CHAPTER 31
The hospital greeted them with the sterile breath of its corridors, the heavy smell of medication, and the persistent crackle of old fluorescent lights overhead.
They approached the reception desk. A young woman sat behind it, focused on filling out some paperwork. Hearing their footsteps, she looked up.
"Good afternoon," Lake said calmly.
"Good..."
She faltered.
For one brief moment, her gaze seemed to linger on his face. Then it quickly traveled lower, over his figure.
She immediately looked away in embarrassment and tried to straighten up.
"Good afternoon," she repeated with a shy smile.
Parker caught the name on her badge.
Lily.
"We need to look through an old entry in the visitor logs," Lake said, taking out his badge. "From November, ten years ago. Is that possible?"
"Y-yes... of course."
She took the badge a little too quickly, glanced at it, and almost immediately handed it back.
"Just a second... I'll call the archives."
Lily reached for the phone.
As she dialed the number, for some reason she looked at Aaron again.
Just for a moment.
Then she turned away.
"In the meantime, you can sit... have a seat..." She gestured toward the nearby couch.
Rick cast a barely noticeable glance at Aaron.
As if sensing it, he looked back, and Rick immediately lowered his eyes behind his lashes.
There were only three empty seats left on the couch.
Billy took the one at the end first.
Rick sat beside him.
Aaron was the last to sit down.
On his other side sat an elderly man, engrossed in something on his phone.
"You know, these three days without you have been terribly boring!" Billy began with a sigh. "I mean, we caught Cooper, but nobody can even go in and talk to him. I'm climbing the walls. I wanted to interrogate him too, but the sheriff wouldn't let me. Instead, she buried me in paperwork until yesterday evening, and then..."
Billy continued animatedly, but Rick wasn't listening.
He suddenly became acutely aware of his knee barely touching Aaron's thigh.
There was nowhere to move.
On one side sat the never-ending Hong, and on the other—Lake.
He could feel the warmth of Aaron's body even through the thick denim of their jeans.
Rick took a slow breath.
And stared straight ahead.
The snack machine suddenly seemed incredibly interesting.
Anything.
As long as he didn't look to the right.
"...and I thought that if we looked for matches in the old cases, we'd find something they had in common, and then..." Billy kept rattling on.
All of Rick's attention remained fixed on that tiny point of contact. The barely perceptible touch of their legs had somehow become painfully obvious.
At that moment, the elderly man beside Aaron finally stood and slowly wandered toward the examination rooms.
There should have been noticeably more space now.
Lake would surely move over a little.
Any second now...
Any second...
But he didn't move at all. Their legs were still barely touching.
Rick gently nudged him with his knee.
Just slightly.
More a hint than an actual attempt to move him away.
The response came almost immediately.
An equally light nudge.
Rick's breath caught for a moment.
He nudged him again. A little more insistently.
The response came without delay. Lake gave his knee the same barely perceptible push in return.
Aaron was staring somewhere ahead, as though he, too, were studying the vending machine intently. Not a muscle moved on his face.
Only a second later, he calmly folded his arms across his chest and leaned back a little more comfortably against the couch.
His shoulder immediately brushed lightly against Rick's.
Now there were two points of contact.
Rick slowly turned his head toward him.
He looked just as composed as ever. Only the corner of his mouth betrayed the slightest twitch.
Their eyes met.
Something dropped inside Rick's chest.
"Hey!" Billy leaned forward and waved a hand in front of their faces. "Are you two even listening to me?"
Rick blinked.
Only then did he realize Billy had already been staring directly at them for several seconds.
"Huh...?" He coughed awkwardly, trying to hide his smile. "Yeah... Of course."
Billy narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"So what was I just talking about?"
Rick opened his mouth.
And immediately realized he hadn't heard a single word.
"You were complaining that you wanted to interrogate Cooper, but the sheriff made you sort through paperwork instead," Lake answered calmly.
"I wasn't complaining!" Billy immediately protested. "I was just stating a fact!"
He shifted his gaze from Lake to Parker.
Rick blinked, completely unsure where he was going with this.
"So what are we doing next?" Hong asked him.
Rick was about to say something, but the words caught somewhere halfway out. He suddenly realized with startling clarity that he had long since stopped noticing where his own shoulder ended and Aaron's began.
Lake quietly exhaled through his nose.
"First, we'll check everything we can check. We'll draw conclusions afterward."
Billy rubbed his chin as though genuinely considering it.
"Yeah... you're right..."
Rick stole a glance at Aaron.
He sat there looking completely unruffled. As though he really had spent the last few minutes listening only to Billy.
At that moment, Lily appeared from the corridor. In her hands was a thick archive folder.
"Here, this is everything we found," she said with a smile, holding it out to Rick.
"Thank you."
He carefully took the folder and opened it immediately.
The first pages were filled with dense columns of names and dates.
Rick quickly flipped through several sheets.
September.
October.
Another October.
Then, finally, the month they needed appeared.
"November..."
He turned the page. His eyes quickly scanned the lines.
Names.
Dates.
Admission times.
Brief diagnoses.
His finger slowly moved down the page.
"No..."
The next sheet.
Another one.
And then it stopped.
"Got it."
He pulled the folder a little closer.
"Mary Cooper."
For several seconds, silence settled around them again.
Rick carefully read through the entry. Then, quietly, he read aloud:
"Admitted with fractures of the lower floating ribs, multiple hematomas, and internal organ injuries... Blood alcohol level several times above the legal limit..."
His gaze moved lower, to another line, and he froze almost immediately.
"Visitor..."
His lips twitched almost imperceptibly.
"Next of kin. Son... Mark Cooper."
Rick slowly raised his eyes.
"Shit..."
He silently handed the folder to Aaron.
Lake took it without a word.
For several seconds, he carefully read the entry, his eyes slowly moving over the letters. Then he read it again.
His brows drew together slightly.
He stared at the final line for a long time, as though hoping the letters might somehow rearrange themselves into something else.
They didn't.
For a while, he simply sat there without saying a word, then slowly stood.
"Can we make a copy of this page?" he asked quietly, approaching the desk.
Lily immediately nodded.
"Of course."
She carefully took the folder and placed the relevant page on the scanner glass.
The machine hummed quietly.
Lake stood beside her in silence, looking somewhere over her shoulder. The scanner gave a brief beep, and the young woman handed him the copy.
"Thank you."
He carefully folded the page in half and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket.
Billy cautiously stepped closer.
— What now?
Aaron didn't answer immediately.
“We need to talk to Rachel,” he said quietly.
Rick stood up after him.
“Maybe... she'll remember something important?”
Lake gave a brief nod and said nothing more.
Just moments ago, Aaron had been smiling faintly, calmly teasing Billy and seemingly going out of his way to throw him off balance with nothing more than a casual touch.
Now it was all gone. His face was calm again. It was as though he had slowly, almost imperceptibly, closed himself off once more.
Rick felt an unpleasant pang inside.
Suddenly, desperately, he wanted to bring back that light, almost boyish expression that had flickered in Aaron's gray-blue eyes only minutes ago.
But he couldn't think of anything to say.
They silently headed for the exit.
The hospital smell still hung heavily in the air, clinging to their clothes and skin.
They wanted to get outside as quickly as possible.
As though fresh air could, even for a little while, disperse the feeling of unease that had quietly settled between them again.
***
The streets were drowned in thick fog. The rain had never come that morning, but dampness hung heavily in the air, settling on the windows and turning the familiar roads into blurred gray silhouettes.
The windshield wipers moved steadily across the glass, wiping away the thin film of moisture. The monotonous swish seemed to fill the entire car.
No one spoke.
Rick sat with his nose buried a little deeper into his scarf, as he often did.
He stole a glance at Aaron. He was driving calmly, his eyes fixed on the road. From the outside, it might have seemed that nothing had changed.
But the muscles in his cheek tensed almost imperceptibly from time to time. His fingers gripped the steering wheel more tightly than usual. Every breath was slow, measured, almost deliberate, as though Aaron was consciously refusing to let himself breathe any faster.
Even his eyes were different.
Not colder.
More focused.
As though, in his mind, he was returning to the investigation, going through everything again step by step from the very beginning.
Rick had already learned to notice those almost imperceptible details. He quietly looked away.
Houses wrapped in fog slowly drifted past the window.
The car glided forward, and with it grew the feeling that the answers they had been searching for so long were once again beginning to slip away.
Finally, they turned onto a narrow street.
Off to the side stood a tired-looking three-story building where, according to their information, Rachel lived.
“We're here,” Lake said quietly, switching off the engine.
The entrance greeted them with the smell of dampness, old plaster, and ingrained cigarette smoke.
The paint had bubbled in places on the walls, and dark patches of moisture stained the corners. A single dim bulb glowed overhead.
“Cozy...” Billy muttered quietly.
Rick silently pulled up the collar of his jacket.
Without slowing his pace, Aaron was already climbing the stairs.
On the third floor, he stopped at a door with peeling green paint and knocked quietly several times.
Footsteps sounded almost immediately from inside. The lock clicked, and the door opened just a crack.
A woman of about thirty-five stood on the threshold. She had a thin face, carelessly tied-back hair, and dark circles under her eyes. A faint streak of blue paint remained on her cheek, as though she had absentmindedly wiped her face with her hand, and a cigarette slowly smoldered between her fingers.
She looked them over carefully, Aaron first, then Rick, lingering on Billy before finally asking quietly:
“Who are you here for?”
Lake took out his badge and calmly showed it to her.
“Ms. Rachel Walker? I'm Detective Aaron Lake. My colleagues and I need to ask you a few questions.”
Rachel didn't answer right away.
Her gaze swept over all three of them once more, and then she narrowed her eyes slightly.
“Three men, and I'm home alone,” she said lazily. “I'm not sure I want to let you in.”
“It'll only take a few minutes.”
The woman remained silent.
Rick could see that she was hesitating.
“This concerns Mark Cooper.”
Rachel studied them a little longer, then slowly exhaled and was already about to close the door.
“And your friend Caroline Thompson,” Lake added.
She froze.
Her fingers remained on the edge of the door.
For several long seconds, Rachel studied Lake. Then she gave a humorless smile.
“Well, well...” she said quietly. “Funny. Apparently she had to die before anyone finally cared.”
She reluctantly opened the door a little wider and, leaning against the frame, continued to block their way.
“You have five minutes, Detective Lake.”
Her gaze lingered briefly on his face.
“And then I don't want to see cops on my doorstep again.”
Lake gave a brief nod.
They stepped inside.
The apartment looked more like a workshop where people had long since stopped caring about keeping things tidy. Canvases — finished and barely started — stood against the walls. Tubes of paint, brushes, crumpled cigarette packs, and empty bottles lay scattered across the floor. The air was thick with a mixture of oil paint, tobacco, and solvent.
Rick couldn't help looking around.
Some of the paintings were propped directly against the walls. Faces blurred across them, brushstrokes layered over one another, while familiar outlines unexpectedly disappeared beneath thick bands of paint.
He carefully stepped around a stack of canvases, trying not to knock anything over.
Rachel lowered herself onto a tall barstool and crossed her legs.
“Well?” she asked, lazily tapping ash into a tin can. “What exactly do you want to hear? That Carrie was afraid of someone? Or that Mark isn't guilty of anything?”
She was still looking directly at Aaron.
He calmly held her gaze.
“Why did you decide that's what we wanted to hear?”
“You tell me. You're the detective.”
“Ms. Walker, we just want to understand what happened.”
She gave a quiet scoff.
“Of course.”
Rachel slowly shifted her gaze from Aaron to Rick, then to Billy.
“Two serious pretty boys... and a little bunny.”
She smiled faintly.
“Not a bad group.”
Billy coughed and looked away awkwardly.
Rick simply looked questioningly at Aaron.
But he seemed completely oblivious to her attempts to steer the conversation elsewhere.
“We need to clarify a few details,” he said calmly. “If you don't mind, let's begin.”
“How polite,” Rachel scoffed.
She stubbed out her cigarette, rose from the stool, and leisurely walked closer.
“All right,” she said lazily. “I'll answer your questions. But first, let me take a look at you.”
All three exchanged glances.
Billy looked questioningly at Aaron. He gave the slightest nod.
Rachel smiled at the corner of her mouth and walked over to him.
“Don't be afraid,” she said. “I don't bite.”
She gently touched his chin and turned his face slightly first one way, then the other.
Billy froze in confusion.
Rick watched her movements carefully.
“You're always trying to look older than you really are,” Rachel said. “You hold your shoulders too straight.”
Billy awkwardly straightened even more.
“See?”
She released his chin.
“Be braver.”
“Thanks... I guess. But I didn't ask for advice.”
“Really? You looked like that's exactly what you were waiting for.”
She shrugged.
“Sometimes someone else's life can depend on your courage.”
Billy frowned, clearly unsure whether she was being serious or making fun of him again. He didn't even notice when Rachel moved away and was already looking at Aaron.
She stepped closer, stopping almost right in front of him, and silently studied his face for a moment.
“Detective... what cheekbones.”
A smile flickered in her eyes.
“I won't even touch them. I'd be afraid of cutting myself.”
For some reason, Rick looked away.
Suddenly he felt strangely awkward, as though he'd accidentally become a witness to something too personal.
“Usually, people with a face like yours know what kind of impression they make,” Rachel said quietly.
Aaron watched her calmly.
“You look like someone who hasn't slept properly in a long time. And who's very tired of keeping quiet.”
He said nothing.
Rachel gave a quiet huff.
“I couldn't do that.”
Her gaze dropped to his hands.
“Beautiful... I'd paint them.”
Aaron merely raised an eyebrow slightly, but she had already stepped back and turned toward Rick.
She stopped in front of him and simply looked at his face for several seconds.
Rick caught himself openly studying her in return for the first time.
His attention caught on the traces of blue paint settled in the creases of her cheek, her eyes reddened from work, her thin lips, dry, chapped, and bitten.
He smiled to himself, sensing the faint irony in it.
“Are you a psychologist?”
Rachel asked unexpectedly.
“Photographer.”
“Same thing.”
Rick smiled faintly.
“Is it?”
“You don't think so?” She tilted her head. “You collect people piece by piece too. Just through a camera.”
He wanted to answer, but suddenly realized she was right.
“Maybe.”
Her penetrating gaze made him slightly uneasy. Rick instinctively folded his arms across his chest, and Rachel narrowed her eyes a little.
“Don't like being looked at?”
Rick gave a quiet chuckle.
“I'm more used to being on the other side of the camera.”
Rachel smiled.
“Fair enough.”
She took a step back.
“All right. You're going to be boring.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Still deciding.”
“Are you finished?” Lake interrupted calmly.
Rachel looked at him and nodded.
“Yes. Now we can talk about the case.”
The smile slowly disappeared from her face.
Aaron didn't waste any time.
“When was the last time you saw Mark Cooper?”
“Last week.”
Billy quietly pulled out his notebook and instinctively clicked his pen against the spring.
“What was the purpose of the meeting?” Lake asked.
Rachel slowly returned to the stool.
She lazily reached for the pack, took out a cigarette, and lit it. She inhaled slowly, exhaled a thin stream of smoke, and only then looked at him.
“Detective,” she briefly licked her dry lips, “do you want me to tell you the color of the sheets too?”
Rick saw Aaron take a deeper breath.
“You didn't answer the question.”
Rachel shrugged.
“Mark and I were pretty close. The last time was no exception.”
Aaron walked toward her. An old floorboard creaked softly beneath his weight.
“How long have you known each other?”
The woman looked up at him.
“A few years. Maybe more. I don't make a habit of keeping records of things like that.”
“How did you meet?” Lake pulled over an empty chair and sat down.
Rachel didn't move. Rick noticed her eyebrow twitch almost imperceptibly, and the corner of his
mouth lifted slightly.
“My friend introduced us,” she replied, sounding mildly irritated.
Aaron folded his arms across his chest.
“Caroline Thompson, I assume?”
Rachel studied him for several seconds.
“You're smart, Detective.”
She gave a quiet snort and tapped ash into the can.
“That's very sexy. You know?”
Aaron ignored it, silently waiting for her answer.
“Yes,” she replied reluctantly. “Carrie introduced us.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Rick noticed Billy's pen moving faster across the pages of his notebook.
“For what purpose?” Lake asked.
“I was looking for inspiration.” She gestured around the room. “And he had something that could inspire me.”
“How often did you get something from him for inspiration?”
Rachel laughed, but didn't take her eyes off him.
“Less often than you think,” she replied, taking another drag from her cigarette. “I just found him interesting.”
Aaron nodded.
His and Rick's eyes met for a second.
Lake said nothing.
“Do you know who Caroline was afraid of?” Rick asked.
Rachel turned toward him, her hand freezing before she could bring the cigarette to her mouth.
“Excuse me?”
Rick slowly stepped closer.
He ran his fingertips over the wooden easel. The rough wood felt pleasantly cool against his fingers.
“When we came in, you asked what exactly we wanted to hear,” he explained calmly. “And then you mentioned that Caroline was afraid of someone?”
Rachel's eyebrows rose. She blinked, then looked at Aaron.
“Huh,” she breathed, genuinely surprised. “Not bad teamwork.”
Rachel tightened her jaw.
Rick had the impression that, for the first time, the conversation was genuinely beginning to irritate her.
“Suppose Carrie said before she died that she felt uneasy, like someone was following her. What does that change?” she added, a little more sharply.
Aaron studied her carefully.
“Did Ms. Thompson know who it might have been?”
Rachel held his gaze.
“No.”
“What kind of relationship did she have with Mark Cooper?”
She arched an eyebrow and slowly turned on the stool.
“Am I supposed to answer that question?”
“You are,” Lake replied dryly. “Were you close to her?”
“She was my best friend.”
She stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette in the tin and looked him straight in the eye.
“What do you think, Detective?”
“I ask simple questions. And I want to hear the answers from you, Ms. Walker.”
She suddenly burst out laughing. Her head tilted slightly to one side, and a loose strand of hair fell carelessly across her face.
The laughter stopped as abruptly as it had begun.
“Questions?” she repeated quietly.
The sudden change sent a shiver down Rick's spine.
