Chapter Text
Chloe was roused from sleep by the chiming of her alarm. She inhaled, breathing in deeply, before she flipped over and clawed at her phone. It fell from the bedside table and dangled over the edge by its cord until she managed to retrieve and silence it.
She flopped back onto her pillows and sighed. She looked up at the ceiling, her eyes catching as they always did on the messy trim work above the closet, and braced for what the day would bring.
Her phone dinged with an incoming text. She lifted it up and smiled at Lucifer’s message, warmth unfurling pleasantly within her chest. Good morning, Detective! It read. She sent him a selfie of her ridiculous bed head and her own good morning message, then pulled herself out of bed and into the bathroom.
Lucifer’s response — a much more explicit photo than hers had been — came through as she was brushing her teeth. She snorted and spat out her mouthful of toothpaste.
I can give you a hand with that later ;), she typed, and immediately locked her phone. It was not a good idea these days for it to fall into any wandering hands. She pulled on her clothes for the day and went down to make breakfast.
Trixie emerged from her room as Chloe was cracking eggs into the pan. “Morning, Trixie babe,” she called.
Trixie made a grunt-like noise, dropping into her chair.
“Scrambled or sunny-side up?” she asked, ignoring the non-verbal response. It wasn’t a crime to be grumpy in the morning, after all. There were some days she would like nothing more than to grunt at people who asked her questions.
She got a shrug in response. “Doesn’t matter.”
Chloe made a face as the yolk broke coming out of the shell, dashing her default sunny-side up plans. “Let’s have scrambled,” she decided, sticking a spatula into the pan to mix everything together. After a few short minutes, she scraped the finished eggs into a plate, popped two slices of toast in beside them, and set it down on the kitchen island in front of Trixie.
“Thanks,” Trixie murmured, pulling the jar of almond butter towards her and unscrewing the lid. Chloe turned back to the pan, added another knob of butter, and started cracking her own eggs in.
She finished in plenty of time to join her daughter at the island. Trixie drooped over her eggs, distractedly pushing them around her plate. Chloe dropped a kiss on the top of her head as she walked by. “You feeling okay, monkey?”
Trixie screwed up her face against the injustice of receiving a kiss from her mother. “Mom,” she whined.
“I know, I know.” Her baby girl was growing up — it wasn’t so easy to give her kisses or call her cute nicknames anymore. It was a hard thing to resist.
Trixie sighed, unscrunching herself from her position at the counter. “Just not very hungry. I didn’t sleep well last night.” She pushed her eggs around some more.
That was unusual. Trixie was a good sleeper, and always had been. Chloe had been the envy of fellow mothers at toddler play groups she’d gone to when Trixie was young. “Did you have a headache? Too hot?”
Trixie shrugged but didn’t make eye contact. “Weird dreams.” She took a small bite of her massacred eggs. “I was in an old house. You were there but I couldn’t find you. And there was a man with a big knife.”
“That sounds scary.” Chloe opened her arms in invitation, well aware she might be turned down. “Hug?” she offered.
Trixie nodded and slid off the stool and into her arms. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a great surprise to hear that Trixie was having bad dreams; she had gone through enough bad already in her life that would give anyone nightmares. Men with weapons had featured in her dreams before, and it broke Chloe’s heart each time to know that her young child had had first-hand experience with them.
Chloe gave her a good squeeze and chanced a small kiss on the top of her head. Trixie voiced no complaint about it, just staying in the clinging hold. “Good thing it was just a dream. No big old houses or scary men with knives here. It wasn’t real.” She felt Trixie sniff against her chest, and then they pulled apart.
“Do you think you can finish your breakfast?” Trixie nodded and moved back to her plate. “Good. Don’t be too long, alright? It’s just about time for school. Are you all set to go to your Dad’s this weekend?”
“Yeah,” came the answer through a mouth full of eggs. “I have my science project with me.”
“He’ll be the one to pick you up from school.”
“Mom, I know.” Trixie made a face and rolled her eyes. “We’ve done this, like, a thousand times before.”
“Well, I guess this will be a thousand and one then, won’t it?”
Trixie made a vague grumbling sound, but worked on finishing her breakfast without further commentary. Chloe shovelled her pile of eggs onto her toast in order to finish as quickly as possible, and jammed as much into her mouth at a time as she could manage. She cleared her plate while Trixie was working on her last few bites, and stood up to the scrub the pan and fill the dishwasher.
Trixie took a dainty sip of her juice. “Are you going to spend the weekend with Lucifer?” she asked, an air of utter nonchalance about her. Her grumpiness had clearly dissipated after eating some food.
Chloe forced herself to be casual and not react to the ribbing. “We’ll be working all weekend, so yes, we’ll be spending it together.” She cleared her throat and adjusted her blazer.
“Lucifer was very interested to hear that I was with Dad this weekend,” Trixie said, setting her glass down with the utmost care. “That’s all I’m saying.” Invigorated by her mischief, she shovelled the remainder of her breakfast into her mouth and made a beeline for the bathroom. “Don’t forget to pack your toothbrush!”
“Plate in the dishwasher, please!” Chloe called after her.
The nerve. Honestly.
She wouldn’t forget to pack her toothbrush. She didn’t need to.
She had one of her own already there.
“Good morning, Detective!” A coffee cup was set down before her with a flourish.
She blinked up at Lucifer’s blinding smile and found an answering one creeping across her own face. “Good morning, Lucifer. I missed you last night.”
“Did you?” He leaned in closer, sitting down on the edge of her desk. “I’m sorry to have missed that.”
“I had some memories to keep me company.” She fiddled with a pen in the cup and brought the end to her mouth. Lucifer’s eyes tracked the movement with a gleam of hunger.
The thing she had with Lucifer was — new. Not fragile — she liked to think that they’d been through enough to get where they were that their relationship would not shatter so easily. With everything Michael had brought down on them, not to mention everything that had happened over the past few years, it was enough to put the very best of relationships to the test. They were still standing. Their relationship wasn’t broken.
She had concerns about how they would function as work partners and life partners — more specifically, how to keep the two of them separate — but apparently Lucifer was capable of more discernment than she gave him credit for. There was no office PDA, no gossip or bragging about their sex life to the other officers, and no clandestine meetings in the evidence room.
Not that she would be opposed to all of those things, however.
She leaned forward. “Maybe we could discuss our case — somewhere private, of course. And I did offer to give you a hand this morning with your little problem.”
Of the two of them, she was beginning to suspect that she was the bad influence.
“Not so little,” he said, affronted.
“Oh, you’re right,” she said. “It is a rather big problem.”
“Perhaps —”
Lucifer was cut off by a folder slapping onto the desk between them. Dan stood beside them. “A body dropped,” he said. He raised his eyebrows at her. “Unless you have somewhere else to be?” His eyes flicked between the two of them. “Or you want to get us all dragged into another workplace sexual harassment seminar.”
Chloe could feel a flush creeping up her cheeks. She most certainly did not want that, and she especially did not want Lucifer to have to attend another one; the first time had been enough of a disaster, and they hadn’t even been dating at that point. Getting called out on her lack of professionalism in the workplace by her ex-husband was punishment enough. She snatched the folder off the desk as Lucifer hopped down, looking entirely unabashed and turning on Dan like a hunter on the prowl.
“Daniel,” he greeted in a dangerously smooth silky tone.
She resisted the urge to groan. Things between Lucifer and Dan has settled somewhat. Lucifer, for his part, appeared to have forgotten his plot for revenge over Dan shooting him. Apparently he didn’t take assassinations attempts all that personally. He had turned his attention instead to needling Dan about the supernatural and celestial every chance he got, and had considerable talent in manufacturing chances if none of them arose on their own.
His glee in informing Dan that he had slept with the Goddess of All Creation had almost outweighed his disgust that the Goddess in question was his mother.
Almost.
Chloe mostly left him to it. Dan had shot Lucifer, after all. A little ribbing was well-deserved, in her opinion.
“You were married to the Detective for a short period of time,” Lucifer continued. “Perhaps you can provide some insight. In your obviously limited experience —”
“Okay!” Chloe interjected, standing up and away from the desk. “I don’t think that anyone needs to hear the end of that sentence. Lucifer, we have a body to go investigate. So let’s go do that, and Dan, we’ll see you later. You’re picking up Trixie from school, yes?”
“Yeah, yes, I’ve got the weekend with her,” Dan said, rolling his eyes and placing his hands on his hips. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“Just checking,” Chloe said, throwing up her hands defensively. Clearly Trixie got the attitude from her father. “Let’s go, Lucifer.”
Forensics was already on site when they arrived at the scene. As they approached the yellow tape, Lucifer stepped in front to lift it out of her way. She ducked slightly underneath with a smile in thanks. He followed her in, the phantom touch of his hand hovering at the small of her back. The heat of his hand crept in and flared pleasantly along her back.
They entered through the house, passing by uniformed officers and forensic techs who were combing the scene. They found Ella next to the body, carefully stepping around a large pool of blood that spread out beneath him on the floor, her camera in hand. She raised it up to her eye, and took a shot. She pulled back and appeared to thumb through the photos on the screen.
“Hi Ella,” Chloe said, halting just inside the door and clasping her hands together in front of her body. “What do you have for us?”
“Welcome,” Ella began, raising her arms dramatically like a magician about to put on a show, her camera swaying gently in front of her chest. “To our locked-door mystery.”
“Ohh,” said Lucifer with approval. He nudged at Chloe’s side as if this was an exciting treat for them. “Intriguing.”
“Meet Owen Williamson,” Ella said, gesturing to the body. “His gardener came by this morning to tend to the plants, and saw his body through the window. He called the police, and when they got here, they had to break down the door, because —” she moved to show them the splintered door with an attached deadbolt. “The front door was locked with a chain that could only be fastened from the inside. This room was deadbolted shut, and the window only opens from the inside. Locked. Door. Mystery.”
“Are we sure the killer isn’t just hiding in the room somewhere?” Lucifer asked, peering under the desk as if he might find a person tucked underneath.
“Police and forensics have been sweeping the house for hours,” Ella told them. “Nobody’s here.”
“Maybe there’s a secret room,” he tried. “Or a dumbwaiter that’s been wallpapered over that the killer is hiding in right now. I saw that in a movie once.”
“Dude, this house was built like ten years ago,” Ella said. “I doubt there’s a dumbwaiter.”
“This isn’t a movie,” Chloe reminded him firmly. “And this room doesn’t even have wallpaper. If the house is really empty, then there has to be a reasonable explanation for what took place here.”
“Or it’s the vents,” Lucifer said, ducking down and examining a grate on the floor. “That’s always a classic, isn’t it.”
“A person can’t fit inside the vents,” Ella said glumly. “We already checked.”
Lucifer was undeterred. “Maybe the killer hid in the closet,” he said, opening up the closet door and looking around the inside. “And disguised himself, or herself, as a police officer, and blended in with the others when they arrived.”
The enthusiasm was charming, in its own way, if beginning to get exhausting. Trust Lucifer to hyper-focus on this aspect of the case and ignore all of the legitimate police work that still could be done. Murders were rarely as impossible as they sometimes first appeared; there would be a later break in the case that solved the initial abnormalities, or the killer would be able to offer some addition insight. She cleared her throat.
“Right now Lucifer and I can focus on who killed Mr. Williamson and why,” Chloe said. “And later we can find out the how.” She caught his eye and widened her own slightly, a silent message to pull himself together and join her in reality.
He caught on. “Of course, you’re right, Detective,” Lucifer said, standing up straight. “First we have to catch our killer. Then we can find out how this was accomplished. Priorities.” He nodded at her.
“What’s the cause of death?” Chloe asked, squinting down at the body. That was a substantial amount of blood.
“Most likely getting stabbed seven times with a kitchen knife,” Ella said, making a repeated stabbing motion with her fist. “One of those big ones, you know, for cutting meat.”
Chloe made a few gestures mimicking a knife, about ten inches long and two or three inches thick. “That long? That thick? One of those?”
“I thought you didn’t like discussing my assets in public,” Lucifer murmured in her ear. She smacked him lightly in the side. He withdrew, chuckling softly. His next question was addressed to Ella. “What do we know about the poor chap, anyway?”
“Seems to have been some kind of stock trader and investor,” said Ella. “Self-employed.”
“But clearly doing well for himself,” he remarked, looking around the room. “This house isn’t too shabby, is it?” It certainly wasn’t; there were large, open rooms, hardwood flooring, and modern furniture. “He appears to avoided most of the trappings of the nouveau riche, at least.”
“Money can be a powerful motivator for murder,” Chloe mused. “You said the gardener found the body?”
“Yes,” said Ella, gesturing with her camera. “I think the unis still have him outside.”
Owen Williamson’s gardener, José Torres, stood outside with a pair of uniformed officers. He held his hat in his hands, which he kept wringing as though trying to squeeze every drop of moisture out of it.
“Mr. Torres?” Chloe said, stepping closer. “My name is Detective Chloe Decker, and this is my partner, Lucifer Morningstar. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Upon hearing Lucifer’s name, José crossed himself and muttered a prayer. Lucifer scowled.
“His English is not very good,” said one of the officers. “We’re waiting on a translator.”
“No need,” said Chloe. “My partner speaks Spanish.”
Lucifer straightened proudly, his irritation at José’s behaviour vanishing, and repeated her question. José nodded, relaxing his grip slightly on his hat, and answered in rapid-fire Spanish. Chloe could understand some of it — her Spanish skills were nothing to crow about, but they existed — but she waited for Lucifer to translate fully.
“He says he was one to find the body,” Lucifer said. “He comes by three times a week to look after Mr. Williamson’s garden. He saw the body as he was passing by the window and called 911. He didn’t realize Mr. Williamson was dead and thought he might have had a heart attack or some other accident.”
“What time did you find the body?”
Lucifer listened for a moment to the answer before nodding and giving his translation. “He comes at seven o’clock each time. Mr. Williamson is an early riser and doesn’t mind.”
“Did you see anyone else in the house?” Chloe asked, scribbling in her notepad. “Or anyone leaving it?”
José shook his head and answered.
“He says no,” said Lucifer. “He didn’t see anyone else, and Mr. Williamson lives alone. He tried to open the window to get to the body, but it wouldn’t open. Then he went to the front door and the back door, but they were both locked.”
“Do you know of anyone who may have wanted to hurt Mr. Williamson?” she asked. José shook his head once more.
“No. Mr. Williamson was kind, paid him very well and on time. He doesn't know who would want to hurt him.”
José grasped her hand and held it between his.
Lucifer continued reluctantly. “He says that he will pray to God you will catch his killer swiftly.”
“I will do everything in my power to bring his murderer to justice,” she told José. He clasped her hand more firmly, nodded, and let her go.
The officers and José moved off. Chloe tapped her pen against her notepad.
“What now?” Lucifer asked. “Personally, I don’t like the look of this José fellow. His story was far too clean.”
She gestured at the garden. “We have no reason to suspect him. He was the one to call this in.” She glanced at him through her bangs. “What would be your next step?”
“Arrest the gardener, obviously,” he replied.
“You’re just saying that because he didn’t like your name.”
“I’m saying it because he’s probably guilty. For crimes against landscaping, at the very least.”
She shook her head. “I know you caught a serial killer almost all by yourself. You are capable of doing great detective work. Don’t play dumb.”
“That’s different. I was properly motivated.”
She said nothing, fixing him with a look. She could wait him out. He was impatient, and she had nowhere else to be today. He sighed, grumbled, and adjusted his sleeves.
“Miss Lopez said Mr. Williamson was an investor and trader, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“Perhaps there were issues with an investment gone wrong. We’ll have to look into his financial history and see what we can make of it. If he didn’t pay, or was demanding a repayment, it may point to a murderer.” He sniffed. “The things humans will do for money.”
“See?” she grinned at him. “You don’t need me. I could take the weekend off and let you handle this.”
“Absolutely not,” he informed her, puffing up indignantly. “If I’m forced to wade through mind-numbingly boring financial records, then I demand your participation.”
“Alright, alright, calm down,” she told him. He huffed and smoothed down his suit. “I’m not going anywhere. Partner.”
His smile was radiant in response.
Owen Williamson’s brother, David, shook as he picked up his mug. He put it down without drinking anything, the mug clattering loudly against the ceramic coaster.
“Sorry,” he said, wiping a hand over his eyes. “I’ve just been a wreck. Owen is — was — my older brother. I can’t believe —” he broke off, shaking his head.
“We’re very sorry for your loss,” Chloe said. “My partner and I are dedicated to finding out who did this.”
“And how,” added Lucifer. She shot him a look, while he pretended to look innocent.
“When was the last time you saw Owen?”
David drew in a shaky breath and closed his eyes. “Um. I saw him a few nights ago. Sunday. We always try to get together once a week, or every other week if we’re busy. We went out for Chinese food.”
“Was he acting unusual?” Lucifer asked, leaning forward. “Was he afraid? Did he think anyone was out to get him?”
“No — nothing,” David said. “He was acting totally normal.”
“Do you have any idea of who may have wanted to hurt your brother?” Chloe asked.
David blew out a breath. “I don’t know,” he said. He closed his eyes and swallowed. “Um. He had business partners, I guess. He invested in a few local businesses. I never heard about any problems with them, but maybe one of them had issues with him.”
“We’ll look into it,” Chloe assured him. “Mr. Williamson, I have to ask. Where were you last night between seven and eight in the evening?”
He sniffed. “I was at my friend’s house. They host a — kind of book club thing on Thursday nights.”
“If you could provide their contact information, that would be very helpful,” Chloe said. “As well as anyone else who was there who would be able to vouch for you.”
“Y-yeah, I can do that.”
She pulled out her card and passed it over to him. “In the meantime, if you think of anything else, please let me know.”
The start of an investigation was always intriguing; all the avenues of possibility were open, and what remained was for the pieces to come together and interlock the way they were meant to.
There were so many pieces to fit together. There was the forensics of the scene, spearheaded by Ella and her team; there were witness statements, which might lend insight into what had happened; and the clues that lead them deeper into the investigation. Every case was different, with its own unique combination of clues and factors.
Chloe never found herself bored with her work. Part of it were tedious, to be sure: paperwork, delays, and various hoops to jump through did not make up the most enjoyable aspects of her job. But still, never two work days were the same, and every case was a mystery to unravel and opportunity to carry out justice.
However, it appeared that some mysteries did not want to be unravelled.
“So what you’re saying is,” Chloe said. looking at the bagged evidence laid out on Ella’s table in her lab. “That there are basically no leads.”
“There’s no such thing as no leads when it comes to forensic evidence,” Ella said, jumping up and gesturing around the table. “Okay, look. There are no fingerprints on the murder weapon except for those of the victim’s.”
“So you’re saying this is a suicide?” said Lucifer, holding up the bagged evidence between two fingers. “That’s a bit overkill.”
“No,” Ella said. She snatched the bag out of his grasp and put it back down on the table. “If there are no prints, it means it’s likely that whoever killed Owen Williamson wore gloves. If the blade had been wiped, we wouldn’t have found any prints on it at all. See? A lack of evidence can bring out new leads.”
“So our killer had a plan.”
“What kind of knife is it?” Chloe asked, squinting at the bag. All she could make out was a thick black handle that looked the roughly the same as any other knife she’d ever owned.
“This?” Ella said, picking up the evidence bag and holding it up for inspection. “Just a common household knife. We found it put back into the knife block. Not even cleaned off.”
“A weapon of convenience usually points to a crime of passion,” Chloe pointed out. “But for the murderer to be wearing gloves means that there was some amount of pre-meditation. And returning the knife back to where it was supposed to be is…strange. But we still have no physical evidence tying anyone else to the scene.”
“That’s what makes this so interesting!” Ella said.
“Do you have any other leads for us?” Chloe asked, rubbing her temple. There was interest in the unusual, and then there was Ella’s obsession with it.
“Well, we’re sweeping the rest of the house to see if there’s anything we missed, but so far, nope, nada. I hope you guys can find some leads elsewhere, because forensics has a whole lot of nothing for you at the moment.”
“Weren’t you just saying that could be a good thing?” Lucifer said.
Ella shrugged. “You guys could be looking for a pro. This wasn’t your run of the mill crime of passion, I’ll tell you that much. The evidence just isn’t there for it.”
Chloe sighed. Lucifer leaned in. “The dead chap’s brother seemed to believe that his business dealings were the reason for his demise. Could be less expensive to hire a hit than to pay back a loan.”
“Really?”
Lucifer tilted his head. “Depends on the size of the loan.”
“We have a list of Owen Williamson’s business investments,” Chloe said. “Time to start digging and see what we can turn up.”
“Owen?” the man said incredulously. “Owen was murdered?”
“It appears so,” said Lucifer. He looked around, nodding his approval. “This is a nice little setup you have here.”
Chloe could agree with him on that. The restaurant was upscale Japanese cuisine right at the heart of Beverly Hills. Everything about it was beautiful and opulent; exquisite murals adorned the walls, tables were separated by delicately painted dividers, and the tables held red lacquerware dishes.
She focused her attention on the owner and chef in front of her. “Mr. Takashi Matsumoto, is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s me,” Takashi said.
“Is there anywhere we can speak in private?” Chloe asked. “We may not want to have this discussion in the middle of your restaurant.”
He blinked out of his stunned silence. “Yes, of course,” he said, ushering them out of the dining room and into an office beside the bathrooms. It was small and cramped, piled high with print outs and envelopes. A desk with a computer sat to one side; Takashi sunk into the office chair, and waved them into the two chairs that were placed in front of his desk.
“Mr. Matsumoto,” Chloe began. “We understand that Mr. Williamson was your business partner.”
“Yes, Owen was the one who made this whole thing possible.” He gestured to the restaurant outside of the office door. “Without him, I wouldn’t have had the funds to get this place started. God. What a nightmare. How did he die?”
“I’m afraid I can’t divulge details of an ongoing investigation,” she told him.
He nodded absentmindedly. “Of course. Of course. What a shock. How can I help you, Detectives?”
“What I’d really like is for you to tell me,” Lucifer said, shifting forward in his chair. He caught Takashi’s eyes, who stared at him, enthralled. “What is it you desire?”
Takashi’s pupil’s dilated. “I —”
“Yes?” Lucifer prompted.
“I want to prove myself,” Takashi said. “Prove I have the talent to be successful all on my own.” He blinked and shook his head, pulling himself away from Lucifer’s compulsion. “This business is everything to me. I’ve worked very hard to make it a reality. Owen helped me with that.”
“Did you ever have any issues or disagreements with Mr. Williamson about how the business should be run?” Chloe asked. “Anything that may have gotten a little heated, say?”
“No way,” Takashi said, shaking his head. “We were both happy with the agreement. I was making regular payments plus interest.”
“You weren’t miffed at having to repay your loan so soon after opening, were you?” Lucifer prompted.
Takashi shrugged. “That’s business,” he said. “Why would I be upset? This place is doing great. One year in, and we’re consistently busy every night. We’re getting great reviews. We’re on track to pay everything back with no delays. And Owen loved this place. He came in all the time for the okonomiyaki.”
“Oh, okonomiyaki,” Lucifer said. “Detective, we should come here one evening. Have you had it? You’ll love it.”
Chloe’s knowledge of Japanese food started and stopped at sushi, which she — despite having lived in California her entire life — had never really liked. But the idea of having a night out with Lucifer, the two of them having a meal together at a nice restaurant, splitting a bottle of wine and a fancy dessert, was more than appetizing.
She cleared her throat to tamp down on her thoughts and adjusted her grip on her pen. They were working. Fantasizing could come later.
“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm Mr. Williamson?” she asked. “Another person who might have had financial dealings with him, or any personal connections he might have had?”
“I’m really sorry,” Takashi told them, shaking his head. “I don’t know about anyone else he partnered with. I know he had a brother — met him a few times when they came in together — but that’s about it.”
“Can you account for your whereabouts last night between seven and eight?” she asked.
“Here,” he replied simply. “That’s prime dinner rush on a Thursday night. I was slammed in the kitchen at that time.”
“We’ll follow up, just to be sure,” she said. “But I think that’s everything for today.” She pulled out her card and held it out to him. “If you think of anything at all, please let me know.”
He took it with two hands and held it in front of him. “I will. I hope you’re successful in finding out who did this.”
“Oh, she’ll track them down,” Lucifer said. “She’s the best in the business. Now, would you be so kind as to tell me if you make your own mochi?”
“We’ve got a fresh batch in the back,” Takashi said. “I’d be happy to pack you up a few if you’d like.”
“That would be lovely —”
“That won’t be necessary —”
Chloe cleared her throat. “Thank you for all your help,” she told him. “We won’t take up any more of your time.” She turned away and tugged at Lucifer’s jacket to bring him along.
“I’ll call for a reservation another time,” Lucifer said in a lowered tone. She tugged on his jacket again, and he followed her out of the restaurant. “Gentle,” he scolded, examining his suit for potential wrinkles as they walked back to her car. “You’ll stretch the fabric.” He crowded in behind her as she grabbed the handle to open the car door. “Of course, if you’d like to wreck my clothes, I’m sure we can find a fitting arena for that.”
She pushed him away, snorting, and climbed into the car. Grinning, he followed suit.
It was only much later, staring over the steering wheel at the endless Los Angeles traffic, that the day began to catch up with her. She heaved out a breath.
“What is it?” Lucifer asked, gazing at her steadily from the passenger seat. “That’s a beleaguered sigh if I ever heard one.”
“It’s never a promising sign to begin a new case with so many dead ends,” she told him.
They’d followed up with a few more of Owen Williamson’s investments to no avail. Lucifer had been suspicious of the fry truck owner, but the man had no discernible motive for murdering the man who gave him his startup fund, and an alibi for the time of the murder as well. The art gallery owner had similarly been baffled as to why anyone would murder Owen, and had pulled up footage of his own security tapes to detail his alibi.
No one could offer any insight on the case. No one was coming up as a plausible suspect.
It was possible she was a bit precious about her track record, especially with Lucifer on the case — they had a very high solve rate, after all — but it was frustrating not to be able to find out who did it. To bring closure to the family. To give poor David Williamson some peace of mind.
There was still time. It was early in the case yet, and it wasn’t as if murders routinely got solved in a single day. However, it would be nice to have something as a jumping off point the following day rather than continuing the same slog from the day before.
She made a face as a zippy little sports car — likely a man’s midlife crisis purchase — swerved in front of her and into the far lane. She honked at him.
“Oh, you are grumpy,” he marvelled, looking bizarrely proud of her. “Unless there’s something else on your mind?”
The invitation to vent was there, and she considered turning it down. But they were partners, after all, in more ways than one. Partners could lean on each other. How many times had she offered to listen to him if he needed to share? It should go both ways, each one in turn both the listener and the one who got to vent. She adjusted her grip on the steering wheel.
“It’s the circle of grumpiness, I suppose,” she said. “Trixie was grumpy with me this morning. I don’t remember exactly — I touched her hair, or kissed her head, and she reacted like I was some huge embarrassment.” At Lucifer’s blank expression, she waved it off self-consciously. Mundane parenting woes were far outside his wheelhouse. “Forget it. It’s not a big deal.”
He reached across the centre console and touched one of his hands to hers, an approximation of holding her hand. “Forgive me,” he said quietly. “I confess I don’t have much in the way of experience in parental matters or any advice to offer. But I can see that this… interaction has upset you.”
Sometimes it caught her by surprise, the way her daughter was growing up before her eyes. It seemed like just yesterday she was a newborn baby, and a rambunctious young girl who played with dolls. It was even more recently that she could hug and kiss her daughter without her squirming away.
“Just part of growing up, I guess,” she said. “I remember a time when I was absolutely mortified by every word that came out of my mother’s mouth. I suppose it was bound to happen to me, too.”
“You’re still mortified by every word that comes out of your mother’s mouth,” he remarked. She opened her mouth to deny it and found she couldn’t quite squeak out of that one without catching herself in a lie.
Her phone rang from the car’s speakers, an unknown number flashing across the display. She pressed the button to accept the call. “Detective Decker.”
“Detective Decker? This is Takashi Matsumoto. We spoke this morning.” Lucifer leaned forward in interest.
“Of course, Mr. Matsumoto. How can I help you?”
The connection crackled slightly. “After you left, I looked through some photos I had of Owen on my phone. I have a photo from the last time he was at the restaurant, and he brought someone. I’ve never met him before but when I came out to say hello they were having a very intense discussion. Sounded like a pretty nasty disagreement. It’s probably nothing, but I thought I would let you know.”
“Did you get a name for this person?” Chloe asked.
“Owen introduced him as his ‘colleague’, and that was it. I think the only thing he said was ‘nice to meet you’.”
“Can you send the photo to my email? It’s on my card.”
“Of course.” There were some indistinct sounds of a phone keyboard tapping, and a small ding from her own phone to indicate a new email had arrived. She passed the phone to Lucifer, who dutifully opened it up and propped the phone against the dash so she would be able to see.
“We’ve got it,” she told Takashi. She glanced at the picture and then turned her eyes back to the road. “The man on the right? Skinny, white, brown hair?”
“That’s him,” Takashi confirmed.
“We’ll look into it,” she said. “Thank you for passing it along. Maybe his brother or one of his other associates will be able to give us a positive ID.”
“I hope it helps,” Takashi said, although he sounded dubious. “I know it’s not a lot.”
“I appreciate it,” she assured him. “Really. Feel free to call any time.”
They ended the call. Lucifer frowned at the photo. “He doesn’t look like much of a murderer,” he declared. “Barely looks strong enough to pick up a knife, let alone stab someone with one. Still, those are the ones you’ve got to watch out for.”
“Well, I for one am glad to have something, even if it is a photo of an unidentified man who may have argued with our victim shortly before his death. It’s better than nothing. It’s something to look into, at least.”
“Here we are, literally foraging for crumbs.” He frowned at the turn she made. “Hang on, you’re going the wrong way. You missed your exit.”
She gripped the steering wheel. “Well, I could go there,” she said. “I just thought, what with Trixie being at Dan’s this weekend, we could take advantage of the time and I could stay with you.”
His frown melted away to reveal a blinding grin. “Well,” he said, eyeing her with extreme satisfaction. “I must say that this weekend’s prospects have improved remarkably. There I was, prepared to resign myself to an evening of complete drabness, but I will have the pleasure of your exquisite company instead.”
She very much doubted that Lucifer had ever had a boring evening in his life. Even if she wasn’t there, he still had an entire club to entertain him.
She scoffed. “Don’t get too excited about an evening without drabness just yet,” she threatened. “I did bring the case files.”
“Of course you did.”
She pulled into Lux’s underground park and backed the car into one of the guest spots. She turned off the engine and turned to him. She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel. “I may be convinced to put away the files a bit earlier than normal.”
“A challenge!” Lucifer’s grin dialled up in intensity. “This I like. How ever can I convince you to abandon your detective duties for the evening?”
“Oh,” she said, leaning in. His eyes flickered down to her lips and back up. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”
Chloe’s cellphone rang and buzzed from inside her pocket. She jumped and pulled back slightly, pulling it out to see who was calling.
“Infernal device,” Lucifer muttered.
She ignored him. Trixie’s name and picture — an older one of the two of them cheesing for the camera in front of the Griffith Observatory — flashed across the screen. “It’s Trixie,” she told him. “I have to take this.” She swiped along the screen to accept the call and brought it to her ear. “Hi monkey. Having a good time at your dad’s?”
“Mom?” At the tone of her daughter’s voice, Chloe’s spine straightened and her mind zeroed in completely. That was not the sound of a happy Trixie. She sniffled on the other end of the line. “Can you come get me?”
“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” Chloe scrabbled for her seat belt. “Is your dad there?”
Trixie sniffed again. “I don’t feel well. I want to come home with you.” Her voice was thick, as if she’d been crying. “Please come get me.”
“Does your dad know you’re not feeling well?” Chloe frowned in thought. It wasn’t like Trixie to want to bail on her weekends with Dan. The two of them always looked forward to their time together. And even if she got sick while she was over there — which had happened a time or two before — it wasn’t as if Dan weren’t wholly capable of looking after her.
“I just want to come home,” Trixie repeated.
“What happened?” she asked. “You were looking forward to it this morning. Your dad was going to help you with your science project.”
“Mom,” was the reply, along with a fresh sob.
“I’m on my way, baby, okay?” she said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She hung up the phone, her frown deepening.
“What’s all that about?” Lucifer asked, his brow furrowed in concern.
“I have no idea.” She pulled up Dan’s number and dialled him, shifting in her seat.
Dan answered on the third ring. “Hey Chloe, what’s up?” He sounded cheerful enough, a stark contrast to the tear-choked voice that had called her moments before. “Everything going well with the case?”
“Hi Dan,” she answered, worrying her lip between her teeth. “Is everything alright with Trixie?”
“Everything’s fine,” came the reply. “I picked her up from school — on time, don’t worry — and brought her here. We’re getting Thai food for takeout later.”
She looked over at Lucifer; he looked puzzled but ready to dismiss Dan’s obliviousness. Obviously he isn’t aware of the situation, Detective, she could practically hear him say. He wouldn’t recognize an emergency if it smacked him in the face. Chloe reigned in her inner Lucifer and focused on the conversation at hand.
“Wh — she just called me to ask me to come get her.”
“What?” Dan sounded as puzzled as she felt. “She’s in her room doing homework. Let me check —” Over the phone came the distant sound of footsteps, and then knocking against wood. “Trix?” Dan’s voice was muffled, as if he were pressing the phone against his chest. “Can I — oh, the light’s on in the bathroom. Trix?” There was more knocking. “Are you okay?” There was a pause. “Your mom’s on the phone. She said you asked her to come get you. Is everything alright?” Dan came back to the phone after a moment. “She doesn’t want to come out of the bathroom. Just says she wants you to come get her.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she promised. “We’ll get this sorted.” She hung up the phone and looked over at Lucifer.
“The child wants out of Daniel’s care?” he said. “Can’t say I blame her. I’d be calling you up too if I had to spend all weekend with him.” He grinned and settled back into his seat, clearly pleased with his rejoinder against an opponent who wasn’t even present.
She scowled at him, but her heart wasn’t in it. Dan had shot him, after all. He was entitled to a few quips.
A few. She had no interest in navigating a prolonged spat between the pair of them.
Her gaze softened. “I’m going to have to take a rain-check on this evening,” she told him. “I know we were going to have this whole weekend to ourselves, but —” She gave a little shrug. “Trixie needs me.”
“Of course, darling,” he said smoothly. She knew he was disappointed, but he had the good grace not to complain about it. She was disappointed not to be able to spend the weekend with him, but Trixie came first. There was no question about it.
“I will say, though, she is getting rather big these days,” he continued on. “Surely the need decreases as they get taller, yes? She’s not nearly the tiny urchin I remember meeting.”
“Right?” she said incredulously. “She’s getting tall. She’s nearly caught up to me. Soon she’s going to start stealing my clothes and — and wearing eyeliner.”
“Oh,” said Lucifer, patting her gently on the knee. “I think your clothes will be safe from theft.”
She scoffed at him, to which he beamed. She leaned across the console and kissed him. “I have to go now,” she told him. “But I’ll call you later.”
“I look forward to it,” he murmured against her lips, stealing another kiss. He leaned back, sighed dramatically, and unfolded himself from her car. “However will I entertain myself without you, darling?” he called back through the passenger side window.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she told him, rolling up the windows.
He flapped a hand in her direction as she pulled away.