by Kylie Brant
It took effort to return his attention to the front of the room and continue his report. “Parker’s car hasn’t turned up much in the way of trace evidence. His blood was identified in the trunk. We eliminated the prints for him and his wife. There are plenty of others, but nothing that popped on the Automated Fingerprint Identification System. Forensics isn’t done with it but it’s not looking hopeful.”
“Why’d it take so long for impound to make the connection?” Shroot wanted to know. There was a murmur of agreement in the room.
“The plates that were on it had only recently been reported as stolen. And the Vehicle Identification Number had been changed. Professional job, too. That’s the best lead we’re probably going to get from the car. It’s possible our offender has a record for auto theft. Maybe he’s affiliated with a local chop shop. In any case, Alberts and Finnegan, take a look at parolees in the area released in the last three years with something similar on their sheet.”
“Brandau and Shroot.” His gaze encompassed the two men. “We’re trying to trace the former owner of Tory’s, which was the building shown in the video left at the third crime scene. Full name Tory Marie Baltes. She had a son.” He waited for their nods before continuing. “See if you can track them down.”
“I can save you a bit of trouble there,” Risa spoke again. “I slipped away from the hospital long enough today to replace my phone.” She held one up, and Nate recalled that her old one, along with her computer and most of her personal belongings, would be toast after last night. The way she’d very nearly ended up herself. “Had some time on my hands so I did some searching online. I found an obituary for Baltes less than two years after the fire. Have already started tracking her family.”
Nate nodded. “So you two can take another task. I have a key found at Sherman Tull’s home that might fit a lockbox. You’ll check with the banks to see if it belongs to any of them. Tomey and Edwards, I’ve got a packet of photos up here. I want you to watch the footage we shot of the victims’ memorial services, see if you can pick out any of the people from these pictures.” He’d included photos of Sam Crowley, Javon Emmons, and Walter Eggers, as well as of Tull, Christiansen, and Randolph. A visit from one of the men who would later be victims might help prove a relationship between the men. “Mendall and Hoy, keep combing through the victim’s personal lives. With Randolph as the latest victim, there’s another intersection to look for.” He was very aware of Morales standing silently against the wall behind him. There would be no mention made at this time of the ID of PPD Sergeant Eggers as the man in the video. That he’d handle personally.
After he dismissed the team, he gave the packet to Edwards and turned to find Brandau and Morales speaking to Risa. When he joined them, Jett looked up. “I was just telling Risa I spoke to Bennett, the battalion chief of the fire station an hour ago. They’ve got a fire inspector coming in to work with them tomorrow. There was no sign of forced entry at the house.”
“There were three smoke alarms installed there.” Nate almost winced at the scratchy sound of her voice. It sounded as though it were painful to speak. “I never heard any of them.”
Jett hesitated. “Bennett said none had batteries in them.”
“They did.” Risa’s tone was emphatic. “I replaced them myself in the last month or so. It’s a small house. Even if one malfunctioned we should have been able to hear the other two.”
“Maybe your mom disconnected them,” Nate suggested, leaning against the wall facing her. “People do sometimes. Run out of batteries for something and take them out of the detectors, resolving to put them back later. And then they forget. It happens.”
She shook her head, unconvinced. Looked at Jett. “How does an arson investigation work? What will they look for?”
The man scratched his jaw. “The investigator will interview everyone. You. Your mom. The firefighters. He’ll want to know what you heard and saw. Appliances and wiring will be checked to see if there was a short or malfunction. The department will have taken pictures, and he’ll want to look at the burn patterns. Most accelerants will leave traces behind. Those can sometimes be picked up with a VTA machine.”
“So if someone started it, there’ll be trace evidence left behind.”
His pause had everyone looking at him. “Presumably,” he said finally. “But if an arsonist doesn’t want to leave a trace, he’ll use rubbing alcohol for the accelerant. The water used to fight the fire will wash it away.” With a quick look at Risa’s face, he hastened to add, “But burn patterns can still tell them quite a bit. You might want to check with your mom to see if and when she opened the windows. There were two opened on either side of the picture window in the front room, and one in the kitchen.”
When no one responded, he added, “Fires need oxygen. The open windows provided plenty of it.”
Chapter 17
Morales followed Risa and Nate back to Nate’s office. He waited until the door was closed behind them to ask, “Did you notice whether the windows were open last night?”
She made a beeline for her desk chair. It would be bad form to collapse on the job, but exhaustion from the night before was crowding in. Sinking into it, she tried to recall. “Mom is pretty security conscious. She’s lived in Philly all her life, and some of the neighborhoods I grew up in weren’t the best. I’ll ask her, but I don’t think she would have left the windows open all night. Ordinarily I’d notice something like that but . . .”
“You’d had a helluva night already.”
She nodded at Nate’s words. “I’m almost certain they weren’t open, but again, I can’t be positive. The thing is, I didn’t get in until close to three. A CSU team was just finishing up after the shooting.” She looked at both the men. “If someone did set it, there was very limited opportunity to do so.” Unless, of course, she thought with a chill, he’d been inside the house all along. Waiting. Watching. Her skin prickled. Hannah didn’t get off work until two A.M. She’d probably barely gotten home before Risa had herself. Someone would have to know their habits.
And been intent on killing them both, not just destroying the house.
“I’ll find out who was assigned to the crime scene,” Morales said. “See if anyone saw any activity around your place.”
There’d been plenty of activity around it that evening, she thought with a pang. If someone had entered and lain in wait, he’d have had to be in the basement. Just a couple hours had passed between nightfall and her return from work. And then once the ambulance and police had been on scene, how likely was it that someone could have crept into the house unnoticed?
Doubt reared. She was tired. Maybe more than a little paranoid. After the events of the day, she was entitled. It would be all too easy to second-guess her conclusions.
Except that the drawing pad had disappeared. She believed her mother when she insisted she hadn’t removed it.
And there was one person who might find the sketches in them a threat.
Belatedly, she realized the two men were waiting for her to respond. “I’ll talk to Hannah tonight about it.”
Eduardo shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “You two have a place to stay?” His expression went wry. “Not saying my place is the Ritz, but we can juggle the kids, free up a bedroom. It’s yours for as long as you need it.”
Touched, she smiled at him. “Thanks, Eddie. I’d like to come by sometime to see Renee and the family, but I don’t want to disrupt your home. The hospital released Hannah this afternoon and I’ve already got her situated.” And the argument she’d lost in that regard still rankled. “The next-door neighbor is the son of my mom’s best friend. She’s gone now. But he offered to let her stay there.” Hannah was jittery enough to be attracted by that familiarity, Risa realized now. She couldn’t go home, but she was as comfortable in Eleanor’s house as she would be in her own. Surrounded by a neighborhood that represented the longest time she’d spent in one place in . . . well, maybe in forever.
Some of
the earlier ire she’d felt when they’d had this discussion faded. Although Risa would prefer having her mother with her, it might be safer for the older woman if she wasn’t.
Because if the offender had targeted Risa on account of those sketches, he just might try again since she’d survived the fire. She’d like Hannah far away from her if that happened.
“That still leaves you,” Eddie pointed out.
She waved a hand. “I’ll get a hotel.” Not one close to work or the hospital, as she’d already found out when she’d spent an hour on the phone that afternoon. It was Saturday, after all, and a sell-out concert, coupled with a home game for the Phillies, was making the search challenging. Risa had no doubt she’d have better luck looking farther out. The thought held little appeal. Which is why she decided more calling could wait a few hours. If nothing else, she could stretch out in the CCU waiting room that evening.
Apparently satisfied, Morales switched the subject. “Doubtful this has anything to do with us, but I did get word of another police slaying last night.”
Risa practically bolted upward in her chair. “What? Where?”
“Nothing like our case. The victim’s name was Joseph Mauro. It would have been ruled a suicide. The victim definitely ate his gun. Gray matter all over the place. Residue on his hand. But he had a different caliber bullet in his chest and that weapon wasn’t found. Had to have been a second party in the room.” He shook his head. “Why someone would shoot him when he was committing suicide anyway is anyone’s guess. But because of the suspicious manner in which it happened, we got tipped off, in case it ties in with ours somehow.”
“Do you have a photo of Mauro?” Nate rolled his shoulders when the captain looked at him. “I’ll add it to the ones I gave Tomey and Edwards.”
“I can get it to you.” Morales stepped forward to pat Risa’s shoulder. “Glad you and your mom are okay. And what’s the update on Raiker?”
“His condition has been upgraded to serious. He isn’t conscious for long periods of time, but he did speak this afternoon when I was in with him.” Her mouth quirked. “He said, ‘Get me the hell out of here.’ ”
The two men smiled. “A man after my own heart,” Eduardo said. He crossed to the door. “I’ll track down the picture of Mauro for you,” he told Nate. And then to Risa, he said, “Darrell’s still on duty. I’ll have him look into getting a hotel room for you.”
“That’s not necessary . . .”
“Let’s see what he can do.” Eddie winked. “The guy’s a magician sometimes.”
When the door had closed behind him, she looked at Nate. Couldn’t identify the expression he was regarding her with. “Listen,” she said, a bit unsteadily. “About last night . . .” She needed to tell him that she’d appreciated his presence. His strength. Even while panic still flickered at how natural it had seemed to lean on him. To accept support when she was much more used to relying only on herself.
She didn’t get any of it out. Because Nate was on his feet and rounding the desk. He had her hauled out of her chair and into his arms with a sneaky ease that she might have suspected came with long practice. If she’d been thinking.
When his mouth settled over hers, surprise held her still for the first few seconds. But then a familiar weakness stole to her knees. Her arms went around his hard waist, and she returned the pressure of his mouth with her own. His kiss was demanding. Edged with desperation. It fired an immediate answering response as heat rocketed through her system. When he tore his lips away a moment later, it was all she could do not to haul them back to hers.
His voice, when it came, sounded as raspy as her own. “Twice in twenty-four hours is a bit much to take.”
His arms loosened and she tilted her head back, comprehension filtering slowly through the haze of desire. “First seeing you covered in Adam’s blood. Then hearing you’d barely escaped a fire with your life.”
Awkwardly, she stepped away, uncomfortable with both the gesture and the sentiment. And her emotional responses to each. “I’m sure it was a shock.”
“Not as big a shock as recognizing how hard it hit me, thinking you’d been hurt.” His words were blunt. The look in his narrowed midnight gaze intent. “I didn’t expect this. Don’t want it. But lots of things are jumping up to knock me on my ass recently, so why should you be any different?”
She wasn’t following his meaning. She didn’t want to follow his meaning. The conversation was skating much too close to the personal, and she was usually careful to avoid that. Notwithstanding the last couple minutes. Carefully, she responded, “I haven’t knocked you on your ass, McGuire. Although if you ever agree to a little one-on-one, you’d probably end up there. Just saying.”
The gibe brought a quirk to his mouth, but his gaze remained fixed on her. “I’ve got female friends. I know how I’m supposed to feel when one of them gets hurt or catches a bad break. I damn well know that it shouldn’t be like taking a brick to the chest. I don’t want to feel this.”
Panic was starting to steal in. One sneaky inch at a time. “Then don’t.”
“That’s all you’ve got? Just order the emotions aside and ignore them?”
She felt hunted. “It could work.”
“It doesn’t work for me,” he said flatly. “Timing hasn’t always exactly gone in my favor. But this? Between us?” He waggled his index from one of them to the other. “There’s something here that can’t be ignored. I won’t let you ignore it. Just fair warning.”
She watched him move back to his desk, wanting to get her hands on that brick he’d mentioned earlier so she could heave it at his arrogant head. “You won’t let me?”
“Poor choice of words. Blame it on the late night. The worry about you. Oh, and throw in the fact that my sister took off, my nephew in tow, for parts unknown last night, and yeah, I’m probably lacking a bit of my usual finesse. Give me twelve hours of sleep and this case solved, and I’ll do better.”
Her temper dissipated as quickly as it had flared. “You don’t know where they went?”
He gave her a tight smile. “The workings of my sister’s mind have long been a mystery. She resents me, has since we were kids, really.” He rolled his shoulders, looked away. “Can’t say I blame her. I was the football star, the one the parents were always bragging on. She was five years younger and had to fight just to get noticed. It . . . shaped her, I guess. By the time she was a teen, she was searching for more and more outrageous ways to get their attention. And she got it, all negative.” His expression turned guilty. “I was in college by then, but my folks still attended the games. It was a vicious cycle for her.”
She contemplated him, glad for not the first time that she’d never had siblings. “She wouldn’t have gone to see your parents?”
He shook his head, picked up a pen from his desk, and clicked it. “They died within a few months of each other about seven years ago. They never knew Tucker.” An unwilling smile tugged at his lips. “They would have loved Tuck. He’s a great kid. Anyway.” He set the pen down again. It began a slow roll to the edge of his desk. “I’ve got someone working to track her down. Kristin still has custody; there’s not much to do about her leaving. I just want to make sure they’re okay.”
“I hope you find them,” she said softly. Seemed like both of them had been through an emotional wringer in the last eighteen hours or so. And likely that’s what had elicited his unexpected declaration. The thought should have made her feel better. Somehow it didn’t.
He reached out to nab the pen before it fell to the floor as a knock sounded at the door. It pushed open a ways and Darrell appeared. He held a piece of paper out toward Risa. “I haven’t found anything yet for tonight, but here’s a couple hotels not too far from here that would have a room starting tomorrow.”
“Wow. You work fast.” She got up to take it from him.
“I know a gal who’s a travel agent. I’ll keep you posted if something else turns up. Also . . .” His gaze encompassed her an
d Nate. “They just showed someone to interview two. A Sergeant Walter Eggers. I was told you wanted to see him.”
“Thanks, Darrell.”
When he’d withdrawn, Risa sent a frown to Nate. “Why do we want to see him?”
“Because we’ve got an ID on ‘Johnny’ from the video.” Nate rose, picking up a notebook that was sitting on the corner of his desk from this morning. “And he just happens to be a Philadelphia police detective.”
Adrenaline kicked through her veins. Had her beating Nate to the door. “Then Darrell was right. We definitely want to see him.”
Walt Eggers sat motionless in the chair, his hands on his lap. Alarm was doing a fast skitter up his spine, but he’d be damned if he’d show it. He knew how these things worked. He’d been on the other side of the table more times than he could recall. There might be someone behind the mirrored glass on the far side of the room. Somebody else monitoring the video recording from that camera secured above the door. And McGuire himself would be watching for nervous tics. Telltale body language. Convince the cops you had nothing to hide and you were halfway home.
Except that he hadn’t expected to end up in a formal interview. He swallowed convulsively. Best-case scenario, he’d hoped to maybe waltz in here, talk to McGuire cop-to-cop. Answer any questions he had as truthfully as possible while still lying his ass off on pertinent details. Get a slap on the back for his cooperation.
His palms were damp. He resisted the urge to wipe them on the front of his pants. Anyone reviewing the tape would take that as a sign of nerves for sure. So he wouldn’t offer to shake hands. Problem solved.
Every problem could be solved if a person had the brains.