by L. A. Witt
Andreas pushed his plate away and stood up. “He wants to talk to me. He won’t say about what.”
“That’s . . . kind of disturbing.”
Andreas shrugged. “It’s not too unusual, actually. If he gives me too much notice, I can usually find a way to get out of meeting with him.”
“How have you survived twenty years on the force?”
Andreas smiled grimly. “Persistence. Come on.”
I held up the car keys. “Fine, but I’m driving.” I could see he wanted to argue with me, but apparently his arm hurt enough that he reined it in. I’d have to enjoy it while I could.
“What do we tell him about your injury?” I asked as I drove us toward the precinct.
“Nothing.”
“Right, because that’s going to fly.”
“I have a change of clothes in the back.” Oh, hey, so he did. I side-eyed him as he stripped out of his bloodstained shirt and gingerly pulled on a new one, folding the old one up so that the stain was covered and then tucking it into the duffel bag in the backseat. Andreas might be in his forties, but goddamn, he was built. “Eyes on the road, Darren.”
“We haven’t crashed yet, have we?”
“The way this day has gone so far, I wouldn’t put it past us.”
By the time we parked in the garage, you’d never have known that Andreas had been laid out on his back in the hospital just an hour ago. I’d have admired it more if I didn’t know how much pain he must have been hiding. Time and the captain waited for no detective, though.
Marla’s gaze narrowed over her cat’s-eye glasses as we entered the room. “Where have you two been all day?”
“Working!” I said brightly. “Like we’re supposed to. Of course.”
“That is not a working face. I can spot a working face a mile away, and that is not your face right now, Darren.”
“Can we get on with this?” Andreas asked. “The captain is expecting us.”
“Don’t get snippy with me. You think I don’t know that? He’s on the phone.” Or, at least, he’d been on the phone. The door slammed open—Marla winced but didn’t say anything this time—and Hamilton glared at us.
“Get in here, Ruffner. Might as well bring your partner too.”
We entered his office, and I closed the door behind us as gently as I could. Ruffner sat without being asked. It seemed calculated to come off as insolent, but I saw the faint tremor of fatigue in his arms. “What’s this about, sir?”
“I think that’s my line,” he said. “Do you know a man named Frederic Lee?”
Ruffner frowned. “Not really. He’s a clerk at the justice department, I think. Why?”
“Because he was found dead not half an hour ago.”
Andreas shrugged. “We’re not homicide. What do you expect us to do about it?”
I was no expert at reading Andreas yet, but I’d caught on to a few tells at this point. The way he kept his face perfectly blank and unconcerned despite the frown on it a moment ago made me think twice, but now wasn’t the time to ask.
“I was hoping you’d answer a few questions for me. Like why he was found with your card pinned to his chest with a switchblade, Ruffner.”
My heart skipped a beat, and not in the fun way. Oh shit. That wasn’t good. Andreas continued to appear unaffected, though.
“I hand out dozens of cards every year. I can’t keep track of who they all end up with. Why? Are you accusing me of something?”
Captain Hamilton shook his head. “Of course not. You’re not a complete fool, all evidence to the contrary aside. You wouldn’t do the equivalent of signing a corpse before dumping it at the old warehouse off Hunt Street.” He sighed. “I’m not worried about you right now, Ruffner. I’m worried for you. This sounds like a message to me, but I don’t get the connection. I need you to fill in the blanks.”
“I wish I could,” he said. “But I don’t know the guy. Sorry, Captain. Better luck next time.” He stood up, turned, and walked out before either of us could say anything else. Captain Hamilton turned his attention to me.
“Keep a close eye on your partner, Corliss.”
“I will,” I promised. For more reasons than you know.
On the way to the parking garage, I tried my damnedest to keep my usual cool exterior in place, but it wasn’t easy. I’d been off-balance ever since last night. Even more so since I’d ripped my arm open. Triply so since Darren had kissed me in the hospital room. I was still shaky from blood loss, not to mention the drug side effects that had dropped me in the first place, and the constant burning and throbbing in my forearm wasn’t helping a goddamned thing.
And now Frederic Lee was dead. With my card prominently displayed on his person. In the warehouse where I met with my contacts.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This was real bad.
As we stepped out of the elevator into the parking garage, Darren extended his hand, palm up. “Keys.”
I gritted my teeth, but handed him the keys.
“So where is this place? Where the hell is Hunt Street?”
“Just outside of town. I’ll give you directions as we go.”
We got into the car, and as promised, I directed him toward the warehouse. With every turn, my stomach knotted tighter. I didn’t want him knowing where this place was. No one was supposed to know where it was, including Frederic Lee and whoever had offed him. They sure as shit weren’t supposed to know where my cameras were or how to disconnect them prior to murdering him and dumping his body. I’d tried to access them on my phone, but the signal wasn’t working. Hopefully the cameras themselves hadn’t been disturbed and I could still get the footage. I wasn’t optimistic about it, though.
When we pulled up, the abandoned warehouse was anything but. Several patrol cars and an unmarked were outside. The coroner’s van was there, and two news vans were parked across the street. Fortunately, the patrols had been smart and cordoned off the entire place with yellow tape, keeping the vultures and their cameras away. Hollywood celebrities didn’t hate the paparazzi like I hated the local media.
Inside, the body was covered and a couple of uniformed officers were standing guard while the forensic photographers documented every inch of the scene. Darren and I split up, wandering around the scene. He checked in with the homicide detectives while I slipped out to check my cameras. Sure enough, they were toast—one was gone and the other had been smashed to tiny bits. The graffiti on the bricks behind it was fresh, too. I wasn’t much of a vandalism connoisseur, but the red spray-painted Die Pig definitely hadn’t been there before.
My heart thumped. Apparently I needed a new place to meet with contacts. Easier said than done, considering it needed to be remote enough I could rough them up if the situation warranted it.
I headed back inside.
“Detective Ruffner?” A familiar female voice turned me around, and Detective Paula Morris extended her hand. “Long time no see.”
I shook her hand. “Could’ve been better circumstances, but good to see you.”
She laughed halfheartedly. “Yeah. And under these circumstances, I’m surprised the captain let you come to this scene.” She paused. “He told you not to, didn’t he?”
“Am I that predictable?”
Another laugh, this time with a little more feeling. “You never change, do you?”
“Not if I can help it.” I nodded toward the body, which was in the process of being loaded onto a stretcher. “So I understand you found some evidence tying me to this guy.”
“Yep. This is the card we found on him.” She pulled a plastic evidence bag from her coat pocket and handed it to me. “You know anything about what’s on the back?”
I took it and turned it over. Bloodstains obscured part of the handwritten phone number, but the name was clear as day—Jeff.
My own blood turned cold. The name was common, but this wasn’t just any Jeff. I’d seen that number on my caller ID enough times to recognize it immediately.
I handed t
he card back. “I’ll be in touch.”
“You know something about this?” she asked.
I didn’t answer and hurried off to find Darren. He was talking to Morris’s partner near a bullet hole in the wall. I didn’t bother telling them it was an old one—a .45 cal that had been there since last summer—and motioned for Darren to come with me. “We have to go. Now.”
He blinked. “What? But we just—”
“Now.”
He stared at me for a second, then handed something back to the other detective and followed me. He didn’t say a word until we were in the car. As he started the engine, he asked, “All right. Where are we going?”
“I’m not sure yet.” I took out my phone and scrolled through my contacts. “Head back into town.” I thumbed a text: Call me now. 911.
While I waited for a response, Darren wisely did as he was told, pulling out of the gravel lot and heading toward the city.
A good two minutes later, my phone rang.
I answered, “Jeff?”
“Yeah, man. What’s up?”
“Where are you?”
The kid laughed. “What do you think? I’m at school.”
I pursed my lips. “You lying to me? This is important.”
He didn’t answer immediately. There was some movement, and the background noise got a little louder. Whispering now, Jeff said, “I ain’t lying. I’m at school.”
“Go to the guidance counselor’s office. Now. Wait for me there.”
“Why? I got class. I can’t—”
“Now, Jeff.”
“All right, all right. What’s going on?”
“I’ll explain when I get there.”
After I hung up, Darren asked, “So, where am I going?”
“North Park High School.”
He was quiet for a moment. “You gonna tell me what’s going on? Or do I have to wait until we get there?”
I let the surly tone slide. “We’re taking someone into protective custody.”
“Protective—” Darren shot me a look. “At a high school? Someone you just sent to wait for you with a guidance counselor. Are we . . . are we bringing in a kid?”
I exhaled, trying to get comfortable despite the relentless aching on my arm. “A kid whose name was on the back of the card they found on Lee.”
“You mean your card?”
“Yeah.”
Darren tapped his thumb on the wheel. “What the hell is going on?”
I stared out the windshield. Out of distrust but also necessity, I’d kept a lot of things from my various partners. Darren had proven he could be trusted. I liked him, and not just as a cop. And regardless of how I felt about him, the situation was escalating quickly. The information I had was need to know, and if Darren was going to trust me—and if he was going to stay alive—he needed to know.
I absently played with the edge of the bandage sticking out from under my sleeve. “Lee was one of my contacts. An informant.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Darren muttered.
I shot him a glare but let the comment go. “The name on the back of the card is a kid who’s been supplying me information too. Among other things.”
“‘Other things’? Such as?”
I hesitated. “Such as the evidence I planted on Jake so we could bring him in.”
Darren’s head turned so sharply I was surprised he didn’t jerk the wheel and send us into the ditch. “You’ve been buying heroin from a kid?”
“I bought it from him one time.”
“Oh, that makes it so much better. What the hell is wrong with you?”
I narrowed my eyes. “You want the full story before you decide something’s wrong with me? Or should we just jump to that conclusion?”
“Oh. Yeah. This should be good.” He rolled his eyes. “Do tell, Andreas—what explanation could you possibly have for buying fucking heroin from a fucking kid?”
I twisted toward Darren. “Because he was also a goddamned informant, and when one of Blake’s cronies figured out he was talking to me, he got scared and told them I was buying. And they bought it because I’ve got a reputation in the department for being a junkie and a dirty cop. So, yes, I bought heroin from the kid because if he didn’t prove he was supplying me, he was going to turn up in a gutter somewhere.”
Darren swallowed.
Speaking a little softer, I added, “It’s not an ideal arrangement. Not for anyone involved. But it’s kept a target off his back, and it’s kept me in the loop with Blake’s operations.”
“But you think he’s in danger now.”
“Yeah. Someone’s going down the list of people who’ve supplied me with information.”
“How long before they come after you?”
I didn’t have an answer for that. And if I did, he wouldn’t have liked it.
Darren pulled onto the freeway and accelerated. A couple of mileposts whipped by before he spoke again. “Maybe we should think about putting you someplace safe.”
I laughed dryly.
“I’m not kidding. If they’ve connected you to Lee and to this kid, then there’s a damn good chance someone’s coming for you.”
“So where do you suggest I go? Your place?”
Darren tensed, and I realized what my suggestion had implied.
I cleared my throat. “I mean, um . . .”
“Well, you’d be staying with a cop.”
“Yeah, but . . .”
We exchanged uneasy glances.
I coughed again. “Let’s get Jeff someplace safe, and then we’ll worry about me.”
Silence set in.
“Do Blake’s people know where Jeff goes to school?” Darren asked.
“Probably, yes.”
“Then you probably shouldn’t show up there.”
I chewed my lip. He had a point. Sighing, I took out my phone again. “I’ll send some patrol officers.”
“Good idea.”
I made the call, dispatching a couple of patrols to pick up Jeff from school, and also to take his mother someplace safe. At this rate, every informant I’d ever spoken to was going to wind up in witness protection, which meant we needed to amp up our investigation and shut this shit down. Whatever was brewing, it wasn’t good, and it was going to get bloody.
While I was at it, I texted my ex-girlfriend.
Ask Emily if she wants to go to the zoo this weekend.
On the surface, it was a benign message, but she’d know what I meant. For all our screaming matches and inability to be in the same room, Lisa took me seriously when I sent her coded messages, and suggesting that I was going to take our daughter to the zoo during my custody weekend meant take her to your aunt’s and don’t come home until I tell you. She wouldn’t ask questions. By tonight, she and Emily would be well on their way out of town. Thank God her job allowed her to work remotely. My older kids lived in other states, as did their mother, so they were safe. For the moment, anyway.
I put my phone down.
“So, it’s taken care of?” Darren asked. “Someone else is picking him up?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. What now?”
I stared at my dormant phone.
“The offer’s open, by the way,” he said quietly. “About my place.”
“Is that offer for my protection?” I turned toward him. “Or something . . . mutually beneficial?”
Darren’s cheeks colored. “Does it have to be one or the other?”
I swallowed.
He coughed into his fist and fidgeted. “Look, I’m not suggesting we blow off work and . . .”
“Pick up where we left off when the nurse interrupted us?”
I didn’t think he could get any redder, but apparently I was wrong.
“Um. Something like that.” He stared straight ahead. “But I can’t imagine you’re in the mood for much. You’ve kind of been through the wringer today.”
Well, thank God he’d said it. At this point, I was ready to just go home and sle
ep for a week. Today was not the day to jump into bed with my much-younger partner who hadn’t bled like a stuck pig and wasn’t on medication with reams of side effects. And hell, he might’ve known about my HIV status now, and he’d been all right with kissing me, but I wasn’t holding my breath that he’d be as relaxed about it when sex was more than a hypothetical.
I pressed back against the seat and sighed. “Yeah. I’ll be lucky if I stay awake past dinner.”
“Still.” His fingers drummed rapidly on the console between us. “I’m serious. You need to rest after this morning, and I doubt anyone’s expecting you to be sleeping at my place.”
That included me up until an hour or two ago.
I blew out a breath. “All right. Your place it is.”
Andreas was asleep on my couch. It was four in the afternoon, and he was sacked out on my thrift-store reject, his injured arm carefully slung across his chest, the rest of him spread out as far as he could get on furniture that was way too short for him. His eyes twitched under bruised lids, and every few minutes he reflexively frowned. He might have been asleep, but I wasn’t sure he was getting any rest.
I’d been prepared for embarrassment as I showed Andreas into my matchbox of an apartment. It was cheap and close to the precinct, which was the entire reason I’d rented here, but it struck me that I’d never invited anyone into it before. Apart from Asher, that was, and he hadn’t been here for over a year, not since Vic had taken away his keys for good. The apartment was . . . Okay, so maybe I wasn’t the tidiest person, and maybe I hadn’t done the dishes in more time than I could remember, but Andreas wasn’t going to care about the state of my countertops. Right?
I was righter than I knew. I’d cleared my throat in preparation for a preemptive apology for the mess, but he hadn’t stopped at the door, just kicked his shoes off, hung his jacket over the back of a chair, and sat down on the couch with a sigh. “Mind if I take this?”