Justice in the Shadows

by Radclyffe

  Jason inclined his head in agreement. “That might work. But it won’t help in terms of talking to the other girls or to the johns. And that’s where the money’s gonna be.”

  “You’re right.” Rebecca blew out a frustrated breath. “There’s just not enough of us to cover all the bases.”

  Sloan eyed Jason, watching him work Rebecca. He was good, but so was the detective, and Sloan did not think that Frye would like having been played when she figured out where Jason was leading her. “Do you have something in mind, Jason?”

  “I know someone who can get inside.”

  Of course you do. Jesus, Sarah is going to kill us.

  Rebecca shook her head. “I can’t bring in another civilian. And I don’t want someone on the team I don’t know.”

  “It’s not what you think,” Jason said.

  “You want to explain?”

  “Let me set something up for later, and if you’re not happy with it, we’ll forget the idea.”

  “Fine. At this point, I’ll consider any option.” Rebecca drained her cup, stood up, and walked to the coffee machine, her back to the room. The last item of business was the hardest for her to present. Sighing, she filled her mug and walked resolutely back to the table. She looked directly at Sloan. “We need to dig out the leak within the department. That’s going to be on you.”

  Sloan’s violet eyes flashed. This was the green light she’d been waiting for. “I need a list of everyone you can think of who might have known about the operation last weekend. Jason and I will need to trace financial records, employment histories, educational background, previous postings—anything that might tie in to Zamora or point to some other criminal activity.”

  “I know,” Rebecca said. “It will take me a while, but I’ll get you the names.”

  Beside her, Watts shot upright in his chair. “Wait a minute. You’re going to be naming cops, and most of those cops—maybe all of them—are going to be innocent. You can’t hang them out to dry.”

  Rebecca knew it went against the grain. It was contrary to everything that a cop was trained to uphold. You never turn against your brothers; you never allow anyone outside the brotherhood to break the blue line. Slowly, Rebecca turned her head and met Watts’s indignant gaze. “In or out, Bill.”

  It was the first time she had ever used his given name, and Watts recognized it for what it was. She was asking for his support, the kind of support that only a partner could give. He coughed faintly, clearing his throat. “It’s going to be a pretty big list. Cops, clerks, people in the DA’s office. Judges. Jesus.” He ran a hand over his face and spoke directly to Rebecca. “I’ll trace the path of the warrant from the DA back to us. You give them the names from inside the department.”

  “Fine.” After a beat, Rebecca said, “Thanks.”

  “No problem, Sarge.”

  Rebecca squared her shoulders. “For starters, there’s Captain John Henry, commander of the Vice Unit. Elizabeth Adams is the civilian clerk, and she probably handled the paperwork for the warrant. At this stage, I’m unaware of anyone else in the department who might have known about it directly.”

  “Are you suspicious of either one?” Jason’s question was placed mildly, but he knew it was inflammatory by its very nature. He looked away to give Rebecca time to compose her answer. It didn’t surprise him, though, when she answered immediately. She was clearly committed to doing whatever it took to ferret out the person responsible for the attempt on Sloan’s life.

  “I wouldn’t be suspicious of Henry if I hadn’t been told that he was involved in shutting down the investigation into the recent murder of two cops. If he wasn’t part of the cover-up, he was at least aware of it and let it happen.” Her tone was bitter. “So that puts him high on the list. Adams I don’t know at all, but it’s hard to believe it would be her.”

  “Is there anyone who has access to your field reports or your files or any records that might have had information about what we were doing?” Sloan inquired.

  Rebecca started to shake her head, and then stopped abruptly. Her face, usually as smooth and refined as cut stone, hardened even further. “God damn it. I was...injured...earlier this year and out of commission for a while. In order to be reinstated, I had to see the department shrink. He could have picked up something from me.”

  “That’s a stretch,” Watts blurted.

  Sloan shook her head. “Not necessarily. In all likelihood, he has access to everything Rebecca’s been involved with. Also, he probably has unrestricted access to any file he asks for.”

  “Are you still seeing him?” Jason asked directly, no apology in his voice. This wasn’t personal, this was business. Deadly business.

  “Yes.” Rebecca gave no explanation, because the reasons didn’t matter. “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” Jason mused. “I was thinking about a disinformation campaign. Maybe giving the wrong information to some of the people we suspect, just to see what happens.”

  “It’s possible, I guess.” Rebecca’s expression was unmistakably skeptical. “It seems a little too cloak and dagger for me, though.”

  Jason and Sloan both smiled.

  “Excuse me, ma’am?” another voice interjected.

  Rebecca looked at Mitchell and raised an eyebrow. “Officer?”

  If possible, Mitchell sat even straighter. “I may have inadvertently revealed some information about the operation as well. In...uh...counseling.”

  “Jesus, kid, you too?” Watts’s tone was disgusted. “Is everybody in the goddamned department getting shrunk?”

  “You’re seeing Whitaker?” For the first time, Rebecca’s voice held an edge of excitement. Connections were what made a case—small things that seemed inconsequential at first often turned out to be the key that fit the lock that broke it wide open.

  “No, ma’am, not Whitaker. Dr. Rawlings.”

  Watts sucked in a breath and Rebecca went completely still. The previous night’s conversation came back to her. She’d been talking to Catherine about Mitchell and Sandy. How much does Catherine know?

  “Well, I can guarantee that Catherine is not the source of the leak.” Rebecca’s voice was cool, even, her hands steady as they rested on the tabletop. Her inner turmoil was known only to herself.

  “No, I didn’t mean that,” Mitchell hastened to add. “But maybe something I said...” She stopped, embarrassed. Jeez, Frye is never gonna trust me now.

  “What about Catherine’s reports, her files?” Sloan stood and walked to the coffeemaker. “She must keep some kind of records, and if there’s something in there, someone may have gotten hold of it.”

  “That should be simple enough to determine.” Rebecca tried to keep the edge from her voice, but it was difficult. Anything to do with Catherine threatened her objectivity. “We can ask her.”

  “I don’t think she’ll tell you, Sergeant,” Mitchell said respectfully.

  Rebecca barely managed to swallow her retort. She drew a long breath and settled herself. “No, of course she won’t. You’re absolutely right, Officer. Dr. Rawlings will not discuss her patients in any way.”

  “If it would help, I’ll give my permission for her to—”

  “If that becomes necessary, we may go that route. But let’s hold on that for now.” Rebecca had been down that road with Catherine before. It was not a trip she wanted to take again. “But I appreciate your offer, Mitchell.”

  Mitchell colored. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Are you still in counseling, too?” Jason asked Mitchell.

  Both Mitchell and Rebecca looked uncomfortable at this point. This was one point upon which they were in total agreement. Cops didn’t see shrinks.

  “No, not exactly. We left it...open.”

  “I think you should keep going,” Jason recommended. He glanced at Rebecca and grinned. “In case we have to use some cloak and dagger stuff.”

  “It’s up to Mitchell,” Rebecca said. It’s none of our business.

  “W
hat about getting me direct access to the department’s computer system?” Sloan thought the temperature in the room was getting a little heated and figured that a change in direction was warranted. “I can hack in from outside the system, but it’s harder to cover my trail. Plus, it would be easier to work from the inside in terms of tracing the path of departmental records.”

  Rebecca nodded. “I think I can get you in. The CSI chief is mightily pissed off that someone raided her computer and stole the files of an ongoing investigation. I think she’ll let you tear her system apart.”

  “I can work on it on site?”

  “Sure. If anyone asks, you’re just one of the IT people who came around to upgrade her system. No one will think twice about it.”

  Sloan looked thoughtful. “You trust her to know what I’ll be doing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good enough.”

  “When can you start?” Rebecca asked.

  Sloan looked at her watch. “I can take a fast look at her system this morning, but I have to be back at the hospital by two.” She couldn’t hide her smile. “There’s an outside chance Michael might be able to come home today.”

  A chorus of pleased exclamations followed.

  “We have to assume that whoever went after Sloan knows about all of us.” Rebecca’s expression was serious, but her voice completely calm. “That means heads up for everybody. Make sure you’re not being followed anywhere, and if something doesn’t look right, assume that it’s wrong. Sloan, Jason—do you two carry?”

  “I’m licensed, but I don’t usually carry,” Sloan replied. Jason shook his head in the negative as well.

  “You might want to consider it. Remember, Sloan, you were the primary target the other night. Whoever’s behind this may figure that you no longer pose a threat since we already made our move against the Internet porn ring. Still, you never know.”

  Sloan thought about the fact that Michael would be upstairs, possibly in a few hours. She nodded, her eyes as flat and dark as onyx. “Understood. Jason and I will ensure that our perimeter here is secure as well.”

  “Huh,” Watts grunted. “I don’t see how you could get any more secure.”

  “There are always ways, Detective.”

  “Mitchell,” Rebecca said as she stood. “I want you here with Jason and Sloan, working up background and tracing down those e-mail addresses. Sloan, I’ll call you as soon as I clear things with the CSI chief, and if you’ve got time, I’ll take you over there to meet her.” She glanced at her watch. “Let’s say we meet back here around five this afternoon. Jason, does that give you enough time to contact your source?”

  He nodded. “Plenty of time.”

  “Watts, you were going to poke around in Jimmy Hogan’s files. Go ahead with that.”

  “Roger, Sarge.”

  “And I think I’d better pay a visit to Dr. Rawlings.”

  Ordinarily, Rebecca welcomed any excuse to see Catherine. However, she had a feeling that this particular visit was going to be much more business than pleasure.

  Chapter Nine

  After Rebecca and Watts left, Mitchell glanced at Sloan and Jason with an uncharacteristically uneasy expression.

  “Do you think I can take an hour or so of personal time?”

  “This isn’t One Police Plaza, Dell.” Sloan grinned. “You can come and go as you please. No one’s punching a time clock here.”

  “I know there’s a lot of work to do, but...” Mitchell colored slightly. “I just need to take care of someth—”

  “Go ahead,” Jason urged. “There’ll be plenty left to chase when you get back.”

  “Thanks,” she said, already up and on her way toward the hallway and the elevator beyond.

  Once downstairs, Mitchell walked rapidly the few blocks to the subway station and caught the El train going west. Exiting at Fifteenth, she walked south through neighborhoods that progressively deteriorated the further she went. At Fitzwater, she turned west for half a block until she stood across from a dingy, gray-shingled row house that looked no different than any of the other run-down buildings on the street. Six doorbells were aligned vertically on the right-hand side of the plain wooden door. It was ten-thirty in the morning, and she had a feeling that if she rang, no one was going to answer the doorbell in the upstairs rear apartment.

  Fortunately, she knew from experience that the front door was usually unlocked. She crossed the street, took the few stairs to the small porch two at a time, and twisted the plain brass knob. As expected, the windowless door opened into a tiny foyer that was littered with fliers and dead leaves. Despite the bits of trash, the hallway beyond was surprisingly clean, without the usual faint hints of urine and old food that often lingered in buildings such as these. She passed no one on the stairs. On the third floor, there were two doors, and she walked directly to the one with a painted-over metal letter B just above eye level and knocked.

  She waited a moment, not expecting an immediate answer, and then knocked again, louder.

  “Go away,” a grumpy sounding voice called from within.

  Grinning, Mitchell rapped briskly. Despite her simmering sense of anger and disquiet, the sound of Sandy’s voice and the image it provoked gave her a swift jolt of pleasure.

  Another minute passed during which she could make out faint sounds of movement coming from the other side of the door. Then it was opened as far as a security chain would allow, and a flashing blue eye peered out.

  “What the fu—Dell!”

  “Hiya, Sandy.”

  The door closed in Mitchell’s face, the chain rattled, and the door sprang open again.

  Sandy, eyes a bit bleary, looked up and snarled, “It’s ten o’clock in the morning, and I’ve only been asleep for two hours. Go away.”

  “It’s almost eleven. Are you always so cranky when you wake up?” Mitchell asked brightly.

  “Only when someone wakes me up when I should still be sleeping.” Sandy frowned and cocked a hip against the edge of the door. She wore only a tiny white tank top that barely reached below the swell of her breasts and a pair of pale pink bikini underwear. The pale expanse of her flat abdomen was broken only by the thick silver stud in her navel. “What are you doing here?”

  Mitchell tried not to look at the barely covered body, but just the quick glimpse she got before she forced her eyes back to Sandy’s face was enough to make her stomach tighten. “Can I talk to you?”

  “You okay?” As soon as the words were out, Sandy realized how unusual the feeling was behind them. She’d only ever had a few friends she was close enough with to get concerned about, but worrying about Dell seemed to come naturally. Maybe it was just that she still had dreams about that night in the alley when Dell was on the ground and that huge fucker was kicking the shit out of her. “Well?”

  “You going to let me in?”

  Sandy stiffened suddenly as if finally coming awake. “You shouldn’t be here, Dell. Frye said...” Her voice trailed off and she looked away.

  “What? Frye said what?” Mitchell took one step inside the room and then caught herself. “Is it okay if I come in?”

  “Yeah,” Sandy said softly. Then, her voice suddenly stronger, “Jesus, you can’t stand out in the hall any longer. Someone’s gonna see you.”

  “Who’s to see me? And so what if they do?” Mitchell had never seen Sandy look uncertain about anything. Aggravated. Aggressive. Angry. Yes. But never anxious, like now. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” Sandy said with a shrug. She crossed the room to the sofa, which had been opened into a small daybed. The pale blue cotton sheets covering it were pulled back, and a single pillow rested in the center.

  Mitchell stared at the bed. Then she quickly averted her eyes and looked around the room. She’d never been inside Sandy’s apartment before. In fact, she’d never been alone inside anywhere with Sandy.

  The studio apartment was neat and clean. The furniture, while mismatched for the most part, was old but styli
sh. The kinds of pieces that could be picked up at decent secondhand stores. There was a large hooked rug on the floor and a few inexpensive reproductions of familiar-looking abstracts on the walls.

  “Nice place.”

  “Thanks.” Sandy perched on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, her chin resting in the palm of one hand. “I’m really glad you like my decorating. Now, do you want to tell me why you woke me up?”

  “Do you think you could...uh...put some clothes on?”

  “I’ve got clothes on, Dell.” Sandy saw Dell’s eyes flicker down her body, then rapidly fix on some point on the floor between them. She also saw the faint flush rise from the patch of skin visible at the open collar of Dell’s white shirt and spread up the young cop’s neck. Sandy’s heart sped up and a distinct stirring trickled through her stomach. She liked the way Dell looked at her. A lot. She grabbed for her jeans and pulled them on.

  Mitchell relaxed and looked around for a place to sit. There wasn’t anywhere except the bed, and she wasn’t sitting there. She put her hands in her pockets and leaned against the corner of a dresser that stood against one wall. The entire way over to Sandy’s, she had been propelled by worry and anger. Now that she was there, inside Sandy’s surprisingly warm and cozy apartment, she didn’t know what to say.

  “What?” Sandy’s voice was gentle.

  Softly, Mitchell said, “I didn’t know you were working for Detective Sergeant Frye.”

  “I wasn’t...not before yesterday. Mostly, she would come around now and then asking about street talk, and I’d help her out.” Sandy stood and crossed to the small kitchen on the far side of the room. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a Coke. “Want one?”

  Mitchell shook her head.

  “Why do you care?” Sandy pulled the tab and took a deep swallow. Her question held no trace of belligerence, only curiosity. She wondered if Dell had any idea how much she wanted to know the answer to that question—had wanted to know for weeks now what it was that kept Dell coming around. What put that look of fierce concentration in Dell’s eyes whenever they roamed over her face?