s place, but it feels like something that he should’ve already noticed.
“Anyway, not that I mind, but why’d you guys decide to come here?”
“Leanna’s at our boy’s house between her shifts today,” Jack replies, clapping a hand on Mac’s good shoulder. “Figured a missing persons case wouldn’t be a nice background conversation for her.”
“Wait, I thought she and Boze were gonna move out?”
“They’re just looking at places for now I guess,” Mac answers.
Riley frowns for a second, but it quickly morphs into disinterest and she shrugs. “Huh. Anyway, what’s the case? Missing persons? Does that mean we get to compete with the cops for evidence? Sneak around under the badge?”
“You’ve watched way too much TV.”
Grinning at Jack’s words, Mac shakes his head. “No police report. We’re looking for one Henry Fletcher. According to our client, he disappeared about two weeks ago.”
“Okay,” Riley nods, making her way over to her couch and pulling open her rig. “Lemme see what I can get on him.”
As she works, Jack pulls Mac over to the far side of the kitchen. “Man, I don’t like this.”
“I mean, okay, he’s a little weird. But he’s a paying client. We’ve helped weird people before.”
Jack rolls his eyes. “Yeah, not like this. I’m tellin’ you, this guy is bad news.”
“You’re jumping at shadows, Jack.”
Looking behind his shoulder at Riley, ensuring that she’s still working on her laptop, Jack drops his voice. “He was packin’, Mac.”
“What?”
“Shh!”
Rolling his eyes, Mac quietly asks again, “What? I saw him leave, he wasn’t.”
“You haven’t been in the business as long as I have.”
“Jack. We literally have been doing this for the same amount of time.”
“Nah, nah nah nah. When I was CIA, we were trained to see things like this. “Back right, this Murdoc guy had a pistol.”
Mac trusts his partner implicitly. It’s how their partnership is able to work, just the two of them, after all these years. But he also knows that Jack hasn’t exactly been at his prime in the past year.
Neither has Mac, but he’s not the one who’s grasping at straws.
“I watched him leave, too. I didn’t see anything.”
“C’mon, Man. Trust me on this.”
Mac sighs. “I’m going to say something that you’re going to hate me for, okay?”
“Oh, c’mon man, I could never hate you.”
“How much sleep did you get last night? This past week?”
Jack scoffs back, looking away. “Mac. Tell me you trust me. I know what I saw.”
Even exhausted and hurt, Mac’s seen Jack pull off the impossible when they were down range. A few sleepless nights on either of them shouldn’t change their partnership. With a breath, Mac nods. “Okay. Yeah. I believe you. I just- I don’t know why I didn’t see it.”
“I don’t like what we’re getting into here, Mac.”
“It’s just a case. It’ll be done in a week and then we can put it all behind us.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jack mutters. “Just promise me you’ll be extra careful this one, okay? I don’t like this.”
“We’ll be fine.”
Before Jack can find another way to express his hatred of the case, or more specifically the client, Riley calls out, “Found him. Well, not like, found found him, that’s your job, but I found him online.”
With a pat on Jack’s shoulder and what’s hopefully a reassuring smile, Mac makes his way to the couch. Jack’s a few steps behind him. “What’d you find?”
“Henry Fletcher,” Riley announces, turning her laptop towards the two of them. “Public profile on the California Department of Education website.”
“He’s a teacher?”
“Elementary school,” She confirms.
“Huh.”
Sliding the laptop back towards herself, Riley looks between the two of them. “What?”
“Our client didn’t exactly look like the type of guy who hangs around elementary school teachers,” Jack replies. “With his freaky gloves and long jacket. It’s not even that cold!”
“Or act like someone who hangs around teachers.” Mac takes a breath. “What’s his salary? Fletcher’s?”
“Seventy thousand. Ish.”
“So not enough to live here.”
“Yeah, probably not.”
“Does he have a spouse or something?”
Shaking her head, Riley replies, “Not that I can see. And all of his family is dead.”
Jack, looking about as unsettled as Mac feels, deepens his frown. “Can you tell us where he lives?”
“Gimme two seconds.”
Moving to sit back down, Mac grabs the junction between his left shoulder and neck out of habit. “What’re you thinking, Jack?”
“I’m thinkin’ that we need to pay this Henry Fletcher guy a visit.”
“He’s not gonna be there.”
“Fine. Pay his house a visit.”
Without looking up from her screen, Riley asks, “What are you trying to find?”
“I don’t know yet. Whatever we end up finding, I guess.”
As Riley continues to work, making her way into the CDE system, Mac tunes out their conversation. Mac knows that there’s something here, but he just can’t place it.
He’s no idiot- Mac knows that whatever it is Henry owes their client can’t be good. If they’re lucky, it’ll just be money, but Mac’s pretty sure that it’s something far less legal. Maybe drugs, but if Henry’s a teacher, then it’s likely he’s only the middle man to whatever they’re involved in.
Between drug testing and background checks, there’s no way that Henry could be the one handling the drugs. If there even were any involved.
It could be something darker.
Human trafficking or something similar, maybe harboring a secret that could land Murdoc in jail. The possibilities go far and wide, and without any more information that their client could’ve given them, Mac’s hands are metaphorically tied.
There are just too many things that they could be dealing with.
“Mac, got your camera, you ready?”
“Yeah. Wait, for what?”
Rolling his eyes, Jack replies, “A little breaking and entering, you know how it goes. Some fun to spice up and otherwise boring day.”
“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” Riley murmurs decide them.
“Okay, yeah,” Mac stands up, grimacing when his arm falls down from the motion. There’s no way that Jack didn’t see the way that he was holding his shoulder.
The way that he has been for months, despite the fact that the injury doesn’t always cause him pain anymore. Only when the weather is bad, or when he’s slept on his left side by accident, or when he uses it too much the previous day, or when he keeps his left arm extended out for too long.
It’s not even hurting him right now, yet his body automatically goes to brace it.
And it’d be fine if Jack wasn’t always there. Mac knows that Jack’s still torn up about San Diego, even more than he is. And the fact that Mac’s adding to whatever’s going on in his partner’s head is nauseating. He never wants to be the center of Jack’s nightmares.
“Vamanos, kid. You take as long as my great uncle to get off that couch.”
On his way to the apartment door, Mac gives Jack a friendly shove. “Shut up.”
Once the classic rock station is coming through the GTO’s speakers, Jack rests a hand on the steering wheel and looks over. “So, what’re you thinkin’? ’Cause I, for one, got my money on just that. Money.”
“If he owed him money, why wouldn’t Murdoc just tell us that?”
“I dunno. It’s probably comin’ from something illegal. Maybe bettin’ on things they shouldn’t.” The light turns green, and Jack looks back at the road. “We are technically obligated to tell the police if we uncover anything illegal, so people aren’t exactly jumping at the chance to tell the tales of their illicit activities.”
“That’s never stopped some clients before,” Mac snorts. “And it’s not like we even go to the police for anything.”
“Yeah, but he don’t know that.”
“I guess.”
“What, do you not believe me?”
Mac doesn’t confirm or deny, but instead replies, “I just don’t think it’s money. With the way that Murdoc was talking-”
“What, creepily?”
“I think it’s something more sinister.”
“Sinister like what?”
“I have no idea. That’s why we’re about to break into Henry Fletcher’s home.”
“Yay, us,” Jack lamely replies, even though Mac knows he’s excited.
They both chase adrenaline, whether or not either of them admits it, and breaking into a house easily fulfills it. Jack’s plenty happy to go across town and do some questionable activities, especially when Mac’s right by his side.
When they pull up to the neighborhood, Jack whistles, long and low. “Nice place.”
“Houses here are definitely well over a million,” Mac agrees. “Not exactly the type of place I would imagine a school teacher to be. He lives alone, right?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s a two-story house- there’s gotta be like three or four bedrooms in a place like this. Why would one guy who lives alone need a place this big?”
“I dunno,” Jack replies, cutting the engine and taking his out his keys. “But that’s where the fun comes in, right?”
Mac grins back.
Now that the unsettling feeling of their client has finally dissipated, Mac’s excited to finally start working on another case. The rest of his life’s problems, from his shoulder to his dad, seems to slip away into nothing.
Jack casually places himself between Mac and the rest of the cul de sac, watching and waiting for anyone to question their actions while Mac picks the door. His camera hangs across his chest and under one arm, case still on, but ready to be picked up at a moment's notice.
There’s a good chance that a house this nice will have some type of electronic security system, but Jack trusts Mac enough to deal with that as well.
Worst comes to worst, they’ll call Riley and she’ll work her magic from her end.
“Got it,” Mac announces, slowly opening the door, wincing when a shrill beeping comes online. “Hold on, hold on, gimme a second.”
“Didn’t ever doubt you.”
Using the flat end of the large blade on his SAK, Mac carefully peels the plastic casing off of the indoor security system until he gets to all of the wires underneath. From there, he just needs to loop the signal until it thinks that the door is closed again. More specifically, that the front door was never opened in the first place. “Come on,” He mutters, wishing his fingers were just a tiny bit smaller.
Finally, the noise stops, and he and Jack both look up at the ceiling, as if waiting for it to come back. After another few moments of stillness, Mac finally drops his hand from the keypad and sighs.
“Phew. Cuttin’ it a little close there, Mac.”
“Nah.” Mac moves to look at his watch, but frowns when all he sees is the broken head of his dad’s old watch. Instead, Mac pulls his phone from his back pocket. “I had two and a half more minutes until the system made an automatic call to 911.”
“Comforting.”
“I try.”
Running his fingers over the back of a nice looking couch, Jack asks, “So what are we looking for?”
“Anything, really. Maybe if we’re lucky we’ll find a safe or something.”
“Man, when have we ever been lucky?”
“There have been times.”
“Name one.”
Mac pauses, before shaking his head and waving a hand in Jack’s direction. “Afterwards. We gotta focus.”
“See? You can’t even think of a single time!” He replies with a chuff.
Rather than give more fuel to Jack’s unlucky fire, Mac replies, “I’m gonna go check out how things look upstairs. You good down here?”
Turning back to the living room, Jack mutters, “Upstairs is always more fun.”
The words are usually right. The more private rooms of homes typically have the things that people don’t want to see, which means it’ll be exactly what Mac’s looking for. The secretive parts of people’s lives have always been the most exciting for Mac, even when he wasn’t a PI.
Now, he just has an excuse to go snooping around.
In the master bedroom, there are a few books on the nightstand, cheap mystery novels that remind Mac of the books found in airport bookstores, and an empty glass of water. A pair of reading glasses, a lamp, and a clock complete the alarmingly average picture.
Mac checks the closet for any safes or keys to other parts of the house, but all he finds are clothes. And speaking of, in the corner of the room, the laundry basket is half-filled.
He takes a peak in the bathroom, only to find more normal things. A tube of toothpaste that’s almost empty and a single toothbrush on the counter. Over the counter medications in the cabinet, plus an orange prescription bottle of Lisinopril for high blood pressure.
The man could hardly be more boring.
With the master bedroom a bust, Mac heads into the second out of the three rooms upstairs, frowning at the hallway decorations. So far, he hasn’t found a single photograph in the house of any family member or friend. Not only does Henry live alone, but it appears that he keeps to himself in the other parts of his life as well.
The next room gives Mac absolutely zero information. It looks like a guest room, bed all made up, clean enough that no one could’ve been living in the space beforehand. And with the way that Henry left in a rush, clothes in the basket and toiletries still in the bathroom, this room reminds Mac of a hotel. Perfectly manicured for the next person to come in.
Quickly losing hope, and excitement, Mac makes his way into the third room on the floor.
And immediately stops short.
“Jack!” He calls down the stairs, hoping that his voice carries.
“Yeah!”
“You, uh,” Mac takes a tentative step in, shoulders rising. “You might wanna look at this!”
His partner shouts something back, probably a question of some sort, but Mac can’t tear his eyes off of the bed. Or, more accurately, the semi-automatic lying on top of the duvet like it’s waiting to be tucked in.
Moving the cover off of the lens of his camera, Mac holds it up and snaps a few pictures from the doorway.
Feet bounding up the stairs, Mac hears Jack come to his side a second later. “Dude, what’s with the- oh. Yeah, okay. So, uh, that’d fucking explain it.”
“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that whatever Fletcher owes our client, it’s not anything good.”
“Oh, yeah?” Jack sarcastically asks back, “Wonder what made you say that.” Walking closer, Jack inspects the weapon further, and nudges a few casings on the floor with the toe of his boot. “This ain’t a gun a civilian can have.”
“Figured out that one by myself, thanks,” Mac replies, moving beside Jack and taking a few more pictures, this time of the casing. “That’s a lot of bullets.”
Standing and turning back, Jack points to the doorframe. From inside the room, there are about a dozen holes three-quarters the way up, littering the left side of the frame. “And that’s where they went.”
Mac takes a few pictures of the frame. “Head height. If he was the one shooting the gun, Henry was looking to kill, not maim.”
“Mac, if you’re shootin’ a gun like that, you’re never lookin’ to just hurt. This ain’t used for self-defense.”
Letting the camera fall back on the neck strap, Mac reaches out to the bullet holes, fingers catching on the fraying paint. “Who do you think he was shooting at?”
“Will you be annoyed if I said our client?”
“Why would I be annoyed?”
“You got tired of me callin’ him a creep,” Jack points out.
Dropping his arm, Mac turns around. “Okay, well, rest assured, I won’t complain anymore. Whatever Murdoc dragged us into, I’ll be glad to be done with it.”
“No kiddin’.”
Now with a purpose, Mac walks back towards the bed.
“What do you see?”
“Hold on,” Mac mumbles back, frown plastered on his face. Carefully, he counts each of the little metal casings, and even gets on his hands and knees to check to see if any have rolled off the bed or somehow gotten sandwiched between the bed and dresser. “Twenty-eight.”
“Huh?”
“Count the holes in the wall,” Mac replies, doing his best to look out on the door in the same way that the gun would’ve been pointed. “I’m gonna go check the hallway to see if there are any more bullets out there.” Depending on the angle that which the gun was shot, there’s a chance that bullets could’ve been embedded on the wall of the staircase, making their job much harder.
While Jack counts to himself behind him, Mac checks the walls that lead out of the room, doing his best to keep an eye out for bullet-sized holes in the wall. He finds a total of four, and they all look the same shape and size.
He’s no ballistics expert, but Mac still takes pictures of all of them, planning to take them back to Riley to see if she can cross-reference the holes to see if they’re all from the same gun.
Mac’s pretty sure that none of the bullets would’ve gone further down the stairwell, but Mac checks just in case. And now that he’s keeping an extra eye out, everything seems to be popping out at him.
A wooden handrail that looks disturbed in some places, drywall that has an indentation.
And a small streak of blood.
Grabbing his camera from his neck, Mac snaps a picture. He’ll have to do a bit of research to figure out what kind of story that blood splatter tells, but Mac knows it’s going to be worth it.
After he makes his way back up to Jack, Mac announces, “I found four more bullet holes and a bit of blood. How many did you count?”
“Twenty-three.”
Mac squints. “There’s one more casing than there are bullet holes.”
“And with that blood you found, I’m willing to bet the last hole is in Mister Fletcher.”
A slow nod explodes into Mac dashing out of the room. “Hold on-”
“Whoa, okay, use your words, man,” Jack mutters, chasing after him. “C’mon. What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”
“Now that I know what to look for,” Mac replies, awkwardly trailing off as he gets to the kitchen, “I think I can…”
Standing a few feet away, Jack watches as Mac opens the trashcan and cuts a hole in the bag. “Oh. Eugh- that is ripe.”
“Yeah, it’s at least two weeks old.”
“Do you just not have a nose?”
“No, see—I mean, yes, I have a nose—but look!”
“I don’t wanna look at what this guy ate two weeks ago, Mac.”
Rolling his eyes, Mac replies, “It’s blood. Couldn’t see it from the top, because he covered it with other, normal trash items. But look at this.”
This time, Jack does. And although it’s just as disgusting as he thought it would be, bloody gauze and paper towels are packed in as well.”
“So he’s hurt.”
Mac nods, but then sits back. Without thinking, he lets his hand drift back up toward his left shoulder. “I don’t get it, though.”
“Get what?”
“Why would he go so far to cover up bloody gauze if he was just gonna leave the gun out on the guest room bed?”
“So someone wouldn’t know he’s hurt?”
Mac frowns. “Maybe. I’m gonna check something. Be right back.”
“Yeah, I’ll come with you.”
“It’ll just be a second.”
“Mostly coming because I don’t want to sit next to bloody garbage,” Jack answers, rolling his eyes. “Lead the way, young padawan.”
“Oh, wait- while we’re down here, we need to grab some flour.”
Mac’s grateful that by now, Jack doesn’t even question his ideas. Or if he does, it’s not enough doubt to actually stop Mac from going through with it. These days, Jack’s doubts are just him teasing.
After putting a tiny bit of flour on the handle of the weapon, Mac blows it off and looks as close as he dares. “No fingerprints.”
“Okay?”
“No fingerprints, and Henry—at least probably Henry—hid the bloody gauze. He doesn’t care if his house is a crime scene, as long as it can’t be traced back to him.”
With a breath, Jack stands back on his heels and nods. “Doesn’t want to be involved in whatever the hell he’s obviously involved in.”
“Yeah.”
Mac chews the side of his mouth for a few seconds, hand drifting back up to his shoulder. The house gave them a lot of clues, but it also raised more questions. There’s not a clear-cut answer to where to go from here.
As if reading his mind, Jack asks, “Wanna check hospitals?”
“I don’t think he’d go to one,” Mac replies, but nods anyway. “But it’s worth a shot, right?”
“I mean, unless you got any other ideas, I think it sure as hell is. But first, lunch.”
The two walk out of the house, and Mac pauses before he pulls out his tools to relock the door. “You just watched me rummage through bloody garbage and you want lunch?”
“You kinda stole me away from breakfast, dude. Besides, I’m not the one who went through the bins. I just watched.”
The lock slides into place, and Mac sighs. “Fine. But I’m calling Riley along the way.”
Phone pressed to his ear, Mac watches the man behind the counter at the sandwich shop. One of his favorite places to eat, which is why it’s so strange to see the person assembling ingredients. He’s somewhat friends with the owners, an old married couple who’s delighted by Jack’s Texan drawl and enamored with how young Mac is, but he’s never seen this particular employee before right now.
However, before Jack can comment on the look on his face, Riley picks up. “What’s up? What’d you find at the house?”
“Uh… a lot?” A little too much to explain over the phone while Jack buys them food, but Mac figures that he can catch her up some time later. “Anyway, I need a favor.”
“When don’t you?” She teases back. “What is it?”
“I’m gonna send you a few pictures, and I need you to ID the gun in them.”
“Gun? Are you okay?”
“Oh, yeah. Whatever went down was weeks ago. Probably.”
After a beat, Riley replies, “Alright. Anything else?”
“Can you get your facial recognition program to search for Henry Fletcher? We think he might’ve stopped by a clinic or hospital recently.”
“Can I get my- oh my gosh, Mac, you have no idea how programming works, do you?”
“Uh, no?”
“It’s fine, it shouldn’t take me too long, given that the CDE already has information and pictures on him. Oh, and hey, speaking of my facial rec program,”
“Yeah?”
“Still nothing on your dad. But it’s always passively running, so if he’s ever around the area, I should get a hit.”
Looking back on it, Mac wishes that he never asked Riley to help him with that. He’s grateful for her, no doubt about it, but there are times when he wishes he could just forget about James for a little bit. Or a lot of time. “Oh. Okay. Well, thank you. And thank you in advance for looking at the pictures I’m gonna send you.”
“Yeah, no problem. I’ll call you if I have something, ’kay?”
“Got it. Bye.” Sliding the phone back into his pocket, Mac sits down on the booth seat across from Jack. “I called Riley, gave her a bit of an update.”
With a nod, Jack replies, “Good,” Before tossing a bag of chips over to him. “Eat up. Gonna be a couple of minutes.”
“Unlike you, I think I can handle waiting.” Still, he opens the bag and grabs one.
While the two of them eat their chips, waiting for actual food, Mac sighs. There’s something about this case that’s just plain unsettling.
“You got that face, hoss.”
Mac looks up. “Huh?” He wasn’t even aware that Jack was watching him. “What face?”
Instead of answering, Jack pinches his eyebrows together. “Is your shoulder botherin’ you?”
“No? Why?”
“You look uncomfortable.”
“Jeez, okay.”
“No, I mean, not like in a bad way,” Stuffing a few more chips in his mouth, Jack tries again, “I’ve seen this face before, and nothing good happens with it.”
Mac sighs. “It’s just the case. It’s… I don’t know. Unsettling. It’s not like we haven’t worked dangerous cases before,” And that’s not even counting San Diego, “But there’s something about this one that just isn’t sitting right.”
“I’m tellin’ you, it’s the client. I don’t like him. Who doesn’t even give their full name? And I had Riley check while we were over- according to his footprint on the ’net, Fletcher don’t know anyone with the name of ‘Murdoc.’”
Their sandwiches arrive, each in a cute little basket that Jack’s determined to buy for Mac and Bozer, and they both give their thanks. Jack reaches for his, but Mac still can’t shake the feeling of things being off. “Okay, so maybe if we find Fletcher-”
“When,” Jack interrupts, mid-bite. “We’re gonna find him.”
“When we find Fletcher,” Mac corrects, “We don’t tell him that his… ‘colleague’ is after him. Deal?”
“Deal. If those two have automatic weapons I don’t wanna get between them.”
Finally, Mac reaches for his food. “The thing is, I think we might’ve already.”
Mac can’t sleep.
He wonders if this is how Jack always feels.
Tossing over on his left side again, Mac sighs into his pillow.
He’s not hurting, per se, but his body is distinctly uncomfortable. Everything feels a bit stiff, and his head feels heavy.
He’s not feverish or anything as dramatic as that, but he feels warm. Like the sheets are sticking to his body, but not enough that anyone else would be able to notice.
Every part of Mac’s environment that needs to be satisfied in order to sleep feels uncomfortably off. And there’s not much that Mac’s able to do to fix it.
He’s tossed and turned for hours, flipped his pillows over four times a piece, and nothing has helped.
He can’t get his brain to turn off. It’s just buzzing around, waiting for a question to latch on to and begin solving.
Mac wishes that he and Jack had some list of cold cases that he could work through on nights like this. Or maybe even something as simple as a logic puzzle book would be good enough.
At this point, Mac’s willing to try anything.
Rearranging the blankets over his legs again, Mac frowns up at his ceiling.
The case still doesn’t sit with him right.
Maybe he doesn’t need any cold cases to keep his brain moving. Maybe the current one will be just fine.
Murdoc told Mac and Jack that he didn’t think Fletcher would go far because he knew people in the area, but his house was void of anything that would indicate a family or friends, and Riley couldn’t find any living relatives.
So Murdoc was probably lying about the family part, but there’s got to be something in LA that Murdoc thinks would keep Fletcher nearby. And in order to find him, Mac has to first figure out what it is that would make a man like Henry Fletcher stay in-state.
A puzzle to mull over tonight.
“Damn, Mac, when’d you get up?”
Jerking up from where he was focused on his laptop, Mac frowns at the light streaming through the windows. Last he checked dawn hadn’t even begun. “Huh?”
“It’s like, six-thirty, and no offense, but you usually sleep in more than me. I have an early shift so I gotta go soon, but, uh, you okay?”
“Yeah,” Mac nods, before a single shake of his head, “No, I’m great, actually.”
“Okay,” Boze slowly replies. “How much sleep did you get last night?”
“Just because someone’s dead doesn’t mean that they’re actually dead.”
“What? Dude, I’m gonna call Jack.”
Mac was just about to. “Yes. Do that. I need to talk to him- I think I know why he’s still here.”
“Who? You know what- never mind, I’m calling Jack.”
Finally, Mac feels like he’s getting somewhere in this case. It’s not just collecting evidence and reporting back to their client. This time, they have to do all of the work. And Mac has finally gotten past the most difficult part.
He knows exactly why Henry would stay in the area, even after his life was threatened.
A plate of toast is set in front of him, and Mac gives Bozer a look. “What’s this?”
“Food? Man, you’re freaking me out. Did you get any sleep last night?”
“Couldn’t,” Mac admits, unaware of Bozer’s frown that appears a second later. “Was working the case. And it was worth it.”
“Okay,” Bozer replies, drawing out the syllable. “Listen, Mac, I gotta go to work, but Jack’s gonna be here in a few minutes. Just, you know, to let you know.”
“Alright. Thanks- thank you for the toast.”
“Yeah, man.” Bozer continues watching him for a few seconds but eventually turns out the front door, locking it unnecessarily behind him.
If Jack’s going to be here in a couple of minutes there’s really no point in locking the door.
And sure enough, Jack appears in front of him in what feels like no time at all. But he has the same look on his face that Bozer had.
And when Jack opens his mouth, practically the same words come out. “You okay, bud?”
“I know why Henry’s still here.”
“I mean, that’s good, but Mac, you kind of look like shit.”
Taken aback by the words, Mac gives an indignant huff. “What?”
“Did you get any sleep?”
“Bozer asked the same thing.”
“Yeah? And what’d you tell him?”
Shaking his head, Mac replies, “I just couldn’t get this case out of my head. If Murdoc was telling the truth, and Fletcher is still in the area, I needed to figure out why.”
“So you didn’t get any sleep ’cause of it.”
“Yeah, but Jack,” The fact that he didn’t get sleep is not the takeaway of this conversation. At least, it shouldn’t be. “Just because Riley couldn’t find any relatives doesn’t mean that there are none.”
“What? Also, this whole sleep problem thing isn’t over.”
Fine with Mac. They can deal with it once the case is over. Once it’s been solved. “When you’re in danger, what do you worry about most?”
Rolling his eyes, Jack says, “Mac, I don’t got time for your weird questions.”
“Just answer it.”
Jack throws up his hands. “I dunno!”
“It’s me, isn’t it?”
It’s not like it’s a secret to anyone that knows them, but Jack looks surprised for a few seconds that Mac not only knows it, but is willing to say it. Apparently, Jack prefers the unspoken to stay that way. “Man, what are you gettin’ at?”
“Given what we found at Fletcher’s house, it’s pretty safe to assume that he’s in danger regularly, right?” Jack opens his mouth to respond, but Mac continues before he has the chance to. “He’d want to protect his family if he was in constant danger, because you could pretty easily assume that whoever was after him would go after his family too, right?”
“Yeah, but Mac, Henry’s got no family. Riley checked.”
“But what if he does?”
“What?”
“And has them hidden away? Away from anywhere that someone could find them?”
“Riley found death certificates.”
“Those can be forged.” Looking up at Jack with wide eyes, Mac can feel a small smile grow on his face. He’s finally figured this case out. “We both know that they can be forged.”
Standing beside him, Jack stays silent. Thinking over Mac’s words to determine whether or not they’re probable or if they’re just some sleep deprived, manic idea.
Mac thinks his ideas could probably be classified as both.
Eventually, Jack crosses his hands. “Let’s say you’re right. How the hell are we going to find his relatives if they’re dead? That means absolutely no trail.”
“Maybe not,” Mac agrees, “But Fletcher is still alive and well. He’ll have a trail, even on the run. Look, if he had family somewhere, he was keeping them close- that much is obvious. We can find places where someone could bunk that are near his house and the school he worked at. From there, we could have Riley try and find people on security cameras.”
“Alright. Fine. But first, you’re eatin’ something.”
While Mac lounges on the couch, tiredness finally catching up with him, Riley’s sitting straight up, typing as fast as Mac’s ever seen her. Jack put a blanket over his legs at some point, and it has convinced his brain that it’s now time to sleep.
If he were feeling any better, Mac would tear it off.
“I’ve hacked into county records before,” Riley murmurs, voice more distant than usual as she focuses on her work, “But never to find a dead person. Who exactly am I looking for?”
“When did Fletcher’s parents die?”
“What, do you think I’m just on Wikipedia?” Taking her eyes off of her screen, Riley gives Mac a look. “Listen, to find this stuff out, I have to first figure out who his parents were. That’s already hard to find—do you know how many people have that last name? So then I’m searching for birth certificates, trying to find names on that, and believe me when I say birth records from forty years ago are not good. And then once I have their names I have to cross reference them to death certificates, except I’m only checking in one county right now, so if they didn’t die, or fake die, or whatever, in LA, I have to slowly expand-”
“Mac’s sorry,” Jack interrupts. “For assuming it was so easy. But please, Ri, we’re on a bit of a time crunch. As soon as Fletcher realizes that we’re after him, he’s gonna jump ship.”
She continues glaring at the two of them for a few more seconds, before murmuring, “Fine. But I want it on the record that I’m not just googling stuff for you guys.”
Mac gives her a smile. “We know. And I know how hard you work.”
“Damn right I do. This is just- I need a bit of time to figure this one out, okay?”
“No rush,” Jack promises her. “Take all the time you need. Mac, maybe you wanna take a nap while she works?”
“I mean, I probably won’t take that long-”
“Shh!”
Glaring at Jack, Mac replies, “See? It’s not gonna take that long.”
Quickly covering her tracks, Riley awkwardly adds, “Uh, well, you know, it might. Things could go wrong. Take- even take an hour?”
This time when Mac looks up at Jack, he has a smile on his face. “I hate you two.”
“To bed you go!”
Looking around at the home, Mac elbows his partner. “This is the type of place I’m gonna send you when you get old.”
“You’re gonna be joinin’ me with words like that, slick.”
Huffing a laugh, Mac rolls his eyes until they reach an employee. “Hi, we’re looking for a woman named Anne Brooks?”
“The woman stares at both of them for a second. “What’re y’all here for?”
“We’re private investigators, ma’am. She’s not in trouble, we just need to talk to her for a few minutes.”
“Hm.” The woman doesn’t look impressed with either of them. “Well, if it’ll save any time, I can tell you right now that Anne doesn’t exactly get out much. Had a stroke a few months back and really only talks with her son these days. Isn’t really sound in the head, even on the good days.”
Jack smiles at her. “Like we said, it’ll just be a few minutes.”
After getting the room number and another strange look, Mac and Jack make their way toward Fletcher’s late mother. Only she’s very much alive, despite what county records list.
The door is open, but Mac knocks on the side of it to announce themselves. “Anne Brooks?”
With a groan, she murmurs back, “My name ain’t Anne.”
What would normally be a musing of an old and senile woman to anyone else, Mac and Jack know the truth. “No, it’s- it’s Carla, isn’t it? Carla Fletcher?”
Her face doesn’t change, but she does give a slow nod. “No one calls me that anymore.”
“We have a few questions about your son that we’re hoping you could answer,” Jack says, using the gentlest voice that he can. “About Henry?”
“Yes,” Carla nods. “Henry. He comes on…” Squinting, she slowly continues, “Tuesday. He calls me ‘Anne’ too.”
There’s no way in hell that the two of them could explain to her why her son, and consequently everyone else around her, has started calling her a different name. Definitely not in the amount of time that they have. “Has your son visited the past couple of weeks?”
“Yes,” Carla replies, sounding a little confused by the question. “Yes, he comes on Tuesday. He comes here to see me. And he calls me ‘Anne.’”
“Okay,” Mac nods, giving her a smile. “That’s really helpful for us, thank you so much.”
“What day is today?”
“Uh, it’s Saturday, ma’am.”
Carla nods back. “My son comes on Tuesday.”
“I’m sure he’ll be excited to see you,” Mac replies, glancing at Jack for a split second. “We’ll, uh, we’ll get out of your hair now. Thank you.”
As they get out to leave, Carla says one last thing. “Can you tell them my name?”
This time, Jack’s the one to give the placating smile. “Of course.” However, once they get out into the hallway, Jack turns toward Mac and shakes his head. They’d cause way too much trouble if they showed proof that one of the residents in here is going by a different name.
Now, back in the car, Mac lets his head rest back on the seat. “There’s just something that doesn’t make sense.”
“Nothing about this case makes sense, dude. I’m so ready for it to be over.”
Mac gives a small laugh. “Me too. But I just don’t get it. If Fletcher was that good at faking deaths and making the rest of his family disappear, why not do it with himself? He’s registered in the state of California under his own name.”
“Red herring?” Jack shrugs. “So people like Riley wouldn’t immediately see what he’s up to? If he had gone by a different name, Ri would’ve instantly noticed. This way, we ran around chasing our tails for a few days.”
Finding no flaw in Jack’s logic, Mac gives a sigh back. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Don’t believe me?”
“No, I believe you,” Mac replies, pressing his hand over the scar on his chest. “Like you said, nothing about this case makes sense.”
“At least we found the guy.”
“Not exactly.”
“We know when and where he’s gonna be. Take the win.”
“I know, I know.”
Taking a hand off of the steering wheel to emphasize his point, Jack continues, “We’ll just put this case in the rear view mirror and get some sleep and never look back. Deal?”
“Sure. Deal.”
Rubbing his scar, Mac sighs again. “Is it bad that I’m dreading having to talk with our client again?”
“Totally not. The dude’s a creep. I could just do it, if you want?” Jack looks over for a split second, trying to catalog Mac’s face in the short amount of time. “No harm, no foul.”
“No, it’s fine. We’ll both do it. Something about professionalism, right?”
Jack snorts back. “Professionalism. I doubt that word has ever been used to describe us.”
With a smile, Mac looks over. “We can start now, then.”
Taking a deep breath, he drops his hand back down to the seat. Fatigue has finally caught up with him, but instead of making him antsy and irritable, it’s just making him tired.
The case is over, and the two of them don't have to solve any more problems or deal with anything else until the next one. Right now, they can just take a breath. “I’m so glad this case is over.”
By the time Jack pulls into Mac’s driveway, his kid’s leaning against the door, mouth slightly canted open in sleep.
For the first time in weeks, he looks relaxed, and Jack can’t help but grab Mac’s camera from the back seat and take a few pictures. Times like these need to be savored. “Sleep tight, kiddo.”
Murdoc looks just as creepy and unsettling as he did the first time Mac saw him. And the second.
And he’s wearing leather gloves in a coffee shop, which is just plain weird. His hands curl around the cup like if he let it go for a single second someone would take it and run.
“I can only assume that we’re meeting because you found him, is that correct?” Rather than look between the two of them, which is what most of their clients do, Murdoc only stares at Mac.
Watches him would be a more accurate description, Mac thinks, feeling more than a little scrutinized. The man barely blinks. “We know where he’s going to be,” Mac replies, looking away from his eyes as soon as he can. “But to be transparent, we haven’t actually seen Fletcher for ourselves.”
“Yes, well, he was always quite slippery, wasn’t he?”
The past tense isn’t lost on either of the men, and Mac and Jack exchange a look. “He’ll be at a nursing home on Tuesday afternoon,” Jack says, putting on yet another fake smile.
While Jack announces the address and gives a better guess on what time Fletcher will actually be there, Mac looks at their client. Despite the fact that Jack is speaking to him, Murdoc continues to look at Mac, a small smile coming to his face.
Though he must’ve still been listening, because once Jack’s finished, Murdoc echoes the address back. He doesn’t bother to write it down anywhere, instead electing to keep his hands around the mug. “Now, payment, I assume, comes next?”
“It’ll have to come at some point,” Jack mutters, glancing at Mac when he’s elbowed for it.
Over the past couple of years, Mac and Jack have gotten accustomed to more electronic checks than anything else, as well as the occasional physical one. A few IOUs when they help out a friend. Other than a few tips, they rarely get bills.
Which is maybe why it’s extra strange when Murdoc tosses a wad of cash secured with a metal clip on the table, pushing it toward the two of them. “I assume this will cover everything.”
Carefully picking it up, Jack frowns. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“Well then, I believe we’re done.”
“Yeah,” Jack says looking back up. “I think we are.”
Murdoc stands, straightening the collar of his jacket with the motion. “It was a pleasure hiring you two. Especially you, Angus.” A small sliver of teeth is revealed when Murdoc gives him a grin.
And with that, he leaves.
A few other patrons inside the shop watch him leave, clearly just as unsettled as Mac feels.
“We are never working for this guy again,” Jack mutters. “Never.”
When Mac gets a call from Riley on Wednesday morning, he dreads picking up. They’re not on a case, and if she was just calling about something random, she would’ve texted. Which means that it can really only be about James, and the last thing Mac wants is to think about his dad.
He’s finally gotten a good night's sleep the past two days, and he doesn’t need conversations about James to ruin it.
On the other hand, it’s not like Mac’s about to leave one of his best friends hanging, so he answers the phone. “Hey, Riles. What’s up?”
“Mac.”
“Whoa, is everything okay?”
“I’m gonna send you an article, and you can look at it after we hang up, but listen to me.”
“Are you okay? Is your mom-”
“Everyone’s fine. But Mac, Henry Fletcher? The guy you wanted me to find for your last client?”
“Yeah?”
“He’s dead.”
Mac sits straight up on the couch, back cracking with the sudden motion. “What?”
“And he’s not just dead-”
“What does that even mean?”
“He was like- okay, listen, I saw an article that a teacher had died and I clicked on it and it turned out to be Fletcher, but the article didn’t say how, and I was curious, you know-”
“Riley, just tell me.” He’s not trying to be rude, but Mac knows that’s what it comes across as.
He can hear her take a breath. “Um, he- I think he was gutted?”
“Hold on-”
“Like seriously, I read it- I hacked into the LAPD and read the mortician’s report, and Mac- it was horrifying. And you know I’ve seen stuff.”
Slowly, Mac’s back curls back up. His knee is bouncing when Mac stutters out, “What- what was it? What happened?”
“His entire body was in shreds. Literally, his guts were- they were not inside his body, Mac. And there was a blade in his eye, and just- it was awful.”
Mac takes another breath. “And they know it was Henry Fletcher? Like for sure for sure?”
“Yeah. For sure.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah. And Mac, that’s not all.”
Shaking his head, knowing full well that Riley can’t see him, he quietly asks, “What else?”
“They have no idea who did it. There wasn’t a single fingerprint on his body. He has defensive wounds like he struggled, but there was no other DNA on his body. Under his fingernails, on the blades- nothing.”
“And my client was always wearing gloves. Covering every part of his body but his face.” Mac can hear Riley’s breaths on the other end. “Have you told Jack?”
“Not yet.”
“Okay. Don’t.”
“Mac-”
“I will. I’m going to.”
“Okay. Be safe, okay? I don’t- they don’t know who it is, but you do. So please, stay safe.”
“I will,” He promises. “I’m gonna call Jack now. We’ll call you later though, okay?”
“Alright. Bye.”
With shaking fingers, Mac hits Jack’s contact information. He picks up on the first ring. “Jack? I think we just got someone killed.”