Dark Remnants (Street Games Book 1)

by L. K. Hill

  “He took it in stride. He was tenacious, though. Turned the charm up to eleven every time she set foot on the grounds.”

  “Excuse me, Caleb? Detective?”

  Gabe turned to find a round, light-haired woman standing behind him. She was a few years older than Gabe. Her hair was pulled back into a bun and she wore glasses and many rings.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but I overheard you talking.”

  “This is Megan,” Caleb told Gabe. “She works in the kitchen.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Gabe shook her hand. “You have something to add?”

  She nodded, looking nervous. “I already talked to that other blond-haired detective, but he didn’t ask me about this. I heard you talking and thought I ought to tell you that Kenny and Tanya went on a date a few nights back.”

  “What?” Caleb scoffed. “She’d never actually go on a date with him. You know how many times he asked her?”

  “I do,” Megan insisted, glaring at Caleb. “That’s why everyone was talking about it.” She turned back to Gabe. “It wasn’t a big deal or anything. They just went out for drinks. It’s probably not relevant, but I thought you should know.”

  “Thank you for information,” Gabe said with a grateful smile. “Tell me, did you talk to Kenny the day after he and Tanya went out?”

  “Sure. It was a work day.”

  “And how did he seem?”

  She shrugged. “He seemed…” She paused, frowning. She tilted her head to the side, staring at nothing as if replaying a memory in her mind. “Now that you mention it, Detective, he was a bit off the day after the date.”

  “Off how?”

  “Not in any major way. He just seemed…withdrawn. Worried, maybe. I thought maybe he was just tired and asked if he’d had a late night. He said he’d gotten really drunk, so I figured he was hung over.”

  “Did he say anything else about their date?” Gabe asked.

  “I asked him what happened,” Megan’s eyes glazed over again, remembering. “He just said nothing. Nothing happened.” She gave Gabe an apologetic smile. “Like Caleb, I was shocked she went out with him at all, so when he said nothing happened, I believed him. Didn’t think any more of it. Kind of wish I had asked for details, now.”

  Gabe shook his head. “No. This is very helpful. Thank you.”

  The silence stretched between the three of them as Gabe digested the information, thinking quickly. “Do you happen to know where they went on their date?” he asked.

  Megan thought for a moment, then nodded. “Actually yes. They went to Big Callie’s. It’s a bar on tenth and Main. Kenny told me about it.”

  Gabe nodded. He’d heard of the place, though he’d never been there. “You said Kenny went on lots of dates? Did he take them to Big Callie’s often?”

  Megan shook her head. “No, in fact that’s why I remembered. Kenny preferred the dives on the other side of town. He told me they were going there, and he wasn’t especially thrilled, but it’s where Tanya wanted to go and he’d have done anything to get her to go out with him.”

  Gabe suppressed a smile. That’s what he’d been hoping to hear. If it was a familiar haunt for Tanya, he might be able to find people there that knew her and get more information. “Well, thank you again for your help.” He included Caleb. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll call Tanya myself and see if she can tell me anything more about Kenny.”

  They nodded and Gabe stepped around Megan and started down the hallway.

  “Detective?”

  He turned back to find Caleb looking worried. “Tanya is a decent young woman. She wouldn’t be involved in anything…untoward.”

  Gabe put on reassuring smile. “I understand, Mr. Smith.”

  The red-haired man looked mildly relieved, and Gabe turned to head toward his desk once more. He genuinely hoped Caleb’s faith in Tanya was well-founded. Of one thing he was absolutely certain: Tanya was hiding something. Whether it had anything to do with Kenny’s death remained to be seen, but her agreeing to go out with him days before his death was awfully coincidental.

  Gabe didn’t wait to get back to his desk to call the number Caleb had furnished. As soon as he turned the corner, he pulled out his phone and started dialing.

  Chapter 16

  Back in her hotel room, Kyra shut her notebook and tossed it toward the foot of the bed. She’d gone over everything piece by piece, and the only conclusion she’d come to was that she didn’t have enough information to draw any conclusions.

  If Kenny’s death had anything to do with her, it would be because he told her something sensitive and someone killed him for it. After going over everything, Kyra couldn’t find anything that seemed important enough to fit the bill.

  Kenny was the kind of guy who was all about partying, having fun, the good life. If an event involved pretty girls, alcoholic beverages, or the club scene, Kenny was there, even if he’d only known you for thirty seconds. With his rugged Italian good looks—he really could have passed for Carlotta’s son or nephew—he was popular, and hung out with lots of workers from the Carlotta estate, which meant he knew a lot about them. That was the main reason Kyra agreed to go out with him: she needed his information. He was the guy with literally hundreds of friends, all of which he knew by name.

  Kyra’s plan was to use the alcohol to loosen his tongue, and then just let him talk. As Kenny began babbling that night, she’d asked carefully worded questions to guide him—hopefully unnoticed—in the right direction. She hadn’t asked anything that could be obviously linked to the information she was really after.

  While he talked, she kept her phone out under the table. If he’d noticed it—which he never had—she would have claimed to be checking her email or social media pages. Really, she used her thumb to type key words and facts into a notepad app so she would remember them later. Most of what she’d written down were names and places that Kenny inadvertently linked together.

  “Yeah Chris never gets off until 9,” he’d said, whipping his dark hair out of his eyes.

  “How come?” Kyra had asked.

  “He makes deliveries in the Carmichael district. Just takes him until then.”

  Kenny had moved on with his story, and Kyra made notes. If Chris delivered to the Carmichael district—the stomping grounds for the Sons of Ares—he was definitely worth checking into.

  Three shots and four beers later, Kenny’s words began to slur and he let something else slip. “Susan complains about her husband a lot. Says he doesn’t approve of her job.”

  “Isn’t she a caterer?” Kyra asked.

  “Yeah, up at the house she is, but she does other stuff too.”

  Kyra had to force her eyebrow, which wanted to jump, to remain steady.

  “Don’t know what his problem is, though,” Kenny went on, dragging his s-sounds out so he sounded like a hissing snake. “She makes more than he does.” He barked a laugh. “I s’pose maybe that’s the problem. He feels like she’s stomping on his balls.”

  He laughed so loudly that several other patrons in the noisy bar looked their way, though most just laughed with Kenny and went back to their drinks. Kyra made sure Kenny saw her smiling so he knew she appreciated the joke. Little encouragements like that kept him talking.

  The night wore on like that. None of what he’d said was actually a smoking gun, but it had given her plenty of information. Just because a lot of the Carlotta’s staff had second jobs didn’t mean anything. Most people needed second incomes in this economy. Without actually investigating the leads he’d inadvertently given her—which she had yet to even begin doing—there was no way to tell if anything he’d said was sensitive enough to get him killed.

  After driving him back to his apartment, they’d sat in her car chatting a while longer. It was then that he’d opened up more about the Carlottas in general, telling her that Mr. Carlotta had some shady side businesses, including funding many of the Sons of Ares activities in exchange for an off-the-books revenue stream. Kyra had alread
y known that, but she’d feigned surprise.

  That information was much more sensitive than anything he’d said in the bar—Kyra was glad he’d waited until they were alone before disclosing it; she would have been uncomfortable to have him saying things like that in public—but that was the point: they’d been alone. There wasn’t any way that anyone could have heard what Kenny said in the car.

  Letting her head fall back against the headboard, Kyra scrubbed her hands over her face and back into her hair. She was nowhere near finding Manny and already this was way more complicated than she’d ever bargained for.

  Kenny hinting at his co-workers’ second jobs couldn’t have gotten his throat cut, right? It was ludicrous to even think it. His death only days after talking to her had to be a coincidence.

  Kyra rubbed her hands over her face. Of course it wasn’t. She couldn’t afford to assume anything was a coincidence here. She’d never been one who believed in coincidence at all. Everything happened for a reason. She just didn’t want to admit it now because in this case, it might mean she’d gotten Kenny killed.

  Her cell phone buzzed and she glanced at it, swallowing. It was that same number again. The number had called three times without leaving any messages. As a rule, Kyra never picked up a number she didn’t recognize. Everyone important enough for her to answer for was already in her contact list. Anyone else could leave a message so she could choose to get back to them or not. Getting random phone calls was something every cell phone owner in America dealt with, but it was odd to have the same number call several times in a row over five minutes.

  A minute and a half after the buzzing stopped, a voice mail notification popped up. Kyra put the phone to her hear and her mouth dropped open when the detective’s voice came through the phone.

  “Ms. Roberts? This is Detective Nichols. We spoke this morning. I was hoping you could fill in some more information for me about Kenny. Just mundane things; details that might be useful. Please give me a call.” And he left a cell phone number, though it had popped up on her screen anyway.

  Kyra told herself to breathe normally. How had he gotten this number? She hadn’t given him the correct one. She’d been sure he wouldn’t be able to figure it out. Most detectives were good, but…With a calmness she didn’t feel, she deleted the message. She had to think this through; figure out what happened to Kenny. Until she did, she didn’t dare talk to the cops. The detective could pretend casualness all he wanted, but if he found out she’d been out with Kenny days before his death—and he would find out eventually, once to talked to the staff—

  The staff! The Carlottas!

  Kyra slapped a hand to her forehead. That’s how he’d gotten her number. Of course he’d be able to get it from Mrs. Carlotta. Her employer had insisted a number be put on file, but no one from the estate had ever used it, so she’d forgotten completely. The fact hadn’t even occurred to her this morning. It was the most obvious thing in the world. Kenny’s death must be affecting her more than she realized. She wasn’t thinking straight.

  This was bad. She thought she’d prepared herself for every eventuality in Abstreuse, even macabre ones, but Kenny’s death had rattled her so much she was missing obvious links. This might get her into trouble with the police—which was bad enough. If she didn’t pick up on things like this while on the street, it could get her killed. She really couldn’t afford to be this much of an amateur!

  She flopped down onto the bed, clenching and unclenching her fists, trying to decide what to do. How had she gotten herself into this? Simple: she actually was an amateur. But if she kept acting like it, she wouldn’t survive Abstreuse for long.

  He called twice more over the next two hours, each time varying the message slightly in ways that were no doubt designed to guilt her into calling. She found herself wanting to call him, but what on earth would she say?

  When the voice mail notification—a cheery red bubble that made a popping sound as it burst onto her screen—showed up yet again, she clicked the LISTEN button.

  “Ms. Roberts, it’s Detective Nichols again. I’m sorry to bombard you with messages, but it’s very important that I speak to you again, even if it’s just over the phone. I’m hearing from the staff at the Carlotta estate that you and Kenny were good friends. I think you may have information that may help in his case. Please, for Kenny’s sake, call me back. I only need a few minutes of your time.”

  The line clicked and Kyra deleted the message. Guilt and indecision ate at her middle. Should she call him? Of course she should. Avoiding a homicide detective during a murder investigation was the kind of hair-brained thing criminals who ended up on World’s Dumbest did.

  For some reason she couldn’t quite put her finger on, she dreaded talking to him. He had a piercing green, hawk-eyed gaze. She’d never been one that got nervous around men, even ones she found attractive, but thinking back to that gaze now made her stomach flip over. When he gazed at her this morning, she’d felt like he was seeing into her soul.

  An over-the-top analogy, perhaps, but she was sure he sensed she was hiding something. In the middle of a murder investigation, that would look like nothing so much as guilt.

  The trouble was, she was hiding something. Not what he probably thought she was, but still. The last thing she needed was a smart, tenacious detective digging into her business. Manny was in this city somewhere and she had to find him. She didn’t have time to be sidetracked by tedious questions.

  It wouldn’t take Nichols long to figure out that most of the information Mrs. Carlotta had on file about her was bogus. And if he exposed her to the Carlottas or even just their employees, her cover would be blown and months of hard work would go down the drain.

  Given what she was trying to accomplish, it wasn’t something she’d recover from. Not down this avenue, anyway.

  No, she had to avoid Detective Gabe Nichols and his green eyes for as long as possible. If she found something that would help him catch Kenny’s killer, she would contact him—anonymously, if possible. Of course she would. It was the only ethical thing to do. Until then…

  As a sudden pang of frustration welled up in her chest, she kicked her notebooks onto the floor. With them went a file full of notes, pictures, and documents that spilled across the industrial, hotel carpet. Stretching her legs into the empty space the files previously occupied, she wracked her brain for what to do next.

  Chapter17

  Not long before midnight, Gabe sat at his desk, brooding and trying to keep his exhaustion at bay. He ought to go home and sleep—it’d been twenty-four hours, now, and he was too exhausted to get anything useful done in the way of paperwork; but he didn’t want to go home yet. He couldn’t stop thinking about Tanya Roberts.

  He’d called her several times and she hadn’t picked up or called back. As a detective, he often had to be patient about these things. Sometimes people really just didn’t get back to you for days. Other times, it took them time to decide to do the right thing. But Gabe’s gut told him Tanya had no intention of calling him back. There was something about her—about the way she’d stared at him that morning—that he just couldn’t put his finger on. She knew something, or maybe wanted him to know something, but for some reason hadn’t been able to tell him.

  If she didn’t call by tomorrow, he’d put in a request for phone records. He’d already run her name through several data bases, but Tanya Roberts was just too common. Without something else—an address, social security number, driver’s license or plate, something—he just couldn’t narrow it down.

  He sighed. The case had effectively stalled for the night. Most of his leads were waiting on forensic reports or information from other people. He probably wouldn’t know anything more until morning; perhaps not for a few days. Shaun was still talking with Mrs. Carlotta, who would probably be in the station all night. Gabe glanced down at his notes. Big Callie’s. Deciding to follow a hunch, Gabe programmed his desk phone to forward all calls to his cell, then slipped out into th
e night.

  Big Callie’s bar squatted in a part of town that was big on parties involving college students. A relatively large junior college sprawled so far on the outskirts of the city that it wasn’t really considered part of Abstreuse, except legally. With everything the students needed to survive right there on campus, it was practically a small city unto itself, but it was common for the students who minored in campus wildlife to come into the city, especially on the weekends, looking for a good time. Most of them came to the southwest part of the city, just south of the Slip Mire.

  Not nearly as dark or dangerous as the Mire, it was still seedy, but not in a way that made respectable kids avoid it. Gabe parked his dark sedan down the street, as close as he could get to the bar. Despite being a weeknight, dozens of cars lined the sidewalks. At nearly midnight, this was probably the height of business for Big Callie’s, though it wasn’t so packed as Gabe imagined it would be on weekends.

  The business had a small storefront, but was surprisingly spacious within. Well-lit for a bar, the light was warm and cozy. Dozens of small, square, wooden tables, polished to reflect the overhead lights, held chattering patrons nursing drinks or sharing pitchers of beer.

  Gabe walked between the tables slowly, sweeping his eyes over the room and taking in details. The bartender, an attractive woman in her early twenties, with streaks of neon color in her hair, tattoos peeking out from under her tank top, and plenty of piercings, settled her gaze on him. Though her hands never ceased in their polishing of the bar with a white rag, she didn’t take her eyes off him as he advanced.

  Gabe approached the bar and took a stool.

  “What can I get you, honey?” she asked.

  He shook his head and pulled out his wallet, flipping it over to show his badge. “Nothing. Thank you. I’m actually just looking for someone.” It wasn’t until then that he realized he hadn’t brought a picture of Tanya. He mentally kicked himself. A bartender recognized faces, but not necessarily names. Oh well. Too late now. “Her name is Tanya Roberts.”