by Kylie Brant
But her involvement would make them increase in frequency. In intensity. The acknowledgment had her throat drying. The only thing that had ever made the dreams worthwhile was using them to bring about justice. For years she’d taken solace from that.
She just wasn’t certain that was true any longer.
Risa shifted her knees out of the way so he could pass en route to his desk. “So catch me up. What’d you accomplish last night? Did you hear anything from the arresting officers regarding ID on the Juicy trio?”
He cracked a smile at that. She stared, surprised. It softened his features and made him more approachable. And devastatingly attractive. Who would have guessed that Nate McGuire harbored a lone masculine dimple? Or that it could provoke such a maddeningly female response in her?
“Catchy. Sounds like a musical group.” He sat down and rifled through a stack of papers on his desk until he found the three depicting the hits he’d found yesterday. “Nothing from any of the arresting officers yet. But I took these pics by Crowley’s address last night. You can imagine his enthusiasm when he saw me again.” His expression said the man’s lack of welcome bothered him not at all. “He ID’d this guy as the one he scored the weed from, Dwayne Jersey.” He turned around the photo in question so she could see it. “And the way he was talking, I got the impression he knows him a whole lot better than he let on to us yesterday. I also found out that one of the three, Fox, is a guest of the state and will be for another six years.”
Her expression must not have looked pacified, because his eyes gleamed. “Then I combed through the ViCAP files I got back until my eyes bled. Still wishing you’d spent the night here?”
She ignored the question. “Once we make a swing by the morgue, maybe we’ll have enough to resubmit a request to ViCAP.”
“I need something that will narrow down the search.” He thumped his index finger against the thick file folder on his desk. “You can take a look at these if you want. A pair of fresh eyes can’t hurt. I only got a couple dozen hits the first time I submitted a request, so when I resubmitted I cast a wider net.”
Risa nodded. In the interest of thoroughness, she always made the first ViCAP request fairly broad. In the beginning of a serial case, one never knew which details of the crimes would change. Which ones were part of the offender’s signature and which were merely enacted as part of his MO. “I’d like to go over them.” Sometimes something would jump out at her, some fairly innocuous detail that matched an element from the dream. Something that might be hard to explain to her colleagues but which would have her focusing on a certain subject more thoroughly. “I’d like a copy of the case file, too. Include the ViCAP requests in it, crime scene photos, and updated briefings as they come in. I often work on the profile at night from home. Those details will change as we acquire more information on the subject.”
He was already shaking his head. “I’ll have a copy made, but it stays here. And when you leave at night, it’ll be locked in that file cabinet there.” He jerked his head in the direction of a battered metal government-issue piece sitting in the corner of the room. “The brass were clear on the need for keeping this investigation under wraps.”
Risa eyed him. His tone had been final, that hard jaw of his angled. Clearly he was used to not having his orders questioned. But she was a little out of practice at making nice on a case.
“That’s fine.” She kept her words mild as she took out her cell again. “I understand that you don’t have the authority to clear it.” Maybe that last verbal jab was a bit much, but there was something about his unshakeable air of command that had her wanting to jar it. Just a little. She quickly looked for a contact she’d recently added and rang the number. It was a moment before the call was answered.
“Eduardo.” Because she was looking, she saw the way Nate’s dark eyes heated and narrowed. “I’d like a copy of the case file, photos, updates from the briefings . . .” She stopped when the man immediately agreed to have one started for her. “I’m planning to work on the profile at night from home. Is that a problem? Thanks.”
There was a muscle ticking in his jaw. Probably came from being clenched so tightly. But he said nothing as he took the ViCAP folder and shoved it into his desk drawer and locked it.
The phone on his desk buzzed. Still without looking at her, he answered it, listened briefly, before saying, “Thanks for the heads-up.”
After a moment it became clear that he wasn’t going to share the details of the call with her. Risa’s mouth quirked. So there was temper beneath that professional surface. She’d suspected as much. And if she had the stray urge to discover what else lurked there, she’d firmly push it aside. She didn’t mix her personal and professional lives. Her one attempt at marriage had shown her what a recipe for disaster that was.
When the knock sounded at the door, Nate seemed to be expecting it. He rose, rounded the desk, and opened it.
“McGuire?” The man on the other side would have looked perfectly at home on the streets, with his baggy jeans, torn black T-shirt, and shaggy hair. A couple days’ growth of beard shadowed his jaw. But as Nate stepped aside to allow him to enter, Risa caught sight of the PPD detective’s shield clipped to the pocket of his shirt.
“Detective Randolph. I appreciate the face-to-face.”
The name had Risa straightening in her chair. She’d seen it on an arrest report just yesterday. They exchanged a handshake. Nate gestured toward her. “Marisa Chandler, outside consultant to the department on this case.”
Randolph’s gaze sharpened. “Consultant? What exactly do you do?”
Risa offered him a bland smile. “I consult.”
“I left you a message yesterday about a Javon Emmons.” Nate’s words had the detective’s attention returning to him. “We’re trying to run down a possible witness who goes by the name of Juicy. Sold someone a little pot in the park where we found the last victim.”
The man nodded. “Christiansen.”
“Did you know him?”
Randolph shoved his hair back, revealing a diamond stud winking from his earlobe. Although his hair was still dark, the stubble on his jaw was sprinkled liberally with gray. “Naw. Didn’t know any of the vics, but there’s not a guy on the force that doesn’t want the bastard responsible put away for this. Everyone keeps up on the details. That’s why I came here instead of calling. Anything I can do to help, you got it.”
“We appreciate that.”
“So, Emmons.” Randolph handed Nate a file folder he carried. “Here’s a brief rundown on what I know of him. Where was that park you mentioned, northeast side? He’d have been well outside his area. He operates mainly in the ’hood surrounding Temple University.” He gave a dour grin. “Runs an ‘enterprise’ that encompasses about ten square miles, give or take.”
“You put him away for a few years.”
The other detective snorted. “Damn few. Some dirtball encroaches on his territory, right? Emmons ties him up, has his goons dip the poor bastard in a vat of acid, as a warning to anyone else with the same idea.”
Risa’s stomach gave a quick vicious lurch. “Nice.”
“Yeah, he’s a charmer. How the guy doesn’t die isn’t the miracle, though. I had Emmons solid for the crime and he walks on appeal.” Obviously the memory still rankled.
“Tough break. What happened?”
“Some of the physical evidence went missing from the evidence room and couldn’t be used at the next trial.” He shrugged. “He’s supplied by the Rodriquez family, and they have very deep pockets. I imagine their influence is far reaching, although why they’d give a shit about someone like him, I don’t know. He’s just a cog in the wheel.”
Risa and Nate exchanged a glance. “How big a cog?” she wanted to know.
Randolph lifted a shoulder again. “Too big to bother with selling a little pot to your wit, I’d think. He’d send a runner. You sure you got the right guy?”
“No.” Nate smiled wryly and held up the fol
der the man had given him. “But this might help us figure out who the right guy is.”
Randolph half turned to leave. “Well, if your wit was looking to score, there’s no shortage of scumbags willing to deal it to him. I run into plenty of high school kids selling dope. The guy you’re looking for might not even have a record yet.”
“Thanks again for your help.”
The other detective nodded. “Like I said, we all want to see you catch who’s responsible. You need some eyes on the street, just give me the word.”
Risa waited until the door closed behind the man before looking at Nate. “If there’s another Juicy out there with no record yet, it’ll make the search a bit more interesting. But Crowley identified the other guy, right? Dwayne Jersey.”
Nate was already reaching for his cell phone. “I’ll give Pelton another call.” A few minutes later, he turned on the speakerphone. “Officer Pelton, this is Lieutenant Detective Nate McGuire calling from the . . .”
“McGuire, I was just going to return your call.” There was an almost continuous sound of phones ringing in the background. “Got your message when I got in this morning. I want to do whatever I can to help you catch the bastard killing cops. Just ran down the most recent information I could find on Dwayne Jersey.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Ah . . .” There was the slight sound of shuffling papers. “You’ve got his basic info on the arrest sheet you pulled. Hasn’t been in trouble with the law recently, at least nothing he’s been caught at. Been in trouble of a different sort, though. Word is he had his ass handed to him the other night for hitting on the wrong woman at Lil Tony’s nightclub.”
“What’d you find on him the time you arrested him?”
“Couple pounds of marijuana, a few pills. He didn’t go away for it. Did a stint in county lockup because he couldn’t pay the fine. I checked with his probation officer and he’s not exactly a model of clean living, but he hasn’t flunked a drug test yet.”
Nate’s gaze met hers as he said, “He’s been identified as someone who sold some pot in the park where the last victim was found.”
“Damn. Christiansen, right? Everyone’s talking about the murders. And Jersey might be your guy. The way I hear it, he doesn’t deal much with the heavier stuff, but he does move a ton of weed. Unless that last arrest worked a miracle of rehabilitation.”
“Where do we find him?” murmured Risa. Nate narrowed his eyes at her and turned partially away.
“Do you have a current address? I want to verify his whereabouts for a couple mornings ago.”
“Sure, I got it right here.” Nate scrambled for a scrap of paper on his desk and a pen to write down the address the man recited to him. “But if you’re talking about a couple days ago, it wasn’t Jersey in that park selling dope.”
“How do you know?” Risa and Nate uttered the words simultaneously.
“He’s still in the hospital. Has been since Saturday night. Well, early Sunday morning, I guess. That fight at Lil Tony’s? Jersey got the crap beat out of him. Way I hear it, he’s already had two operations and still has a couple more coming. Guy can’t even walk right now.”
Risa rose, suddenly impatient for the call to end.
Nate obviously felt the same. “I appreciate the information. It helps.”
“Hey, we’re all looking to help you any way possible. Let me know if you need something else.”
Nate hung up, his face thoughtful. “Crowley lied.”
“Obviously.” She grabbed her jacket, although the weatherman had promised a return to seasonable temperatures. But given his record, she saw no reason to trust him. What other occupation got to retain their jobs when they were right only half the time? “The question is, why did he lie? Was he just trying to give you a face to go with the name?” She immediately corrected herself. “But that’s stupid. He had to know we’d find out.”
“But if Jersey hadn’t been alibied for the time in question, it would have been Crowley’s word against the dealer. We’d have gotten nothing anyway.”
“And the real Juicy would never be questioned; hence, he’d never know that Crowley had given him up,” Risa concluded. She cocked a brow. “So are you driving or am I?”
That put a hurry in his step. “I am. It’s a department-issued car.”
“I’ve driven them before.” She waited until he’d locked the door behind them before striding toward the front door.
“Not with me you haven’t.”
She smiled to herself as she wended her way through the desks and cubicles. “Something tells me you don’t trust me, detective.”
He grunted. “Don’t take it personally. I don’t trust anyone.”
From the quick Google search Risa ran on her phone on the way to see Crowley, Lesser’s Plumbing Supply Business was a mom and pop company that had been in operation for fifty years. And given the seamed faces of the gray-haired couple that met them at the scarred service counter, mom and pop were still actively running the store.
“Yes, Samuel Crowley works here.” The man’s bushy eyebrows drew together. “Why, what’s he done?” In an aside he said to the woman, “I told you it was a mistake to hire him, Martha. But oh, no, you said, give him a chance. I knew in my gut that . . .”
“Mr. Crowley hasn’t done anything, sir,” Risa put in smoothly. The red embroidered name on his crisp blue shirt read BOB. “He’s actually helping us in an ongoing investigation.”
Her explanation didn’t seem to pacify the man’s suspicions appreciably. “Person gets mixed up with the police, it’s usually because they were where they shouldn’t be in the first place.”
“Oh, stop it, Bob.” Martha’s voice was surprisingly strong for someone who looked so frail. They might not be eighty yet, but they were both knocking at its door. “You were part of an investigation a couple years back when our store got broken into. Does that make you a crook?”
“It makes me a victim.” The man glared at his wife from behind thick black-framed glasses. “That’s a completely different thing. Unless . . .” His attention switched back to the two of them. “Was Sam the victim of a crime?”
“We’re not at liberty to discuss it,” Risa said gravely. “But if Mr. Crowley chooses to share the details with you, that’s up to him.” Which left the man clear to feed his employers whatever story he wanted to concoct for them, while skirting the need for Nate and her to tell the couple anything.
The bell over the door rang then, heralding a customer. The man opened his mouth again but Martha shushed him. “You tend to business.” Her faded blue eyes shifted to Risa and Nate. “Come with me. I’ll take you to Sam.”
They followed her down a cramped hallway lined with bulging cardboard boxes to a door with a smoked pane of glass in it. Opening it, she announced, “Sam, you’ve got visitors.” Despite her admonition to her husband, a bit of Bob’s suspicion gleamed in her eyes as she aimed a hard stare at the man. “We’ll talk later.”
But Risa didn’t think the promise Martha left them with was the reason for Crowley’s sickly pale expression.
“What are you trying to do?” he hissed as the door closed behind Martha. “Make me lose the only shitty job I can find?” His words were no less heated for being whispered. “What’d you tell them? They watch me like a pair of old buzzards anyway.”
“I figure that’s on you,” Nate said unsympathetically. “Couple takes a chance on hiring an ex-con, can’t blame them for being mistrusting.”
“What do you want?” Crowley’s tone might have sounded belligerent if a flash of fear in his eyes didn’t accompany it. “I told you everything I knew last night. Did you find Juicy? Ask him about our meet?”
“Not yet.” Nate folded his arms and propped his hips against a rickety table piled with file folders. “Wanted to double-check with you before questioning him. Be sure we have the right guy.”
“What’s to double-check?” Crowley’s confidence was returning. Carefully he smoothed a
hand over his crimped brown hair, his gaze flicking to Risa for a moment. “I already identified him from the photos. The rest is your job.”
“You know what else is our job, Sam?” Her voice was conversational. “Knowing when a jerk-off like you is lying to us. That comes from experience, and unfortunately we have lots of it.”
Tension settled in the man’s thick shoulders. “Listen, is he lying about meeting me there? Because that goes to figure. He’s not about to tell the truth if he thinks it’s going to get him arrested. And he probably didn’t see anything anyway. I got there before he did. Waited a couple minutes for him.”
“The details keep changing but you know what stays the same? It’s all bullshit.” Nate slapped his palm hard against the table he was leaning on. The towers of file folders started to sway. Sam’s eyes went wide and he lunged from his desk.
“Dammit, you know how long it took me to organize those?” He ran to the table in time to catch the pile that made a slow topple toward the floor. “Could use some help here!”
“Yeah, see I feel the same way.” Nate shot a look at Risa. “How about you?”
She gave a nod, watched Crowley juggle folders in a doomed attempt to save them from hitting the floor. “Yeah, we could use some help, too.” Papers spilled as one folder after another slipped from his grasp to hit the floor.
“Fuck!” Crowley kicked one of the folders in frustration. “You guys are nothing but trouble.”
“Trouble has a habit of following you around, doesn’t it, Crowley?” Nate’s tone was hard. “ ’Course you bring most of it on yourself.” He took two photos from his suit jacket pocket and tossed them on the man’s desk. “You need another look at these?”
The man barely glanced at them. “I already . . .”