I didn't have a change of clothes at work, usually I did, but I'd used my last lot just the other day when I'd done a double shift, and hadn't thought to replace them yet. I'd have to make it home before too much longer, I hoped it would be for a few hours sleep at least. But when I sat at my desk, unable to prevent the jerk of my body when Michaels took Carl's seat and not the one beside me, and opened the file from McIntyre, I realised sleep wasn't going to come any time soon.
"Well, at least your involvement is warranted," I muttered, handing over the folder to Damon.
"He was alive when the car caught on fire," Damon murmured, flicking through the report with practised hands. "Cause of death: Smoke inhalation. Burns to ninety percent of the body, possibly received prior to death." He sighed, placing the file down on the desk. "Fuck, sometimes I really hate my job."
"Injuries consistent with being alight at the time of death, but nothing to indicate a struggle pre-burn. Toxicology is also clear," I added. "How did they get him in the boot and why didn't he fight back?"
"Did Anton have injuries consistent with a struggle?"
I rifled through my desk drawer finding the appropriate pathologist report, but already knowing the answer. I tossed the folder over to Damon and let him read.
"No struggle, no pharmaceuticals in the blood," he confirmed once he'd flicked through the report quickly. He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his face, thinking.
I chucked my empty take-away coffee cup in the bin beside my desk and checked my emails, while we both tried to reason anything out of something that didn't seem to have any logic to it at all.
"The knife I can understand," Damon said, breaking into my email scanning. "If he knew the assailant, or hadn't sensed anything out of the ordinary, then they could have gotten close enough to make the lethal strike."
"But the car boot doesn't fit," I added. "I agree. Why get in the boot of a car willingly? He didn't fight until he was already on fire, no knock to the head to incapacitate. There could be a discrepancy in the Doc's findings, an injury overlooked or presumed received after he was alight. Or maybe he was simply pushed in there, the lid closed behind him before he realised what was up. Then whoosh."
"Whoosh," Damon repeated. "He would have smelled the accelerant. Surely that would have been enough to make him fight back."
"Has your lab finished analysis on that?"
"Not yet, I'll follow up now." He pulled his cellphone out and swiped the screen, while I answered a few email inquiries and cleared my messages, noting the uniforms had posted their witness interview results, from the neighbourhood surrounding the car boot fire, to our secured network.
No witnesses discovered, nothing to go on there.
I looked up when he pocketed his phone, several minutes having passed as I caught up on report writing and correspondence.
"A kerosene and turpentine mix," Damon said when he knew he had my attention. "Both ignitable liquids on their own, but extremely volatile when not carefully mixed. The ratio used was stable enough to allow ignition but not explosion. It would have been easily detected by smell prior to the victim entering the boot of the car. Either, alone, would have been enough. But the arsonist chose to mix them, why?"
"The message." Damon cocked an eyebrow. "He wants us to know it was premeditated. And that he's clever enough to not blow the car or victim to kingdom come."
I sat back in my chair, my mind alive and invigorated with possibilities and connections, motives and cause.
"He lured Tommy there," I continued. "A location he had been at hours ago while meeting a cop. That alone would have made Tommy suspicious. Did the assailant pretend to be me? Location and mechanics. It means something. The next will be more complicated, an escalation of the second, almost unrelated to the first in its complexity. But it will be in a location that I have been with an informant recently, and the killer will want to be recognised for how difficult the act would have been to complete."
I stopped, aware Damon was staring at me with a strange mix of respect and pride, but I didn't have time to consider any of that. "Eagle," was all I said, checking my watch and locking the reports back inside my desk drawer.
"Who's Eagle?" Damon asked at my back as I threaded my way through the near empty desks on the CIB floor. I was surprised to note so few detectives on station, but then, like Hart had said, we were a little thin on the ground right now and several were down at The Cloud processing that scene.
"One of my regular contacts. He'll be up on Karangahape Road at this time of night. Expecting me," I added, remembering the phone message Eagle had left earlier this morning.
Hard to believe it was still the same day. I'd been up since three-thirty, with only a couple of hours sleep under my belt. Exhaustion was about to kick my arse any time now.
"Hold up a sec," Damon called as I strode down the corridor toward the exit. I turned and watched him feed coins into a vending machine, juggling several packets of processed sugar-filled snacks in his arms as he struggled to catch up. "Someone ate my lunch and I haven't eaten all day," he commented when I held the door open for him at the lift.
I felt a stab of guilt, which I soon pushed to the back of my mind as he took relish biting into a chocolate nut covered bar. I watched with a sort of fascination as he chewed, well aware he knew I was studying him eat, so was making a performance out of it.
"Wanna bite?" he offered, holding out the half eaten bar. It would have been easy, so easy, to lean forward and nibble on the end. But we'd been down this path already today, and the road was rocky, not somewhere I was willing to return to yet.
I shook my head. "You look like you're enjoying it, wouldn't want to interrupt."
"There's a comeback there that I'd love to use."
"But you won't," I countered.
He sighed. "No, Lara. I won't."
I wasn't sure why that should have made me feel anything other than relief. But it did, so I ignored that too.
If you bury it deep enough, it can't climb back out and bite you on the arse, can it, Sport?
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 7
"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. You 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 li
ps 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.
A Flare Of Heat (H.E.A.T. Book 1) Page 6