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Luckily, the drive to the hospital isn’t long, but Detective Daly’s visit keeps me occupied. There are too many questions in my head right now, and luckily, the captain wasn’t buying it either. This guy must have thought I was fucking born yesterday; however, I do need to see those two reports first before I jump to conclusions.
I don’t knock, stepping into the hospital room. I raise an eyebrow at the bouquets scattered around the room. Raising a sarcastic eyebrow to Strode, he just shakes his head.
“Admirers Strode?” leaning into one of the bouquets, I smell the roses. “Red roses, fancy.”
“Give it a rest, kid. It’s too fucking early for your sarcasm.” He jokes, rising in his bed slightly.
Walking over, I prop a pillow behind his back and hand him a glass of water before taking a seat.
“Captain told you I was awake, huh?” he asks, placing the water back on the side.
“Yeah, he said you were off trying out for the Olympic team first.”
Both Strode and I break out into a hearty laughter, made even worse as his clutches his side in pain.
“Jesus fucking Christ, they throw you around. I don’t know what they were expecting from me, but shit! I think that was worse than being shot.” He jokes.
“Maggie been around?” I ask.
“Yeah, I told her to head home for some sleep. She looked tired, and I think we both needed some space from each other.” He smiles.
“Think she’ll stay this time?”
Strode gives me a small smile as he shrugs. The look in his eyes tells me he’s hopeful. But we both know what he’s like, and Maggie is a strong woman. She won’t put up with his shit.
“Who knows? She offered to stay a few weeks at the house.”
“That’s a good start.”
“Yeah.” The hopeful looks passes over Strode’s face, replaced with one of determination. “So, what’s happened?”
I let out a heavy sigh, neglecting to tell him about my part in Alex’s disappearance. I relay the story from earlier today with Detective Daly and the captain. As I do, his face pales, and an almost brooding look ghosts across his features. As I finish the story, he’s silent and looks away.
“What is it?”
Strode’s runs his hand across the white stubble on his chin. His shoulders sag slightly. He forgets he’s been my partner for so long, I can tell when something is bothering him, so I ask again.
“Strode.” His eyes finally meet mine. “What is it?”
I watch as his eyes flicker. Wetting his lips, he pulls himself a little higher in the bed, resting against the large pillow for support.
“Did you notice how Detective Daly was working sex crimes and now working missing persons?” He cocks his head to one side.
Sitting back in my seat, I mull over the question for a moment before answering with the most obvious answer.
“It’s not for everyone. Most detectives only stay a couple of years or so. It’s a tough gig.” I say.
“It is, but Daly was only there nine months at the most.”
My brow furrows, leaning forward in my chair. I eye Strode curiously.
“How do you know?”
“Cops talk, we both know that. I remember hearing about the case from a couple of buddies down at the bar one night. They thought it was odd: one detective catches both cases, both girls go missing, and it’s the same story?” He quirks a brow, giving me a knowing look before continuing. “Some of the ones with a darker sense of humor started calling him the strangler, implying he got rid of them.”
“But why would he do that?”
“Because people like to joke and assume the worst, but there was no proof, and it was all just an ugly rumor that spread across the precincts. Eventually, he was moved along to missing persons, but whether that was at his request of the brass, I’m not sure.” Strode shrugs.
