by Ally Shields
She downed another cup of coffee, grabbed her SIG, and headed for the firing range. Maggie had thinking to do, and shooting sharpened her thoughts better than anything else.
When she exited the range two hours later, she felt calmer than she had all week. She walked toward her Toyota and sighed when she saw Brandt’s Ford parked next to it. Now came the accusations. Thanks to Coridan, she was ready. As she drew near, he lowered his window.
“Detective Brandt, how’d you find me this time?”
“Easy enough. I thought about where I would go.” He opened his car door and got out. “But all the practice in the world won’t help if your weapon’s in the other room.”
“Yeah, that was a serious lapse. It won’t happen again.”
He studied her face. “I can see that.”
Maggie bristled. “You think I’ve gotten a grip on myself? I was never as out of control as you think.”
He frowned at her emphatic response. “Meaning?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why did you track me down? To talk about last night?”
“Sure. That will do. Do you have anything to tell me?”
“Like confessing I did it?” she snapped. “Well, I didn’t. I don’t care what the evidence says.”
His frown cleared, and he almost smiled. “Ah, the fingerprint results. Not unexpected. If the intruder was going to set you up to look bad, he’d hardly risk leaving his own prints behind by not wearing gloves.”
“But I thought—” Maggie blinked. “You believe it was a setup?”
“That’s how I read it. If he wanted you dead, why not finish the job? And why drop the gun outside? What I don’t know is how he got into your apartment, and why he went to all this trouble.”
“But Cor—” She stopped and said ruefully, “I thought no one believed me. Given all that’s happened over the past few months.”
He offered no response to her comment but leaned against the side of his car. “It appears somebody wants you discredited. The question is why. To stop you from doing or saying something? Or at least stop anyone from believing it?” He turned a level gaze on her. “Do you know some secret, York?”
“If I do, I don’t know what it is. If you think it’s about my shooting, I’ve already told you I didn’t see anything in the courtyard that night.”
He shrugged and looked away. “Maybe it wasn’t that night. Maybe it was the night before. Or a month before.”
“What are you saying?”
“I don’t know. I’m just thinking aloud. None of it makes sense…yet.” He suddenly flashed a smile that made her heart skip a beat. “Sometimes I have to go down a lot of wrong roads before I arrive at the truth, but it’ll come.” He reached into his open car window, pulled out a brown paper bag, and handed it to her. “Your backup SIG. We’re through with it. Keep it close. You were lucky last night, but the shooter might have something else in mind next time.”
Without saying good-bye, Brandt got back in his car, nodded to her, and drove away. Maggie watched him go. He’d given her a lot to think about. But it was the smile that held her attention, the way it reached and lit up his eyes. Damn, she hoped he didn’t turn out to be a dirty cop.
By the time she parked near her home, Maggie’s mood had deteriorated to a frown. She’d gone over the parking lot conversation in her head a couple of time, and one question kept jumping out. How had last night’s intruder gotten inside? It almost seemed like he’d had a key. But she hadn’t shared her apartment key with anyone. Not a cleaning service, no one watered her plants, even Annie didn’t have a key. And she certainly didn’t have one hidden under a potted plant. So how would he get one? The landlord? Worth checking but doubtful. Otherwise, it seemed inescapable that he’d borrowed or stolen her keys and made a copy—or he’d made an impression of the lock. Either way, she must have seen the intruder before, probably knew him. He might even have visited her home.
She immediately thought of Brandt’s Friday night visit. Had he touched the door or door frame with something to take an impression? She couldn’t remember where his hands had been. She was focused on his eyes. Why was that?
Knock it off, Maggie. She shook her head. This was no time to get sidetracked by the man’s obvious appeal. Was the lock why he’d been there that night? And was that why he now believed her? Softening her up? Did he work for someone…who wanted her dead or at least frightened out of her wits? Literally.
Geez. That was paranoid thinking. He might be a druggie or drug dealer—a fact she found hard to believe when he flashed that smile—but it didn’t mean he wanted to harm or discredit her. So what possible motive could he have? He already had her job, and her chances of getting it back were slim or non-existent. But it was curious the attack had come the same day she’d asked Captain Jenson about Brandt’s background.
Maggie spent several hours on the computer that evening checking out a list of sites Annie had sent her via e-mail. They detailed a picture of Brandt and his history with the Boston PD. He’d had a distinguished career, including a well-publicized award for heroism in freeing five hostages, including a fellow officer. Maybe that’s why the DA dropped the drug charges and allowed him to resign. Annie planned to call the Boston prosecutor’s office tomorrow, ostensibly as a follow-up on a local story, but now it seemed like a risky move. Anyone willing to drop the charges against him might also notify him Annie was poking around. Maggie didn’t want her best friend in trouble…or danger. Should she tell Annie to back off?
Maggie sat back in the chair and thought about it. Were her suspicions of Brandt based on fact? Or was she seeing trouble where there wasn’t any? What exactly had he done to set her on edge? She gave a rueful smile. Maybe it wasn’t anything he’d done, right or wrong, but her response to his presence that made her wary. Well…and the fact he had her job.
She pushed away from the computer, pulled a beer from the fridge, and called Annie. “Hi. I’m calling because I have a rule against drinking alone.”
Annie laughed. “Happy to be your plus one. Let me grab something.”
They talked for several minutes, and Maggie mentioned her concerns about calling the Boston DA.
“Well, what’s the alternative?” Annie asked. “You can’t call. A cop calling would make him suspicious for sure. Besides, what can he do to me other than say it’s none of my business?”
“I guess.” Maggie still had her doubts, but Annie was determined and changed the subject. Maggie soon brought her up to date on last night’s intruder and the PD’s suspicions.
“How could they think you’d make it up? That’s stupid. Besides the fact that you just wouldn’t do it, what would be the point?”
Maggie sighed. “I don’t think I even asked. Something lame, no doubt. Or something psychotic. Some of them must think I’m seriously demented. And sometimes I think they’re right. Like every time I see Hurst. Oh, that reminds me.” She related the ghost’s appearance outside her building the night before.
“See, Dalia was right,” Annie said. “She told you to pay attention to him. Maybe he’s your guardian angel and will hang around forever.” Annie giggled.
“Geez, Annie, not funny. Did that beer go to your head?” But imagining Hurst as an angel in his black and gold hoodie was funny.
“Lighten up, girlfriend. Think of this ghost thing as putting you among the privileged few. A lot of people in New Orleans are dying to see a ghost. Get it? Dying…ghost…” Annie’s voice dissolved into giggles again.
Maggie groaned. “Oh, stop. Please stop.” But she grinned at the phone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Brandt rubbed the knot in his neck. Tension had built all morning. Odd stares, avoidance of his desk. He leaned back, stretched out his legs, and pretended to be lost in thought. His gaze surreptitiously swept the room. What was going on? Did the squad blame him for the rumors circulating about York?
He watched for another minute, noting the quickly averted gazes whenever he caught them looking. He�
�d seen this kind of treatment before. In Boston. Finally, he stood, went to the break room, and refilled his coffee mug. When he returned, a hastily scrawled note sat in the middle of his desk.
Wouldn’t the vice squad be a better fit for a drug pusher?
What the hell? Had somebody been checking up on him? He clenched his jaw. He’d counted on leaving his past a thousand miles behind him, but apparently not. The looks of disapproval seemed bolder now. A couple of officers didn’t bother to hide their disdain.
The air was so charged that Brandt wasn’t surprised when Captain Jenson summoned him to his office right before lunch. Jenson was a hands-on supervisor, especially with employee issues. The captain was on the phone when Brandt entered and waved him to a seat.
Brandt looked around at the uncluttered room. Jenson liked things tidy, a habit he said he’d learned in the Navy, and it showed in his grooming and deportment. Short, salt-and-pepper hair, upright bearing, direct gaze. He’d shed his jacket, but his white shirt was immaculate.
Jenson hung up the phone and got right to the point. It wasn’t what Brandt had expected. “What do you think of this York business? Did she fake the intrusion? It doesn’t sound like her.”
“I think it’s bull. Someone is working hard to discredit her.”
Jenson narrowed his eyes. “Who? And why?”
“I haven’t figured it out. She must know or have seen something she doesn’t realize is important. It’s the only explanation that fits the facts.”
“But you have no proof. Or even an idea of what it might be.” Jenson steepled his fingers. “Isn’t it just as likely she’s a confused young woman? She was one of the brightest, but since the shooting…well, you’ve met her.”
“She isn’t the distraught woman I expected. Her status has been exaggerated—and not on the good side—in my opinion.”
“Interesting you’re defending her. She called about you.”
“What about me?” Brandt had a sinking feeling he knew. It might explain how distant she’d been recently and the squad’s mood today.
“She’d heard about your trouble in Boston. I didn’t tell her anything.” Jenson cocked his head. “But maybe you should. I’ve seen the behavior in the precinct this morning.”
“You think she told them?”
“No, not her style, and I don’t think she’s in contact with most of them. But she might have discussed it with Coridan. They’re still close. And he would have spread the word. He doesn’t like you.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed. But I can’t tell anyone what really happened. Not yet. Maybe not ever. It’s not entirely my story to tell.”
“I understand your hesitation, but I warned you I couldn’t let it become a disruption. Find a way to resolve this.”
Brandt let out a frustrated breath. “I’ll try. There’s one or two who might listen and accept there’s another side to the story.”
“Let me know if I can help. And keep me apprised on York.”
Brandt stood in response to the captain’s obvious dismissal and let himself out.
Damn it to hell. He didn’t want to share any of his past. It was his business, not anyone else’s. At least no one here. But cops being what they were, he’d have to meet the squad halfway if he wanted to stick around. That was the warning behind the captain’s remarks. Make this problem go away, or he’d be looking for another department.
* * *
Homicide Detective Tom Ross eyed Brandt over his coffee mug. “So the DA dropped the charges against you?”
Brandt nodded and glanced around the nearly empty cafe. It was past the lunch hour and only a few lingered over coffee. No one was paying any attention to the three cops. “If I could, I’d give you the details, but like I said, there are others involved.”
“Coridan’s not going to accept that.” Ross’s partner, Stan Barclay, leaned back in the plastic and chrome chair.
“That’s his problem.” Brandt shrugged. “I’m not sure why, but Coridan isn’t going to believe anything good about me. I hoped you’d think differently.”
“Maggie York is why. He’s always had an eye out for her and wasn’t going to like anyone that took her place.”
“I can’t change when or why I was hired.” Brandt left it at that and waited to see their response to everything they’d heard. He’d worked on a case with Ross and Barclay when he first came to New Orleans. They’d gotten along OK, and after leaving the captain’s office an hour ago, he’d invited them to a lunch. They’d been reluctant, but they’d come and listened while he told them about his arrest in Boston, the DA’s conclusion he was innocent, and that the charges were dropped. He kept it brief, minus names and relationships, and they’d have to do a lot of reading between the lines to come even close to the truth.
“You did a standup job on the Dunway case,” Barclay finally said. He looked at Ross, then back to Brandt. “I’ve no reason to think you’re lying now. There’s some things a man can’t talk about. I respect that.”
“Yeah, me too.” Ross took a drink of his coffee. “But this business about Maggie York, you’ve got it all wrong.”
“In what way?”
Ross’s face darkened. “If she says somebody shot at her, they did.”
“I agree.”
Barclay’s brows shot up. “That wasn’t what we heard. And on top of the Boston thing…well, it got the guys pretty fired up this morning.”
Coridan again. If he didn’t back off, they might have to eventually have a talk.
Brandt nodded at Barclay. “Somebody set her up the other night. To discredit or scare her…but not to kill. It doesn’t make sense any other way. Any idea who?”
“You think it was one of us? Another cop?”
“Wait a minute.” Brandt held up a hand and grinned. “Let’s not get another rumor started, unless you know something I don’t. I meant cases that went sour, suspects she arrested. Dissatisfied victims’ families. Old boyfriends.”
Barclay visibly relaxed, finished his coffee, and set it down. “York’s pretty private. You’d have to ask her about the personal stuff. She doesn’t date within the office, not even Coridan.”
“Has he tried?” Brandt was pretty sure he knew the answer, and it explained a lot.
Barclay shrugged. “He’s had the hots for Maggie as long as I can remember. As for threats, I can’t think of anyone who’s singled her out.”
“We all get them, but I never heard York express any particular concern,” Ross added. “She had a thing about bringing down Bullet Castile, but this incident seems a little subtle for him.”
Brandt looked at his watch, laid three twenties on top of the bill, and rose. “I guess we won’t solve it over lunch. Thanks for listening.”
“No problem. We’ll do what we can to squash the rumors. Do right by York. That will go a long way toward squaring you with the squad.”
After lunch Brandt returned to the precinct long enough to gather several files and call York to warn her he was on the way over. Her voice hadn’t been welcoming, but it was time they went through her cases…and her private life, looking for anyone who might have tried to kill her six months ago and now had a subtler plan to make her life miserable. Or maybe two people working together but with different methods. Dissimilar as the two incidents seemed, he couldn’t get past the gut feeling they were connected. Otherwise, the intrusion made no sense at all.
He parked his car on the street and had walked around to retrieve his files from the passenger seat when his phone buzzed.
Marty Penz. Why was the Boston DA calling him? “Marty, it’s been a while.”
“But not long enough, huh?” Penz always was blunt. He was a hard but fair man, and Brandt hadn’t made it easy for him to make the right call. “I’m not sure why, because I’m the one who did you a favor, but I thought I should give you a head’s up. A New Orleans reporter by the name of Annie Moore called this morning. Asked me all about your case.”
Brandt closed his eyes.
What else could go wrong today? “What’d you tell her?”
“That charges were dropped, and I referred her to the online public records for verification. But she was persistent. She’ll keep digging.”
Brandt grimaced. “OK, I’ll check into it. Thanks, I appreciate the call.”
“No problem. Enjoying the warmer climate?”
They talked another minute or two before disconnecting, then Brandt gathered the files, shaking his head. He would bet Maggie York or one of her cop friends knew Annie Moore and put her up to this.
He dismissed his irritation with a soft curse and studied her building in daylight. Traditional French Quarter, mid-price. It’s what he would expect on a cop’s salary. No security personnel. They relied on a buzzer system. He pushed the button above her name; she buzzed him in. He suspected he could have pushed any apartment, and at least one or two would have buzzed him in without question. He climbed the stairs to the third floor without seeing another tenant. So far, an intruder would have it easy.
Maggie opened the door as soon as he rang and led him into the kitchen area. She waved him to a seat at the small table and chairs. “What can I get you? Coffee, a beer?”
“I’m good, thanks.” He set the files on the table and chose a chair. “I know neither of us wants to be at this all night, so shall we get started?”
“Suits me. Those look like my case files.”
“Recent ones mostly. I thought we’d go through them, looking for anyone who bears a grudge or some small piece that doesn’t fit. But first, let’s talk about the personal angle.” She was still standing, and he leaned back, cocking a brow at her. “Any trouble with your neighbors?”