The Wall Who: NPC Doherty What: Reckoning Where: Las Vegas When: Present Ratings/Warnings: Language
Doherty was used to hitting walls. He’d get frustrated, angry, a cornered animal. His ex-wife used to tell him that it happened for a reason, that a wall was for leaning against and resting. Take a breather. Regroup. She didn’t understand. Every time he took a breath, stopped thinking about finding the person responsible for killing his family, the guilt came crashing down again. It was unbearable, he wanted to rip himself out of his skin just for some air.
He was in the spare bedroom he had turned into an office, staring at scattered pieces of paper and photocopied mug shots with coffee rings on them. He thought finding Micah would be a boon, or at least a salve. Someone with an in. And he had gotten Rob a few names to talk to, but it was just...more walls. Certain people in this town weren’t afraid of the police. They were afraid of something larger, nameless, faceless. A darker place in the water.
The cop flipped through a manila folder of older shit from New York. Stuff he hadn’t touched in a year or more. “Come on, Graham,” he muttered. “Help me out here.” Doherty picked up a copy of the statement from Michelle Harmon. His eyes scanned over it, feeling that aimless frustration all over again. “Graham, you fucking asshole.” He tossed the folder at the wall and leaned back in his chair, running his hands roughly over his face as papers slid down to the floor.
“Ah, shit.” Doherty heaved himself up and crossed the room, kneeling down to clean up the mess. His eye was caught by a black and white police sketch, and he picked it up despite himself to study it, as useless as it was. Dark hair, dark eyes. Weird. Accent. His hand flew open as if experiencing an electrical shock, and the sketch fluttered down. “Fuck!”
His heart began to race and he rocked back onto the carpet. His hands were shaking. “No. No, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”