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I don’t know what’s behind his hesitation. There are many things I don’t understand about Xavier, but this is one I find myself thinking about more than others. It’s not that it bothers me that he doesn’t want to participate in the searches. He has been absolutely instrumental in several of my cases and Dean’s as well. And some of those have involved looking for people who are missing. It isn’t his job and he doesn’t have to participate. He could absolutely say he just feels like being at home with his cereal and the only thing it would change would be who would be responsible for checking in on him.
It’s the resistance that gets to me.
He bristles when he hears about someone hiring Dean to look for someone they say has “disappeared,” but who seems to have actually just stepped out of the client’s life. If there’s any indication the person is in danger or dead, Xavier will throw himself into the search. If the client is just chasing someone, he doesn’t want anything to do withit.
I want to know the story behind that and I don’t. I already know about so much that he’s been through and I selfishly can’t bear the thought of putting any more of those struggles into my mind. I don’t want to look at him and see more scars. But one day, I’ll know. I just feel it. There will come a time when Xavier feels like that part of his life, whatever it is, would be valuable for me to know and he’ll offer it up. Like everything he offers that way, it will come without fanfare or emphasis. He’ll say it like he would say anything else and it will be up to me to absorb it.
Xavier once described me by saying that some people make themselves known and try to take control like a tornado. Loud, violent, and impossible to ignore only because it batters things into submission. But not me. I’m the thunder rumbling in the distance that makes people take cover on a sunny day.
I think of him in much the same way. He doesn’t need theatrics or drama. Xavier whispers and the universe leans in to listen.
And that’s why I know exactly what I’m going to ask him to do for me in thisinvestigation.
“Detective Garrison,” I say, holding a hand out toward Xavier. “I want you to meet Xavier. I think he would be very interested in hearing more about your thoughts on Reginald Merriweather and Mary Ellen Conner’smurder.”
It isn’t as easy to get in touch with Mike as I want it to be. Garrison gave me his home phone number and I called several times only to get an answering machine that was full. After that, I tried to find the last place he worked, but couldn’t seem to locate any other job before he became director of Camp Hollow. Mike is young, but not young enough, like the campers and the youngest of the counselors, for this to be his first venture into the workforce. His age aside, I highly doubt whoever hired him would be comfortable with him taking on that much responsibility as his first job.
Which led me to wonder what he was doing with himself before camp started, other than lobbying for the session to happen. And also—who was he lobbying to?
Up until now I hadn’t thought to ask who actually owns Camp Hollow. Whose decision was it ultimately to openagain?
With that question in the back of my mind, I went for the last-resort option. Which is how I find Mike jogging around his neighborhood, a bright yellow Walkman hooked to the waistband of his shorts and his ears covered with headphones. Sweat glistens on his reddened skin and the exhaustion on his face makes me wonder how many laps he’s done.
He doesn’t look pleased when I glide up beside him. A good part of that might be that I’m in a Cherry Hill PD squad car, as Sam has our car as he visits the schools in town. I’m sure it’s going to be a while before Mike is able to see a police car and not immediately get defensive. Again, to the department’s credit, it isn’t like he was just plucked off the side of the road while he was doing absolutely nothing wrong. He was trespassing and also attempting to enter a secured crime scene. Not great things happening there.
But having occasionally been on the receiving end of negative police attention and knowing what it’s like to sit in a squad car with handcuffs on, I can commiserate with him at least to a degree. He takes several steps back away from the car while yanking the headphones off. I tell the officer driving to stop while I roll the window down and Mike ducks down slightly to look in atme.
“Hi, Mike,” I start, trying to sound as cheerful and unlike I’m moments from arresting him as I can. “I’ve been trying to get in touch withyou.”
“Agent Griffin? What are you doing here?” heasks.
He glances around with the distinct expression in his narrowed eyes that he doesn’t like that I know where he lives or that I showed up here. He seems to be looking for other cars or possibly for officers on the ground who are about to rush him.
“I told you, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you. But you didn’t answer, so I came to look for you. And I found you!”
He turns back to the window. I don’t think the cute, breezy effect I was going for is really coming through for me.
“I’m jogging,” he grumbles. “When I’m under stress, working out helps. And things have been pretty damn stressful the last fewdays.”
“Yes, they have. Can you hop in the car? I need to talk to you for aminute.”
It’s an abrupt response, but he feels squirrely. It’s like any second he’s going to bolt and disappear into the bushes somewhere. I’ve got to get him somewhere contained as quickly as possible. He gives me an unsurelook.
“What do you want to talk to me about?” he asks. “I thought we’d already gotten through the whole thing about me going onto thecampgrounds.”
“That’s not what this is about. As of right now, Detective Garrison isn’t pursuing pressing any trespassing charges onyou.”
“As of right now?” he asks, not exactly sounding convinced this conversation is going in a good direction for him.
“There’s always the possibility,” I shrug it off. “But I highly doubt the trespassing issue is going to get brought up again. You weren’t damaging anything. It was just you, and you cooperated with us in terms of not trying to run away or put up a lot of resistance when the officer took you intocustody.”
“I didn’t really have a lot of choice,” he points out.
“You always have a choice. People get violent and aggressive all the time when they are arrested. You didn’t do that. You let them put you in cuffs and you sat and waited in that car, and that is appreciated by every law enforcement officer out there,” I say with a smile.
Mike looks at me with slightly furrowed eyebrows. I realize I probably sound like an after-school special and I need to tone it down a touch. I’ve recently been working on taking a slightly gentler approach than I have in other instances in my career, trying to build a good rapport and not let myself jump all over my first thoughts and ride them throughout the investigation. It’s supposed to be easier on everyone involved, including myself, but it doesn’t seem to be working out for me in this situation. I’ve learned and grown quite a bit in my years of service to the Bureau, but at my core I’m still the Emma who clamps hard to an idea or a suspect and won’t let go, making snap decisions about people involved in cases, and looking at everyone through suspicious eyes.
“Alright,” Mike sayscautiously.
