by Kylie Brant
“Then again, Sean might be the reason for these murders. He made a helluva lot of enemies in his time on the job.”
“Made a lot of friends, too.” Hans took a drink and then regarded Johnny over the top of his bottle. “Some of them in high places. Can’t hurt, especially if one of them ends up having ties to someone on the task force.” Neither of them questioned whether a task force would be formed. Three dead cops, even if one of them had been retired, were going to bring a helluva scrutiny to the case. Which could be both a blessing and a curse. “Be nice to have a friendly ear close to the investigation. Might get lucky.”
Johnny took a drink and nodded. “The way things are going, we’re gonna need all the luck we can get.”
It was after midnight when Nate let himself into the house. He stood inside the door for a moment, working the tight muscles in his neck. Fatigue was edging in, but he knew from experience he needed to unwind before even trying to sleep, regardless of the hour. He toed off his shoes and shrugged out of his suit jacket, making a mental note to retrieve the tie he’d jammed into its pocket before he’d made the drive across town.
After the din in the conference room for the last several hours, the silence of his home seemed blessed. With singleminded focus, he headed toward the kitchen. The thought of relaxing with his feet up and a cold beer had been all that had gotten him through the political jockeying that had eaten up the last few hours at headquarters.
He hung his suit jacket over the back of a chair. The shoulder harness and weapon had been locked in the gun safe in his trunk before he came into the house. The dim light of the open fridge split the darkness when he pulled the door open and reached inside, mentally cataloging the games he still had DVR’d. The 76ers were winding down their season. And although it hadn’t exactly been a resounding success, he was a fan through thick and thin.
Things had been on the thin side lately.
Twisting the cap off his beer, he took a drink and then padded toward the family room that held his big screen. Halfway there, something caught his eye and he paused, senses heightened.
The last bedroom’s door was shut. It was never closed. Not at night. But there was a telltale glow seeping beneath the door. He approached it silently. Easing it open, he was unsurprised to see the figure that should have been under the covers sleeping, sitting up staring fixedly at the lava lamp someone had put on the bedside table.
“Pretty late for Spider-Man to be awake.”
Tucker didn’t turn. Didn’t respond. He wouldn’t. The constant forming and reforming of the hot wax in the lamp never failed to transfix him.
Nate padded into the room, sat down on the side of the bed next to his nephew. “You have school tomorrow, bud. What’s Mrs. Mallory going to say if you fall asleep in class again?”
“Sleep is food for the brain.”
The tone and pitch of his voice was eerily similar to that of his special education teacher. Nate hid a grin. The kid was an excellent mimic. “That’s right. And you don’t want to nap through recess again. That’s no fun. C’mon.” This was where it got tricky. Tuck didn’t do well transitioning from one task to another. Especially when one of those tasks involved sleeping. “We don’t want to wake your mom.”
“Momma has to go out now.”
Nate’s smile abruptly dissipated, although Tucker’s rendition of Kristin’s voice was just as dead-on as his teacher’s. “Your mom isn’t here?”
“You watch the pretty light until Uncle Nate gets home.” He still hadn’t shifted his gaze from the pink and blue light surrounding the bubbling wax. And Nate felt an all too familiar surge of emotion. Dread. Anger. Frustration.
Helplessness.
Without another word he rose, went out the door and down the hallway to the next bedroom. But he already knew he wouldn’t find Kristin in her room, even though her car had been in the garage.
Earlier thoughts of relaxation had vanished. His hands closed into fists, and it took far more effort than it should have to squelch his first impulse. To track his sister down by checking all her old haunts. Her former “friends” who had always been more than happy to accompany her on whatever self-destructive path she was bent on. One of which must have picked her up to take her . . . wherever she’d run off to.
He forced himself to concentrate on what was important. The boy in the next room. For the last few years Nate had done what he could to protect him. Even from his mother.
Especially from his mother.
It wasn’t easy to shift his focus away from Kristin’s possible slide off the wagon. Away from whatever liquor she might even now be pouring down her throat. She wasn’t his priority anymore. Tucker was.
He rejoined his nephew in his bedroom. The boy hadn’t moved. He probably hadn’t in the hours since he’d been left alone. “You know what makes that light even prettier?” Dropping onto the bed on all fours, Nate crawled to the far side of the twin bed and propped himself on his side, head resting on one end of the pillow. “If you lie down and watch it. The shapes look completely different from this position. Don’t take your eyes off it, though,” he continued. No chance of that. Tucker would stare at the thing until exhaustion overtook him. “Just keep looking at it while you slide down into bed. When you lie your head on the pillow like this—still looking at it, just like this . . . wow.” He manufactured an awed tone. “Looks just like Spidey’s web from here.”
He continued to speak in a soft litany, one that garnered no verbal response from Tucker. But after several long minutes, the boy began to move, just a little at a time, until he was peering at the light, head cocked at a right angle.
“Easier to look at it from the pillow. Won’t get a crick in your neck that way.” It took a lot more talking, but the boy eventually slid inch by infinitesimal inch to a prone position. His head on the edge of the pillow. His gaze still on the hot wax in the colored light, twisting and swirling into new shapes from one second to the next.
Not unlike, Nate thought, his sister, Kristin. Who’d tried, more times than he could count, to shape herself into someone who could hold a job. Stay sober and out of trouble. Care for her son.
“Doesn’t look like a web.”
The words were whispered, but they tugged a smile from Nate. Tuck could do that. Make him grin even when the world seemed desolate.
“Just keep watching,” he said nearly as inaudibly. And hoped like hell that just getting the boy’s head on the pillow would help nature take its course. He didn’t even want to consider how few hours he had before he had to get back to the station house.
Or that in all likelihood he’d have to get Tucker off to school first.
“Spider-Man, Spider-Man. Does whatever a spider can.”
Worries subsiding for the moment, Nate looped an arm around the boy’s waist.
“Spider-Man, Spider-Man . . .” He joined in the singsong, knowing from experience that the repetition would lull the boy to sleep.
In the end, it worked its magic on them both.
Chapter 4
“Thank you for coming.”
Risa stared at the man soberly. “Thought about saying no. But I’ve always had this innate subservience to the brass.”
A wry smile cracked Eduardo Morales’s face. “I don’t remember you being so easily cowed. As a matter of fact, you always said that interagency task force we worked had more brass than the Penn State marching band.”
Leaning forward to give him a hug, she said simply, “You look good, Eddie. How’s Renee? And the little one?” Searching her memory in vain, she tried, and failed, to come up with the child’s name. “He must be what? Eight now?”
“Almost. And he has two little brothers he spends most of his time leading into trouble.”
There was a sort of surreal air to the moment. Seven years and each of them had continued their careers. But unlike her, Morales had managed to continue a personal life, as well. According to her ex, that had never been her forte.
“That
’s wonderful,” she said sincerely. Just because a normal home, a normal family life, seemed out of her grasp, didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate what it meant for others. “Tell Renee I said hi.”
The sound of the door opening behind her had her turning. She recognized Chief Inspector Wessels as one of the two men entering, although he looked as though he’d gained fifteen years and forty pounds in her absence. She didn’t know the man with him, although it wasn’t difficult to guess his identity from the uniform and polished brass. A deputy commissioner. Maybe even the commissioner of police himself. Whichever he was, he was unfamiliar.
The mystery was soon solved. “Commissioner of Police Douglas Lawton.” At Eddie’s introduction Risa took the man’s outstretched hand. “And you’ll remember Inspector Wessels. Marisa Chandler.”
They all found seats. When they sat, they were nearly elbow to elbow in the cramped space. “I assume Captain Morales already briefed you about our request.” Lawton lost no time getting to the point. “Although I’m not personally acquainted with your record, I am with that of your employer, Adam Raiker.” His narrowed gaze passed over her, not missing a detail. “And with his agency, which has made quite a name for itself since its inception. He assures me that you will be invaluable on this case. Inspector Wessels and the captain recall your work for the department, and they concur. That’s good enough for me.”
Somehow Marisa thought that Raiker had held more sway with the man than had his employees. The thought came without rancor. There were few in law enforcement circles that weren’t familiar with Adam’s legendary rise in the bureau, or with his last near-fatal case. But it would be the reputation of the agency he’d built since leaving the FBI that led to this man’s stamp of approval.
“You understand I’m still on sick leave,” she offered. Her nerves were jittering wildly. Doubt ping-ponging inside her. But after Raiker’s final words to her yesterday, it had been impossible to turn down Morales’s request when he’d called last night to invite her to this meet.
“Through with physical therapy, your boss said. No permanent muscle damage.” Lawton’s smile creased his face but managed to look only perfunctory. “Glad to hear that. Your former coworkers can’t say enough about your uncanny instincts. We’ll take any edge we can get on this case. In an unofficial capacity, of course.”
“Of course,” she murmured, and avoided, barely, the impulse to wipe her damp palms down the front of her crisp black pants. Unofficial, she thought wildly. Without pressure. Without unrealistic expectations.
If only it could be disconnected from the haunting specter of Ryder Kremer’s death.
The commissioner continued. “We spent last night compiling a task force of the best talent our department has to offer. Detective McGuire will be reporting to Captain Morales, who in turn will keep us informed every step of the way.” He rose, signaling that the meeting was at an end. “We appreciate any assistance you can offer.”
“Yes, sir.” What else could she say at that point? Risa thought, a little wildly. The three men seemed to take it for granted that her presence here was tacit acquiescence to join the task force.
And wasn’t it? If she’d hoped to convince Morales she had nothing to offer, the time to do so would have been on the phone last night. By agreeing to the meet, she’d taken the first step toward following Raiker’s advice. She was facing her demons.
God help her.
Eduardo’s expression was grim when his superiors had gone. “How much did McGuire tell you yesterday?”
“Someone is targeting cops. Plainclothes detectives, which is even more suspect.” Because she thought better on her feet, Risa rose and shoved her hands into the pockets of her black suit jacket as she paced. “No connections have been found between the first two suspects.” She threw him a look. “Unless a link has been discovered with yesterday’s . . .”
Morales shook his head. “Not yet.” With a quick glance to the clock on the wall, he rose, as well. “Briefing should begin in a few minutes. It’ll be the first full report some of the task force members have heard. I’ll let you get the full rundown from McGuire. We’ll talk later.”
Nodding, she preceded the captain out the office door, her estimation of McGuire kicking up a notch. Getting himself named lead detective of the task force was no small feat. When she had a moment maybe she’d quiz Eddie about the detective’s experience. She recalled her impression yesterday that McGuire seemed unsure about his new captain. She wondered if Eduardo held McGuire in higher esteem than McGuire seemed to him.
The conference room was filled with detectives and uniforms both. Most still stood around the coffeepot at the back of the room or in small clusters, talking in hushed voices. She saw Jett Brandau in the back of the room with Cass, the woman who’d arrived late to the scene yesterday. Risa took a seat near the front of the room and heard Morales ask the harried young man bringing in more coffee, “Where’s McGuire?”
“Sorry, Captain,” the auburn-haired man responded over his shoulder as he tried to get to the back table with both the pots he carried intact. “I haven’t seen him.”
“I’m here.” Nate strode into the front of the room, looking as if he’d gotten very little sleep. Certainly he hadn’t shaved that morning. Given Morales’s jaundiced expression, the captain was none too pleased with his tardiness or with his appearance.
But McGuire seemed all business as he handed out case files to everyone in the room. If he was surprised to see her there, he didn’t show it. His gaze lingered on her for just an instant before he addressed the group at large. “If everyone will take their seats, we’ll get started.” There was a scuffling of feet and scraping of chairs while he waited.
“Roland Parker. Sherman Tull. Pat Christiansen.” The sound of those names, his terse tone, quieted the room as nothing else could. “Three of ours. All targeted by what’s likely to be the same unknown subject. At this point all we know is that our UNSUB is selecting detectives, active and retired, from the Philadelphia Police Department. They were approached when they were out alone, and it’s possible they recognized their killer.”
A murmur swept through the group. Risa’s interest sharpened. She knew only what she’d discovered while on the scene yesterday. McGuire had dropped her off at home before returning to the station house once they were done with the scene. Any information that had been uncovered since that time would be as new to her as it was to the rest of the task force. As would any details the detective had neglected to mention.
“If we’re correct that the attacker was a stranger to the victims, they likely didn’t perceive him, or her, as a threat. I can’t think of any other way someone would get the drop on three different competent members of the department.”
“Any chance these are dump sites? Secondary scenes?” a voice called out from the back of the room.
“ME’s not done with the most recent body. But there was nothing to indicate that for the first two victims. Each was burned alive at the crime scene.”
A chill skated up Risa’s arms at the blunt pronouncement. And the room went suddenly silent.
“The offender is deliberately targeting plainclothes cops and making it easy for us to identify the victims. He wants us to know what he’s done and to whom. We may be dealing with someone with a vendetta against detectives in general, or someone with a personal reason to single these men out.” For an instant Nate’s gaze met Risa’s. “We don’t believe he’ll stop at three, so we’re going to try and find him before there’s a fourth. The top sheet inside your folders is your assignments. Shroot, Finnigan, and Alberts—you’ll be following up on the victims’ case files trying to discover a connection there. We haven’t found anything so far on the first two victims, but you’ll add Christiansen to the mix and see if anything pops.
“Edwards, you and Tomey will look for links in their personal lives. Go way back. Schools they attended, neighborhoods they grew up in, families, friends, church . . . find us an intersectio
n.”
“There may not even be an intersection,” one of the men muttered, flipping through the folder. “Any crazy can get our names off the department website. Or by calling the station houses.”
“Except that Parker was retired,” Nate reminded him. “Eighteen months ago. Maybe the murders are random, but I think it’s more likely there’s some sort of connection. We just need to find it. Brandau and Recker will take Christiansen’s family and neighbors, and cross-reference with those of the first two victims. Hoy and Mendall trace his steps his final day. I want to know everywhere he went. Everyone he talked to. Get the security tapes from any place he might have passed by.” He took a quick look at his watch. “That’s enough for now. My cell number is in the folder. Call if you get anything. Otherwise we’ll meet back here tomorrow morning.”
Chairs scraped as the detectives began to rise. They sank into their seats again as Captain Morales went to Nate’s side to speak for the first time. “This case is top priority.” The room went as still as a tomb. “Everyone on the force wants to get this guy. We’ve no shortage of manpower, and we’ll have more volunteers than we can use, which is great. But that also means everyone we work with is going to want to know about the progress of the case. They’ll be quizzing you about it.” He looked from one face to another. “I shouldn’t have to remind you, but confidentiality is an issue on any task force, and this one is no different. Let’s keep the details in this group. If I find out that anyone’s talking—to anyone—that will be grounds for immediate dismissal from the investigation.” Risa noted that a few of the detectives exchanged glances, but none said a word as they filed out of the room.
She also observed Cass shooting a final look at McGuire before exiting with Brandau at her side. She took a moment to wonder if there was something personal going on between the two before dismissing the thought. The man’s personal life was nothing to her. And it certainly had nothing to do with the case.