Carl had given advice that was often profound. Sometimes he'd just used sarcasm.
Again we didn't speak in the car, too many unsaid words filling the silence for us. Damon ate his designer dinner, I listened to Carl's voice inside my head. It's not that I'd forgotten he called me Sport. It was just that I hadn't allowed myself to remember. Sport. Like I was his champion, someone who could leap hurdles and cross the line first. Carl had believed in me. I'd believed in him too.
Shame we let each other down.
Eagle was otherwise engaged when we made it to K Road and I couldn't have been fucking happier. He was alive, that's all that mattered. The fact that we had to wait, just out of view, while he sucked his John off, was irrelevant in the scheme of things.
I closed my eyes and allowed myself to get what little rest I could whilst surrounded by filth and degradation, and the noises of a very vocal trick. Both Eagle and his John making a show of things, possibly on Eagle's part, because he knew he had an audience. Probably on the John's because Eagle gave good head. But I wasn't trying to analyse it, just pretended I was somewhere else while it lasted.
Unfortunately, Michaels wasn't used to this sort of scene whilst investigating fire related crimes and his surprise, and no doubt disgust, made him whisper in my ear, "You see this sort of thing often?"
"All the time," I whispered back. "You get used to it." A blatant lie.
"Like you get used to death," Damon whispered, calling me on it.
"Yeah," I breathed, looking at the ground.
"How old is he?" Damon asked after a moment, when it was obvious Eagle would be busy a little longer.
"Not sure exactly. Don't think Eagle knows either. But early twenties at a guess."
Damon leaned back against the wall next to me and just breathed.
We waited. The John got his money's worth and Eagle finally exited the little alley with a cocky grin on his face. He'd already pocketed the cash, for which I was glad. Michaels was having enough of an issue with this scene as it was. I'd always been pretty philosophical about it all. Kid's gotta make a living. But that didn't stop me paying him more than the going rate for a snitch.
I was hopeful he was saving that cash for a grand escape off the streets, but part of me was also realistic. Eagle loved this life and wouldn't want it any other way.
Who was I to judge?
Besides, prostitution is legal in New Zealand, the fact that he flaunts the outer edges of that particular law is merely part of everyday life on the streets.
"Detective Keen, y'partnered up," Eagle drawled, pulling out a cigarette from behind his ear and lighting it with a flourish. His movements were fluid and like a captivating dance.
He was fucking flirting and it wasn't with me.
"Cut it out, he's straight," I growled, surprised I'd put such force in the reprimand. I think both men were too, because they just stared at me for a second.
"Fuck, eh," Eagle said with a snigger. "Didya find yourself a daddy?"
Michaels snorted, which made me realise he knew exactly what a daddy was, while I fought a ridiculous and unexpected blush.
"He's my partner, Eagle," I managed to say, forcing myself to act calm. "How's your night been, any unexpected hassles?"
"Now whatcha aks me that for, Keen? Every night's an adventure. And hassles, they just make it more fun." His eyes flicked over to Michaels as he blew out a few smoke rings. He took his time assessing my partner, not bothering to hide his interest in the slightest. "But if ya give me a minute alone with y'partner, I tell ya if somethin' uns'pected pops up."
I ran a hand over my face as Damon chuckled quietly at my side.
"Don't encourage him," I muttered, turning my attention back to the boy. "Two deaths so far."
The cigarette dropped to the ground, he didn't bother to stub it out.
"So far, y'say?" He might have been an uneducated street rat, but Eagle wasn't dumb. I nodded. "OK," he said, pushing off from his recline against the wall. "I'll spread the word to play it safe."
"Thanks," I mumbled, scratched at my unruly hair and sucked in a breath of air. "The perp could be using me to lure the vics," I admitted quietly. "Don't trust anything unless we're face to face."
"And what a face, eh?" Eagle murmured, but his heart wasn't in it any longer. He shook his head, looked like to clear it. "Word is the clubs are pullin' back on the roofies. Someone knows y'on to them."
Interesting, and not entirely a surprise. But it would make infiltrating the back rooms that much harder. Suddenly this was feeling like an insurmountable roadblock, but at least if they were running scared, less people would be abused.
Eagle, having delivered his message, started walking down the alley towards the lights of Karangahape Road without another word, when he reached the edge of the shadows he turned back and looked at me.
"Y'didn't wear the dress," he said, his voice sounding a little sad.
I huffed out a noisy breath. "It wasn't that revealing, Eagle."
"Yeah, that's what Rooster said. Still, would of liked to see ya when y'actually make a effort, Detective."
"Gee, thanks," I muttered.
He offered his signature Eagle crooked smile, the one I was sure pulled in all his marks with relative ease. Even Damon had stilled next to me and I knew for a fact that he didn't swing that way. With a shake of his head Eagle shifted his gaze from assessing my ripped, dirty and dishevelled clothing and looked Damon straight in the eyes.
"She likes tulips and Swiss chocolates."
"Eagle," I whispered, unable to raise the volume on my voice any louder due to the mild shock and astonishment I felt at his words.
"And if ya see her in that dress, makes sure y'let her know she looks fuckin' hot."
"She always looks fucking hot," Damon murmured.
Eagle's smile returned. "You'll do," he said and then he melted into the busy Saturday night clubbing crowd.
I hoped with all my heart that I'd see that crooked smile again. I hoped that before this was over I deserved to.
It wasn't for the memory of my mentor and guide, Carl. It wasn't even because it was the right thing to have happen in a sometimes evil world.
It was because I can be selfish and wilful, and because this was my city and my people who were being hurt.
And I was deeply afraid it was all because of me.
Chapter Seven
"If you pick at it enough, eventually you get rid of the scab and you're left with only a clean cut."
"Tell me about the back room at Zero," I said with more courage than I actually had, as I negotiated traffic on K Road, heading back to the Central Police Station and Michaels' car.
"It's invite only," he offered, well aware I knew this already. He was stalling. Was he as uncomfortable as me?
"And what's it like? What actually goes on there?"
"Sex. Lots of it. The occasional flogging for pleasure or a disciplinary scene. Shows of dominance and submission definitely. It's all a performance designed to seduce the senses. Art in motion under muted coloured lights, and in amongst shadows and plush surroundings, all wrapped up in a sensual atmosphere of luxury and soft sighs. You can participate or simply watch, but if you're watching be prepared to be propositioned. If you're there at all, it's because you find it titillating, and those who do are not afraid to lure their prey to them if they desire."
"But you don't have to agree to do anything unless you want to?" I checked.
"No, but not participating means you won't be invited back."
Oh. And Damon had said he could get another invitation. Easily.
"They monitor it that closely," I said through a numbed throat.
"It's strictly guarded. Getting in won't be a problem. Going back, if we don't put on a show, would be."
"We better make one visit work for us then," I offered, as I pulled the car into the public carpark at the station.
"Oh, Lara. You have no idea how good a show we could put on."
"Don't. Y
ou promised," I whispered as I shut the engine off.
"It was too tempting an opportunity to pass up," he whispered back.
The silence in the car was only interrupted by the ticking of the cooling engine.
"What's next?" Damon finally asked, putting us back on a more professional footing.
"I need a shower and a change of clothes, preferably a couple of hours sleep. Then we start asking around Tommy's friends, cross reference their answers with those I managed to ascertain from Anton's earlier this week. Both men are fairly transient, no fixed home addresses. But Tommy did have a girlfriend who lives in Panmure, last I checked. We could try there."
"You think this could be coincidence and unrelated to your current case?"
"I think we don't have enough to go on to rule out all other avenues. We're missing something, I just don't know what."
"All the connections point to the club scene," Damon pointed out, no doubt deciding to play devil's advocate. At least he took his role as partner seriously. Carl and I used to debate case outcomes constantly, throwing ideas back and forth, pulling apart others, until finally something stuck.
If you pick at it enough, eventually you get rid of the scab and you're left with only a clean cut.
I think Sherlock Holmes might have said it better, but I understood Carl's meaning anyway.
I rubbed a hand over my face and let a long breath of air out.
"I don't have an answer," I admitted. "And I can't think straight."
"Lara, don't bite my head off, but when did you last get a full night's sleep?" Damon asked, voice pitched low and carefully.
I turned my head to look him in the face. Despite the obvious shadows I saw beneath his eyes, he was still an extremely handsome man. Strong jawline, straight, prominent nose, thick dark hair with the most intriguing curl hanging over the creased lines in his high forehead. And those lips. I knew how those full, soft, rounded lips felt like when pressed against mine.
I wanted to touch them, then I wanted to stroke along his cheek and feel the roughness of the whiskers there. And then that led me to his hair, and the need to curl a strand around my finger, tug him closer by that one small connection and feel those lips against mine. Again.
I was feverish with exhaustion. That's what it was.
"When is the last time you had a full night's sleep?" I asked instead.
He sighed. "Touché."
"Go get some sleep, Damon. We'll pick this up in the morning. For now I need a little distance and a chance to think things through."
Sometimes taking a step back, while going against all the instincts a cop has, is the only way to see the whole picture. I was missing something here. The motive didn't fit the crime, if we were to go with the underground club scene roofies being the reason behind two people getting murdered. Motives run the gamut from passion through to revenge through to the old favourite, money. And many in between.
Could the potential money made dealing roofies really have been enough to push someone to kill two human beings? Unfortunately, the answer could still be yes. People had killed for less. But my gut wasn't happy with that assessment. There was more to it, I just needed to line up the dots and take a step back to see what picture they made.
"You're sure?" Damon asked. "Sleep is highly overrated, after all. I'd be happy to go over the interviews you've already undertaken, any evidence already gathered, and see if I pick up something new."
"That's actually not a bad idea. Are you still at the same email address?"
"Yes. And the same cellphone number. Do you need me to resend those?" The way he asked, I knew he was fishing. Had I kept his contact details? Had I still held on despite walking away?
I suppressed the grimace that wanted out and just nodded, flicking through my smart phone and logging into the server for CIB. Then I attached a secured file to Damon's email address and sent the lot flying through cyberspace.
"It's password protected," I said, pocketing my phone again.
"And the password is?"
"Phoenix. Capital P, the rest lower case, all one word."
"Phoenix," he murmured. "Rising from the ashes."
"Stubbornly clinging to something that should have been destroyed by fire."
His lips twitched. "Life, like love, is not something one should ever give up on, Lara."
"So you say."
He held my gaze, a slight look of defeat entering the dark brown in his eyes.
"I'll see you in the morning," he murmured, and then slipped out of the car.
I watched him walk the short distance to his HEAT vehicle, unable to pull my gaze away from his back. Then shook myself awake, turned the car engine over and pulled out of the lot. I had every intention of driving home. Pouring myself a glass of wine and soaking in the bath, then reading over reports and notes on the case in bed. Until finally I fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.
But somehow I found myself standing in front of the memorial plaques at Purewa Cemetery, staring at Carl's name on the wall. I didn't come here often. It was too morbid, and really, it's not like he would answer any questions I had. But here I was, alone late at night, looking for something that I knew I couldn't find here.
I told myself it was that need for distance. A break from the case to clear my head. But I'd learned long ago that lying to yourself was a sure-fire way to make things worse.
"So, here I am," I whispered, and naturally no one replied. "Where are you, I wonder," I added, and scuffed the toe of my shoe on the pavers beneath my feet just to be doing something. Anything at all.
I shook my head, angry with myself for being so fucking sentimental, then with hands thrust deep in my pockets I turned and strode back to my car.
It was useless to live in the past, nothing could ever change it. Carl Forrester was dead and no amount of pleading with a higher deity would bring him back.
I checked my phone, making sure there were no new messages, then drove forlornly home.
It was four in the morning when the call came in.
"Detective Keen, Kathy at Comms. We've got a unit outside The Cloud." Ah, fuck it. "A body has been found, query gunshot. There's a flag in the system connecting you to the location yesterday. Do you want it?"
I rolled over to sit on the side of the bed and stared at the carpet for a second.
"I'll be there in fifteen."
"Roger copy, assigning you now," the dispatcher said and hung up.
I kept staring at the carpet for a full minute more, then returned the phone to its base and started to dress. I made sure, this time, to grab clean clothes that had at least some respectability to them, having thrown my outfit in the laundry basket when I got home. This time I opted for jeans, a white shirt and blue jacket to hide my holstered gun. The inspector wasn't a fan of jeans for his detectives, but nearly every single one of them in CIB liked to flaunt denim when they could.
I needed at least something to smile about tonight. Rebelling with the dress code was as close as I'd get.
I dialled Michaels' cellphone whilst enroute. It went straight to voice mail, so I had to settle for leaving a message. Praying that some enterprising young uniformed officer had grabbed take-away coffees before I got there, I went over the case as it stood in my mind. Two dead informants, one attempted murder by .38 at The Cloud, or it could have just been to unsettle us and death wasn't foremost on the shooter's mind, and now a body back at The Cloud.
Logic told me it was going to be Tank's. Why, when I hadn't even touched base with him, didn't make any sense, though, at all. The previous deaths were with snitches I had met with and swapped information for cash. Granted, Anton didn't have much to give me that was helpful, other than a few generalisations about current known whereabouts of certain criminals and the like. But Tommy had given up intel that pertained to the underground club scene.
The connection was too slim. My gut told me this had nothing to do with the roofies at the clubs. But then, if not, what was it all about?
; Informants. Meeting with me or in the case of Tank, almost meeting with me. Same location as the meets.
I shook the questions free for now, first I needed to confirm the body was indeed Tank's. This could all be a coincidence and nothing more.
I parked where I'd managed to get a spot earlier, three marked cop cars already on the scene, yellow tape cordoning off the entire area around The Cloud structure. A constable standing at this end, ready to deflect or direct as necessary. I flashed my badge and slipped under the tape, following his directions to the where the victim could be found.
Just as I neared the scene, my cellphone rang. I held my hand up to the officer approaching me and swiped to activate the call.
"Keen," I said into the piece, seeing the body of the victim from where I stood. "Shit," I muttered, recognising Tank's large form resting, as though posed, next to the particle board that had been used to seal the glass door shattered from the bullet yesterday.
Blood pooled through his security guard uniform, from the looks of it he'd been shot more than once. No matter how many times I see the dark stain of spilled blood, no matter how far away I glimpse at it, no matter how much is there, every single time it makes my stomach roll and my breath hitch. There's no denying the reaction even after all of these years.
I turned away and devoted my attention to the caller on the other end of the line.
"We really should stop connecting like this in the middle of the fucking night, Keen," Pierce's voice murmured into my ear.
"Don't tell me," I quipped, "You've been called in for a murder too."
"No, not murder. I'll leave those to you. My call-out, although I'm guessing not pertaining to your case, is right up your alley."
I groaned, not bothering to hide my dislike of where this was going.
"Spill, Pierce."
"Arson."
"Oh, come on! I'm not the only detective assigned to HEAT."
"Yeah, but if you're wondering where your boy is, he's with me."
"Well that explained him not answering his cellphone," I reasoned.
"There's more," Pierce added, the sounds of conversation becoming less and less distinct in the background. I figured Pierce was attempting some privacy for this next bit.
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