Dead Reckoning

by Linda Castillo

  “Even if someone does listen to him, he doesn’t know enough to point anyone in our direction.”

  “He knows enough to cause problems.”

  The man in the custom suit said nothing.

  She visibly struggled to calm herself, folding her hands in front of her, then pursing her lips. “Maybe we could contact his lawyer. Anonymously, of course. Pay his legal bills. See if we can help him get a deal.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Third party, maybe. Napier is protected by attorney-client privilege.”

  “Not that Napier has any morals.”

  He contemplated her for a moment, wondering how he’d ever thought she was strong enough to do this. “You know I will not let anything happen to jeopardize everything we’ve worked for, don’t you?” he asked.

  She nodded, but he could see she was, indeed, scared. He wondered if she had any idea the lengths he would go to avoid prison.

  “There are two ways we can approach this,” he said after a moment.

  “I’ve been wracking my brain for weeks, and I—”

  He cut her off by slicing his hand through the air. “We ride this thing out and see what happens.”

  “By the time we realize he’s talked, it’s going to be too late.”

  “Or you can let me handle it my way.”

  Her eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

  She looked so damn innocent. The image she made looking at him with those wide eyes almost made him laugh. He wondered if she was so deep into denial that she hadn’t yet accepted what they had been doing for the last four years.

  “I’m talking about taking care of the problem.”

  “Ellis?” she asked.

  “For starters.”

  Some of the tension seemed to leave her, but she still didn’t look appeased. “I don’t care how you do it. Just keep this situation from getting any worse.”

  “Let me make some calls,” he said and picked up the phone.

  WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 25, 9:43 A.M .

  Give him a chance. . . . He might surprise you.

  Mike Shelley’s words echoed inside Kate’s head as she headed toward Frank Matrone’s office, which was just down the hall from hers. She’d been putting off approaching him, hoping Mike would change his mind and let her remove Matrone from the Bruton Ellis case. No such luck.

  She reached Matrone’s office to find the door closed. Puzzled and annoyed, she put her hands on her hips and leaned toward the door to listen. Not hearing a phone conversation, she twisted the knob and entered without knocking. Surprise rippled through her when she found the office vacant, the lights off. The computer off. And the message light on the phone blinking wildly.

  “I don’t believe it,” she said, realizing he hadn’t yet come in. She glanced at her watch. Almost ten o’clock. Unbelievable.

  Spotting a sticky pad next to his keyboard, Kate walked to the desk and snatched it up. She would also send him an e-mail—for the sake of documentation when it came time to fire him. She looked around for a pen. “Why would he need a pen, silly?” she muttered. “He’s never here.” She tried the pencil drawer and to her surprise it opened. He didn’t even lock his desk. What an idiot.

  Picking up the pen, she began to write the note, all the while her temper simmering. This was exactly the sort of thing she wanted to avoid. She had a ton of work to do, yet she’d spent the better part of her morning dealing with an AWOL investigator. She had witnesses to talk to. Evidence to review.

  “And one asshole to rake over the coals,” she said beneath her breath.

  “If I’m the asshole you’re referring to, we can go ahead and get the raking out of the way now.”

  Kate actually started at the sound of his voice. She stopped writing mid-word and looked up to see Frank Matrone standing just inside the doorway, watching her with an expression that was at once amused and irritated. He was wearing a black leather bomber jacket and dark slacks. The jacket was open just enough for her to see that his shirt was wrinkled, his tie askew.

  Despite the fact that she was his boss and was in the process of leaving him a note because he was almost two hours late, she felt heat creep into her cheeks. She knew what this might look like to him. That she had been ransacking his desk.

  “I was just leaving you a note.” Setting down the pen, she rounded the desk.

  “Yeah? What does it say?”

  “You’re two hours late.”

  “I had an appointment.”

  “You were twenty minutes late yesterday.”

  He said nothing, his expression inscrutable.

  “You need to keep me apprised of your schedule and account for your personal time.”

  “Does this mean I’m still on the case?”

  Annoyance flared, but Kate stomped it down. “It means that for some reason unbeknownst to me, Mike Shelley wants you on this case.”

  He had the gall to smile. “So we’re going to be working together after all.”

  “It means you’re going to be working for me.”

  He nodded, sobering, but his eyes were amused. He knew she was pissed, and he was enjoying it. Damn him. And damn Mike Shelley for putting her in this position.

  “Great.” He rubbed his hands together. “So what’s first on the agenda?”

  “First, I guess we need to discuss the hours you’re expected to be here, since you don’t appear to have that clear in your mind.”

  “I’m clear.”

  “The hours are eight to five with mandatory overtime.”

  “Got it.” He smiled. “About that agenda . . .”

  He crossed to the desk and stopped. Kate had never noticed the way a man smelled before, but she did now. Frank Matrone smelled like a subtle mix of pine and soap and healthy man. He was standing three feet from her, close enough for her to see that even though he was clean shaven, he had a heavy beard. He must have shaved hurriedly because he had a nick on this chin. The leather jacket he wore was expensive, but the tie was cheap. He might have looked nice if it hadn’t been for the cowboy boots. She hated cowboy boots. . . .

  “I’m going to run over to Dallas PD and take a look at the evidence,” she said, steering her gaze away from details she didn’t care to notice.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  She didn’t want him to go with her. “Look, Mr. Matrone—”

  “Since we’re going to be working together, the least you can do is call me Frank.” He smiled, but she knew he was trying to disarm her. Fat chance. “It’s shorter than Matrone. Less syllables. You can yell faster that way.”

  She sighed. “Frank, I’d like you to stay here and catch up on what you missed yesterday. I want you to take a look at the security camera video. Review the file I put together for you. I’ll meet with you and David Perrine later this afternoon. I’m probably going to have you doing background checks on witnesses.”

  He had the most penetrating stare of any person she’d ever encountered. Kate was good at reading people. It bothered her tremendously that she couldn’t read this man. That she couldn’t figure out what was going on behind that shadowed gaze.

  “I know my way around the police department,” he said.

  “So do I.”

  “No offense, but the cops down in evidence like to make you jump through hoops.”

  Kate felt a ripple of uneasiness. Surely he wasn’t saying what it sounded like he was saying. “They have procedures for evidence.”

  “For you, maybe.” He smiled. “For the most part, they just like to yank your chain.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that. “Me personally?” she asked, not liking the way the question felt coming out of her mouth. It made her sound insecure.

  “They get a kick out of pissing you off and watching you stomp and snort.” His smile was deceptively charming. “In case you hadn’t noticed, cops are jerks.”

  “I’ve noticed.” She stared at him, not sure whether to believe him. Maybe he was the one yanking her chain. Bu
t she felt a little embarrassed because she’d always suspected the cops she dealt with didn’t much care for her. She felt a little bit like a fool because this man knew it.

  “I can help you cut through the bullshit,” he added. “Could end up saving you some time and effort.”

  Kate had planned on giving him the grunt work involved with the case. Background checks. Delivering files. Anything to keep him out of her hair. But if he could help her cut through some of the red tape getting into the police evidence room, it might be worth taking him to police headquarters with her. “All right,” she said.

  “I’d like to have a look at that security camera video first.”

  Impatience swept through her. “If you had been on time yesterday morning, you would already know there’s nothing more to glean from that tape. This is a straightforward robbery, sexual assault, and double murder.”

  “I’d still like to see it. Just take a few minutes.”

  Frustrated because she’d wanted to get started, Kate turned and crossed to the door. “Conference Room B is open. They’ve got AV in there.”

  Once in the hall, she didn’t wait for him, but started toward her office to get the tape. She was aware of Matrone moving behind her. One of the administrative assistants passed them in the hall. A young woman Kate had seen a hundred times before but had never spoken to. She passed by Kate without so much as making eye contact. Then Kate heard the young woman speak to Matrone. “Hey, Frank.” He called her by name, then said something beneath his breath that made her laugh. Kate rolled her eyes, but it didn’t elude her that he’d only been around a few days and already knew the woman’s name when she did not.

  Kate retrieved the tape from her office and met Matrone in the conference room. He was standing at the window, looking out at the Dallas skyline and a slate sky that was threatening rain. He’d removed his leather coat. She got the impression of a tall man—well over six feet—wide shoulders, narrow hips, and legs slightly bowed with muscle. She felt herself hesitate as her eyes took in the length of him and an unfamiliar sensation that was both pleasant and uncomfortable went through her.

  She was keenly aware of his eyes following her as she crossed to the VCR. She inserted the tape and hit the Power button. “Here we go,” she said.

  Rather than sitting, he leaned against the edge of the table, folded his arms and watched the video in silence. Kate stood a few feet away and watched the crime unfold, trying hard not to let it affect her.

  When the tape had played out, she turned back to the VCR and started to hit the Eject button. Frank stopped her by putting his hand on hers.

  She jolted with the contact and jerked her hand away before she could stop herself.

  “I want to see it again,” he said.

  She felt herself flush, but within seconds she’d regained her composure. “Any particular reason?”

  “I just want to see it again.” Touching his head with his index finger, he hit the Rewind button. “Cops are slow. Sometimes we have to do things twice before we get it.”

  Not believing it for a second, she rolled her eyes and hit the Play button. The chilling scene unfolded again. Only this time Kate found herself watching Frank. Even though she had no idea what he was thinking, she didn’t miss the narrowing of those dark eyes when Bruton Ellis entered the store. The tightening of his jaw when he pulled the trigger. The flex of his jaw when Evangeline Worth was shot in the back and then brutally raped as she lay paralyzed on the floor.

  When the tape finished, Frank leaned over, ejected the tape, and handed it to her. “Okay. You ready to go?”

  Kate blinked at him. “Aren’t you going to tell me what you think?”

  “I haven’t decided what I think yet.” One side of his mouth curved. “I need to mull it over. Could take a while. It’s that slow thing.”

  She shook her head. “Now that we’ve pissed away half the morning, maybe we should get over to evidence.”

  Frank laughed. “Kate, I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

  It was the first time he’d called her by name, and for some reason it seemed too personal. “As long as you come in on time and do your job, there shouldn’t be any problems.”

  He was still smiling when he walked to the conference room door and opened it for her. “After you.”

  FIVE

  WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 25, 11:36 A.M.

  The Dallas Police Department was located on Lamar Street just south of downtown. Kate had wanted to drive, but Frank overruled her and they piled into his Chevy pickup truck—which was closer because it had been parked illegally—and headed south. Ten minutes later they entered the Jack Evans Police Headquarters building. They showed their identification and were issued visitor badges, and after a quick security check the elevator whooshed them to the fifth floor where homicide was located.

  The division was large and consisted of mostly cubicles with a few offices along the outside wall. Even though the new building was a designated no smoking building, Kate was pretty sure she smelled cigarette smoke. Cops. Jesus.

  Frank crossed to a Plexiglas window and tapped with his knuckles. A large African American woman was working two phones, one on each ear. When she looked up and spotted Frank, she snapped, “Hold on,” put both phones on hold, and came out of her chair like a tank climbing out of a gully.

  “Well if it ain’t Frank Matrone in the flesh,” she drawled, opening the door to her office and coming around to meet them. “I’ll be damned.”

  “Cora.”

  He’d barely gotten out the name when she stood on her tiptoes and threw her arms around him. “Didn’t think I’d ever lay eyes on you again. How you been, Sugar?”

  Sugar? Frank Matrone was a lot of things, but sugar wasn’t one of them. Kate watched the exchange in stunned silence. In the two years she’d been coming to the police department evidence room, the woman Frank had called Cora hadn’t uttered a single kind word.

  “I’m good.” Pulling back slightly, he grinned at her. “I look good, don’t I?”

  “Good enough to eat. If I was ten years younger and a hundred pounds lighter I’d be all over your ass.” She frowned at Kate. “What you doing wit’ her?”

  “I work for the DA’s office now. Investigator.”

  “Nice title.”

  “I thought so.” Frank motioned to Kate. “This is ADA Kate Megason.”

  Feeling left out, Kate stuck out her hand. “Hello.”

  Cora all but sneered, but accepted the handshake. “You looking to get into evidence?”

  Kate nodded. “Yes, can you call the sergeant for us, please?”

  “Oh, hell, I don’t need to call the sergeant when you got Frank wit’ you.” Waving them off, Cora turned and went back to her office. “Just sign in and I’ll buzz you through.”

  Kate couldn’t believe it. For the past two years every time she’d come to the police department to review evidence for a case, she’d had to fill out forms. Plus, wait on the sergeant in charge of evidence to arrive so he could accompany her into the room. She considered that as she signed her name and title.

  “Which case you lookin’ at today?” Cora asked Frank.

  “Bruton Ellis,” Frank replied.

  “You going to be looking for box number 5335B,” the clerk said. “Item 5335A is in a bag on the shelf next to it. Let me know if you need any help.”

  “I think we got it covered,” Frank said.

  The buzzer sounded. The lock clicked. Frowning, Kate reached for the knob.

  “You be sure to say goodbye when you leave,” Cora called out to Frank. “I want to show you a picture of my new grandbaby.”

  He shot her a smile over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t dream of walking out of here and not seeing you again.”

  She threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, bull. Matrone, you’re so full of it!”

  Rolling her eyes, Kate shoved open the door and walked in. The evidence room was huge and windowless and filled with rows of industrial-st
eel shelving with particleboard shelves that ran from floor to ceiling. She heard Frank behind her, but she proceeded down the narrow aisle until she found the numbered box she was looking for. “Here we go.”

  “Let me get that for you.” Nudging her aside, Frank lifted the box from the shelf. Kate stood on her tiptoes and, on the shelf next to where the box had been, found item number 5335A wrapped in plastic. It was the shotgun Bruton Ellis had used to murder Evangeline Worth and Irma Trevino.

  She pulled the gun off the shelf. “So how did you manage that?” she asked as they carried both items to the table.

  “It wasn’t that heavy. . . .”

  “Not the box,” she snapped before realizing he was messing with her. She pursed her lips. “I meant getting in here without having to jump through hoops.”

  “Cora and I go way back.” When Kate only continued to look at him, he shrugged and added, “They know me.”

  “They know me, too.”

  He carried the box to a beat-up wooden table in the back corner. She followed with the bagged shotgun and set it on the table. “Why do they make me jump through hoops and not you?”

  “She wants my body.”

  “I’m serious,” she said.

  “I’m not kidding. If I didn’t like being groped by women so much, I would have filed—”

  “Matrone,” she cut in firmly.

  Frank cleared his throat and sobered. “You sure you want to know?”

  “If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t have asked.”

  “The cops don’t much care for you,” he said.

  Kate knew better than to let that get to her. She knew she wasn’t always a nice person. But over the years she’d learned that nice didn’t always get the job done. She didn’t come here to win personality points or make friends. Her job required her to get things done. In order to be effective, most of the time she had to be firm.

  He removed the lid from the box. “Not much here,” he said, pulling a large plastic bag from the box. “Looks like the M.E. hasn’t sent the clothing over yet.”

  “Clothing went to the Institute of Forensic Sciences lab.”