“Carly, is that you?”
“Yeah, who’s this?” She struggled to recognize the voice.
“It’s Jeff, Jeff Hanks.”
Carly wondered if the thud of her jaw hitting the desktop was audible over the phone.
“You still there?” he asked.
“Y-yeah, I’m here. It’s . . . well, it’s been a long time.”
“I know. I bet you’re surprised to hear from me. Working narco means working odd schedules in odd places, so I’m hardly at the station. How have you been? You hanging in there?”
“I’m fine—just a few minor irritations here and there. You know how it goes.” She thought about her conversation with Andi. The word cheater echoed in her mind.
“Yeah, I sure do,” Jeff was saying. “I wanted to call you after the shooting—sorry I didn’t—but I’m glad you came out okay. You did a great job.”
Through the static-filled connection, Carly sensed something odd about Jeff’s small talk. “What’s on your mind? Is there something I can do for you?”
“To the point as usual. I need a favor, a big one.”
“What kind of favor?” Why isn’t he calling Nick?
“I don’t want to talk about it over the phone. I’m working something tonight, but I wondered if you could meet me somewhere tomorrow. What time do you go to dinner?”
“I usually eat here. You want to come up about six?”
“No, I don’t want to come to the station. How about somewhere in the Apex? It’s close to you.”
“Okay, I guess that would be all right. But I’ll only have about forty minutes.”
“Plenty of time. I won’t make you late. Thanks; I appreciate this.”
“I haven’t said I’ll do anything other than meet you.”
“I know, I know.” Jeff laughed stiffly. “Apex Grill and Fish House. I’ll see you about six.”
“Six. Bye.”
Carly pondered the brief conversation for a long time after she hung up. She thought about Andrea’s gossip and wondered what she could possibly do to help Jeff. Would she even want to help him if he was the philanderer Andrea accused him of being?
10
Were Teresa Burke and Jeff having an affair? And if they were, what does it have to do with the murder? Carly fidgeted at her desk, still doodling. She wrote questions and then scratched them out. Sitting still was more difficult than usual after Jeff’s phone call. She stood and paced her small office, chewing on a thumbnail. Something Nick had said came to mind, and she snapped her fingers with a thought.
“Cinnamon,” she spoke out loud. “Chances are homicide hasn’t gotten around to finding her. What would it hurt if I gave it a try?” She remembered the last time she and Joe arrested the girl. It had been a warrant arrest, but it had gone smoothly. Maybe she’ll open up to me because I’m a female. “Even if they have found her, maybe I can get more information and bring Tucker something new. That might change his mind.”
The more she thought about it, the more energized Carly became. She almost forgot her letdown in the homicide office.
Grinning, she sent a text message to Joe. He answered her query, and they made arrangements for a rendezvous. He was working solo for the night, and that suited Carly’s plan perfectly.
Carly’s end of watch was 2:00 a.m.; Joe still had six hours to go. At EOW Carly drove to meet her partner, on a mission to find a prostitute named Cinnamon. I can’t stay out of it completely. It might mean trouble, but what can they do, send me to juvenile? When she arrived at Annie’s All-Night Diner, Joe’s black-and-white was already in the lot.
“Hey, partner, how are you doing?” Joe leaned on the trunk of his cruiser sipping coffee. There was a cup waiting for Carly next to him.
“I’ve been better.” Carly smiled, picked up her coffee, gave a mock toast, and leaned next to Joe. He filled her in on his night so far; the crazy Saturday night had given way to quiet when the temperature dropped. Carly knew the phenomenon; crooks tended to hole up and behave during cold or rain, at least for a little while.
She told Joe about Tucker and the closed investigation. “That’s why I wanted to meet. Nick gave me the name of a possible witness, someone who could say the minor wasn’t in the car the night before it was stopped. It’s Cinnamon; remember her? We arrested her on warrants last summer.”
“She’s got bright-red hair? Yeah, I remember her.”
“Well, I want to find her.”
“I thought you said homicide told you to stay out of it,” Joe said.
“They did.” Carly shrugged. “But my mom knows the kid, and she asked me to poke around. Besides, this is strictly a hunch, outside the ongoing invest. And what homicide doesn’t know right now won’t hurt them.”
They both laughed.
“Hop in. If it stays quiet, we can drive around for a little bit. Working girls are out even when it’s cold.” Joe tossed out his unfinished coffee and climbed into the driver’s seat.
Carly slid into the squad car like she was sliding into a glove. All the familiar sensations of her favorite mobile office surrounded her: the hum of the computer modem, the crackle of the car radio, and the squeaking of Joe’s leather gear as he settled into his seat. Even the unpleasant things—the lingering aroma of Joe’s last unwashed prisoner and the stiffness of her seat, caused by the rugged metal frame of the backseat cage—did nothing to dampen the elation she felt at being back in a patrol car.
There were several women out walking California Avenue, some scantily dressed in spite of brisk temperatures and others who looked like hypes. The hypes faded away, not wanting to risk a stop, but the prostitutes were defiant. They knew a marked black-and-white was not stealthy enough to catch them in an arrestable offense. Carly saw more than a few she recognized, but none resembling Cinnamon. Some tried to look innocent, doing the I-always-take-a-walk-at-two-in-the-morning saunter.
Joe talked about the latest happenings in patrol. There was more grumbling than usual. The troops were unhappy with a lot of new policies. Carly only half listened. Her feet tapped the floorboard. She was excited about her job again and it felt good.
After about an hour, Joe said, “Sorry. It looks like Cinnamon isn’t working tonight. Things are quiet all the way around.” He hadn’t even received a single radio call.
“Well, it was a long shot. Thanks for trying anyway.” Carly sighed and slumped back in her seat, suddenly tired. Time wasn’t on her side. Drake and Harris would get to Cinnamon before she could.
Joe turned the car around and headed back to the diner. After two blocks he slowed the car. “Hey, that’s her, isn’t it?” He pointed to a girl walking toward an all-night convenience store and looked at Carly.
She leaned forward. “Yeah, I think so. Go!”
Joe accelerated and pulled up behind the girl before stopping. Carly opened her door and called out, “Cinnamon!”
The girl turned, took one look at the police car, and ran. Instinctively Carly took off after her on foot. Joe stomped on the gas and brought the cruiser around the corner, effectively cutting off the fleeing prostitute.
Cinnamon stopped between Carly and Joe, bouncing from one foot to the other, looking tense and frightened.
“What’s the matter?” Joe approached the girl from the car, hands out, palms up, a posture to put her at ease. “We just want to talk to you.”
“Yeah, relax,” Carly added. The girl’s head turned from Carly to Joe. Carly immediately saw there was a reason for her to be frightened. Someone had tattooed Cinnamon’s face with his or her fists.
“Hey, what happened to you?” Joe asked.
“None of your business, pig.” Her bravado was forced, and it sounded like she was minus some teeth.
“We just want to talk. It looks like you need a doctor.” Carly hoped the fact that she was not in uniform would cause the girl to relax.
“I got nothing to say.”
“Look, we’re not going to take you to jail. We wanted to ask you about the other night when
you saw a Lexus—you know, the mayor’s car.”
“I ain’t stupid. I know D sent you. I know he wants to find out if I’ll talk again. I shouldn’t have said anything before, and I got nothing to say now. You tell D I said that.” Cinnamon sniffled and glared defiantly at Joe, then at Carly.
Carly’s mind raced. D can’t be Darryl; he’s in jail. “I don’t know a D, Cinnamon. Is he the one who worked you over?”
“I ain’t saying anything. If I’m not going to jail, can I go now?”
“We’re trying to help you,” Joe broke in. “Nobody deserves to get beat like that. But you have to tell us who did it.”
“Cops don’t help girls like me. And I got beat like this for talking to you guys. I got nothing more to say. Can I go?”
Joe and Carly exchanged glances. Carly shrugged. She took a business card out of her pocket and wrote down her cell phone number.
“Here, take this.” Carly held the card out. “If you change your mind, call me. No one sent me, and I do want to help.”
Cinnamon reluctantly took the card, then pushed past Joe and disappeared down a dark alley.
* * *
Carly got home as the sky began to turn pink. She figured the cool of the morning was good for a couple hours of sleep. Tired and frustrated but determined not to give in to the emotional weakness of the night before, Carly pulled her blanket off the couch and dragged it to her bed. Maddie quickly hopped up and settled in at her side.
Carly laughed. “You like this better than the couch too. Well, no more couch. We’re going to tough this out.” She lay down next to the dog, who was already snoring contentedly, and turned the light off.
A few hours later Carly woke to a day made for a swim, and she took full advantage. She jogged to the beach and hit the water at a run with Maddie on her heels. The dog stopped at the waterline, barking and wagging her tail while her mistress swam away from the shore. After a few minutes she settled down and trotted back to where Carly had thrown her towel. There Maddie curled up into a dark fur ball, watching and waiting for her mistress to finish.
In the water, Carly made the most of her workout time. The swells were almost nonexistent, and the demons and angst of her birthday had ceased to torment her every thought. Police curiosity now coursed through her veins. With each stroke she pondered Teresa’s murder, Cinnamon, and the accused, Londy Akins.
If Londy and Darryl didn’t kill the mayor, who did? The key is to find the person with a motive. If she and Jeff were having an affair, that would give Jeff and Galen Burke a motive. As for her job as mayor, Teresa was never controversial. Other than the Old Towne protests, which she quashed with class, and some vocal gadflies, she always seemed to charm opponents, and certainly the citizens of Las Playas were happy with the way she brought the city back from the dead. Andrea wants to blame the husband, and while normally he’d be the prime suspect, this time I don’t know enough to form an opinion. There would have to be a strong motive. Galen Burke is as well liked and respected as his wife was, and as high profile. I’ll have to see if he offered up an alibi if I can, but it doesn’t wash for me right now that he killed her.
Of course, she decided, it was also possible that Darryl killed the woman for the car and stuffed her in the trunk before Londy ever came into the picture. Or the real killer was still at large and unknown at this time. And how did Cinnamon fit? She was beaten up and scared of D; did that have anything to do with the murder?
Do I continue to poke around, or do I stay out of it like I was told? The options bounced around in her head like Ping-Pong balls until she finished her workout and trudged up the beach toward Maddie and her towel.
“Enough of this!” she proclaimed to a happy dog. “How about a game of fetch?”
The word fetch wound Maddie into a barking frenzy. Carly pulled on a dry sweatshirt, then found a big stick. She threw it as far as she could down the beach. Today, the sun was out and the air was warm and pleasant, and Maddie fetched until her tongue was hanging out and she was covered with sand.
“You’re filthy!” Carly rubbed the dog in an effort to get rid of the excess sand. “Andi will have a fit if you walk into the house like this.” She worked with Maddie until she was satisfied most of the sand was gone. They walked back to the apartment slowly, enjoying the weather. But the murder investigation would not be ignored.
“Hey.” Andrea greeted Carly from the front patio, holding the paper up so Carly could read the first page. “Did you see the Messenger’s headline today?”
Homicide Detectives Confident Mayor’s Murderers Are in Custody
“What?” Carly felt as if she’d missed the last step on a stairway and hit the ground hard. “I saw nothing that would make this case open and shut.” She grabbed the paper and scanned the article. It was an unusual byline for Trejo, making the police department look competent.
The story contained an interview with Captain Garrison, praising the homicide detail for a “proficient and thorough investigation.” He told Trejo there was “strong and sufficient evidence” against the two in custody, and he was confident that the arraignments, set for Tuesday because of a court holiday, would go off without a hitch.
Did I really have anything to do with this investigation? She handed the paper back to Andi and shook her head. “I can’t believe this.” She rubbed eyes burning from her salty swim. “And since it’s Trejo, I’m betting it’s a work of fiction.”
“I don’t know. The captain is quoted directly.”
“Yeah, but the only evidence I saw was circumstantial.” Carly caught herself before she said that even Nick agreed with her. Andi would pooh-pooh anything Nick said. But Nick had seen more of the field investigation than she had, and he wasn’t as convinced as the captain claimed to be. Could both their instincts be so wrong?
“Something isn’t right. I’m not sure what it is, but this is weird.” She continued into the apartment.
“They seem to have things all sorted out,” Andrea said to her back.
“I guess. Maybe that’s why they don’t need me helping out.” Is that why I don’t believe the article, because homicide doesn’t want me around, or is there really something wrong?
11
The juvenile desk was an abnormally busy place the two hours before Carly’s scheduled meeting with Jeff. A rash of shoplifters and taggers had been arrested and brought to juvenile for processing. Carly rushed to complete the processing on her assigned kids, not wanting to be late to meet Jeff.
“Sign here, and be sure he makes the court date.” Carly crossed an X next to the signature line and slid the ticket across the counter for the angry parent to sign. She glanced at the clock. If Dad asked any questions, she’d be late.
“Oh, he’ll be there.” Dad glared at the boy, a burgeoning graffiti artist, who stood by the elevator looking as though he wished to be part of the wallpaper. “For the next year he’ll only be allowed out of the house for school and court.” The man ground out his signature with relish and pushed the ticket back at Carly.
She tore off his copy and handed it to him. “Good luck.”
Thankfully the man took the ticket and directed all his anger and attention at the boy. The lecture could still be heard as the elevator doors closed.
“I’m going to dinner,” she called to Sergeant Altman as she shelved paperwork in the appropriate places.
The Apex Grill and Fish House was a short walk from the station, so Carly strapped on her fanny pack that contained, among other things, her off-duty weapon, a small .380 handgun. She took the stairs to avoid waiting for the elevator. Jeff would have to deal with her being a few minutes late.
It was impossible to walk through downtown Las Playas and not appreciate how Teresa Burke’s vision had transformed the city. Her revitalization plan vastly improved the safety and desirability of the entire area. The Apex, downtown’s outdoor shopping mall, was the crown jewel of Teresa’s plan. Before the Apex, blight and apathy reigned in downtown Las Playas. Deser
ted buildings were signboards for gang graffiti and havens for drug dealing and every other kind of illegal activity. When Carly was a rookie, the area wasn’t safe to drive through, much less walk through.
Now, downtown was clean and graffiti free, the result of an aggressive community-policing program Teresa promoted, combined with equally aggressive redevelopment investments. Abandoned buildings were demolished or renovated. Police bike patrols immediately targeted any problems brought by panhandlers, gang members, or drug traffickers, assuring the area was not conducive to such activities.
New businesses surged into the Apex, relying on the city’s promise they would be kept safe. Advertising and a prominent police presence brought tourists, and the Apex prospered.
Jeff’s choice for a meeting spot, the Apex Grill and Fish House, suited Carly just fine. The restaurant was in the center of the complex and one of the most popular eateries. The AG and F was decorated like an English pub and boasted the best-grilled fish on the West Coast downstairs and, upstairs, the most comfortable cigar room anywhere. Carly looked forward to a large bowl of chowder.
The area was busy for a Sunday night, owing to a sixteen-screen movie theater showing the entire list of Oscar-nominated movies. Carly saw several teams of bike officers slowly pedaling through the crowd. The north two-block section of the mall was closed to traffic in an effort to keep people from cruising and to encourage foot traffic for stores and specialty shops. A carnival atmosphere prevailed as street performers took advantage of the space and entertained. Carly saw the crowds, heard the laughter, and wished she didn’t have to go back to work.
The fish house was packed. As Carly pushed her way in, she hoped Jeff was already seated, because she’d never have time to wait for a table. The bar was off to the right, and she scanned the tables and counter area. Several heads turned her way, checking her out. Her work attire was casual—black slacks and a peach sweater. Approving stares were something she was used to in places like this, and something she did her level best to ignore. Back off, guys. Not interested in the least, thank you.
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