A Tracers Trilogy

by Laura Griffin

  “Friend of mine at the cop shop.”

  “APD?”

  “Yeah. I spent half my drive on the phone. They’ve questioned Coghan, but word is, he has an alibi.”

  Their food arrived. Troy chomped into his hamburger. Alex peeled the undercooked bacon off her club sandwich and made a little pile on the side of her plate.

  “Who do you know at APD?” she asked, in what she hoped was a casual tone.

  “Plenty of people. Webb. Lopez. Hodges. Lopez told me something interesting.”

  “About what?”

  “Coghan’s alibi. The toll authority has a photograph of his truck going through a tollbooth near Freeport right around the time Melanie got shot. Coghan claims he spent the night at his dad’s house, then got up and went fishing the next morning.”

  “Convenient,” Alex said sourly. “I’m guessing this photo shows the truck, but not the driver.”

  “Points to an accomplice. If, that is, Coghan’s the one who shot Melanie.”

  “He is.” She picked up a french fry but couldn’t muster an appetite. She glanced at her watch.

  “Are you ready to talk about you yet?” she asked. “I’ve got to be somewhere in half an hour.”

  She could almost see his ears perk up. The news-hound instinct, she guessed.

  “Where you going?” he asked.

  “To see someone.”

  “Melanie?”

  “No.”

  “Then who?”

  She sighed. “Melanie’s baby. Her name’s Grace.”

  Troy put his fork down and stared at her. “Have you gone completely off the deep end? Or is this just temporary?”

  She forced herself to eat a fry. “Temporary. Until Melanie gets better. I’m trying to help out a little, spend some time with her baby.”

  “I didn’t know she had one.”

  “Neither did I, until recently.”

  “I didn’t know you liked babies.”

  “I don’t.” Except for Grace. She was special.

  Troy lifted an eyebrow.

  “The foster mom’s really got her hands full,” Alex said, and then wondered why she was defending herself. She didn’t owe him an explanation.

  “So when’s this deadline?” she asked.

  “Not so fast. We’re not done with you yet. What’s this I hear about you dumping the detective?”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Think I’ll protect my source on that. Is it true?”

  “We weren’t together, really. So no, it’s not true.”

  Troy shook his head and polished off his burger. He had an appetite, at least. That had to be a good sign.

  “You remember what you told me when we first hooked up?” he asked.

  “No, but I have a feeling you do.”

  “You said you loved sex, but you hated relationships.”

  She frowned at him. “I don’t remember saying that.”

  “You did.”

  “I must have been drunk.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe so. It was right before you told me I was the sexiest man you ever—”

  “I was definitely drunk if I said that. Or you imagined it.”

  “Not the first part.” He looked her in the eye. “You really said that, and I remember thinking, ‘Hey, works for me. Finally a woman I can relate to.’ But the thing is, you lied.”

  She sat back, annoyed. “You’re saying I wanted a relationship with you? Even after you ditched me for that little tart at the party?”

  “I knew you were still mad about that.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m not mad about it. And this conversation isn’t going anywhere. You came all the way here for nothing.”

  “I don’t think so. I think you do want a relationship, you’re just scared of getting hurt. So as soon as you find someone who wants to be with you, you make a run for the door.”

  She gritted her teeth at his smug expression. He was enjoying this.

  “I’m right,” he said. “Admit it.”

  “You’re wrong. I barely know Nathan Devereaux.”

  “Bullshit. You’re in love with him.”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  “What? You know you are. That’s why you’re acting like a coward, hiding in New Orleans while your business and your relationship go down the tubes.”

  “I’m not hiding in New Orleans.” She pushed her plate away, angry now. “And who says my business is going down the tubes?”

  “I do. Sophie’s terrified. She thinks she’s going to be out on the street in a week, looking for a new job. You don’t man the fort, the work’s going to dry up. All that effort you put in, gone. Plus, you’ve got the Delphi Center knocking on your door. Lots of people would kill for a chance to work there.” He pointed a french fry at her. “And hey, here’s a thought: What if Devereaux gets tired of waiting around for you to get your shit together and finds someone else?”

  She felt a hot spurt of resentment. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

  “Most guys I know won’t sit around forever. First choice blows ‘em off, they go for runner-up.”

  Alex clamped her mouth shut to keep from saying something particularly foul.

  “Not a nice thought, eh?” The corner of his mouth curved up. “Told you. You’re in love with him.”

  “You don’t know me as well as you think you do. And you don’t know Nathan at all.”

  “I know guys. And I do know you, like it or not. You’re throwing away the best guy who ever happened to you, myself included.”

  She rolled her eyes and looked away. Where was the waitress? She needed to pay up and leave.

  He popped the last fry in his mouth and pushed his plate away. He smiled at her. “I’m feeling better now.”

  “Now that you’ve trashed my life over sandwiches? Thanks a lot.”

  “I didn’t trash anything,” he said. “But I’m serious, Alex. Think about what you’re doing here.”

  “I’m helping a friend.”

  “At the expense of the business you built? At the expense of a relationship that matters to you?”

  She huffed out a breath. “You obviously think you’re an expert on everything, but you’re not. We don’t have a relationship. And I’m not in love with him.”

  Troy shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?”

  He met her gaze for a long moment. “I care about you. And Devereaux’s a stand-up guy. I think he’d be good for you, if you haven’t botched it already.”

  Alex started to feel queasy. She hated the food here. And yet she continued to eat it.

  He nodded at the seat beside him. “He put that thing on your key chain, didn’t he?”

  “What thing?”

  “That medallion.”

  Alex gazed down at the key chain sitting beside her purse. Nathan had attached something to it, just before he’d left her at the bed-and-breakfast. She remembered it being on his key chain, and her chest tightened every time she looked at it.

  “It’s a Saint Christopher medal,” Troy said.

  “What does it mean?”

  He smiled slightly. “Why don’t you ask him?”

  She zipped the damn keys into her purse and folded her arms. “Okay, we’re done with me. Now it’s your turn. When’s your deadline?”

  The smug smile vanished from his face, replaced by that miserable look he’d shown up with. For a moment, she enjoyed it.

  “Troy?”

  “A week ago.” He tipped his head back against the booth and closed his eyes.

  “How much is left?”

  He didn’t open his eyes. “About half.”

  Ouch. “What are you going to do?”

  He opened one eye and peered at her.

  “Forget it.”

  He sighed. He’d told her before that sex sometimes helped. But that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Come on.” She scooted out of the booth and left some bills on the tab
le. “I think I know just what you need.” She’d walk on his back for him. And maybe, if he was nice, she might give him a neck rub.

  He eyed her suspiciously. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

  “Probably.”

  “I knew it.”

  “If you didn’t want my help, you shouldn’t have come.”

  Nathan took a beautiful swing, but totally whiffed it.

  “Steeeee-rike.”

  He sent Hodges an evil look. “You mind?”

  “Not at all.” His partner leaned back against the chain-link fence and tapped his bat in the dirt.

  Nathan focused his attention, refusing to be distracted by the cocky son of a bitch. Hodges had him on body mass and age, but Nathan had played college ball once upon a time and had the kid beat in the experience department.

  The next one came fast. Nathan smashed it and smiled as it rocketed into the net.

  “Alex back yet?” Hodges asked.

  Another fast ball. He missed it completely. “No.”

  “You talked to her?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Just wondering if there’s any change,” Hodges said.

  “Change?”

  “With Melanie.”

  Right. What other kind of change would there be? He hadn’t seen or heard from Alex since he’d left her in that hotel room. And with every day that ticked by, he was eaten up with dread. Maybe he should have stayed to fight it out with her. But he’d thought he could read her. And he’d thought if he gave her enough space, she’d decide she didn’t want it.

  The next pitch was a curve, and he blasted the shit out of it.

  “Not bad.”

  He turned to see Nicole walking toward them. She’d dressed down for the occasion in jeans and cross trainers. As a setting for this officially unofficial meeting, Nathan had selected a Saturday morning and the batting cages on South Lamar.

  “My turn,” Hodges said, and traded places with him.

  “You wanna hit?” Nathan asked Nicole as he held the gate open for her.

  “No.” She leaned back against the fence. “This is really clever, though. I couldn’t even bring my briefcase. And you get my advice for free.”

  Nathan smiled because he’d planned it that way. He’d taken away all her favorite props so she’d be forced to let her guard down and give him her true opinion. Nicole had a sharp legal mind, and he hit her up for professional advice from time to time.

  Hodges smacked one into orbit, and Nicole whistled. He sent her a look. She was in flirt mode, and he’d forgotten to tell her Hodges was married.

  “I read your tracers’ report,” she said. “How’d you get Cernak to approve an expense like that?”

  “Went over his head,” Nathan said. “So what do you think?”

  She twirled her Chanel sunglasses by the stem and looked at him. “I think you’ve got a case,” she said. “And I think I could drive a truck through some of the holes in it.”

  “Let’s have it,” he said stoically.

  “All right, let’s start with the ligature,” she began in her courtroom voice. “The DNA on it could be Coghan’s, assuming your comparison sample’s good—”

  “It is.”

  “—but the results weren’t totally conclusive.” She hooked her glasses on the V-neck of her T-shirt. “Problem number one.”

  “The DNA’s Coghan’s,” Nathan told her. “Trust me.”

  “If that’s true, then it’s your strongest piece of evidence. It links him to a cold case, provided he can’t offer some other reason for his DNA to be on that murder weapon.” She gave him a disapproving look. “And I should probably lecture you about the surreptitious collection of evidence—”

  “Don’t bother,” he cut her off. “What else?”

  “Okay,” she said. “Then you’ve got a severed earbud. The blood on it comes back to a murder victim recovered from Lake Austin. He’s been IDed as Joseph Turner. According to the tracers’ ligature expert, whatever severed that earphone wire is ‘consistent with’ the baling wire from your cold case.”

  “The victim from behind the strip bar,” Hodges said.

  “Yes.”

  “So,” Nathan said, visualizing it, “Joe Turner was at that fishing cabin, using Melanie’s earphones, when someone—we’ll say Coghan—walked up behind him and garroted him with baling wire. Then Coghan removed the body from the house, dumped it in the lake, and burned up the crime scene.”

  “That’s a huge stretch,” Nicole said.

  “It’s totally logical.”

  “I meant in terms of provability,” she said. “And don’t even get me started on that earbud as evidence. It was allegedly removed from a crime scene by a private investigator. A defense attorney would make mincemeat of it in court.”

  Nathan had known that from the beginning. But he was building a case here, brick by brick, and he needed every brick he could get.

  “Fine,” he said. “What else we got?”

  “That’s it,” she said. “There’s not much else.”

  Hodges groaned, but Nathan refused to be discouraged.

  “What if we get a search warrant,” he said, “and find some of that wire in Coghan’s garage or some place?”

  Nicole tipped her head to the side. “What’s my probable cause?”

  “Everything you just said. We can link Coghan to two killings, based the evidence you just listed—”

  “Most of which a judge would balk at—”

  “Not to mention the new victim that just turned up strangled behind a strip joint. That’s three murders with the same MO.”

  “Even if we got a warrant,” Nicole allowed, “you think Coghan would be stupid enough to leave that wire sitting around? He’s a lot of things, but he’s not stupid. Plus, as long as we’re building a case here, what’s his motive?”

  “You mean besides offing the guy who was banging his wife? He wanted to eliminate threats,” Nathan said. “Keep his operation going. Melanie, Joe Turner, the thug behind the bar, the CI who probably threatened to blow the whistle. All of those victims were in a position to expose him. He needed them dead.”

  “Makes a compelling story,” Nicole said. “But where’s the proof?”

  Nathan tapped his bat in the dirt, thinking. “We need a search warrant,” he muttered. “Who knows what he’s got stashed in his house, in his car.”

  “Good luck with that,” she said. “Oh, and FYI, now that he knows the feds are onto him, he’s acting like a choir boy.”

  “How do you know?” Hodges asked.

  “I’ve got a contact on the task force,” she said. “They’re all over him, but they can’t get anything incriminating. He’s not connected to the paperwork on those houses. Their evidence linking him to the operation at all is razor thin. They need witnesses who want to tell a story. That’s why they wanted Melanie.”

  “We need the accomplice,” Nathan said, thinking out loud. “Coghan likes to strangle people. It’s quiet. No ballistics. But he’s got an accomplice somewhere—someone with a twenty-two. Hell, maybe that person’s in on the real estate deals, too. That whole setup involved money and legal expertise Coghan doesn’t have.”

  “Maybe we’re talking more than one accomplice,” Hodges suggested.

  “Who’s the CI you mentioned?” Nicole asked. “I hadn’t heard about him.”

  “It’s a her,” Nathan said. “One of Coghan’s people. She was a hooker, killed with a twenty-two, two shots to the chest. Melanie was shot with a twenty-two.”

  “Hookers get killed every day,” Nicole said. “And I don’t have to tell you how common those weapons are. If you could get matching ballistics, that might be worth something, but—”

  “Yeah, but those two women have something else in common,” Hodges said. “They were both sleeping with Coghan. And they both have the scars.”

  “Scars?” she asked.

  Hodges cleared his throat. “Turns out, Coghan likes to brand women with his
cigarette while he’s, you know—”

  “Getting blown,” Nathan finished for him.

  “He brands them?” she asked. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I interviewed some prostitutes who work for this guy Little J,” Nathan said. “I thought it was their pimp’s sick fetish, but turns out it’s Coghan.”

  Of course, not one of those girls would ever go on the witness stand to talk about servicing a cop. And even if they did, a defense attorney would torpedo their credibility in no time.

  Nicole unhooked her sunglasses from her T-shirt. “This is one hell of a case,” she said.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I’m trying to.” She looked at him, then at Hodges, and Nathan knew he was about to hear the closing argument.

  “All your physical evidence? You can forget taking it into court,” she said. “You’ve got major admissibility problems. So unless you can get a warrant—which I doubt—and find something incriminating, you’re going to have a bitch of a time building this murder case. Why don’t you let the feds keep after him for drug charges?”

  “I want him on murder,” Nathan said stubbornly. Anything less was unacceptable.

  “You asked me for my advice, Nathan. So here it is: drop this case,” she said. “Politically and legally, it’s a dog. And you guys have more than enough work as it is. Leave Coghan to the feds.”

  Nathan clenched his teeth.

  “My guess is they’ll have him on racketeering inside of three months.”

  “And then they’ll cut a deal with him to get to the bigger fish,” Hodges put in.

  “Maybe, maybe not. But if you want him for murder, you’ve got only one hope left, and it isn’t much.”

  “And what’s that?” Nathan asked.

  “You’d better hope Melanie wakes up.” She put on her shades. “And that when she does, she’s willing and able to talk.”

  Alex stepped through the hospital doors and gazed up at the sky. She felt light. Weightless. Like a child’s balloon that had been let go, simply to drift up, up, and away into the cloudless sky.

  She tipped her head back and smiled. Again. For hours, she hadn’t been able to get rid of this silly grin, so finally she’d given up, and just let it stay. Now she stood on the sidewalk, enjoying the sun on her cheeks and the warm, fizzy euphoria coursing through her veins.