The Knowing (Partners In Crime Book 1)

by Hanna Noble

  Cole watched as Leah pulled out a map of the city and placed in on the table. She handed Owen a black felt tip. “Mark down the locations of the previous attacks of everyone except Megan.”

  “Yes ma’am.” Owen started writing little Xs denoting the scene of a crime. Cole sipped his coffee and waited. He knew why Leah had asked Owen. His partner had a wicked memory for maps, and he never forgot the location of a crime scene once he’d seen it or read about it. A handy talent that Cole had always envied.

  Owen looked up. “Done.”

  “Great.” Leah took the map back and picked up a red pen. “This is the scene of Megan’s murder.” She marked a red X on the map. “This is where Randall lived.” She made another mark close by and looked over at Cole. “Tell me what you see.”

  He’d done this before, had glared at similar reproductions of this map for hours while their case trail ran cold. “All the attacks are spread over the city.” He’d been frustrated dealing with a perp who refused to define a set territory. His gaze moved toward the X marking Megan’s location and Randall’s house, and his eyes narrowed. “They lived four blocks away from each other.”

  “Yes.” Leah nodded. “So why would he drive his own car four blocks, and park it on the street near the house where it would be easily spotted? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “You’re right. The psychological profile also indicated that the Phantom would want to keep a clear boundary between his daily life and his ...” Cole searched for the right words. “Extracurricular activities,” he said finally.

  “Exactly.” Leah looked over the map again. “It doesn’t make sense that he’d pick someone so close to where he lives. It doesn’t track. I wanted to see the interrogation tape, to see how Carr would justify his behavior. But, there was an issue with it.”

  “An issue?” Owen straightened in his seat.

  “Records show that Carr was brought into the interrogation room at 4:17 pm,” she said, looking at a page in her notebook. “But the video starts off at 4:41pm with Risso already in the room.”

  “Were the cameras malfunctioning?” Cole wondered, though he doubted it. It was protocol to turn on the cameras as soon as the police brought anyone into the interrogation room. It was a liability policy to protect the department.

  Leah shook her head. “No, I checked the equipment logs. I don’t know why, but there are twenty-four minutes of footage when Risso was with Carr alone that’s unaccounted for.”

  “Holy shit,” Owen swore. “That’s more than enough time to coach him on a confession.”

  “We don’t have any proof of that kind of tampering,” Leah protested. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions.”

  “So, what do you think overall?” Cole held his breath, waiting for her assessment.

  “Something isn’t right,” she replied after thinking about it for a minute. “Why did they only find evidence from Rachel Li and not the other women? I can see why this set off your alarms. And why you think Risso is involved.”

  Cole felt relieved. A part of him had worried that he was going crazy, seeing conspiracies where there were none. Leah’s analysis confirmed his own thinking, setting his mind at ease. There was something suspicious here.

  “Thanks for this.” Owen checked his watch. They had another ten minutes left before they had to get to the station.

  “One more thing,” Leah said. “These are the witness statements taken after Megan’s death. There are a few things that don’t add up. I know Risso already had the suspect by that point, so I’m trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.” Her voice was a clear indication that she didn’t think he deserved such a courtesy.

  “It’s no excuse to be sloppy,” growled Owen, handing Cole one of the witness statements.

  He hadn’t seen this document before. With everything that had happened, he’d been too distracted to stay updated on the case, especially after he’d been removed from the task force.

  It was the statement from Megan’s mother, and reading her words he could feel how much the woman had loved her daughter. The two had been very close, and Cole had felt helpless in the face of a family’s grief. He hated failing at keeping people safe, channeled that helplessness into a focus that made him an even more diligent detective.

  “What am I looking for here?” he asked after reading it.

  “The devil’s in the details,” she replied. “There are three statements here. One from the mother, one from her journalism professor, and one from her study partner. Her study partner said Megan came into some money from a relative to pay for tuition and rent. Her mother said she had received a scholarship but still needed some financial aid loans. Her professor said she often required extensions because she was working at a cocktail bar called the Barking Frog.” Leah tilted her head. “I made a few calls.”

  Cole’s brain was already sifting through the facts, spotting the inconsistencies. He had a good idea of where Leah was going with this. “Let me guess,” he said. “There’s no scholarship and no job.”

  “Not quite.” Leah leaned back, tapping her pen on the table. “There was a scholarship, but it was a small one. She had taken out a student loan, but then repaid her outstanding balance in full, a few months before her death. She moved out of student housing into an off-campus apartment alone. There’s no record of her working at the Barking Frog or anywhere else.” She paused. “Even if she did work a part-time job, it wouldn’t be enough to cover the cost of rent.”

  Owen picked up one of the crime scene pictures that showed the apartment. “Looks like pretty swanky digs for a graduate student.”

  “It’s $3,800 per month,” Leah said.

  “Wow.” Owen whistled. “That’s steep.”

  “Where’s the money coming from?” Cole asked.

  “Leah wants the bank statements,” Owen said before she could answer.

  “Yes,” Leah’s expression was calm, but Cole could feel her resolve; the thrill of uncovering the truth was an addictive drive he knew well. “I’m not sure how to get them. I don’t want to talk to the DA because Risso would know we’re looking into it.”

  “Yes, too risky,” Owen agreed, scratching his jaw. “We tip our hand before we’re ready and this whole thing can blow up in our faces. We don’t even know exactly who is involved here.”

  It could be the DA. The words hung between them unsaid.

  “Her mother.” Cole ran a hand through his hair. “Isn’t she the executor of her estate? Maybe she can let us look at her computer.”

  “She could give us voluntary access,” Owen said, thoughtful. “We could probably check her online banking files.”

  “Leave it to me, I’ll figure something out.” Leah paused, then said, “Are you going to tell me what really going on?”

  Cole winced, hearing the faint tone of hurt. He was about to reach a hand to cover hers, but Owen beat him to it. The big man swung an arm around Leah’s shoulder and squeezed.

  “Of course, we are,” he said. “But we can’t do it here, and we all have to get back to work. How about we meet tomorrow night? It’ll take a while to fill you in.” He glanced at Cole, looking for a reaction.

  Cole nodded. It was time to bring her in all the way. “We can do it at my place,” he said, knowing he was taking a big step. “We’ll talk there.”

  Leah looked between them, sensing undercurrents but not knowing what they were. “Ok,” she said. “I’ll be there. I’ll keep you posted on anything else I find.”

  They all rose, and Owen helped Leah into her black pea coat. Cole shrugged into his own jacket and tossed a few bills on the table.

  Back in the car, he rubbed his hands together, holding them up against the heater.

  “It’s too damn cold in this city,” he said, watching in disgust as his breath misted. “I should move to Miami.”

  Owen chuckled. “You always say that in March. But then you’d be dealing with the club goers all year round.”

  Cole grimaced at the thought.
Hot weather meant short fuses. He found a new appreciation for the cold that kept the drunken partiers off the streets. “That would be bad.”

  Owen nodded. “If you really wanted to move somewhere warmer, San Diego would be a better bet.”

  “True—” Cole jerked as he realized what he’d said. He glared at his partner. “Fuck you.”

  Owen guffawed as they pulled back out on the road. “Sorry, partner, I couldn’t resist,” After the laughter died down, he said, “Did we hear back from Lily’s workplace?”

  “Yes, we have a meeting with her manager tomorrow morning.” Cole looked over his notes from this morning. “I’m hoping we’ll find out more about her work issues. Let’s go back to the station and make sure we’re all set.”

  He’d never admit it, but he also wanted to finish as quickly as possible so he could leave the station at a reasonable time and get home to see Naomi. He was eager to talk to her, to touch her. He’d worried that having someone in his personal space would be uncomfortable, but he liked having her around.

  He was startled by these thoughts. He shouldn’t be thinking this way. She was leaving, he reminded himself. She had a new life waiting for her on the other side of the country. This was only temporary, and the last thing he should be doing was imagining what it would be like to come home to Naomi every single night.

  He shouldn’t be picturing any sort of future with her. He wanted to get her out of his system, to prove to himself that she was a fantasy, that the idea of her would never match the reality. He wanted…hell. He wanted her. Period.

  Chapter Twenty

  Naomi was sprawled out on the couch when she heard Cole open the front door. He was home from work already. Shit.

  “I’m back. Naomi, are you here?”

  She sat up, frazzled and caught off guard. She’d been so busy fighting against the clawing panic that she’d lost track of time. She wanted to be calm and collected when she relayed what she saw, not this shivering, terrified wreck of a person.

  She could still make it upstairs to her bedroom and invoke the sacred closed-door clause of the roommate treaty. He’d need a few minutes to take off his winter coat and boots. The sound of his footsteps coming down the hallway dashed that escape plan, and she steeled herself to face him.

  He entered the living room, his face a mix of curiosity and amusement. She felt even more on edge. How would she explain the strange twists and turns her Knowing had taken her through today?

  “There you are. Didn’t you hear me? Were you asleep?” He smiled as he shrugged out of his suit jacket, folding it over a chair and removing his tie. He flopped down in his grandmother’s reading chair and looked over at her, his smile fading into a look of concern.

  “What is it?”

  I connected to the killer today. He’s alive and well. Oh, and by the way, he’s getting ready to murder another innocent woman. Naomi swallowed. “Uh.” She cleared her throat, trying again, the words refusing to come out. “It’s nothing, I was resting. Thinking about the case.” Coward. Liar. She tried not to fidget, knowing those slate grey eyes missed nothing.

  “Ok,” he said, looking at her for a long moment. “I know I’m not the resident psychic here, but even I can tell that you’re lying.” She opened her mouth, but he held up a hand. “Put on some workout gear and meet me in the basement in five minutes. We’ll try this again.”

  He stood and closed the small distance between them, crouching in front of her. She felt her heart kick in her chest, her pulse hammering double time. He reached out a hand and touched her furrowed brow with one finger, smiling at her. “Don’t worry so much. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  Not waiting for an answer, he picked up his coat and tie and walked out of the room, leaving her staring after him. She only exhaled after she heard his bedroom door closing. She put her head in her hands and groaned in frustration.

  Her anxiety had been erased, only to be replaced by an acute sexual tension that was simmering in her blood. His presence, his spicy scent, was enough to send her into overdrive. This side of Cole, the protective gentleness fused with intensity, was hard to resist. She needed to develop and immunity fast. Compose her thoughts? More like rein in her raging lust.

  Still, it had proven to be an effective distraction from her earlier chill. Lust she could deal with. She would choose lust over the sick perversions of a maniac any day of the week. She walked upstairs to her bedroom. Workout gear? She shrugged and pulled on a pair of black running tights and a white tank top. Lacing up her sneakers she wondered what he had planned.

  She descended into the basement, her curiosity piqued. It was a finished space with concrete floors and bright lights. Naomi spotted skis leaning against one of the walls of what appeared to be a storage room. The rest of the open space had been converted into a home gym.

  There was a treadmill and a stationary bike in one corner, positioned in front of a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. A weight rack stood in front of a full-length mirror. The other side of the room contained a punching bag that was bolted to the ceiling, a rack of free weights, and some mats for stretching and floor work.

  “There you are,” Cole said, coming down the stairs a few seconds later. “You were faster than I was.”

  Naomi couldn’t help but notice the way the light blue athletic shirt accentuated the ripple of muscles in his chest, showcased his sculpted arms. She looked at her surroundings, anywhere except at Cole. “This is a pretty sweet setup.”

  “I like to stay in shape, but I hate going to the gym. This is much better.” He pointed at the flat screen behind him. “Plus, I get to control the television.”

  “Sports?” she guessed.

  “Cooking shows.”

  She laughed. “Of course. Torture devices for those trying to shed a few pounds.”

  He walked over to the corner and pulled out a pair of dark blue boxing gloves. “Here”—he handed them to her— “put them on.”

  She raised her eyebrows, surprised.

  “Trust me,” he said, helping her slide her hands in and lacing them up. “I think this is a great idea.”

  “You think all your ideas are great,” she muttered, as he put on a pair of focus pads.

  “It doesn’t mean it’s not true,” he countered, holding up a padded hand. “Hit me.”

  When she stared at him, his expression turned mischievous. “Here I thought you’d jump at the chance. Come on, take a shot. I deserve it.”

  She stepped up and took a half-hearted punch. He looked unimpressed.

  “Seriously? You can do better than that.”

  Putting a little more power in her swing, she tried again. She was satisfied when her third attempt made him grunt in surprise.

  “Remind me not to make you mad.” He started to circle around her, forcing her to move with him. “Ok, now, I want you to picture that this pad is the Phantom.”

  She tensed, the memories of what she’d seen rolling through her. The sick glee. The anticipation of causing more pain. The smugness that he would get away with it again combined with her own helplessness, and fear exploded inside her.

  Her gloved hand connected with the pad with force as she felt a surge of deep, hot, anger, pent up over the last eight months, ready to be released. How dare he. She hit the pads again. How dare he do this to people. Destroy someone, leaving them to pick up the shattered pieces of their lives. The women he’d hurt. The one he’d killed. The ones he was planning on hurting. She could picture them all, feel the emotional carnage he’d leave behind.

  For the next fifteen minutes neither one of them spoke. Naomi hit the pads over and over until her arms burned with the effort, until she could feel the sweat trickling down her neck.

  It was Cole who stepped back, leaving her trembling with rage and pain, her breath ragged and uneven. Her eyes filled with tears, but she shook her head, fighting them back. She wouldn’t give that animal one drop of her pain.

  Without saying anything, Cole took the pad
s off and unlaced her gloves. Once her hands were free, she sat down on one of the mats, her breathing still heavy, trying to get herself under control.

  Cole walked to a cabinet under the television and rummaged around for something. He turned back toward her, and she saw he was carrying a bottle of Scotch and two glass tumblers.

  “Here.” He handed her one of the tumblers and sat down facing her.

  “Cooking shows and hidden booze,” she said, wiping her forehead with her tank top. “I’m starting to see why you don’t want to join a regular gym.”

  “This isn’t just booze,” he said, pouring her a generous amount. “This is liquid Real Talk.”

  “Real ... talk?” Naomi was puzzled. What on earth was he going on about?

  “I only break it out for important situations.” He poured some for himself, smiling over at her. “It’s a super-secret detective weapon.”

  She snorted at the absurdity of his statements. “Ok, I’m intrigued.” He was putting her at ease, she realized. Giving her the space to compose herself, knowing she’d prefer to feel strong and in control instead of being comforted with sympathy. She felt a tiny squeeze in her chest. Dangerous, her heart whispered. This man is dangerous. “How does it work?”

  His eyes were calm and steady on hers. “You drink it, and then you say whatever it is that you’re holding inside you. Straight out. No holding back.”

  “Ok.” She clinked her glass with his, and they both downed the amber liquid. The smoky taste filled her mouth, as the fiery heat spread through her veins. She looked over at him, bracing herself. No holding back, she reminded herself. Just say the words. “He’s active. He’s going to attack again and this time a sexual assault won’t be enough to satisfy him.” She swallowed and said the words that had turned her blood to ice a few hours before. “He’s going to kill again. He wants to.”

  Silence. She watched Cole absorb her words, his big body tensing, his jaw clenched as they both thought about the ramifications of her words. Neither of them spoke for several minutes.

  “What did you see?” Cole asked, his voice low and hard.