by CJ Lyons
“Yeah, that sounds way too confrontational. If she’s a victim of domestic violence or the like, I don’t want to scare her off. There has to be another way.”
“If you think of anything, let me know. And I might also need your help.” He explained the crime scene he had been at that morning, about Tassi and how scattered she’d been. Not to mention her possible motives for murder. “Could you interview her? See if there’s signs of mental distress or—”
“Or if she’s faking it?”
“Exactly. She might be complicit in her husband’s crimes; she could be trying to hide from any responsibility.” He frowned. “But she did just lose her husband. If she’s innocent, I don’t want to ignore the impact that kind of trauma could have on her mental status.”
Leah’s phone buzzed. “Ruby and the kids are out front. Okay if I bring them back to see you?”
He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. She left, returning a few minutes later with Ruby, Emily and Nate. Ruby hovered in the doorway, while Emily rushed over and reached up on tiptoe to give him an awkward hug. “Luka, what have you done?” she admonished him, her gaze fixed on the plastic-and-Velcro brace the nurse had sequestered his leg inside.
But it was Nate who had all of Luka’s attention. The boy hung back, his expression blank.
“I’m fine,” Luka told him. “Fell on some glass, is all.”
Nate gave a jerk of his chin in acknowledgment, but his expression remained guarded. Luka remembered the social worker in Baltimore telling him that Nate had once, during one of the brief periods when his mother had regained custody, returned home from school to find the apartment empty. It wasn’t until two days later that he’d even known she’d OD’d and had been in the hospital.
“I should have called you,” Luka said. “I’m sorry.”
Nate considered that. Luka ignored the others to beckon Nate closer. Hesitation slowing every step, Nate moved to Luka’s bedside. Luka wrapped his arm around the boy’s shoulders, drawing him as close as possible. Letting him know that he really was okay. “See, it’s nothing. Only a few stitches.”
“Did it hurt?” Nate asked, his gaze fixed on the thick swatch of gauze visible between the Velcro straps.
“Actually, I didn’t even know I was hurt until I looked down and saw it. Then the doctors gave me laughing gas, so I didn’t feel a thing.”
Ruby handed Leah a set of car keys. “Can you get this lot home? I’ve got a date and these two have about frayed my last set of nerves.” She left before giving Leah a chance to answer.
“Where’s the baby, Mommy?” Emily asked. Then she spun back to Luka. “We had a baby at the fair!”
“Was she okay?” Nate added. “That lady?”
“She’s fine and she had a beautiful baby boy,” Leah reassured him. “And you were a big help, getting the ambulance for me.” Nate’s smile widened and his posture relaxed.
The nurse came in with Luka’s discharge instructions and a set of crutches. The kids happily critiqued his clumsy efforts as he tried them out on the way to the parking garage and Leah’s car.
Once Luka was situated in the front passenger seat, already despising the crutches Leah stowed in the rear cargo compartment, he called Ray for an update. “Anything new on our searches of the Standish house and office?”
“Nothing yet. Sanchez is working the electronics from the office and the widow is still sequestered,” he said, in a tone implying finger quotes around the final word. “Turns out the neighbor is a chiropractor and also her doctor, so he gave her another sedative. As if she wasn’t already loopy.”
As they spoke, Luka noted Nate’s disapproving scowl in the sideview mirror, reminding him that he was supposed to be off duty, doctor’s orders. “I should go,” Luka said for Nate’s benefit. “Need me for anything?”
“Nope. Even Ahearn finished his schmoozing and took off. Only grunt work left until we can get the cell records and financials once the banks are open in the morning.”
“Still no sign of Spencer’s phone?”
“We got the carrier to do an emergency location ping, but nothing. My guess is someone removed the battery.”
Which implied someone trying to cover their tracks, since a GPS ping should work even if the phone was turned off. One more strike against Spencer’s death being a possible suicide, despite all appearances.
“What about the ex-DEA guy, Dean? Did he give you anything more about what Spencer was up to in Colorado?”
“Took off right after you left. Said he’d be in touch, whatever that means.”
What it meant was that Luka was now more curious than ever about the former fed’s involvement. Ray read his mind. “I’ve got Krichek working on a background check.”
“Good. Anything else?” Luka asked. Behind him, Nate’s scowl tightened.
“Get some rest. I’ll call you if we need you.”
Luka hung up as they pulled out of the parking garage. Leah hesitated at the stop sign, but it was Nate who asked the question. “Are you coming home?” His tone was guarded, but Luka heard his undercurrent of need. “Or going back to work?”
Luka twisted in his seat to face the boy. “No more work tonight. I want to hear all about the fair. Did you guys win any ribbons?”
Nate beamed but beside him Emily suddenly scowled and kicked the back of Leah’s seat. “Hey,” Leah told her. “Cut that out, I’m driving.”
“I won’t!” Emily shouted. “How come you’re no fun, not like Daddy? If he were here we could’ve won all the prizes! He would’ve taken time off work to help us win.”
“Calm down and tell me why you’re upset,” Leah said, even as Luka cringed at Emily’s outburst. Nate buried all his emotions, so Luka hadn’t yet needed to deal with a tantrum. Emily’s face was dark and twisted, a storm ready to break, making him hope he never had to.
Instead of talking to Leah, Emily kicked out furiously, tears streaming from her face. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”
Sixteen
A quick check of the Mustang’s registration revealed that Macy’s new boyfriend-slash-pimp, an eighteen-year-old named Darius Young, had no outstanding warrants and neither did Macy. Which limited Harper’s options as far as curtailing their activities so that she could speak to Macy again. The Bill of Rights was pesky that way, keeping Harper from doing whatever she wanted to in order to close a case.
As she walked the streets surrounding Lily’s death scene, trying in vain to get anyone to talk about Lily, Harper was well aware that it was more than the Constitution limiting her efforts. These kids who made their living on the streets—and they were all young enough to be considered kids—risked their lives simply by talking to Harper. She thought of the girls she’d tempted with her mom’s cooking and hoped they hadn’t suffered for speaking out, even if they were only sharing tidbits of gossip.
Feeling drained by the heat and the fact that she’d learned nothing new that would help her locate Lily’s family or her killer, she decided to try one more avenue of information—her brother Jonah, who ran Holy Redeemer’s outreach programs.
Jonah’s mission was located in an old hotel building near the wharf, only a few blocks from the Kingston Towers where Lily’s body had been found. A hundred years ago, the Pierhouse had catered to itinerant dock workers, and with each subsequent generation of owners it had fallen into more disrepair until finally the last owners had donated the building to Holy Redeemer as a tax write-off. Jonah had brought it up to code and now the building, rechristened the Pierhouse Mission, functioned as soup kitchen, food bank, day care, counseling clinic, and homeless shelter.
Harper parked behind the building and entered through the rear entrance. Clouds of steam floated past her as soon as she opened the door to the sweltering hot kitchen. Steaming vats of vegetables were being stirred by volunteers clad in aprons and hairnets, while others took baking sheets stacked with chicken from the commercial-sized oven, perfuming the air with a savory scent that made Harper’s t
astebuds take notice.
She found Jonah in the walk-in refrigerator taking inventory, but he wasn’t her only brother there—so was John. John was only a few years older than she was and all their lives they’d clashed. Rachel had once told her that John resented Harper for replacing him as baby of the family, but given that both Rachel and the Reverend doted on John and gave him anything he asked for, she’d never understood his animosity.
“C’mon, Jonah,” John was saying as Harper entered the refrigerator, blessing the chilled air after the humidity of the kitchen. She stopped inside the door, not wanting to interrupt their conversation. “It’s only for a short while. I’ll pay you back long before you need to access your operational capital.”
“No. I can’t risk it,” Jonah answered, his pen bobbing in the air as he counted sacks of oranges. “What do you need the money for, anyway?”
“Nothing, it’s no big deal—a little robbing Peter to pay Paul so we can take advantage of some high-yield investments.”
“Well then, I guess, how about you invest a little less?”
“That’s not how it works. This is for the church’s future security.”
“Yeah, but I have to make sure I have enough money for the security of this mission. Do you have any idea how many people count on us?” He turned to face John and spotted Harper at the door. “Hey, li’l sis, what are you doing here? Don’t tell me anyone died?” Given his vulnerable clientele, Harper knew he was only half-joking.
“Well, actually. The case I mentioned at dinner?”
“The one you ran off for?” John asked.
“No. My case. Lily Nolan.” She held her phone out to Jonah, Lily’s picture filling the screen. “I thought you might know her? She worked the streets around here until a year or so ago, then no one saw her again. Not until this morning when her body was discovered.”
“Bless her soul.” From Jonah’s lips, it sounded like an actual prayer. He had a way of making pronouncements like that sound honest and authentic. Unlike John, who was clearly paying mere lip service when he spoke in a religious tone. But maybe Harper was jaded and had misjudged her brother as a hypocrite—after all, the Reverend trusted John with the church’s finances and their mother doted on John as “the best of them all.”
Jonah studied Lily’s photo carefully while John fidgeted, obviously irritated that Harper had interrupted. As if talk of investments took precedence over a murdered girl.
“I’m trying to locate next of kin, anyone who knew her,” Harper said.
“If you’re going to talk about dead people, I’m out of here.” John started for the door, but turned back. “I’ll call you, Jonah. We really need to discuss this more.” He swung the heavy steel door shut.
“What was that all about?” Harper asked. John had seemed even more intense than usual. But he always was when he talked about the church’s finances. He was responsible for ensuring Holy Redeemer’s future—and the Reverend never let him forget it.
Jonah glanced at the door with a frown. “Not actually sure. Mom wants me to give him access to the mission’s accounts, some kind of special investment?” His attention returned to the phone. “Lily. I remember her. I don’t think she’s been around lately. But she had a close friend, Macy is her street name. Have you tried her?”
“Our chat got cut short when her pimp put her back to work. When did you last see Lily?”
“A year, year and a half ago?”
Finally, a break. “Please tell me you have records.”
He smiled down at her. “I have records. C’mon.” He set down his inventory clipboard and together they left the refrigerator and headed through the kitchen to his office, a tiny windowless room lacking any air conditioning. Harper’s palms quickly slicked with a sheen of sweat. Jonah’s office was a mess, crowded with lost and found items, stacks of donated books, toys, and toiletries, bags of clothing—the one closest to her was overflowing with winter coats—and boxes simply labeled Misc.
“It was good to see you at dinner today. I was glad you came. I think Mom and Dad were as well.” Jonah was the only one who got away with calling the Reverend “dad.”
“Yeah, I’m trying. They don’t make it easy, though.”
“You mean Dad doesn’t—”
“Would it kill him, just once, to acknowledge that my job is important, too?” She almost clapped a hand to her mouth. To voice such rebellion out loud? Unheard of. Jonah glanced at her in surprise and they both chuckled.
“One thing is for sure,” he said. “You’re not that timid little girl that we could sweet-talk into doing almost anything.”
“You sweet-talked. Jacob and John always bullied and blackmailed. Or locked me in the manger until I repented my sins and gave in.” The manger was a space hidden behind a false wall in the oldest part of the church, now used to store the Christmas nativity statues and other miscellaneous seasonal items. Originally designed as a safe room to shelter the church’s holy relics and valuables, it was a cramped, cobweb-filled, low-ceilinged closet saturated with the overwhelming scent of the creosote that had permeated the original building’s logs. A forgotten space that the church had expanded around and absorbed—forgotten except by bored young boys intent on harassing their little sister. “Not to mention letting me take the blame anytime we got caught.”
“Dad always took it easy on you, at least compared to us guys. We had to be toughened up, prepared to take on the mantle of responsibility that comes with saving souls.” His impression of the Reverend had her smiling. But then she remembered why she was there. Lily.
He shuffled through the maze of debris to his desk and turned on his computer. Harper stood in the doorway, careful not to move too much for fear of causing an avalanche. Over his shoulder, she could see the icons and folders filling his computer screen—it was as messy as his office space, but he didn’t seem to notice as he found what he was looking for with only three clicks. “Lily Nolan. Here we are.”
“I can get a court order if you’re uncomfortable sharing—”
“If she weren’t dead, I’d ask you to. But helping you find her family? That’s a blessing.” Typical Jonah, an eternal optimist, assuming that Lily even had a family who cared enough about her to grieve her passing. Harper couldn’t help but wonder where Lily’s family had been during her time on the street—much less what had caused her to leave home in the first place.
“She stayed here early last year. We helped her get into a recovery program.” He squinted at the screen and she wondered if he needed reading glasses. He was only thirty-four, but bad eyesight ran in the family and Jonah was the only one of the boys who’d avoided glasses as a child. “No emergency contacts or next of kin listed, I’m sorry.”
Harper sighed. Of course not. “How about a phone number? Her phone wasn’t with her, but if I can locate it I’ll be able to access its contact list.”
He scrolled down. “No, she left it blank.”
“Can you give me the name of the recovery program? They might have something in their records.” She’d need a court order to get the information, but it was her best bet given the other dead ends she kept hitting. Along with another chat with Macy. Somewhere far away from Macy’s new boyfriend.
Jonah nodded and scribbled the information onto a sticky note. Their fingers touched as he handed it to her. “Want to stay for dinner?”
She took the note and shook her head. A dinner invitation from Jonah meant standing behind a hot counter serving food before eating leftovers herself. After her long day—not to mention an even longer night ahead working the street for leads—she deserved a real meal. Which translated to ordering takeout and eating it while sitting at her desk, writing up warrants for Lily’s rehab records and catching up on anything Luka needed. She gave him a wave as she headed out the door, her mind already on her next steps. “Thanks, maybe next time.”
“Then I’ll see you next Sunday!” he called after her.
Harper pretended she hadn’t hear
d—she wasn’t sure how much more family she could take this week—and let the door swing shut behind her.
But then, almost as if her visit with Jonah had tempted fate, her phone rang: Rachel.
“Your father needs your help and I expect you to give it,” she said before Harper could even say hello.
“Help?” The Reverend never asked anyone for help. Never. Of course, he wasn’t actually asking, was he? He was letting Rachel do his dirty work. “With what?”
“You need to tell your father what the police found out. About Spencer Standish. It’s important.”
Harper snapped, “My work requires just as much confidentiality as his does.”
“A covenant with God is different, and you know it. Besides, he’ll never need to know you said anything. You can tell me and I’ll slip it to him, pretend I heard it from women gossiping—or Spencer’s wife, Tassi. That woman—” Harper could practically hear Rachel’s eye-roll.
“The Reverend is acting as Tassi’s attorney, so he has access to more information than I do at this point.”
“But he’s so worried—I’m worried for him, Naomi. I’ve never seen him this way. Please, if you find out anything, you have to tell me. Help me protect him. It’s what families do.”
Rachel’s answer to every argument. If a child misbehaved, it was wrong because it disrespected the family, meaning the Reverend. If their behavior reflected poorly on the family—for example, if they attended the religious college where generations of Harpers had excelled with honors and they were expelled—then they were responsible for bringing dishonor to the entire family. A crime punishable by virtual exile.
Harper should know, because she was still serving her sentence, a decade later. Well, on parole at least, given that Rachel, thanks to Jonah’s urging, had been allowing her to attend Sunday dinners for the past few months. But being allowed back also meant being expected to place the family’s needs above her own, no matter what.
She sighed. She should never have dared to hope. She was better off on her own anyway—hadn’t the last decade proved that?