Winter Song (Seasons Pass Book 1)

by Susan C. Muller

  If anyone asked, it was the only time he could find to jog.

  Conner finished the warrant and stabbed at the print button. On the far side of the room, a printer came to life, grinding and chugging and beeping before spitting out the pages. Finally. He grabbed them and called to Noah. “Okay, partner, I’ve got it. Let’s run this over to the courthouse and find a judge to sign it.”

  It had taken two hours to confirm that the prints on the Coke can were the same as the ones in Noah’s house and Conner didn’t know which one of them had the hardest time waiting. He’d interrupted Jeannie at school just to ask how she was feeling even though it was awkward for her to receive calls during class. Noah had paced a hole in the floor, and chewed half a pack of gum. Neither had been capable of doing any other work.

  “You go. I’ll stay here and try to find Ryan’s class schedule. That way we’ll be ready as soon as you get the okay.”

  Conner took a breath. Noah wasn’t going to like this, but it needed to be said. “You better come with me. The judge might have some questions about how you acquired the Coke can.”

  “I told you how I got it. The trash was sitting in the street. Howell told me they had fried chicken the night Ryan came over, and I could smell it when I walked the dog. It might have been risky, but it was perfectly legal for me to go through it.”

  Noah’s shoulders tightened and Conner could see his eyes turn hard. Too bad. If Noah couldn’t stand up to a judge’s questioning, he’d never be able to face a defense attorney. “I never said I didn’t believe you.” I might have thought it, but I never said it. “I said a judge is going to want to hear it from your own lips. At this point, the warrant’s only for entering your house and attempting to kill you, so he’ll be extra suspicious. Now put your coat on and let’s go. We’ll have to stop back by here to let the lieutenant know what we’re doing anyway.”

  “Flip you to see whose car we take.” Noah reached into his pocket.

  “Are you kidding? It’ll take longer to find a parking spot than to just walk over there. I’ve never yet found a space without circling three times. Come on, it’ll be good for you. Some fresh air and exercise. We’re both too tense to question Ryan without blowing it big time.”

  It’s the same argument every time. To get a car out of the garage, drive eight blocks, circle the Criminal Courts Building garage, and park again is a good fifteen minutes. To walk it is fifteen minutes and half the stress.

  Noah frowned, but put the quarter back in his pocket. “I don’t suppose you’re planning to take the tunnels?”

  “That would increase the walk by five minutes, worth it in the summer for the air conditioning, but only for wimps in the winter.”

  They stepped out of the Travis Street headquarters, and the wind hit them. Their hair whipped back and forth, and invisible specks of debris stung their faces. The street was almost empty. Other pedestrians had retired to the tunnel system.

  Conner pulled his jacket tighter and ducked his head.

  He heard Noah mutter, “Wimp,” as he trotted down the steps, head held high.

  “Showoff,” Conner said, under his breath. He knew better than to let Noah hear him.

  Noah’s favorite judge was out of the building, and he had to settle for a visiting judge he’d had a run in with before.

  The judge held the papers at arm’s length. “And how are you so sure the prints belong to this Ryan Howell person if there’s no copy of them on file?”

  “As I stated in the application, there was only one can of Coke in the three bags, and it was in the bag containing remnants of the meal served when Ryan was at home. All the other cans were Diet Pepsi. And I personally saw the Howells’ drink Diet Pepsi and Ryan drink Coke. The first thing we’ll do when we pick him up is check his fingerprints. If they don’t match, he’ll be out the door and home before I finish apologizing.”

  “Can anyone verify your story that the evidence was obtained legally, Detective Daugherty?” The judge pressed together lips already so thin and pale they seemed to disappear.

  “No, Your Honor. While sifting through someone’s trash is permissible, it isn’t popular with the homeowner. Especially if you’re trying to put one of their family members in jail. It’s generally a good idea to avoid confrontation whenever possible.”

  The judge grunted and studied the warrant as if new words might magically appear on the page. “It’s always best to have a witness. Primarily when there is a personal connection. I’m not happy about this, Detective Daugherty. Not happy at all.”

  “I wasn’t real happy to wake up to carbon monoxide pouring into my bedroom.”

  “Exactly. That’s why I’d prefer to see another name on this application.” The judge glared at Noah through watery blue eyes. Noah stared back. Two could play that game.

  Finally the judge scrawled his signature on the warrant, but held it tight for another moment. “Next time, bring me something more solid, Detective. I’ll be watching you.”

  Noah grabbed the warrant and sprinted down the hall. He called over his shoulder, “Yes, sir.” You old fart.

  Conner stayed long enough to say, “Thank you, Your Honor,” before jogging after Noah.

  Noah was already coaxing a patrol officer to give them a ride back to headquarters when Conner caught up with him. “Ass kisser,” Noah said, grinning at his partner.

  “Brownnoser,” Conner answered.

  “About time you dead beats got back.” Lieutenant Nate Jansen stood at the door of his office, glaring at Noah and Conner. “I’ve got a job for you.”

  “We’re on a job, Loo. It’s called a murder.” Noah held his breath. They’d been on it for several days, but they were making progress. It was too early to shut them down and move them to another case. Not with a freshly signed warrant in their hands.

  “That’s your problem. This one is called a missing person, and I want you on it right away.”

  What was going on, drop a murder investigation for a missing person? “Are you kidding me? Homicide trumps missing any day.”

  “Not when it’s a college kid whose name you’ve been running through data bases seven ways from Sunday. Once you flagged his name, anything to do with him gets kicked straight back to us.”

  “Ryan Howell?” If that kid had gotten away because he took off so he could pick up Sweet Pea before the vet’s closed, he’d never forgive himself.

  “No, some other kid. Derrick McAllister. He missed his study group last night and wasn’t in class this morning. His parents have been trying to call him for hours.”

  Noah’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t speak. This was worse than losing Ryan. His selfishness had gotten someone killed. Again. It didn’t matter if the kid was an accomplice to several murders. He still deserved his day in court. He dropped into the nearest chair, his legs unable to support him. Then why don’t I feel the same way about Ryan?

  Conner seemed unfazed. “Are you serious? A grown kid cuts class and ditches a couple of calls from his parents and you bring out the big guns? He’s probably shacked up with a girl. Pull the fire alarm and he’ll come running out of one of those dorms or colleges, or whatever they call them, carrying his shoes in one hand and his pants in the other.”

  “Not according to his parents.” Jansen shook his head. “He’s pledged to some girl in his church. And he speaks to his parents every night. Look, you’re probably right. I hope to hell you are. But you two are going over to that school and show the colors. Talk to everyone who knows him or might have seen him. Look under the bed if you have to. Check in every hour, so I’ll know you’re doing what I told you to.”

  Jansen‘s phone rang, and he turned toward his office, but twisted back to look at Conner. “And don’t pull any damn fire alarms or you can explain it to the guys with the funny yellow helmets.”

  Conner sighed. “He’s not that much of an angel. I read his file. Come on, partner. Bring the warrant. We’ll spend an hour searching for Derrick, then we’ll
arrest Ryan. If Derrick has any sense at all, he’s hiding from his friendly neighborhood hit man.”

  Noah couldn’t move. His voice shook. “Derrick isn’t hiding or shacked up. He’s dead. We might as well have killed him ourselves. We should have moved faster, it’s not like Ryan had that many friends who would have partnered up with him. Once Ryan suspected we were on to him, he started cleaning house. Derrick was a loose end. So is Hudson. Maybe even Icky. We better warn them.”

  Oh crap. Rosaria. Did I use her name anywhere? It wasn’t on the warrant, or even in his computer. Her phone number was on a separate page in his pocket. Would calling put her in more danger or less? If she got frightened and ran, he’d lose his best witness against Hudson. He couldn’t take a chance, he had to warn her.

  “You’re as much of an alarmist as Jansen. The kid is fine, wherever he is. If something did happen to him, he brought it on himself. He’s the one shooting people for money. Once you step into that profession, you put yourself in jeopardy. Derrick picked a psychopath for a partner. We didn’t have anything to do with that. And we didn’t have all the information we needed last night. The fingerprint analysis didn’t come in ‘till this morning. We barely conned the judge into giving us a warrant with the prints. We’d never have gotten one without them. Now, get off your ass and let’s go find him.”

  Noah stood, his legs trembling. “We’ll need to bring a shovel or dive suits if we ever expect to see him again. I’ll call Hudson and Icky. You drive.”

  I’ll keep telling myself it was too late last night to have finished investigating, get a warrant, and arrest Ryan, but I don’t think it’ll do any good.

  Conner hated sitting on some strange kid’s unmade bed, but it was the only clear spot in the room. Books, papers, soda cans, and food wrappers littered every available space. The stench of stale food and unwashed boy permeated the entire area. If only the kid would open a window.

  The contrast with Derrick’s pristine room was striking.

  “And you’re sure it was Derrick McAllister you saw yesterday evening?”

  The kid, Trevor, pointed out his window to a patch of lawn. “I was watching for Derrick. I wanted to go over his lab notes before study group. I saw him trudging across the lawn, his head down.”

  “Was he with anyone?” Conner glanced up from his notes. Did these kids spend all their spare time in study groups? What happened to keg parties and girls?

  “Maybe, I’m not sure.”

  Noah spoke up for the first time. “What do you mean, maybe? How could you not know?”

  Conner cleared his throat. Noah was going to scare the kid off if he didn’t calm down. “Try to describe what you saw. We’ll worry about what it means later.”

  “Derrick was about six feet behind Ryan Howell. Maybe he was following him, or maybe they were both just heading the same direction.”

  “Did he have his backpack with him?” Conner tried to keep the excitement from his voice.

  “Sure, I think so.”

  Noah growled. “Sure, or I think so, which is it?”

  Trevor looked like he might wet his pants at any moment. Conner got up and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We appreciate your help, son. If you think of anything else, give me a call.” He handed the kid his card, but the boy held it like he was afraid it might bite him.

  “Let’s go see where he might have been headed.” Conner held the door open and waited while Noah took one last glance out the window and followed him into the hallway. The musty smell was almost a relief.

  Noah’s face was grim. “We don’t know where he went, but we sure as hell know where he didn’t go. His backpack and his books aren’t in his room and his study group notes are. Ryan said something to him to make him turn around.”

  They exited the building and started across the lawn. The air was still nippy, and students hurried past them on their way to class, or back to their rooms.

  Conner glanced up, measuring the spot where Trevor had seen the two boys. Noah stood on a slight rise, his hands on his hips, staring forward.

  “Come look at this,” Noah said.

  Directly in front of him was the parking lot where they’d seen Ryan’s car the day they first interviewed Icky. The car was still there, but moved to a different row.

  Noah’s voice took on a hard edge. “Now do you think it’s time to arrest Ryan?”

  Noah opened the classroom door and slipped inside. Conner followed on his heels.

  The room was semi-circular, with rows of seats leading down to the floor where the professor paced in front of a blackboard covered with numbers and figures Noah didn’t understand.

  Two dozen eager faces twisted toward Noah and Conner when the heavy door clicked shut.

  The professor pushed horn-rimmed glasses up on his nose and wiped chalk-covered hands on pants already coated in white dust. “Sorry, gentlemen, but class is in session. You’ll have to wait in my office if you need to speak to me.”

  Noah spotted Ryan’s red hair on the front row. Of course that’s where he’d sit. He’s a front row, ass-kissing type of kid.

  “We won’t be long, Professor,” Noah called. His eyes charted the most direct path and he headed for the boy. “Let us collect young Mr. Howell and we’ll be on our way.”

  Best to move fast, get the kid, and be gone before anyone had time to object. This was Rice University—a bunch of liberal, spoiled, rich kids. At A&M, they’d probably help him collar the little turd.

  “We’re reviewing for an exam, sir. And he’ll need this information. You can wait outside. Class is over in twenty-five minutes.” The professor crossed the room to stand near Ryan.

  Ryan jerked toward Noah and his pen skittered across the floor. Innocent blue eyes turned hard in a flash.

  Noah tried unsuccessfully to keep a smile off his face. “I doubt he’ll have a use for it where he’s going.” He opened his jacket to show his badge and placed his hand loosely on his weapon.

  Ryan let out a high-pitched scream. “Run for it. He has a gun.”

  On the far side of the room, someone took up the cry. “It’s a gun. Run.”

  Fuck. There goes fast and neat.

  Some students threw themselves on the floor, while others scattered—running, climbing over seats, plowing into each other and spilling books, cell phones, and jackets along the way.

  The silent room exploded in a cacophony of yelling, crying and crashing furniture.

  Ryan jumped out of his seat and yanked the professor in front of him. Ryan was a scrawny kid. Not more than five-eight, a hundred and twenty pounds. The professor was taller, heavier, older, and unprepared. He stumbled and Ryan threw him across the same aisle Noah was sprinting down.

  Noah saw the professor fall and lined up to jump over him, a move he’d completed a hundred times in his football playing days, but his foot landed on Ryan’s pen and his knee hit the cement floor with a crack audible over a roomful of screaming kids. He threw out an arm to keep his face from hitting the floor and felt the jar clear to his shoulder.

  For one brief, blissful second, he felt nothing. Then the message center of his brain told him something bad had happened and he knew that to straighten his leg would be agony.

  Behind him, he could see Conner trying to fight his way down the stairs while being buffeted on first one side and then the other by fleeing students.

  Conner held out his badge and yelled, “Stop, police. Everyone stay where you are.”

  A few kids stopped, but others kept running. Half a dozen blocked the aisle, keeping him from Noah’s side.

  No help coming from that direction

  Noah twisted to the spot he’d last seen Ryan, only to find empty air and a slowly closing side door.

  Noah punched Conner’s number into his cell phone, but it rang three times before his partner picked up.

  Conner growled, “What is it this time? I’m trying to reach the lieutenant.”

  “Don’t bother. I won’t be here that long.
Either look for the fucking doctor or come back in here and help me find my pants.” He’d been in that curtained cubical for almost an hour, and while half a dozen people had been in doing all manner of unpleasant things to his poor, battered body, he had yet to see the one person who could set him free.

  The curtain hangers screeched as Conner threw the flimsy cloth to the side, the cell phone still in his hand. His voice assaulted Noah from two directions. “Hang up the phone and stop calling me. You don’t have any pants. They were cut off while you were in the ambulance. The doctor will be in when he runs out of other things to do and not a moment before.”

  He reached over and snatched the phone out of Noah’s hand, pressed the off button and stuck it in his own pocket. “I can’t wait on you and organize a search at the same time. You’re in the hospital, act like it.”

  “I’m not in the hospital, I’m in the Emergency Room. And I don’t plan to stay here long. If the fucking doctor would come release me, I’d be back at work. Now give me back my phone and I’ll work on the search grid.”

  “No way, Flying Wallenda. You were crying like a baby when they hefted you into the ambulance. The EMT’s put some Demerol in your IV just to shut you up. You’re off duty for twenty-four hours.”

  Noah flexed his foot. No waves of pain radiated up his body. “Those asswipes. I never gave permission for that.”

  “They were on the radio with the doctor the whole time. He gave them permission. Probably because he couldn’t hear what they were saying over your sobs.”

  “Maybe I was yelling, a little, but it was because everyone was worrying about me instead of searching for that slippery devil.”

  “Either way, you’re not working ‘till you get the all-clear. So lean back, relax, and let me do my job. If you need someone to help you, ask the nurse to call your sister. She actually cares about your raggedy ass.” Conner’s voice rose with each word and his footsteps echoed down the hall.