Page 85 of Manner of Death

“I know. But you’re safe, okay?” Bashir gently encouraged Sawyer to rest his feet across his lap. “We’ve got cops outside. Everyone and their mother is looking for Boyce.” He patted Sawyer’s ankle. “All we have to do is lay low and wait for them to find him.”

“Assuming he hasn’t already skipped town,” Sawyer muttered into his coffee cup. “Dude’s obviously got some serious money.” He peered at Bashir. “How the fuck does he afford all that, anyway? Are they paying you guys in the seven figures or something?”

Bashir barked a laugh. “Yeah, right. It’s not a bad living, don’t get me wrong, but there’s no way in hell I could afford a Porsche, a Navigator, a country club membership, or any of the other shiny toys he’s always showing off. Not even if his parents paid for medical school, which they did.”

Sawyer cocked a brow. “So are Mom and Dad loaded? Or did they just save a fuckload of money to send him to school?”

“I’m… I don’t actually know, to be honest. He doesn’t talk about them much, and I don’t exactly ask. I, um… haven’t made much of an effort to socialize with him. At work or otherwise.”

Sawyer’s focus seemed to sharpen a bit, as if he’d caught a scent. “Is that just you with coworkers? Or you with Boyce specifically?”

“Boyce specifically.” Bashir twisted toward Sawyer and draped his arm across the back of the couch. “I’ve been friendly with most of my colleagues, but he and I…” Bashir shook his head. “We never clicked.”

“Why not?”

Bashir tried not to squirm. Sawyer wasn’t interrogating him. Digging for something, yes, and Bashir could guess what it was, but it wasn’t suspicion of Bashir himself. Holding Sawyer’s gaze, he said, “He didn’t like me from day one. He hated that I was brought in to be the county medical examiner even though he was right there.”

“Right, right, you told me about that.” Sawyer wiped his uninjured hand over his face. “So he started before you. In this county.”

Bashir nodded. “About eight years. Fifteen since he’d finished medical school. And then here I come, five years out of medical school and already stepping into that position over his head. He’s never let me forget that.”

“Sounds like someone who’s highly motivated to discredit you, ruin your career and your reputation, and get you sent to prison. Probably so he can ‘I told you so’ everyone who made him subordinate to you. And make a play for your job.”

A chill ran through Bashir. That thought had been floating closer and closer to the surface in his mind for a while now, ever since they’d figured out the killer was likely fucking with him specifically. “He has to know we’re on to him now, though. Otherwise he wouldn’t have gone to ground.”

Sawyer nodded slowly. “And if he knows I survived his attack, he’s going to do everything he can to shut me up.” He paused. “Does he know where you live?”

The chill turned even colder. Bashir’s first instinct was to say no, because God knew he’d never had any reason to give Boyce that information, but the man wasn’t stupid. He was probably smart enough to access county employee data.

“I, um…” Bashir swallowed. “Maybe we’d be better off staying in a hotel. Or a safehouse.’

Sawyer’s eyebrows climbed. “Wait, so he does know where you live? And we’ve just been sitting here the whole—”

“He shouldn’t know.” Bashir gently nudged Sawyer’s legs off his lap and rose. “And like I said—we’ve got cops outside. But if he’s that motivated to shut you up—or both of us—then maybe we should find a more secure location.”

“Good idea.” Sawyer pushed himself to his feet with a wince. “I’m still mostly packed.” He gestured toward the front of the house. “You want to let the patrol officers know?”

“Will do.”

As Sawyer went down the hall toward the bedroom, Bashir started toward the front door. He stopped with his fingers on the deadbolt, though.

What if Boyce had figured out where he lived? Was it really a good idea to go sauntering out into the open? Even pulling the car out of the garage would be a risk, but it seemed safer than walking into plain sight.

He took his hand off the door and instead sent a text to the officer outside.

We need to move someplace safer, he wrote. We’ll let you know when we’re ready to roll out.

Then he called Nan and passed the information on to her.

“Good idea,” she said. “I’ll have an officer set something up at a secure location, and we’ll text you with an address. Give me about ten minutes.”

“Thanks.” Ten minutes seemed like a painfully long time, but that was just how these things worked sometimes. It was better to be cautious and methodical while things were still reasonably calm and non-emergent. If shit hit the fan… Well, then they could make decisions on the fly.

As he started toward the bedroom, he checked his text messages. No response from the officer outside.

And the message hadn’t been read, either.

That seemed… off.