by Janet Dailey
Paula went to the sink and got to work on the piled-up dishes, seriously annoyed at Brandon’s thoughtlessness. No, she didn’t have the whole story, and he wasn’t here to defend himself. But she might not have listened.
It was clear that if Edith didn’t clean house, no one else did. Paula had the dirty dishes washed and in the drainer in about five minutes.
She went at everything else with spray cleaner and a sponge, including the refrigerator door. Paula took a peek. The shelves were mostly empty. She would fill it with groceries before Edith came home. Paula surveyed the apartment, wondering where the vacuum was in all this mess. She worked off her anger by cleaning up the main room and making Edith’s bedroom livable again. The vacuum cleaner had been stashed in a closet.
She dragged it out and got it going. In another hour, she was done. Except for the drooping houseplants. She watered them—there weren’t many. Then she sat down and pulled her laptop out of the tote bag, setting the bagged flashlight to one side. She wanted to e-mail Larry, the fingerprint tech at the station, and let him know she was bringing it in.
He hadn’t been there earlier in the day. Larry preferred to work late, staring into a monitor for hours to run checks. The man was a machine. He just about never answered his phone, but he’d do a fast check for her if he was still there. If the detectives had found other evidence, there wouldn’t have been time to process it yet.
The flashlight could turn out to be completely irrelevant, but maybe not.
The sound of footsteps coming up the house’s interior stairs made her jump. She tossed the stuff she’d removed on top of the Christmas cards at the bottom of her tote bag and opened her laptop.
The footsteps went in a different direction to some other apartment. Paula breathed a little easier. She wasn’t going to stay much longer.
A list of wireless networks appeared on her screen, with a box that asked her to select one. CLYBRN2 had to be Edith and Brandon’s, but there was a little lock icon next to it. Encrypted. No telling what the password was.
She picked up her cell phone and called the station, reaching an inside number. She knew hers would appear on the caller ID.
A female officer on desk duty answered. “Hey, Paula. Whatcha doing? Coming in tonight?”
“In a little while. Is Larry in?”
“Yeah. Working late. The sergeant wants cases cleared before Christmas.”
Paula breathed a sigh of relief. “Can you transfer me to him?”
“You got it. Have a merry if I don’t see you.”
The transferred call rang. And rang.
Paula clicked on the file of photos from Edith’s camera, on the outside chance that one of the punks had had the small flashlight on him. You never knew. But she didn’t see it.
“Pick up, Larry,” she muttered. “Pick up, pick up, pick up.”
The phone continued to ring.
She studied the photo of Brandon at the door, his back to the camera, his hand outstretched. The mean looks the punks were giving him didn’t prove anything either.
At first she had thought Brandon was trying to stop them. But he could just as well be inviting them in.
She moved to a photo of him that she hadn’t paid much attention to before. Someone else had taken it. Not Edith, who was in the background, beaming at him.
Paula bit her lip. That kid was the apple of her eye.
With the top hat tipped back on his black curls and his wide hazel eyes, he looked like he’d stepped off a Victorian-era Christmas card, half boy and half angel. His youthfulness made him seem so innocent. Paula wanted him to be. For his grandmother’s sake and his own.
Larry wasn’t going to answer. Exasperated by the wait, Paula hung up. She shut down the laptop, sticking it back in her tote bag. She rose and put on her jacket, looking toward the closed door of the apartment and listening hard.
No one was coming. She went toward Brandon’s room and knocked, calling his name again and hearing nothing. The door was hard to open, blocked by the clothes and school stuff thrown all over the floor. Paula looked in.
The bed was unmade, but no one was in it. The closet door was flung open; no one was hiding there either.
Nothing looked suspicious. She wasn’t going to go through his things. Paula had crossed enough lines for today.
She went back to the table, picked up everything she’d brought, and left.
“HiDanhowareyou.” Paula hurried past the night desk, not wanting to stop and ask the cop on duty if Larry was still in. The officer barely glanced at her. He was reading a newspaper, licking his thumb as he turned each page.
She kept hurrying through the maze of corridors to Larry’s office. A blue glow emanated through the glass panel on the door. Paula knocked and opened it. He was there, in front of his monitor.
“Larry, glad I caught you.” She moved swiftly to his desk.
“Hi, Paula.”
She set her tote bag on his desk and took out the bagged flashlight.
“I need you to dust this and run the prints.”
“Okay.”
The flat reply meant he would help. Larry just wasn’t the demonstrative type. You never had to waste time on small talk, because he told chatterboxes point-blank to shut up so he could concentrate. He was amazingly good at his job.
He got up and pulled on rubber gloves, unpacking a kit and setting it on a counter.
Paula watched his meticulous work as he dusted the flashlight and examined it under a magnifying lamp for prints.
“Got some,” he said. She nodded.
He used tape to lift two that were close together and then the third. There was a faint smile on his face. “Nice and sharp. Look at those whorls.”
Larry lived for whorls.
“Handled with care at the scene,” Paula said.
That was way too many words for Larry, who shot her a look. Then he went back to processing the prints. He scanned them and ran them.
Paula knew the national database was fast, but tonight it seemed slow. Larry didn’t say anything as they waited.
Several possible matches appeared. Larry enlarged each one by one, studying the screen. The clicking mouse made the only sound in the room.
He pointed. “That one.”
Paula looked over his shoulder. They all looked identical to her, but she wasn’t the expert.
“You want the whole shebang?”
As in name, aliases, mug shot, tattoos, piercings, criminal record linked to the fingerprints on file, driver’s license, and car registration, if any. “Yes,” she said excitedly.
He pulled up the information. Paula looked at the face in the mug shot.
Straggly blond mustache. An ugly stud through the upper lip. Straw-colored dirty hair that she’d never seen because the kid’s hood had always been up.
But he wasn’t a juvenile. He was nineteen. And he had a record as an adult.
“That your man?”
Paula kept her voice level. “Yes.”
“Want a printout?”
“If you would.”
Larry sent all the information to the printer and pulled out each page in the same methodical way he’d handled the fingerprint processing. He stacked and stapled the sheets and handed them to her.
“Fantastic.” She flipped through the pages, quickly absorbing a lot of the information. Exactly what she’d hoped for. Paula looked up. Larry had already returned to his monitor and was sitting in front of it, absorbed in something else.
“Thanks again,” she called to him as she exited. He didn’t turn his head.
She went back to the cubicle area, looking for one that hadn’t been assigned to anyone. She wanted to get on this.
“Here comes Little Miss Cop.” Paula knew who was talking. Detective Robson of the carefully styled pompadour and expensive ties. “Heard you were at the Christmas House this morning. I got there after you left.”
Had to be long after she’d left, Paula thought, as she went by him. “Really.
” The only available empty cubicle was next to his. She took it.
“Eager beaver.”
“You know what they say about the first forty-eight hours. The trail gets cold fast after that. People leave town. Evidence disappears.”
Robson was leaning back in his swivel chair. “We didn’t find anything, so we adjourned to Hanrahan’s to discuss the case.”
Over steaks and single malt. He was famous for letting the evidence techs do all the work at a crime scene and taking the credit himself.
“Might have another look-see tomorrow, though. What was in that safe, six, seven grand? Only money, right? No one got hurt.”
“Let’s hope not.”
He clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back. “Wow. You sound like you want to get involved.”
“It’s personal, Robson. I want to work on it.” She turned away from him and opened her laptop, logging on with the station password.
His phone rang. The detective waited before picking it up. “Robson. Where? Shoot. That’s all the way across town. All right. See you.”
Paula silently thanked the perps, whoever they were.
Zach called her at her apartment the next morning. “How’s Edith doing?”
Considering that she and Zach had had a difference of opinion over Brandon, Paula was glad he’d chosen that for an opener.
“She seemed all right. She called me last night, said she was bored to pieces but they’re not letting her go just yet.”
“That’s good news in a way.” He paused. “Did Brandon ever show?”
“No. And he won’t return her calls. However, she won’t tell him she’s in the hospital. She doesn’t want him to worry.”
Zach sighed. “Maybe I should text him.”
Paula seized the chance. “I was going to ask you to.”
“Whoa. What for?”
“I just need to talk to him.”
“Dammit, Paula, I don’t think he had anything to do with the theft of the safe. I trust him, even if you don’t. Have a little faith in the kid.”
Paula ignored the dig. “Let me bring you up to date. The fingerprints on the flashlight belonged to one person. Not him.”
“Well. So he’s cleared.”
Not yet. Paula didn’t want to start another argument with Zach, not when she needed his help. She didn’t reply.
“Who was it?” Zach asked.
“That blond kid. His name is Otis Parker. He has a record.”
“As a juvenile?”
Paula smiled to herself. “You’re picking up the lingo. No. As an adult. He’s nineteen. But we can’t get a warrant for him for just the fingerprints. We’re looking for his car, checking out his addresses in Denver, the usual.”
“Okay.”
“So . . . if Brandon could give us more information, it might speed things up.”
Zach thought it over. “Call him yourself, Paula. I’m not comfortable with doing it for you.”
They were back where they’d started. “I guess you don’t trust me.”
“About as much as you trust me. I know you don’t believe I was with Jake the other night.”
“You’re right. Good-bye.” Paula hung up on him. She was steamed.
If she never saw him again, that would work for her. So much for that whirlwind romance.
Edith had given her yet another prepaid number for Brandon. She sent a text and left him a longer voice mail for good measure.
“Brandon, it’s Paula. I don’t know where you are, but I have to talk to you. Your grandmother’s in the hospital—under observation. She may be there for a few days. Get back to me.”
She set down the phone and went to make herself a cup of tea.
It rang an hour later.
“Paula. It’s me. What’s going on? What’s the matter with Gram?”
“Something with her heart. They’re running tests and no, she didn’t have a heart attack. She doesn’t want you to worry. I think it’s time you did.”
Brandon was silent for a little too long.
“Don’t you dare hang up on me,” Paula said tightly. “I want to talk to you.”
“Where?”
The first crack in the wall had opened. Good.
“The Christmas House.”
She heard someone talking in the background. Brandon must have put a hand over the phone. The words were muffled, but the voice was female and young.
“Okay. I don’t have another place we could go.” That reminded Paula of another question that needed asking.
“Mind telling me where you’ve been shacking up, Brandon?”
To her surprise, he gave her a straight answer. “At a youth shelter.”
“And who were you just talking to?”
“Grace. She keeps telling me to go home.”
Paula nodded. “I like that girl. And that’s good advice. Can you be at the Christmas House tomorrow morning by eight?”
“Okay. They kick us out by seven anyway.”
Paula didn’t bother to notify Zach that she was meeting Brandon. She was still angry with him.
The smell of coffee was coming from the kitchen when she let herself in. The Christmas House looked about the same, outside and in. She’d noticed coming up the stairs that the ice from the flood of the busted pipe had been chipped away. She wondered if Zach had seen to the basement window. She would go down and take a look to make sure.
She hung up her coat. Zach came out of the kitchen with a mug of coffee.
“Good morning.” His voice was casual, as if she hadn’t hung up on him the night before.
“Hello.”
He took a sip and set the mug down on the front table. “Anything you want to tell me?”
“No new developments, if that’s what you mean,” she said. “No one’s been charged.”
Zach folded his arms over his chest and looked at her. His gaze was as calm as his voice. It unsettled her. Paula tried to think of a way to get him to leave.
“I know why you’re here,” he said at last. “Brandon told me.”
She hadn’t thought of that. “Oh. Then obviously you know I called him. He agreed to meet me. He should be here soon.” There was no need to say any more than that.
“You talking to him as a friend or as a cop?”
His gaze had narrowed on her. Paula found it hard to believe that she’d thought of him as easygoing. Not at the moment, that was for damn sure.
“I’m off duty. And he’s not a suspect.”
Zach nodded. He turned his head at the sound of the outside door opening. Paula had left it unlocked. Brandon came in. He looked at Zach first, then at Paula.
“Okay,” he said to her. “Here I am.”
Chapter 20
Brandon didn’t look like an angel this morning. His black curls were matted and his eyes had dark circles under them. Staying at a shelter was rough. Her heart went out to him.
“Good to see you, Brandon.” Zach made no comment on the boy’s appearance as he glanced at his wrinkled clothes. He picked up his cup. “Talk to me before you go, okay?”
Brandon nodded, running a hand through his hair. Even his fingernails were dirty, Paula noticed.
Zach finished his coffee and went toward the kitchen. He came out without the cup, changed direction, and headed toward the door that led to the basement stairs. “Almost forgot,” he said to Paula. “I have to fix the window.”
“You do that,” she replied. She didn’t know if he’d told Brandon about the robbery and the missing safe. He had no right to.
Zach turned again and headed for the central staircase. “Oops. Left my tools in the Elf Room.”
Paula had a feeling he was up to something.
“We can talk in the reception room, Brandon,” she said. “There are comfortable chairs in there.”
“All right. Then I want to go see Gram. She was so happy when I called just now. I felt really bad.”
Paula refrained from telling him that he damn well should.
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“Do you want some coffee?”
“No. I’m kinda sick to my stomach. The shelter hands out hot dishwater and stale pastry. I had both.”
She hoped he’d learned a lesson or two. So many of the homeless kids on the streets wanted to go home again and couldn’t. Paula kept that to herself too.
They went in and got settled. He slumped way down in the chair, resting his head against the amply stuffed back with a sigh. “Wow. This is comfortable.”
Paula looked at him.
“Am I going to get a lecture?” he said, gazing at the ceiling. “I don’t care. It’s warm in here.”
“No. Like I said, I just wanted to talk to you. And I’m really glad you’re going to see your grandmother, by the way. I know things have been difficult, but there’s not much I can do about that.”
“I just want everyone to leave me alone.”
“Yes, well, you do have a family, and other people who worry about you, too, Brandon.”
“Guess so. But Gram is the only one who cares about me.”
Paula just wished she knew a way to get him to reciprocate. But at least he had answered her call. That was a step forward. A small one.
“Let’s talk about that later.”
“Okay,” he mumbled, sinking deeper into the chair.
“I don’t know if Zach told you, but the Christmas House was robbed night before last.”
Brandon looked at her with wide eyes. “No. He didn’t say anything. Who would do that? What got stolen?”
“The safe. It had a lot of money in it. But someone sawed open the cashbox first.”
Brandon’s tired mouth turned down in an angry scowl as he cursed. “I helped Zach build that.”
“I know.”
Paula took a deep breath.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Brandon shook his head. “I didn’t do it.”
“We have a solid lead on the person who did. I think you know him.”
She took the mug shot from her tote bag.
“Otis. I don’t know his last name.” Brandon stared at the photo with disgust. “But yeah. He and that other guy were asking me about the House. Then they tried to get in for free.”