See No Evil by Allison Brennan

made a comment about his last name. If he had a dime for every time someone said to him
you don’t look Irish
…on occasion he’d wanted to deck someone.
    One he had. He hadn’t started it. He’d been thirteen and Brian Forster said, “Kincaid? What kind of spic name is that? Must be adopted, you don’t look Irish.”
    “Funny, you don’t look stupid.”
    He hadn’t swung first, but he won the fight and as a result, he’d been suspended for a week. Still, it had been worth it to see the blood spurt from that asshole’s nose. For about ten minutes. Then his father lectured him and his mother cried and that was the last time Connor hit someone out of anger.
    He cleared his mind, focused on the task at hand, renewed empathy with the kid in front of him. Connor had been working with underprivileged youth since long before he left the force. When he had resigned, he spent even more time at the youth centers around town. Some kids were bad news. Others were trapped and ended up making the wrong choices. And others, like Billy, really tried to change their lot in life and sometimes got shit on by those who claimed to want to help.
    “Billy, you know I understand where you’re coming from. Don’t give me shit.”
    Billy said nothing, but his physical demeanor relaxed. He shrugged, leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms. “What about Judson? Everyone thinks I killed him, you know.”
    “But you didn’t. You have the truth on your side,” Connor said softly.
    “What do you want to know?”
    “Have you heard of a group called ‘Wishlist’?” Connor asked.
    Billy straightened. “How do you know about that?”
    Connor slid over the message he’d taken from Patrick’s file.
    “Do you recognize this?”
    Billy didn’t touch the paper, but he read it.
    “Yeah. I wrote it. What’s it to you?”
    “What is ‘Wishlist’?” Connor asked.
    “Hell if I know. Just a bunch of whiny pricks. Life sucks, you know? Shit happens. But these people just whine and complain ’bout every fucking thing that happens to them.”
    “You were in the group and you don’t know what it is?”
    “It’s just an online message group. You know, sign up and get e-mails from everyone in the group. It was supposed to be anger management or something—talk about your problems and they’ll disappear, shit like that. But it wasn’t for me, you know? I quit after a couple months.”
    “How did you get hooked up with them in the first place?”
    “After Judson expelled me I was stupid, okay? I took a bat to his car. I had to pay for the damage and take this anger management class. So I did. The shrink told me about the group, said it was for people like me who just wanted to talk. Do I look like someone who needs to
talk
about my shit? But I did it because I thought I’d get points and get out of the stupid class. I dumped it as soon as my probation was up. Kept my nose clean since. You know that, Kincaid, don’t you?”
    “You have the cleanest nose down at the gym.”
    A half-smile turned Billy’s lips up. “Damn straight.”
    “Did you save any of the e-mails?”
    “Naw, and I never had a computer either. I used the computer at the library at school. Haven’t been online since I graduated last June.”
    So “Wishlist” was an online anger-management community, apparently aimed toward teenagers, considering that both Billy and Emily had been members. Billy’s psychiatrist recommended it, and Connor wondered if the same had happened with Emily.
    He was about to ask when Billy tapped the message and said, “Damn, I sounded like a lunatic when I wrote that. But it’s easy to rant when it’s anonymous. Now, I don’t care. I’ve got a chance to go to Texas in the fall and the only thing I want to do is play basketball and take care of my ma. I’m not going to blow it.” He looked at Connor, fidgeted. “Um, thanks for the recommendation letter. Appreciate it.”
    Connor nodded, stood. “By the way,” he asked,