Detective On The Hunt

“I was first in my academy class in pursuit driving,” she said, “but motorcycles make me scream like a girl. Way too exposed. All the protective gear in the world can’t really protect you. Give me a four-thousand-pound cage wrapped around me any day.”

She took his grunt as agreement before turning her attention to Lois’s list. It was shorter but had more commentary. Like Quint, she knew most of the kids’ parents and had filled in ages, vehicles and job information. She dedicated an entire paragraph to one Alexander Benson: oldest of three kids, twenty-six, arrests for bar fights, possession, reckless driving, driving under the influence of drugs and alcohol, harboring a fugitive—his sister—and three counts of assaulting a police officer. All three times, he’d gotten between a relative and the cops trying to arrest said relative. Where Maura and Mel went, he followed.

He went by the nickname of Zander, and he was definitely, according to Lois, the boy our mothers warned us about. Bad boys. Every town had them, and every good girl managed to meet them.

“Do you know Zander Benson?” Then, remembering his comment, she teased, “Or should I ask if you know his parents?”

His gaze narrowed again, almost as if from habit. “Yeah, I went to school with his dad. Hank had better things to do than spend every day in school, so he went to class when it suited him. He was a senior when I started my sophomore year, and he was still a senior when I started my senior year. He did manage to graduate that time. Marisa was sitting in the audience, holding Zander and pregnant with number two.”

That image could have been inspiring. She loved underdog stories, people who never gave up until they achieved their goal. After three senior years, Hank had graduated, but had it really been an accomplishment, or had the school given him the diploma so they could be done with him? If his son was anything to judge by, probably the latter.

“I’m guessing marriage and fatherhood didn’t turn Hank into father of the year material.” Though her cynical cop side snorted at the idea, she believed it was possible. Hank could have learned his lesson about the value of education and staying out of trouble. He almost surely would have wanted better for his kids. It happened. Sometimes. On occasion. And Zander and his sister might have simply rebelled.

“Nah, Hank’s still the overgrown idiot he was back then, and Zander’s just like him. Too lazy to work, likes his drugs and his booze, rude and surly and looking for someone to take it out on.”

JJ rolled one corner of the paper tightly, smoothed it, then rolled it again. “So Maura’s best friend is rude, obnoxious and disrespectful, and her other friend is rude, surly and finds trouble everywhere he goes. Not that Maura didn’t have obnoxious and surly friends at home, but they came from money. They were just like her.”

“You mean they were her own kind.”

That sounded ugly and made her nose scrunch and her mouth wrinkle. “I don’t mean they were better because they were rich. God knows, that’s not a plus for most of them. Just…they all had money, so none of them took advantage. One day it was Maura blowing five grand on a party, but the next time someone else stepped up. They took their turns.”

“But none of these people—” he gestured toward the lists “—have money, which would explain why $100,000 a month is no longer adequate for her expenses. Friendship doesn’t come cheap.”

A pang twinged around her heart. Was that what Maura had sunk to? Buying friends? She was a pretty girl. She’d been taught perfect manners, all the social graces. She would be as comfortable at a White House state dinner as a regular person was at McDonald’s. She was smarter than average, had an enviable prep school education and all the potential in the world. And yet grief and sorrow had led her to a spot where she had to pay big bucks for the barest of friendships.

“My dad used to joke that he and Mom had me so my sisters would have someone else to torment, but now they’re my best friends. They drove me crazy—still do on occasion—but they also stood by me, no matter what. If Maura had had a brother or sister to lean on, to grieve with and recover with, maybe…” Maybe that brother or sister would have been her rock. Or maybe he or she would be floundering with her, dragging her even farther down.

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