by Joan Kilby
“Don’t be ridiculous. Maybe Moresco’s trying to scare you, as you say.” Riley threw her a hard look and picked up the phone, consulting his notebook before dialing. “Or maybe there’s another reason he’s calling you.”
“I don’t like what you’re implying.” Had he heard rumors? Or was he fishing? Riley was her partner. She owed it to him to come clean. She was torn between wanting to sweep her association with Moresco under the rug and needing an ally to help take him down. But could she trust Riley to be on her side? “Why are you being such a T. rex?”
Phone to his ear, Riley said impatiently, “Sorry?”
“It’s what I call Jamie when he’s in a bad mood.”
“ICU,” he barked into the receiver before turning to Paula. “I didn’t sleep last night. And I have the mother of all headaches.”
“I didn’t sleep too well myself.” She perched on a neighboring desk and crossed her arms.
“This is Police Constable Riley Henning inquiring about a patient who was brought in yesterday afternoon.” Riley consulted his notebook again. “Timothy Andrews. Is he well enough to answer a few questions?”
“Tell them it’s a narcotics investigation,” Paula suggested.
Riley held up a hand to shush her. He listened, his expression blank. “I see. All right. Thank you.” Then he put down the phone and scrubbed a hand over his face, looking more tired than ever. “Andrews passed away at four o’clock this morning, poor bastard.”
“Dead. That son of a bitch.”
“Your compassion for the deceased does you credit.”
“He was our only lead to whoever’s manufacturing and distributing the drugs.”
Riley folded his notebook and slid it into his breast pocket. “Let’s have a look at the stuff found in his car, see if we can find something to connect him to Moresco.”
Paula went to Dispatch for the key to the Evidence Room, a locked cupboard in the office supplies closet. Riley was waiting for her. She opened the cupboard and did a double take. The bags of crystal methamphetamine were missing.
“What’s that about?” Paula tried not to jump to any paranoid conclusions. “Don’t they trust us?”
“The drugs would have been taken to Frankston P.D.” Riley hefted the trash bag containing the miscellaneous junk cleared out of the Holden. “They have a special safe for illegal substances.”
“Right, of course.” She wasn’t used to working in a small station that didn’t have its own narcotics squad.
Riley dropped the bag and sucked in a breath, pressing his fingers to his forehead.
“Jeez, Henning. Should you be at work today? You look like hell.”
“It’s nothing.”
“For crying out loud, will you stop being such a guy. You’re sick.”
“I think I’ve got a migraine. I’ve tried three different painkillers and nothing touches it.”
“How long have you had it?”
“It came on yesterday afternoon. It was so bad I could hardly sleep. When I did, I had nightmares.”
“I’ve never heard of nightmares with a migraine,” she said doubtfully. “But I’m not a doctor. Did you have flashing colors in your peripheral vision, nausea?”
“Bit of nausea. No flashing colors. I’m renovating my kitchen. I think it’s all the dust I’ve been breathing in. I’ve started wearing a mask.”
“All sorts of things can trigger it. I get them occasionally. I’ve got something that might help.”
“At this point I’m ready to lop off my own head if it would take away the pain.” He reached for the bag.
Paula signed the book hanging on a string and relocked the cupboard. She went to the locker room, got the medication from her purse then met him in the Incident Room. Handing him the packet of tablets and a glass of water, she said, “Take two.”
“Meds for menstrual pain? Are you kidding?”
“Read the fine print. They work on migraines, too.” When he hesitated, she added in a tone she used with Jamie, “Be a big brave boy and take your medicine.”
Giving her a dark look, he swallowed a couple of tablets. “Don’t mention this to the guys.”
“Your secret’s safe with me. I don’t want anyone to know my partner is a girl.”
Riley made a low inarticulate growl in his throat. She repressed a grin, deciding not to torment him with any more barbs. Instead she spread the contents of the bag over a long table. They donned gloves and got down to the grubby business of sifting through the rubbish from Andrews’s car.
“I don’t think this guy ever cleaned out his car.” Paula opened a crumpled fast-food bag. She tossed it into the bin with a shudder. “Yuck. I think something’s crawling in there.”
“Look at this.” Riley held up a teddy bear with a torn pink ribbon around the neck. “Andrews might have been a father.”
Paula imagined a little girl clutching the teddy, hearing the news that her daddy had died. “Don’t. I don’t want to feel sorry for him.”
“I feel sorry for his kid.” Riley pressed his fingers over the bear’s belly. “Do you suppose there could be more drugs in there?” He took a knife and slit the side seam, pushing his fingers into the stuffing, probing. After a moment he gave up. “Nothing.”
He started to toss the teddy bear into the bin, then instead he pushed the stuffing back in and set the toy aside. Paula pretended not to notice. Did he plan to take the bear to Andrews’s family? It surprised her that a tough character like Riley could be sentimental. He’d done a nice thing.
A half an hour later, they’d gone through nearly the entire pile without finding one useful item. Paula took a porn magazine off the stack and riffled the pages upside down in the off chance that something would fall out, like a slip of paper with a list of drug contacts. Yeah, right.
Something did fall out—a business card. She reached for it and her fingers stilled. The card bore the logo of an Italian restaurant in the city. She glanced at Riley, oddly reluctant to bring it to his attention. The cop in her wanted to put Nick back in jail. As a mother…suddenly she wasn’t so sure.
Was she protecting him? The thought brought her up short. What changes had Nick undergone while in prison? She hadn’t kept contact. Was it possible he’d rehabilitated? Did part of her not want to cut off all possibility that someday Jamie might meet his father?
Her silence made Riley glance up. “What have you found?”
She thrust aside her hesitation. The business card was evidence. Regardless of her private issues she couldn’t suppress it. “This is from a restaurant that Moresco owns. It doesn’t prove anything, of course. Andrews could have simply eaten a meal there. Or someone else could have dropped it in his car.”
Riley held the card by the corner with gloved fingers. “The restaurant is in Carlton, an hour away from Summerside.”
“I know, I went there with him,” Paula said.
That earned her a sharp glance from Riley. “Sounds like you were pretty tight with Moresco.”
“I was investigating him. Undercover. I was his massage therapist.” She’d assumed Riley would know that. Her photo had been in all the newspapers at the time of Nick’s trial. Then she remembered he’d been in Afghanistan.
Riley’s eyebrows rose.
What was that skepticism for? What assumptions was he making about her and Nick? She wished she could tell him the truth and that he would be different, that he would believe in her and not judge her.
Who cares what he thinks? He’s nothing to you—a partner. Do your job.
She took a few paces away but couldn’t let it go. She spun around, years of pent-up frustration at being judged—by herself as much as by her fellow officers—spilling out.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like working deep undercover? You live, eat, sl
eep and breathe your persona. You become that person, that qualified but slightly sleazy masseuse who walks a fine line between legitimate therapist and someone who consorts with criminals. So, yeah, I had dinner with Moresco. Many times. Any other questions?”
“I wasn’t aware I’d asked a question,” Riley said quietly. He stripped off his gloves. “Timothy Andrews may have gone to Moresco’s restaurant for linguini and clam sauce but I’m betting he didn’t. The business card is a link between our local dealer and Nick Moresco. Time to go to John with what we’ve found.”
* * *
“YOU’VE GOT NOTHING that would stand up in court. No fingerprints, no phone conversations, no paper trail.” John ticked the deficiencies of the evidence off on his fingers. “Write up your report and send it to the Frankston Drug Investigation Unit. They’ll take it from here.”
Riley glanced at Paula who was being conspicuously quiet. John had told him she wanted to make detective again. She’d offered her services to the Drug Unit once before and been turned down. Things were different now.
“Under the circumstances don’t you think we should have a role in the investigation?” Riley said.
John twiddled a pen between his fingers, clearly impatient to wrap this up. “What circumstances?”
“Paula’s past dealings with Nick Moresco.”
Paula frowned at him as if she was worried about where he was going with this. As if she didn’t quite trust him. Well, the feeling was mutual. “Do you want to tell him about the phone call or should I?”
Her frown deepened and she shook her head. “It’s irrelevant.”
“I disagree.” Riley turned to John. “She received a phone call from Moresco ten days ago.” He filled the Senior Sergeant in on the few details he knew.
“Is this true?” John asked Paula.
“He wanted to know if I was there.” She shifted on her hard chair as if she couldn’t get comfortable. “He was confirming my location. For what reason, I have no idea.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“Riley already asked me that. The answer is no. Nick was never violent to me.”
She was hiding something, Riley was more certain of it than ever. She said she wasn’t worried about Moresco being violent toward her but she was scared. Scared of being caught out in some wrongdoing? Should he talk to John about his suspicions? No, too soon. He didn’t have enough to go on. And besides, they needed her cooperation in going after Moresco.
“Riley’s right, this does make a difference,” John said. “Frankston will want to set up surveillance on your house. A phone tap—”
“No.” Paula got to her feet, brushing her hands down her pants. Agitated.
“I beg your pardon, Constable?”
“I’m a cop. I can take care of myself.” She paced the small office between the window looking onto the street and the glass wall showing the bull pen. “I don’t need, or want, surveillance.”
“This isn’t about your competence as a police officer,” John said. “As a former detective, I’m surprised you object. Surveillance is standard practice.”
“A phone tap, in case Moresco calls you again, makes sense,” Riley added. “Why are you being uncooperative?”
“Think about it.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t want Delinsky, for example, listening in on my private calls. A phone tap is intrusive. Give me a bit of time.”
“To do what, exactly?” John asked.
Paula dropped into her chair. “Talk to Nick, find out what he wants without alerting him to the fact that he’s under investigation.”
Riley hadn’t missed that she referred to the drug lord by his first name. She’d had a personal relationship with Moresco. “Do you have his phone number?”
Paula looked him in the eye. “No,” she said firmly. “And I don’t know where he is. If he calls me back, I’ll find out what I can. He’s recently released from prison. He’s going to be wary. We need to proceed with caution or we’ll scare him off.”
That made some sense, Riley acknowledged grudgingly. “What about your safety? And the safety of your son?”
“Trust me,” Paula said. “No one is more concerned about Jamie than I am.”
“How do you know Moresco will contact you again?” John asked.
She shook her head, shrugged. “A hunch.”
“All right.” John laid down his pen. “We’ll hold off on surveillance. But I want to know if and when he contacts you. I don’t need Frankston Drug Unit giving us grief because we’ve withheld information crucial to an investigation.”
“Will do.” Paula got to her feet. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m late for picking up Jamie.”
Riley was about to rise and follow her out when John gestured to him to stay. When Paula was well away from the door, John asked, “What do you think of her attitude toward this development? Do you trust her to cooperate?”
Riley’s first loyalty was to the law, and to John—his boss and his best mate from high school. Fair or not, Paula was tainted by her past association with Moresco. On the other hand she was his partner and the partner bond was sacrosanct. Beneath her tough exterior Riley sensed vulnerabilities and that aroused his protective instincts.
That was the crux of it. He might not trust her completely but he would do his damnedest to protect her. Even from John and the police force? He was on shaky ground now, getting himself into something he didn’t fully understand. In the process he was making himself vulnerable.
Yes, even then. And what the hell that was all about, he didn’t want to think.
Riley drew his line in the sand. “She’s a good cop. I believe she’ll do what’s right.”
* * *
PAULA KNOCKED ON SALLY’S open front door after work and stepped inside the foyer cluttered with shoes, school bags and toys. “Hey, Sally. It’s me.”
“Come on in,” Sally called. “We’re in the kitchen.” She was at the stove preparing dinner, her brown hair in a messy knot on top of her head. Fourteen-month-old Chloe played on the floor with a wooden spoon and saucepan.
Jamie and another little boy, Trevor, were in the adjoining family room, driving small cars around a foldout road map spread over the carpet. Appropriate sound effects competed with the TV tuned to a children’s show.
“How was school today?” Paula crouched to hug Jamie. His hair and clothes smelled of school hallways and crayons and lunchboxes. As usual, he had one sock on and one off.
“I got a gold star for my drawing.” Jamie squirmed free of Paula’s embrace and went back to his cars.
“Well done.” Paula retrieved his sock from beneath the coffee table. “Pack up your things. We need to get home, have our dinner.”
Jamie drove a fire truck around a bend and smashed into a parked car. “Are we going to McDonald’s again?”
“Maybe.” Paula threw a guilty glance at Sally who was cooking something from scratch. Pots and pans bubbled on the stove. The counter was cluttered with a chopping board and the remains of fresh vegetables. “I don’t normally give him fast food every day but with the move…” She trailed off lamely.
“Forget it, you don’t have to explain,” Sally said. “You’re welcome to stay and eat with us. Rick is working late tonight.”
“Thanks—it smells delicious—but I need to get home.” And see that her house and everything in it was exactly as she’d left it. She still hadn’t gotten around to putting a new lock on the laundry room door. Procrastination wasn’t like her, especially with something as serious as security. Did she want Nick to get to her and Jamie? Was she that desperate for him to have a father? The thought made her feel sick.
“All right. But listen, we’ve been invited to a barbecue, an engagement party for our friends, Lexie and Rafe, next Saturday. Why don’t you come? I know they wouldn’t mi
nd and it would be a chance for you to meet some people.”
It wasn’t the first time Sally had made friendly overtures. Paula was tempted. She’d left friends behind in her old suburb when she’d moved but an hour and a half drive was too far for casual visits.
“An engagement party is special,” Paula protested. “I’d be intruding.”
“No, it’s fine, really.” Sally waved that off. “Lexie isn’t organized enough to actually send out invitations. It’s a word of mouth party.”
“Thanks. I’ll think about it, see how I go.”
Sally turned down the burner, hoisted Chloe onto her hip and walked them out. “See you tomorrow, Jamie.” She ruffled his dark hair as he ran between the two women and out to the car. “He must take after his dad, you being so blonde.”
“With those detecting skills, you should be on the force,” Paula said lightly, sidestepping her question.
“I’ve got enough to keep me busy with this little miss.” Sally tugged on one of Chloe’s brown curls and the little girl dimpled.
“Mum! Come on.” Jamie stood by the car, swinging his backpack.
Paula held up a hand to let him know she’d heard. Then she turned to Sally. “I should have mentioned this before but well, there’s been so much to do I’ve been distracted. Jamie’s father doesn’t have any visitation rights. If he were ever to come around, I don’t want him seeing Jamie or talking to him. In fact, if he came to your house, even if Jamie wasn’t here, don’t let him in. Call me immediately.”
“Sounds serious.” Sally’s expression turned troubled. “But how will I know it’s him?”
“You’ll know.” The dread Paula had been carrying around in her stomach ever since she’d gotten the first phone call felt heavier than ever. “Jamie looks just like his dad.”
CHAPTER FIVE
RILEY’S EYES WERE gritty from staring at the shaft of moonlight inching across his bedroom ceiling for the past two hours. He never used to have so much trouble sleeping. Was it about Paula? About fighting his attraction, worrying whether she was trustworthy, torn loyalties? Wondering what happened between her and Moresco?