Conan woke suddenly. It was dawn. The apartment was still and silent. Light was beginning to filter in through his window but that wasn't what woke him. He hadn't been having a nightmare but all his nerves were on edge as if he was.
He kicked the covers off and stood. He didn't hear or smell anything out of the ordinary so he left his room and peeked into Rachel's room. She was sleeping soundly on her futon, undisturbed. He walked down the hallway to Richard's door but found it open. Inside, his bedding was all neatly made.
Probably spent all night drinking. Conan thought to himself, rolling his eyes. He headed towards to living room expecting to find Richard passed out in a pile of beer cans, like he had so many times before. What he found instead made his stop dead in his tracks.
Richard was there but wide awake. He stood facing the long line of windows that over looked the street, his back to Conan. He wore a well-pressed black suit. His shoes were freshly shined and waiting for him by the door. A cigarette burned uselessly in his right hand. The morning light washed over him. Conan took a tentative step forward. In the decade he'd known Richard, he'd never seen him like this. Everything about him was neat and in order.
"Detective Moore?" He said experimentally but Richard made no sign he heard. On the table, Conan saw the morning paper spread in front of a half full cup of black coffee. Conan touched the mug. It was ice cold. He turned his attention to the papers.
"Sleep Sleuth Catches Crooked Cop!" The headlines exclaimed, showing two large photographs, one of Craig and one of Richard. Conan scanned the article but found only the usual salacious nonsense. "Tragic murder at lush resort…long standing romantic grudge…solved quickly by the famous Richard Moore… Moore has been unavailable for comment."
That's strange. Conan thought, it's not like Richard to skip chatting with the press.
Underneath the papers, Conan found several old Polaroid photographs. They were blurry and hard to decipher so it took him a moment to realize they were snapshots of Richard's college Judo team. Richard was barely a half-grown man in these pictures. Some were professional photos, stoic posed team photos. Others were candid pictures of the group together or of each fighter in the ring. Among them were snapshots of Rachel as a little girl.
"Hm?" Richard finally noticed that he wasn't alone. He half-turned to look at Conan. His face was washed and shaved, his hair neatly combed but the rings under his eyes confessed his sleepless night. Conan realized his bedding was neat because he'd never used it. He'd been up all night.
"Good morning, Richard!" Conan said in a well-practiced childish voice "Neat pictures." Richard's gaze dropped to the photos that Conan held and he only sighed then took a long drag from his cigarette in answer before turning back to the windows. Conan suddenly realized what had woken him in such a peculiar mood.
Today was Jamie's memorial service.
Rachel made breakfast for herself and Conan and they ate in near silence. Richard only nursed a fresh cup of coffee, waving away any offer of food. She tried to draw him into conversation but was only answered with nods or grunts. So, when the phone began to ring, she was surprised to see him stand and answer it.
"I'm sorry," He said "The Moore Detective Agency is Clo—"
"Richard." Eva's voice came across the line like a shot of whiskey. Warm and painful and comfortable. The sound of it drew the breath out of him.
"Eva." He answered.
"I just heard about Jamie." She said "I'm out of town right now and there's no way for me to make it back in time. I-I just thought I should call."
There was a beat of silence and they both grasped for words they didn't know how to say. Both of them seeking to comfort and be comforted.
"Yeah." Richard answered tightly.
"—I'm sorry I can't be there." Eva said quietly. Richard let out a low sigh.
"Yeah." He said again, more kindly. More silence.
"Give Rachel and Conan my love." She said finally, now knowing what else to say. "I've got to get off the phone now."
"Okay." Richard said, hearing the lie. He could feel the pain in her voice, the tears in her eyes that he knew she would refuse to let fall until she was safely alone in a hotel somewhere. He dropped the phone in its cradle, letting his hand rest on it. He imagined he could feel Eva's hand clutching onto his again, as it had so many years ago.
"Was that mom?" Rachel asked as Richard sat back down at the table. He only nodded. Then, after a moment, added "She sends her love."