Disclaimer: Meyer owns Bella and Edward's characters. I own the rest.

"No life but this one

Spring snow falls." Santōka Taneda 216 translated by John Stevens

Chapter 10

I'd been playing phone tag with Jack Marin for days, and now that I'd finally gotten him on the phone, he was playing word games out of me.

Oh yeah, he said, he was sort of maybe, kind of a 'friend' of Spencer's. Really, he just worked with her.

I told him that I'd never flown to the Caribbean with any of my coworkers.

Alright then, he admitted, 'good friends,' for a while at least.

So what went wrong?

He said it was nothing, really. Just, you know, sometimes you went on vacation with someone and you saw the real person.

I was sick of beating around the bush. "Did you assault Isabella Spencer?"

Marin made an inarticulate sound. "God no. It was all Veema."

"She forced you to assault Isabella?"

"No! I never touched her! It was Veema. Veema was the one who—"

"The one who what?"

Marin had fallen silent.

"I'm giving you a chance to tell me your side of things," I told him.

"Izzy's pressing charges?"

"She might be thinking about it." It wasn't a lie. For all I knew, she was thinking about it.

"It wasn't in the US."

"She can still get a restraining order. That wouldn't look very good for someone in your line of work. You wouldn't be able to pass a background check."

"I never touched Izzy. It was Veema!"

"Ms. Mehta says Izzy was violent. That true?"

"I never saw Izzy do anything violent. Not physically. Veema was the one who attacked her."

"And you stood by and watched," I guessed.

"It was just a game. It wasn't supposed to get so out of hand."

"What kind of a game is that?"

Marin fell silent again.

"I'm not looking to jam up an innocent man," I said. "If Ms. Mehta was acting alone, I need you to convince me."

"I don't remember who said it first," Marin said in a rush, his words tumbling one after the other. "It was just supposed to be a joke at first."

"A joke?"

"Izzy just seemed so innocent. So clueless."

"And what? You took advantage of that? Why? What did you want?"

"Nothing. I told you, it was just a game. We didn't want anything. We were just having fun."

"Define 'fun.'"

Marin sighed. "We would screw with her. Like we would set up little scenarios to see what she would do. We would pretend to fight, just to see whose side she would pick. Little, stupid arguments, like where to eat lunch. And then it got more serious. Veema and I stopped speaking to each other, for like a month, it was like we'd fallen for our own game, and the entire time we were tugging Izzy back and forth between us."

"You call this 'fun'?"

"Izzy lied all of the time. Did she tell you that? Did she tell you the crap that she would try to feed us? All in attempt to seem less pathetic."

I didn't like the fact that he'd called Spencer a liar. But wasn't that exactly what I'd been suspecting?

I didn't have time to figure out how I felt about that, because for some reason that last bit was really getting to me.

"Pathetic?" I wanted him to explain that to me.

"She let her parents dictate every aspect of her life. She was twenty-four years old and she was still living at home, in that crappy trailer, giving her parents every dime she made. She had even stayed at home while she was in college. She never went out. She never lived. Veema and I gave her first taste of real freedom."

The part about Spencer's parents confirmed what I was already thinking. But I didn't like what this Marin guy was insinuating about Spencer, like he was actually good for her. "You were playing games with her the whole time," I reminded him.

"Veema was the real instigator. I should've done something, I know. I should've stopped her, but Izzy just let—" Marin paused. "We had lunch together every day. That was Veema's idea—a few times Izzy tried to get out of it, but Veema would just snap at her and she'd fold. Veema was always telling Izzy what to do. She even put Izzy up to kissing me once."

"And you were just an innocent bystander."

"You don't know what Veema was like. She tried to push me around too. D'you know that she wanted us to get an apartment together? The three of us." Marin scoffed. "And she was always trying to push Izzy on me, like I was supposed to be in charge of her—her, I don't know, coming of age."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It was just a joke. It wasn't serious. I wasn't even into Izzy. Not that there's something wrong with her. She's just not my type."

Somehow I found that hard to believe. "Who brought the pink fuzzy handcuffs?"

Marin was silent again. "It was me. But Veema's the one who held her down."

What the—

"I don't even know what the hell Veema thought she was doing. She was just so angry at Izzy for the shit she'd pulled at the airports. I know that Izzy didn't want to come. I know that she was feeling iffy about the whole idea of going on vacation with us—and she had her heart set on Amsterdam. But what the hell? It was the Turks and Caicos. Who says no to that?"

"Explain to me the part about Veema holding Isabella down."

"We had a huge fight the day before the trip. Izzy completely lost it. Like she was out of control sobbing, like we'd broken her heart or something. I mean, come on. But she acted normal on the way to the airport. She was quiet, but I thought that was just her—the way she'd be sometimes. But then when we got there, she just walked away from us. Just walked away and wouldn't talk to us. Then there was that crap where she almost missed our connecting flight from Miami. D'you know that Veema made them hold the plane? Can you believe that? And Izzy acting all innocent. And we get to the island and she still wasn't talking to us. She too another taxi to the hotel. She got there before us and disappeared with the hotel key. We couldn't even get into our hotel room. Finally, she came back and—can you imagine what it was like in that hotel room that night? The next morning, Veema was lit. She was so damn angry. And Izzy deserved it after that crap she'd pulled. But I still couldn't believe it when Veema attacked Izzy. Like physically, attacked her. Izzy threw this lame punch, trying to defend herself, but Veema just pushed her down on the bed and held her there. Told me to go snorkeling or something. Said she had to stay back and 'discipline the child.' And I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Eventually Veema let Izzy up and I got Veema out of there. We just left Izzy in the hotel room, and when we got back all of her stuff was gone. She'd gotten another hotel room, but she was still in the same hotel—Veema found her on the beach. I talked to Veema and got her to apologize. And everything was fine after that. We went out to dinner. We even went snorkeling. Everything was fine. We joked about the handcuffs. They were just a joke. I was never going to do anything with them. But then, we got back and Izzy called in sick to work. The next day, Veema and I came in and there were these notes on our chairs from Izzy, basically telling us to go to hell. Veema thought it was a big gag. She thought Izzy was going to cave. Izzy was such a pushover. I was sure that Veema was right. But Izzy stood her ground. She never spoke to either of us again unless it was work related. The two of them were sharing an office, you now, and Veema kept coming to me, complaining. I thought Izzy was going to come to me for help, too. I wasn't the one who'd held her down on that bed. But she never came. And then I left for grad school. I was so happy to get out of there. I was so sick of Veema. Every day at lunch, bitching about Izzy. It was awful."

Marin stopped, clearly done with his story.

And I didn't know what the hell to say. It was obvious that he was trying to throw the blame on Mehta. As for Spencer—

Well, I could see the Spencer I knew doing every single thing he said.

But nothing justified what had happened to her.

Marin and Mehta were right. Spencer couldn't press charges, not in the US at least. From what I knew of Spencer, I didn't see her ever going to the authorities. But if she found a sympathetic judge, she might be able to get a restraining order. It would help if she could establish a pattern.

Was there a pattern?

They had mind-fucked her. Of that I was certain.

But unless there was harassment after she tried to break off their friendship—was there?—there was no reason for a judge to issue a restraining order.

"Look, I'm being honest with you here," Marin started to say.

I cut him off. "You're a psychologist?"

He cleared his throat. "Training to be one."

"You think that someone like you belongs near patients?"

"I— But— You don't—"

I hung up.

-100-100-100-100-100-100-100-100-100-100-100-100-

Despite everything I'd learned about Spencer, I couldn't help feeling that I was still missing something. I'd gained little real insight. And if anything, I was even more worried.

I didn't want to believe that she was involved in the murders.

I didn't want to believe that she was as erratic—as unreliable and strange—as everything suggested.

But wishing doesn't make it so.

Nichols and I were on our way back from the office of one of Milton's associates, when Spencer's name flashed across my phone.

"Who is it?" Nichols asked, noticing the way I hesitated.

"Keep your eyes on the road," I said, putting the phone to my ear.

At first I had trouble understanding her, she was crying so hard. "I'm sorry," she said, and something inside of me turned over. I couldn't believe she was really doing this. She was going to confess. "I shouldn't have called you. I'm sorry."

She wasn't confessing—

But if she wasn't confessing, what was she doing? Why was she so upset?

She wasn't thinking about hurting herself was she?

"Where are you?" I asked. Whatever was wrong—even if she was somehow involved in the murders—I'd help her. I'd get her a lawyer. There'd be mitigating circumstances. I'd find something—

She was crying too hard to answer, though.

And then a voice came on the line, introducing herself as a Ms. Maria Reyes, social worker. I gave her my name and my badge number, but she was reluctant to give me any details about what was going on. She said she had to verify my credentials.

"You understand," she said.

"Tell me the address," I said. "Then put Spencer back on the line."

Spencer was still crying when Reyes put her back on the phone, but I told her that I'd be there in ten minutes.

Nichols wasn't happy about it. "I thought you told me that she wasn't going to be a problem."

"She isn't."

"Then what the hell are we doing?"

"Just drive, alright?"

The address led to a rundown trailer park. The place we wanted wasn't hard to find. It was the trailer with all of the squad cars in front of it.

Spencer was on the porch, her arms wrapped around a kid who looked about thirteen. I could tell that she was still crying, but she was holding on to that kid for dear life.

The social worker, Reyes, was easy enough to spot, standing there, with her arms crossed, watching Spencer like every movement was being noted down for later use.

Yeah, I knew what it was like to have a social worker looking at you like that.

Flashing my badge at the fellow trying to hold back the crowd, I spared a glance for Spencer's mother. Even falling down drunk, she was giving two officers a run for their money as they tried to put her into one of the cars. Spencer's father—I figured it was her father—wasn't really resisting. But he wasn't really complying either, snarling at his beloved as an officer tried to insert him into his own car.

Joining the group on the porch, I caught Spencer's eye, and could tell that she was on a razor's edge. If Reyes tried to take that kid, Spencer would be sending the night in lock up, if not the hospital.

Fortunately, Reyes was open to discussing the issue. We did it over by the trash cans, keeping our voices down so that Spencer wouldn't hear.

Apparently, Spencer's parents were involved in some sort of domestic dispute. Spencer wasn't there when the incident occurred. And Spencer's brother wasn't involved either, but Reyes was dead-set on taking custody of him.

"That doesn't make any sense," I said. "He should be able to stay with his sister."

"We would prefer to leave him with family," Reyes said. "But after what I saw of her parents—"

"I can vouch for her," I said.

Reyes eyed me. "And how do you know each other?"

"She was a witness on a case. Just a bystander. It had nothing to do with her. But she's got a good job, and she's going to grad school. She has her own apartment. I've been inside. It's clean."

Well, cleanish. She hadn't finished unpacking.

"Where does she live?" Reyes asked.

I gave her the address.

She didn't look convinced. "Miss Spencer's so upset right now. I'm not sure she can handle this."

"I'll drive Spencer and her brother back to their place. I'll make sure that they're both okay before I leave. If there's any problem—any problem at all—I'll call you."

Reyes squints at me. "She's just a witness?"

"Like I said, I vouch for her."

That seemed to satisfy Reyes.

We went back and explained the situation to Spencer, who was clearly trying to calm down, the news that no one was going to be taking her brother away from her obviously going a long way to relieve her anxiety.

"Just doing my job ma'am," Reyes said, fortunately missing the glare Spencer threw her way as she turned to go.

Spencer and her brother went into the trailer to grab some of his things. They only took a few minutes, and I used the time they were gone to go explain things to Nichols, who was still by the car, leaning up against the side, eyeing the show.

I laid out the situation, and he gaped at me. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked, his voice low so that we wouldn't be overheard by our audience, several other denizens of the trailer park and a few lingering police officers. Spencer's parents had already been taken away.

"She needs my help," I said, shaking my head because I thought it was obvious. I did the right thing. I was doing the right thing.

"What the—seriously—what the fuck are you doing?"

"What did you expect me to do? They were going to put her brother into one of those group homes."

"She's a witness."

"You don't think I know that?" I snapped, glancing back at the trailer to make sure that Spencer and her brother hadn't come out yet.

"You're fucking up our case."

"What am I fucking up? I haven't fucked anything up."

"Tell me the truth, are you fucking her?"

"What? No, man, why would you even ask that?"

"You're kidding me, right?"

I shook my head. "She just needed help, that's all."

Nichols snorted. "And you would do the same thing for any witness?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Bullshit."

I glared at him. "Look, I haven't fucked up the case. The case is fine. And now I'm gonna drive Spencer and her brother back to her place in her car. You're gonna follow so that you can drive me back to the precinct. We're just making sure they're okay. She's in no shape to drive right now. We would do the same thing for anyone."

"No, we'd get some rookie to do it."

"You don't want to do the drive, I'll get a cab."

"I got no problem with the drive."

"So do it."

"I am."

I could tell that he had more to say, but he was saving it for later.

"You're girl's ready," he said, looking over my shoulder.

"She's not my girl," I said, but I didn't bother to wait for his reply, heading back over to the porch so that I could help Spencer and her brother. They'd thrown his stuff into garbage bags.

Yeah, I knew what it was like, too, having to use trash bags for luggage. The shame of it.

"Let me drive you home," I said.

"I've got my car," Spencer replied, her voice still raspy from crying.

"You're too upset to drive."

"I feel better now."

And she sounded better, but there was no I was going to let her get behind the wheel.

I expected more of an argument, but she just handed the keys over. "What about your car?" she asked.

"My partner's driving it." I held out my hand for her brother to shake, introducing myself. "Edward."

Her brother squared up his shoulders, telling me his name, and Spencer smiled down at him.

The pride she had in him was so obvious. She loved him with every ounce of her being.

I remembered that look on her face when I first showed up. She could kill alright, if it was for him.

We climbed into Spencer's car, her brother in the back and Spencer in the front passenger seat. The engine hesitated, but it eventually turned over, and then I was weaving the car through the remaining gawkers and out of the trailer park.

Spencer's brother waited until we were almost to the highway before he spoke up. "How do you know my sister?" There was a note of youthful hostility in the question, like he wanted to make sure that I wasn't taking advantage of his sister.

I wasn't sure how to answer. Had Spencer told him about the case?

She answered for me, telling him we met in a bar.

"What were you doing in a bar?" he asked, sounding skeptical.

"I have to go," she said. "For work, you know. Whether you want to or not, you have to go to happy hours sometimes. You don't have to drink, though."

I remembered the way that she'd acted the night she found Murota's body. She was so cagey about going to that happy hour.

Her parents were alcoholics. That was why she was so hung up about drinking.

And she didn't want her brother to think that he would have to drink just because everyone else was doing it. She wanted him to think that he had a choice.

Fortunately, her brother seemed happy with her response and he let it go.

"Thanks for coming to help," she said, looking at me.

"No problem," I said, not really wanting to get into it.

Because now that I was in the car with her, I was starting to have second thoughts.

"You're not going to get in trouble, are you?" she asked.

"It'll be fine," I lied.

I was grateful that she didn't push the issue. Silence filled the car, and as much as I was happy that she wasn't questioning me about my motives, part of me wished that it wasn't so quiet. I kept replaying Nichol's interrogation in my head. What was I doing? Why was I doing it?

I nearly missed the exit—Spencer had to point it out. But, pulling into her complex, I quickly found a paring place and got out to help her brother with the bags.

Spencer led the way to the apartment, and once inside, I was pleased to see that the place looked a little better. She quickly shoved some of the boxes into one of the corners, and told her brother that they'd pick up some more things for him at the store. In the meantime, she was going to clean out the dresser so he could put his clothes there.

She seemed so much calmer. So grounded now, with her brother back at her place. I had never seen her so placid, in fact.

And I had no doubt that she was going to hold it together, for him if nothing else.

My phone rang and, checking it, I saw that it was Nichols.

"That's my partner. Here with the car," I told Spencer.

She seemed a little at a loss for what to say. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

People had thanked me for my service before, of course. It always made me uncomfortable, not liking the attention.

But this time, with the words coming out of Spencer's mouth, it felt—

Different.

Like it was somehow better coming from Spencer. Like I wanted to help her. Not because it was my job, but because I wanted to.

Which was all kinds of fucked up.

So I shook my head like it was nothing and left.

"What the hell are you doing?" Nichols asked me when I got to the car.

I wished to fuck that I knew.

AN: Thanks for reading.