Ghosts of Christmas Past

by Corrina Lawson

  “But on my way out, I caught sight of the kid, Matthews, Johns’ assistant. He was skulking near the back door. He stopped me and asked what the argument was about. I blew him off, told him it was none of his business and he should stay out of it.”

  “You believe he didn’t stay out of it?”

  “He wasn’t buying what I said. He’d noticed artwork was missing.”

  “He was on to his boss,” Al said.

  “That’s my guess.” Salvatore ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I should’ve talked to him and told him what kind of trouble he’d be in if he got involved. But I was so angry.” He shook his head. “I should have had the kid come with me and told him what was what.”

  “Matthews killed Johns?” That thought had occurred to Al, especially given Matthews was first on scene at his boss’s death. And especially because whoever killed Johns had to have some knowledge of the museum to use the glass coffin.

  “Johns threatened me,” Salvatore said. “I’m sure he must have threatened the kid.”

  “Why would you lie to protect Matthews?” Al asked.

  “Because it’s partially my fault. I had a chance to get the kid out of there and didn’t. The least I could do was cover for him. It’s not like Johns didn’t deserve it. He threatened Cassandra.”

  “If Matthews killed in self-defense, he’s not guilty of anything,” Al said. “All you accomplished by covering for him was pissing me off and making my day longer.” And he’d caused an argument with Noir. Al wanted to arrest Salvatore just for that alone.

  “Do you think it was self-defense?” Noir asked.

  “Johns was carrying. He probably fired the weapon too.” Al explained the circumstances of the murder and how Tiny Tim’s crutch had done enough damage to kill Johns. “That’s a weapon of opportunity, not planning. Of course, most people who kill in self-defense don’t shove their victims into glass coffins for display.”

  “What happens now?” Salvatore asked. “Do you believe me?”

  “I’ll talk to Matthews and see what he says,” Al asked. “Then I’ll decide.”

  “But you’ll arrest him if he confesses.”

  “Probably.” Al nodded. “If I get him to confess, I’ll have to take his statement and then see what the district attorney says about the charges.”

  “If Matthews is in custody, even temporarily, they’ll try to kill him to shut him up. They sure as hell won’t want a trial that exposes the museum theft,” Salvatore said.

  “Yeah, I don’t like it either. But it’s not up to me to be judge, jury and executioner.”

  “Other cops would let it slide,” Cassandra said.

  “Other cops letting crimes slide are why the department is in such fucking bad shape.” Al put away his handcuffs. “If I just let Matthews off, I’m no better than they are. If the kid really did stuff his boss into a coffin, he needs to answer for it.”

  “What about Schneider and the rest who benefitted from stealing the artwork and laundering the money?” Noir asked. “They should answer for that.”

  “Yeah, they should.” Al cocked his head at her, studying her expression. He guessed she didn’t realize how close he’d come to completely losing his temper earlier.

  “It would have helped if Salvatore had brought his evidence to me before the murder. Now? The evidence is tainted because he’s a murder suspect.”

  “I didn’t know you yesterday,” Salvatore said. “And, like you said, a lot of the Double C cops are dirty. How the hell did I know who’d do the right thing with my evidence?”

  “You could have told me the truth right away instead of making me drag it out of you.” Dammit. Al wasn’t even sure the police commissioner would use Salvatore’s evidence to go after the corrupt officials. It would all be so much easier for officials to charge Salvatore with the murder and sweep the rest under the rug.

  Fuck the Double C.

  “Our system is broken. It’ll never take down the right people,” Noir said. “I wish you could find some way to go around it.”

  Al frowned, thinking. Go around? Maybe. “That might be an excellent idea.”

  “How can that be a good idea? You just said you wouldn’t go around the system,” Noir said.

  “I won’t. But I just realized we could bring in other people who aren’t in the system. Salvatore, were any of those artwork sales out of state?”

  Salvatore nodded. “Most of them.”

  “Good. Then we can bring in the FBI.”

  Salvatore’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought of that. Would they even be interested?”

  “My father is retired FBI. He’ll have the right contacts in the office that specializes in this,” Al said.

  “Your father is retired FBI?” Noir asked.

  “Didn’t I mention that before?”

  She shook her head. “No. You don’t say much about him.”

  “And now’s not the time.” When he was drinking, Al had put his father through hell. He was lucky the old man still talked to him. “You good with going to the FBI, Giamatti?”

  “It beats running. Would they protect me and Cassandra?”

  “If your evidence is solid, yes.”

  Now that he had the beginnings of a plan, Al walked over to the kitchen and poured a mug of coffee. He sipped, grimaced because it was the last bit in the pot and slightly burned. Still, singed coffee was better than the black tar at the precinct.

  “But here’s our big problem, people: I have Salvatore’s car on tape coming to the museum, I have Salvatore entering and then leaving the museum at the time of the murder. I have nothing on Matthews except Salvatore’s testimony.”

  “None of that looks good for me,” Salvatore said through gritted teeth.

  “Exactly. What matters is what I can prove and by that standard, you’re guilty. The FBI won’t find you credible if you’re a valid murder suspect.”

  “Shit,” Salvatore said.

  “Yeah,” Al agreed.

  “You need a confession from Matthews,” Noir said.

  “Exactly. We get that, the FBI would be more than willing to protect Salvatore and Cassandra once he gives them the evidence about the corruption. If he’s under a cloud of suspicion for murder, not a chance.”

  “How do we get Matthews to confess?” Noir asked.

  Ah, so it was “we” again. “Matthews was puking all over the crime scene. He’s not made for this. He only needs a push.”

  “And then what?” Noir asked.

  “Once Matthews flips, we go after the rest by working with the FBI.” He set his cup down hard on the counter. “I want them all.”

  Chapter Ten

  Al made fresh coffee while the four of them tossed ideas around about how to get Matthews to flip (assuming he was guilty and confessed) or how to acquire more evidence on Schneider and the others involved in the theft of the artwork.

  He didn’t like any of them. Too tricky and complicated. Artists. Bah. Always wanting to do things with a flourish. And Noir was on their side. This was it. This was the beginning of the end to losing her to another world.

  “Look, step one, get Matthews. Step two, contact the FBI, then go from there. This is not complicated,” Al said. “In the meantime, you two stay here. Do. Not. Leave. Call it protective custody. If you do leave, I’ll consider Salvatore a fugitive.”

  Salvatore grimaced but nodded.

  “When do we go after Matthews?” Noir asked.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Why not tonight?”

  “Because I’m exhausted, you all are dead on your feet, and we can’t half-ass this. Police work isn’t done in a flash, not if you want the case to hold up in court.”

  “I’m not tired,” Noir said.

  “Figures,” he said.

  Lucy settled Salvatore and Cassandra in
another section of the warehouse set up as a bedroom. It was the only regular bed in the place, but Al had suggested giving it to them. Lucy suspected that was not out of kindness but because the bedroom had no exits.

  He might believe Salvatore was innocent, but he was taking no chances. Made sense. He’d spent most of his career not knowing who to trust. He often said she was the only one he trusted unconditionally.

  But that obviously didn’t stop him from being angry with her. He’d gone so still when she threatened to stop him from arresting Salvatore. He hadn’t come near her since then, either.

  When she came back to the living area, Al was sitting in the easy chair, holding a bottle of Coke loosely between his fingers. He very deliberately didn’t look at her. The lamp’s glow behind him seemed to only spotlight his dark mood.

  Okay, his anger definitely hadn’t worn off. “Al?”

  He took a swig of Coke and glared at her. “Yeah?”

  “You’re still angry.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why? It’s all resolved.”

  “Not likely.” He slammed the now-empty bottle of Coke on the coffee table and stalked over to her. “You accused me of railroading your friends, you took their side and you threatened me. The only question you should be asking is how I held my temper while they were around.”

  “Maybe you should ask how I held my temper. You were hostile too. Anyway, I don’t know what the big deal is, since we’re all agreed now.”

  “You think turning your back on me isn’t a big deal?”

  “Turning my back? Are you kidding? I disagreed with you. Hell, that happens. What’s the friggin’ problem?”

  “You sided with them. You threatened me.” He punched his chest. “Me.”

  “I only wanted you to see their side.”

  “I was doing my job. You should know that better than anyone.” He grabbed his coat and shoved his arms in the sleeves so hard that she thought he might rip the fabric. “I’ve some things to arrange. I’ll be back in the morning.”

  Her chest tightened. His rage made her feel small, as if she should crawl into a little ball or, like a kid, run away and cry into her pillow.

  No, she hadn’t been a kid in a long time.

  “One wrong move and we’re done? What the fuck, Al?”

  “You’re supposed to back me.” He strode over to her.

  “You arrogant ass.” She put her hands on her hips. “It’s not like you didn’t shut me out. You didn’t tell me about Salvatore being at the museum near the time of the murder.”

  “I wanted to make sure of my facts before I let you know,” he said.

  “We usually investigate together.”

  “Really? Then how do you explain going to find Salvatore on your own when I asked you to stay here?”

  “You want unquestioning obedience, you have the wrong girl.”

  “Maybe I do.” He turned to leave again. “It’s clear where your loyalties are.”

  “Don’t you dare.” She grabbed his arm and turned him around. “Don’t you fucking dare walk out on this. You claim to love me. Stick around and fight for it. Unless you think I’m not worth it.”

  “Never that.” He stepped back but made no other move to leave. She couldn’t read him. “Maybe I’m the one who’s not worth it.”

  “Are we back to my supposedly using you as some sort of starter boyfriend that I’m going to toss aside when I’m magically all better?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Screw you, Al.” She took another deep breath. “If you think I view you as some sort of savior figure, you’ve got it wrong. I saved myself long before I met you.”

  “Yeah, I guess you did,” he said in a quiet voice.

  “This is on you. You’ve made this way bigger than it needs to be.”

  “This whole day has been bigger than I wanted.” He shook his head. “Do you have any idea what kind of a risk I took today to get you out of that basement safely or the kind of risk I put my people in? For you. Because I trust you. And then I come here to find out the truth about a murder and you stand in my way. That’s about as big as it gets.”

  “You came in here hostile and mad at the world.”

  “You should trust me.”

  “And you should trust me, not immediately assume I’m working against you, just like you should trust what I feel about you.”

  “You sided with them. You always will.”

  “Did you ever think that just maybe you were wrong and that’s why I sided with them?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She grabbed a fistful of his shirt. “It was a long day. I had to fight off a thug at city hall. I got hit with a flashbang sent by people from your department. I lost my hearing for a while, or did you forget that? Give me a break and tell me why we’re about to break up over a misunderstanding.”

  She took a deep breath and let go of his shirt. His shoulders slumped. “It’s not just the misunderstanding.”

  He smoothed down his shirt, loosened his tie and turned away from her. “Fuck,” he whispered, and it seemed like he was talking to himself.

  “Talk to me, Fixit,” she said.

  “You weren’t the only one who had a tough day.” He turned around again, tossed off his coat and removed his tie. “I made a mess. I need to solve the museum murder. ASAP.” He sighed.

  “We’ll figure it out.” She swallowed and took his hand. “I love you, you dumbass.”

  “Why?”

  She slid her arms around his waist. “Because every time you look at me, you smile.”

  “Not every time.” He didn’t hug her back. “You know, this is the longest relationship I’ve ever had.”

  “What? Six months is your longest relationship?”

  “Longest one sober.”

  “So you think we’re due for a breakup?” she asked.

  “I guess I figure it’ll happen sooner rather than later. Why prolong the agony?”

  “Do you have that little faith in me?”

  He shook his head. “That little faith in myself. I was just about to lose my temper big-time with you. I’d rather leave than hurt you like that.”

  “You smiled even though you were shocked to see me at Rickey’s. You stayed just now even though you were angry. And now you’re talking to me. This isn’t agony, Al.” She slid her hands lower. This part of the relationship worked. And she desperately needed something to work between them right now. She put her head against his chest and slipped her hand under his shirt. “It’s the opposite of agony.”

  “You think I’m in the mood for that?” he asked.

  “You want me to stop?”

  He shook his head.

  She put her hand down his pants. “You keep worrying how long I’m going to stick around. That’s why you overreacted to my disagreeing with you. You need to stop that, Al.”

  “I doubt I could if I wanted.” His voice was thick and deep and she knew he wasn’t talking about their argument. He was talking about them.

  He bent his neck, kissed her and pulled her tight against him. Their first time making love had been quiet, slow and intense. Al had wanted to make sure she was as into it as he was. Since then, they’d made love every way she could imagine, but this kiss?

  It had a desperate edge.

  She clawed at his belt, unbuckled it and heard the buckle clink on the concrete floor as she dropped it. Like the mug earlier, the clink echoed from the high ceilings.

  He trailed kisses down her neck, claiming her as his hands removed her jacket, shirt and then bra. They broke apart for a moment, and his shirt and pants joined the rest of his clothes on the floor. She ditched her jeans, tossing them over the couch, staring at him the whole time.

  Every now and then, Al joked about being older than her. But he was a man in his prime, al
l hard muscle, with a few scars here and there on his chest and one on his back. Knife wound, he’d said, from years back.

  He was fine.

  He grabbed her again and lifted her off her feet.

  “Guess we’re about to find out how make-up sex works.” She wrapped her legs around him.

  “Hell yeah.”

  He looked around for a moment, apparently decided something and carried her over to the kitchen area. She thought for a minute he’d set her on the counter (no objection there!) but he pushed her against the industrial-size refrigerator. The stainless steel chilled her back but then he curled one hand around her thigh and everything was hot.

  “You ready for me?” he whispered in her ear.

  She was more than wet, even though she usually needed more foreplay. “Yeah.”

  He pushed inside her. She muffled a scream by burying her mouth in his neck as he entered her, over and over, pushing them closer and closer.

  Her nipples brushed against his chest. Her legs tightened around him. He moaned. She lost control first and the orgasm had her digging her hands into his back.

  He came with a quiet sound of satisfaction, so at odds with the feral way he’d taken her. She willed her breathing to return to normal. The stainless steel of the fridge was slick with sweat from her back.

  “That was a new kind of thing,” she whispered.

  He brushed the hair back from her face. “You okay?”

  “Hell yes.”

  He carried her over to the couch and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. “Warm enough?”

  “Hot enough to do that again.”

  He gathered up his clothes from the floor. “I have to go. I have a lot of things to set up.”

  “You’re still angry?” She let the blanket fall off her shoulders.

  He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “I caused a mess today with SWAT and I have to make sure my people are protected from blowback.”

  That didn’t answer her question.

  She lay down on the couch and watched him finish dressing or, as she thought of it, cover up what he really was with the cop clothes and the too-big overcoat.