Surgeon – Chapter Sixteen

NOT EDITED

Chapter Sixteen

Thursday: January 9, 2020

12:00 AM; MINNESOTA, THE SURGEON’S HOUSE

“Gordon,” Cleo said as he walked out into the main room in the basement. “Gordon,” she repeated, her voice louder than before. “Gordon, is she okay?”

“Yes,” he said finally. “She’s resting, but she’s okay.” He crossed the room and covered Cleo’s hand with his own. “She’s fine. Surgery went well. She’ll be back in her room in three days.” He stared at her for a moment before clearing his throat. “Goodnight, ma’am.”

Cleo rested her head against the cell bars, her eyes closed. “Goodnight, Gordon,” she whispered.

2:00 AM; CLINSTONE, BO AUSTEN’S HOUSE, LIVING ROOM

Bo sat up on the couch, rubbing at his eyes. He didn’t remember falling asleep, especially not on the couch. Acamas stood up on Bo’s lap, purring as she stretched, arching her back. Bo sighed, smoothing a hand over her head. He picked the tabby up, holding her to his chest as he rose to his feet. He turned off the lamp on the end table and swiped his phone from the coffee table.

Bo walked back to his bedroom, flipped on the overhead light, and set Acamas on the bed. He sat down at the foot of the bed and unlocked his phone. He had a text from Jamal.

Jamal: Your services are being requested.

Bo: By whom?

Jamal: Me, LAPD, the whole department.

Bo: I’m on a job, Mister Pitman.

Jamal: Do we really need the formalities, Bo? We’re all friends here.

Bo frowned, his thumbs hovering above the keyboard. They certainly weren’t friends. Jamal had called him a few choice words that most people wouldn’t call their friends. More than once.

Bo: What’s the case?

Jamal: I’m not discussing it over text, Bo.

Bo: Then I’m going to bed.

Bo’s brow furrowed as his phone rang, Jamal’s name flashing across his screen. Pushing a hand through his hair, he accepted the call and pressed his phone to his ear. “Mister Pitman.”

“Again, we don’t need the formalities. I don’t want that from you, Bo,” Jamal said.

“What’s the case, Mister Pitman?” Bo asked.

Jamal let out a heavy sigh. “Regina’s dead.”

Bo closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Mister Pitman. Regina… was a good analyst.”

“She was. A good woman too.”

“Did she suffer?” Bo asked.

“I think so.” A pause. “I need you for this one, Bo.”

I thought I was useless? I thought you didn’t want to hear my fucking voice ever again? I thought you wanted me dead?

“I’m in the middle of a rather large case, Mister Pitman.”

“So you’re leaving all of us, high and dry?”

“You are the one who fired me, Mister Pitman,” Bo reminded.

“You deserved it.”

“I did, yes, thank you. I’m sorry about Regina, I am. She was great at her job, and she was a good person. I am sorry. I hope you find her killer, but it won’t be with my assistance. Goodnight, Mister Pitman.” Bo ended the call and dropped his phone to his lap. When his screen lit up with another call from Jamal, he held down the power button until it shut off.

He wasn’t tired any more. He scrubbed his hands over his face, squeezing his eyes shut. If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well work on the case. The sooner it was over, the sooner Cleo Marshall and Natalie Lambert were back home, the sooner he could go back home to the boss who hated him, the serial killer best friend, and the serial killer’s wife.

7:00 AM; CLINSTONE POLICE DEPARTMENT, LAB

Bo looked up as Jacob walked into the lab. He held the back of his hand up to his mouth as he finished chewing his food.

“So you do eat breakfast,” Jacob said.

Bo cleared his throat. “I, umm, didn’t know you’d be here this early.”

Jacob offered a shrug. “Had nothing better to do.”

Bo nodded once. “Is there anything I can help you with, Detective?”

“Nah. Just wanted to come down and see how you were doing.”

“Great.”

“Whatcha working on?” he asked.

Bo glanced at his computer screen before his gaze shifted back to Jacob’s face. “Nothing.”

Jacob chuckled. “Yeah, okay.” He scratched at his jaw, clearing his throat. “Why do you always come here early?”

“To get work done.”

The detective raised a brow. “You’re doing nothing now.”

Bo frowned. He had assumed that would come back to bite him in the ass, just not so soon. “I’ll rephrase that for you, Detective. I am doing nothing that relates to your case.”

“Our case,” Jacob said.

“Pardon?”

“You called it my case. It’s our case, Bo. You are working on it too.”

“Oh. Of course. That’s what I meant,” Bo said quietly. “At eight o’clock, my work will shift to the case. Until then, I’ll be doing nothing that pertains to this town or the criminals within it.”

“I wasn’t asking what you were doing to scare you or anything, Bo. I was asking because I’m taking an interest in your life,” Jacob said.

“Why?”

“Because that’s what friends are supposed to do.”

“We’re coworkers.”

“Right,” Jacob said, stretching the word out over several beats. “I forgot that you weren’t allowed to befriend the people you have to see eight hours a day.”

“Well, you may befriend anyone in this station that isn’t me, Detective. I’m just not going to be here long enough to need friends,” Bo said. He smiled faintly. “Besides, I… only get along with serial killers and their wives.”

“I wish you’d give yourself more credit than that,” Jacob said. “You don’t deserve to think of yourself like you’re an idiot.”

“Anyone and everyone can be stupid, Detective, no matter what a test reveals about them. My IQ doesn’t make me intelligent,” he said as he stood up. “It’s just a number assigned by the manner in which you answer a list of questions.” Jacob watched him walk across the room and throw away his unfinished breakfast. “Idiocy is defined by a person’s point of view. Kathy, for instance, was believed to be an idiot when she fled California. I was believed to be an idiot when I couldn’t find them. You were believed to be an idiot when you were in love with a married woman, yes?”

“Okay… fine,” Jacob said finally. “But still. You’re not an idiot for not knowing he was a killer. He hid it. That’s what killers do.”

Bo sat back down behind his laptop, folding his arms over top of the table. “Detective Mason, I respect you deeply. I do. I’m not trying to be an asshole, not to you, anyway. I just don’t want to let you get close, that’s all. I left behind my entire life in California, all of the people that I was close to. When I leave here, I don’t want to feel as though I’m disappointing anyone, as though… I am leaving someone behind.”

“I’m sorry, Bo.”

Bo waved a hand. “Don’t be. I’m not here for pity, Detective Mason.” He offered a smile. “I’m here to do my job, that’s all.”

“Of course.”

“You should bring Detective Lehmann back onto the case.”

“Fuck that. That’s not happening,” Jacob said.

“He has worked here much longer than I have, Detective Mason.”

“Yes, and that’s why he should know that disrespecting, harassing, bullying, and stealing from another member of CPD is never okay,” Jacob said. “So he’s staying off that case.”

“If that’s what you want to do, Detective.”

“It’s what you should want to do, too. You shouldn’t be a doormat You don’t deserve that.”

Bo shrugged. “Sticks and stone, Detective. They may insult me all that they’d like. It’s when they start throwing stones that I’ll fight back.”

“Well, if you ever decide to throw a punch, let me know. I’ve got your back.”

Bo couldn’t help but chuckle. It was almost adorable, really, that Jacob believed Bo would need backup if he were to go into a fight. Bo had once kicked Dallas’s ass. Dallas, a tall, muscled-out ball of serial killer-fueled rage, had been beaten by a much shorter, skinnier, intellectual Bo Austen. Still, he appreciated the thought.

“Thanks, Detective. I appreciate the sentiment.”

Jacob nodded. “No problem,” he said. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your non-work-related work, and I will see you at eight o’clock.” He shrugged. “Give or take a few minutes, depending on whether or not I want a second breakfast before then.”

Bo raised an eyebrow. “Can I assume that your fiancee doesn’t know you’re eating two of every meal?”

“She doesn’t need to know,” Jacob said. He laughed. “All Al cares about is making sure I don’t swear around the twins, says that if their first word is a curse of any kind, she’ll kick me out of my own damn house. So, you know, I gotta get all my swearing out of the way while I’m at the station.”

Bo laughed. “Good luck with that, Detective.”

“Thanks. I’m gonna need that, Bo,” Jacob said. He saluted the forensic analyst, a smile on his face. “See you at eight.”

“Sure thing, Detective Mason. I’ll be here.”

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