Watch Your Back

by Rose, Karen

  ‘Why?’ Stevie asked, leaning closer to the TV, trying to see the medals up close.

  ‘One’s a Purple Heart,’ Hyatt said. ‘The other’s a Silver Star.’

  ‘Purple Heart is for wounded in the line of duty,’ Stevie said. ‘The Silver Star for valor.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Clay said, suddenly uncomfortable.

  Mr Backpack was jogging down the hall, checking the kitchen. Then he stopped. Cocked his head as if listening for something.

  ‘It’s twelve twenty-four,’ Hyatt said, dread in his voice.

  On the video, Mr Backpack stood at the side of the sliding glass door, waiting for the cop who came in through the slider. Twist.

  A few seconds later the second cop came in through the garage. Twist.

  Everyone gathered around the TV cringed, silently watching.

  Backpack unsheathed a knife, slit the two cops’ throats, took their radios, then waltzed back out through the garage. Clay switched the camera to street view and they watched him get in the Chevy Tahoe and drive away.

  ‘Pause it,’ Joseph commanded. ‘Can you catch his back plate?’

  Clay had already frozen the frame, and, heart suddenly racing, tapped Brodie’s keyboard to zoom in. ‘How’s that?’ he asked with satisfaction. Unlike the front plate, the number on the back was as clear as day.

  ‘Perfect,’ Joseph said grimly. He stepped away from the group to call it in.

  Clay hit ‘play’ again, watching as the Tahoe drove away. And then something unexpected happened. ‘Joseph.’ Clay motioned him back over to the TV. ‘Look at this.’

  Joseph frowned. ‘What the hell?’

  The black Toyota Sequoia was back in the picture – literally. The SUV had come from the opposite direction, almost as if it had been waiting. Mr Cocksucker ran around Clay’s house, up the stairs to the deck. He skidded to a halt outside the sliding glass doors, upset, but still enough in control that he kept his head down, his face hidden.

  ‘He was waiting for something, but not for this,’ Stevie said.

  Clay frowned. ‘He was waiting for you, Stevie. That’s why he didn’t even try to bypass the alarm. He knew the alarm would draw the cops, me, and by extension, you. He probably planned to take a shot at you when you walked from the curb to the front door.’

  ‘God,’ Stevie whispered. Then her chin came up, her jaw squared. ‘But he’s not waiting for me any more now. I wonder where he went.’

  Mr Cocksucker had hightailed it to the black Sequoia, which he drove away quickly.

  Clay forced himself to step away from her, turning his attention to Brodie and Hyatt. ‘Do you need me to do a walk-through? Figure out what’s missing?’

  Hyatt nodded. ‘Go with Agent Brodie. I need to talk to Detective Mazzetti alone.’

  Sunday, March 16, 1.25 P.M.

  Robinette had pulled the Tahoe into a parking lot a half block away from Maynard’s office. There was a cruiser parked in front of the office, a small building that had the look of a bank. It would make sense that a PI would lease an old bank for his place of business. If the building had once been a bank, it would likely have walls of reinforced steel and a vault where the records were kept. No way he was breaking into there.

  Maynard did indeed lease it. Robinette had found that much in the property records when he’d first become aware of Maynard’s existence – back in December when the guy had saved Mazzetti’s life on the courtroom steps.

  He started his engine, then froze. A black Toyota Sequoia was driving by, Westmoreland at the wheel. The SUV pulled into a business a half block from Maynard’s in the other direction.

  Robinette slid down in his seat, hoping Westmoreland hadn’t seen him through the window. His cell phone rang and he contorted himself to get it out of his pocket. It was Westmoreland. How nice of him to call. Finally.

  ‘You were supposed to call me hours ago. Or was I not clear on my expectations when I said I wanted a report every hour?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Robbie. I got tied up, getting into Maynard’s house. It took me longer than I expected. He had layers of alarms.’

  ‘How did you bypass them?’

  ‘I didn’t. I figured I had a few minutes to get in and out. I checked every room looking for deeds, a safe deposit box key, a computer, hell, even an old-fashioned address book. The only thing I took away was an old firebox that a three-year-old could’ve broken into.’

  Robinette thought of his own ‘old-fashioned’ address book. Technology was good, but sometimes it was nice to know you had the only copy of something. That it couldn’t be downloaded, hacked, or copied.

  ‘What did you find inside the fire box?’

  ‘His baseball card collection. He’s got a Cal Ripkin, Jr, rookie card, which, while very impressive, tells us nothing about where he might be hiding Mazzetti.’

  ‘Where are you?’ Robinette asked him, because not asking would have seemed suspicious.

  ‘Sitting in a parking lot about three hundred yards from Maynard’s office. There’s a cruiser parked in front. I imagine the alarm at the house made Maynard send the cops out here to check. I’ve gotta be honest with you, Robbie. Maynard’s office looks pretty damn well-protected.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘It looks like it might have been a bank, back in the day. I could break in, but it would take a while. I don’t want to attempt it with cops sitting out front.’

  ‘Recommendations?’ He couldn’t wait to hear what Westmoreland had to say.

  ‘We hack into his server and check his emails, documents, maybe the bills he’s paid. If he’s paying the electric bill on a place other than his house, that could be where Mazzetti is hiding.’

  That actually made sense, making Robinette feel slightly paranoid for lumping Westmoreland in with Fletcher and Henderson. ‘Can you do that? Hack into his server?’

  ‘Given enough time, yes. And if I can’t get through, he’s got three employees who’ll know access information. There’s Paige Holden, Alec Vaughn – he’s the kid who was with him yesterday, and Alyssa Moore. Alyssa is the secretary. She’d know more about the office finances and computer access passwords than the other two. I’d start with her, make her talk.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan. Will you come back here to the office?’

  ‘I can. Or I can work from home or even a coffee shop. Might be better for me not to work from the office. If Maynard’s got any traps set on his server, he might be able to track my IP address back to my location. I don’t want to lead him back to you.’

  ‘That would suck,’ Robinette agreed. ‘Fine. Try to hack in. In the meantime, I want a trace on Mazzetti’s credit cards. If she leaves town, I want to know about it.’

  ‘Done. I’ll keep you up to speed.’

  ‘One more thing.’ Robinette ensured his voice sounded only mildly curious, holding none of his residual concern about Westmoreland’s loyalty. ‘I had to ask you where you were because the vehicle you took from the fleet no longer shows up on my tracking software.’

  A short, pregnant pause. ‘You’re checking up on me, too, Robbie?’

  ‘Of course. A, I check up on everyone. B, you didn’t call when you were supposed to. Henderson’s still out there and – as you brought up – presents a potential danger to all of us. I needed to be certain you were unharmed.’ And uncompromised.

  ‘Okay,’ Westmoreland said grudgingly. ‘I can accept that, because that’s why I disabled the tracker. Henderson has the passwords to the system, too. I didn’t want to be sneaked up on, especially while I was breaking into Maynard’s house. Think about what would have happened had Henderson found me there and popped me off. The cops would have found my body and where would that have led them back to?’

  ‘Me,’ Robinette said grimly. ‘I should have changed those passwords already. You shou
ld have reminded me.’

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t think about it until this afternoon.’

  ‘I’ll change the passwords now. Call me when you get into Maynard’s server.’

  Robinette waited until Westmoreland had pulled out of his lot and driven away before sitting up straight. Of all of his team, Wes was the best with computers. Hacking into Maynard’s office server seemed like a long shot, but if any of them could do it, Wes could.

  Although Westmoreland’s idea made sense, Robinette had been surprised that he hadn’t suggested lying in wait at Maynard’s house and office until he showed up. The cops were bound to call Maynard, especially now that there were two dead bodies on the PI’s living room carpet.

  But Wes hadn’t known about the bodies. Let him fool with the computers. You wait for Maynard. Eventually he’d return to Mazzetti and when he did, Robinette would follow him.

  Law enforcement would probably have swarmed by now. That ‘going to lunch’ report he’d made to Dispatch using the dead cop’s radio had only bought him enough time to get away.

  Maynard’s neighborhood was sparsely populated – lots of acreage to each house. It meant that no one had likely seen him before, but also meant that he’d stick out like a sore thumb if he drove up to the house. It would be safer to wait at the end of Maynard’s street. He’d see everyone coming and going and he might just get lucky.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Baltimore, Maryland, Sunday, March 16, 1.45 P.M.

  Stevie kept her eyes on the two dead cops. Because of me. They were dead. The female officer who’d stood in for her last night was also dead. Two innocents in the restaurant, dead.

  Clay’s home destroyed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, but Hyatt shook his head.

  ‘This is not your fault. The undercover officer killed last night was not your fault. She knew the risk she was taking. Do you understand me? Believe me? Stevie, do you even hear me?’

  She nodded, clinging to his words as her gaze clung to Clay’s wide back. ‘I hear you. I understand you. I . . .’ She couldn’t say she believed him. ‘I needed to hear that.’

  He frowned, following the direction of her stare. ‘Maynard’s telling you differently?’

  She laughed hollowly. ‘No. But he’s not exactly unbiased when it comes to me.’ At least he hadn’t been. He hadn’t looked at her once since they’d walked into his house.

  And can you blame him? You broke his heart – and now all this? That stricken look he’d worn when that bastard broke his mother’s vase . . . And that drawing from Cordelia. She’d heard about it from Izzy, knew Cordelia had made it for him. Knew her daughter considered the man a cross between a guardian angel and Captain America, but . . .

  He’d kept it. On his refrigerator. And he’d growled low in his throat when the bastard had touched it. She didn’t think he was even aware he’d made the sound.

  He was a truly good man. And you’ve thrown him away how many times now? Somehow she’d known he’d come back all the other times. But no more. She’d seen the resignation in his eyes when he’d pushed himself off her and left her in that bed alone.

  I’m just a foolish man who wanted something so much that he heard what he wanted to hear.

  God. She wanted to scream. To yank out her hair and cry.

  ‘JD called me,’ Hyatt said quietly, ‘to tell me that Scott Culp from IA might have leaked the safe house location to Rossi.’

  She saw the question in his eyes and didn’t blink. ‘You want to know why I didn’t call you. I’m not sorry, sir. I can’t be sure of who might be listening to your calls.’

  Her boss held her gaze for a long moment and Stevie knew he’d guessed that she didn’t trust him anymore. Guilt nagged, but she held firm. After another moment he looked away.

  ‘JD’s no longer watching Culp’s house,’ he said. ‘Bashears is.’

  Stevie’s brows shot up. Bashears was one of the other homicide detectives under Hyatt’s command. ‘Why?’

  ‘Is there something wrong with my sending Bashears?’

  She understood what he was asking. Don’t you trust Bashears, either? No, she didn’t. Which was hypocritical on its face. Bashears had been partners with Elizabeth Morton, one of Stuart Lippman’s dirty cops. A tiny part of her wanted to yell, Didn’t you suspect a thing?

  She knew a lot of cops still said that about her with respect to Silas Dandridge. Bashears had been thoroughly investigated by IA, just as Stevie had been. Of course, IA’s integrity was far from a given at this point, so their stamp of approval on Bashears meant little.

  ‘Bashears is fine,’ she finally said. ‘It’s just that I thought JD was going to stand watch.’

  ‘JD had been. But then Rossi woke up and JD went to the hospital to question him.’

  Stevie’s eyes widened. ‘Rossi’s awake? Has he said anything?’

  ‘Not yet. JD is probably just getting to the hospital.’ Hyatt glanced left when Quartermaine approached. ‘You’re taking them?’

  Stevie had heard about Quartermaine – the female population at the precinct was all a-twitter with gossip about the new ME. The women who’d gushed that he gave Brad Pitt a run for his money in the looks department certainly hadn’t been wrong.

  Tall, lean, and golden, he reminded her a little of Paul. She would have expected that to hurt, but it didn’t. She would have expected it to send a shiver of anticipation, sadness, anything over her skin. But it appeared her physical responses were only triggered when she was around Clay.

  I can smell you. God. Or, it seemed, when she as much as thought of him.

  Quartermaine nodded. ‘I’ve got my best techs on their way to retrieve the bodies. I’ll get on these autopsies ASAP, so that they can be released to their families.’

  Hyatt closed his eyes briefly. ‘Thank you. I’ll be doing the notifications when I leave here.’

  ‘You can tell the families that the men felt no pain,’ Quartermaine said gently.

  ‘That’ll help,’ Hyatt said. ‘Thank you.’

  Quartermaine turned his attention to Stevie, extending his hand. ‘Detective Mazzetti, I’ve heard so much about you. I wish we were meeting under different circumstances.’ He made a wry face. ‘But then again, we probably would have met over a body regardless, wouldn’t we?’

  ‘No doubt.’ Stevie shook his hand, the pain in her upper arm confusing her for a second. Oh yeah, the bullet from yesterday. Seemed like a year ago. And she’d torn out two stitches, rolling around on that bed with Clay. Which seemed like a second ago. She forced herself to look at the bodies of Hollinsworth and Locklear. ‘Thank you for taking care of our guys.’

  ‘Always.’ Quartermaine looked at Hyatt, his eyes sad. ‘I don’t envy you your task and I can’t make this better, but hopefully I can hasten the process so they can begin to heal.’

  Heal. The word smacked Stevie hard as he walked away. ‘I used to do that,’ she murmured.

  ‘What?’ Hyatt asked.

  ‘Help people heal. Or I thought I was.’

  ‘You were. The grief groups you did with cops were one of the most talked about “secrets” in the department. I’ve had a number of inquiries from cops, wives, families, house shrinks – all wanting to know when the groups will start meeting again.’

  ‘I don’t even remember when I stopped doing them.’

  ‘Right after Silas,’ Hyatt said quietly.

  Oh. Right. ‘I guess I was a bit of a mess after that.’

  ‘You think?’ he asked dryly and she managed a quick grin that instantly morphed to tears.

  Embarrassed, she gave herself a little shake. ‘Perhaps I should reconvene the groups?’

  ‘Perhaps you should secure the oxygen mask on yourself before trying to help the passengers around you,’ Hyatt returned, gently, but
firmly, making her watery gaze shoot up to his. ‘Not an order, Stevie. Just a suggestion.’

  Her jaw clenched. ‘You’re saying I should see a therapist.’

  He gave her an exasperated look. ‘No. I’m saying you should see a podiatrist. Goddamn, Stevie, for a smart cop . . .’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Even if that leg of yours were a hundred percent, you won’t come back to duty until the house shrink says so.’

  ‘I can deal with the shrinks,’ she insisted, her chin lifting on its own.

  ‘Because so many of them are your friends, because so many of them respect your grief work, you think that they’ll float you? Bzz.’ He imitated a game show buzzer. ‘Wrong answer.’

  Her cheeks heated because that was precisely what she’d been thinking. ‘Whatever. Back to Scott Culp leaking intel to Rossi. What’re you going to do about him? Did you tell Culp’s boss?’

  Hyatt exhaled. ‘You’re one of the most stubborn cops I’ve ever “commanded”, and I use that term loosely. Fine, we’ll table the head shrink for now. I didn’t go to IA. I went to Yates.’

  She blinked, surprised. Then it made sense. Assistant State’s Attorney Yates was Grayson Smith’s boss. ‘He’d be the one to handle an investigation outside the police department.’

  ‘Especially if IA is compromised. Which, sadly enough, has happened before. Yates is opening a formal, but sealed, investigation. All hush-hush.’ He lifted a shoulder with a carelessness that was a total sham. ‘And I poked a little. Went to Carla Culp’s Facebook page. She’s Scott’s ex-wife. Seems she just got back from a photo safari in Africa. And she drives a nice shiny Mercedes and has a rock on her finger big enough to put your eye out. Real estate records show she recently changed her address to one of the better zip codes in Potomac.’

  Stevie whistled softly, impressed both by the information and by the fact that Hyatt knew how to get onto Facebook. He wasn’t the most technically savvy guy. ‘She remarry rich?’

  ‘She didn’t remarry at all. Culp’s still paying her alimony.’

  ‘Oh.’ Stevie tilted her head, thinking. ‘When did she buy the fancy house?’