Pas de Deux

by Jamie Craig

  “I don’t believe that. The shots were too close to be random.” The cool glass numbed his fingertips, helping him focus. There were too many distractions in the apartment. He hadn’t even heard Scott come out of his bedroom. “Maybe I should stake it out in my car, though. I don’t think my being here is helping you.”

  “No,” Scott said quickly. “No, that’s not necessary at all. Trust me, as long as you’re here, there’s a chance I’ll get some sleep. If you leave, I’ll just get out my laptop and work all night.”

  Duke nodded in resignation. “All right. I’ll stay.” He jerked his chin toward the whiskey. “Maybe you should pour yourself another. It’ll help you relax enough to sleep.”

  “I plan to. It’s a shame I can’t talk you into having any.” Scott refilled his glass with the deep amber liquid. “This is the sort of drink that’s meant to be shared.”

  This time, Duke watched more carefully as Scott drank, unable to resist appreciating how sensual it was. Strong muscles rippled, from the man’s firm jaw to the toned neck. Stray moonlight created new and interesting shadows as well, cloaking Scott in as much mystery as it did temptation. The sudden urge to press his mouth to the dipping hollow of Scott’s throat and feel it for himself drove him a step away from the counter.

  You’re on duty. Stop staring. Think about work.

  “Did you ever work on the list of possible subjects for the drive-by?” Yeah, that was much safer.

  Scott tapped his temple. “It’s all up here. But I’ll send it on over in the morning.” He walked around the end of the counter and stopped at Duke’s side, the half-finished drink still in his hand. He was standing much too close. “Unless you’re going to take a special interest and investigate yourself?”

  His throat was dry again. Damned water wasn’t doing a bit of good. “That might be considered a conflict of interest.”

  “Unfortunately. I would feel much safer in your hands…the investigation, that is.”

  “That’s only because you know me.”

  “Not as well as I’d like.” Scott held up his hand as Duke opened his mouth. “I know, conflict of interest. Major, undeniable conflict of interest. But I’ve had a long day and…” He took a half-step closer. Duke knew he should take a half-step back. “It’s hard to remember that.”

  “That’s just the adrenaline talking, James.” The name slipped out. He hadn’t even been aware that was how he’d started thinking of the other man, but it fit on his tongue like it was made for it. “I’ll make sure the investigation is as thorough as possible. You have my word on it.”

  “I know you will…Owen.” Scott smiled a little as he said Duke’s given name, and a small drop of whiskey clung to his bottom lip. Almost as soon as Duke noticed it, Scott licked it away. He seemed to move again, and Duke realized the other man was definitely invading his space. That close, he could see the hint of green in Scott’s eyes, and smell the faint alcohol on his breath. “It’s about time we’re on a first name basis.”

  Duke snorted softly. “About time? We’ve known each other less than twenty-four hours.”

  “I guess it just feels like longer.”

  He allowed a smile. A small one. Maybe it would be enough for Scott. “You’re right. You’ve had a really long day.”

  “Yeah, maybe I should try to sleep again.” Scott set his glass down, and made as if to turn around, but paused and took Duke’s arm instead. Just above the elbow. Duke was so surprised by the contact that it didn’t occur to him to pull away from Scott’s grasp. “Thank you for tonight. I mean, not being here, but the part where you saved me from getting shot full of holes.”

  “You’re welcome.” Heat seeped through his shirt from Scott’s warm fingers, prickling along his arm to his shoulder and nape. “Though whether you realize it or not, it was partially selfish on my part. Look at all the work you did for me today.”

  “Only because that work is going to pay off for me in the long run.” He flashed his first real smile since the shooting and released Duke’s arm. “I can promise you that much. See you in the morning.”

  Five small brands remained on Duke’s skin after Scott retreated. His nose was full of the scent of whiskey and Scott’s cologne, and he had to blink more than once to realize Scott was now even farther away. “In the morning,” he repeated. “I get breakfast, right?”

  “Breakfast, coffee, and maybe even a show.”

  Before Duke could ask what that meant, Scott had slipped back into his bedroom, swallowed by the dark shadows in the doorway.

  Chapter 7

  By his fourth cup of coffee, Duke couldn’t even taste it anymore. He’d been sucking it down since showing up at the precinct three hours earlier. Breakfast had been filling, but Duke had deliberately eaten quickly, anxious to get out as soon as possible. The night had been quiet. Too quiet. The most noise came from Duke’s thoughts, which had ranged everywhere from the shooting, to Scott’s silk pajama bottoms, to Nieves’s claims, and back to Scott again.

  Everything kept coming back to James Scott. Coming into work had been a godsend.

  The first thing he did was call the cops who’d taken their statements the night before. As he’d asked, they’d run the partial plate but come up with a list too large to really work with. He thanked them for their help, then got off and ran the partial himself. They might not want to trudge through a hundred names, but Duke had no such qualms. He printed out the list and got Winnie, the admin, to collate it for him.

  His second item of business was comparing Scott’s list of interrogations the day before with the names in Saucedo’s file. Of the ten names Scott had, Saucedo only had seven. Chandra Cunningham, Young’s outreach coordinator and supposedly the woman who could link him with Tana, was nowhere to be seen.

  She got his second call of the day.

  “I was wondering how long it would take you to call.” She had the husky voice of a pack-a-day smoker, and spoke like someone who couldn’t fit enough hours in the day. “Hector’s lawyer said you’re the new cop on his case.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, what do you want to know? I’m not sure I can tell you anything different than what I told the first guy, though.”

  Duke frowned. “You spoke to Detective Saucedo?”

  “Is that his name? Damn, that’s right. I joked about how his name fit his personality.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Oh, you know. Saucy. Flirty.” Chandra laughed. “He’s a chatter, that one. What happened to him? He hit on someone who isn’t as understanding as I am?”

  An image of Saucedo at the last police function, standing in the corner with a tall beer, laughing with a group of the guys, rose in his mind’s eye. Duke would never have characterized him as flirtatious, but then again, he’d never seen Saucedo around women much.

  “No, ma’am. I’m afraid he’s had a minor medical emergency, so I’m taking over the case for him.” Giving away the vague explanation didn’t bother Duke. He was more worried about why there was no indication anywhere in the Mayfield file that Saucedo had spoken with Chandra at all. “I’d just like to go over a few questions again, if you don’t mind.”

  “Well, if it’ll help Hector, sure.”

  “When did you first speak with Detective Saucedo?”

  She made a clicking sound with her tongue while she contemplated her answer. “Um, a week ago? Well, almost a week. Monday. It was the same day Hector got arrested. The same day I called you guys. He was here just a couple hours later.”

  So Chandra Cunningham had called them first. There should have been a record of that in the file, too, but he’d been through it enough times by now to know there wasn’t.

  “And why did you call, ma’am?”

  “Because someone had to explain how ridiculous it was to arrest Hector, that’s why. He adored Tana. He would never have done anything to hurt her.”

  “They had a working relationship?”

  “They were friends. How many differen
t ways do I have to tell you people, there’s no way he’s the one you’re looking for? She helped turn his life around. He wouldn’t repay that by tossing her in the bay.”

  Duke scribbled his notes as fast as she could speak. “How long did they know each other?”

  “Eleven months. Hector came into the center after Halloween last year. I never got the specifics, but as far as I can tell, he saw some bad stuff go down with some buddies of his that night. Something that scared him enough to look for us. He and Tana hit it off right away. She’s the one who talked him into looking for real work. She even tried loaning him the money for the deposit on his apartment when he moved out of here, but he refused to take it. He said he couldn’t start being his own man if he couldn’t take care of business himself. Now tell me that sounds like a ruthless killer to you.”

  Chandra Cunningham was convincing enough to have Duke debating calling Scott as soon as he hung up the phone. No wonder he’d been so cocky the night before. If the other nine people he’d spoken to were even half as cogent as Cunningham, seeing Hector behind bars must have seemed absolutely ludicrous.

  An email from Scott distracted him, though, and he spent forty-five minutes pulling DMV records on the list of names he’d sent him and comparing those to the collated list from the partial plate. No matches.

  Without a clear lead from Scott’s possible enemies, Duke returned to the list of missing interviews from the file. Nicole Rogers, the wife of the couple living next door to Tana Mayfield. A call to her got voice mail, and he left a message with his cell number, asking for Mrs. Rogers to call him at her earliest convenience.

  That left Richard Pennyworth, the night security guard from Tana’s building. Duke called building management to request a meeting and found out he was scheduled to work that night. He made a note to stop by and talk to Mr. Pennyworth after Young’s interrogation.

  Nothing he discovered swayed him to consider Young guilty. Frankly, Duke had absolutely no idea why the man had been charged. More troubling than that, though, was the question of why Saucedo hadn’t bothered to file any of his notes from the Chandra Cunningham interview. He might not have spoken to the other two at all—though how he could have missed speaking to the night security guard, Duke had no idea—but even one missing interview, especially one as important as Cunningham’s, was too many.

  Calling the hospital got him the brush-off again.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the nurse said. “I have orders. Mr. Saucedo is not to be disturbed without specific clearance from his doctor.”

  “I thought it was just a minor heart attack.”

  “I can’t discuss a patient’s condition unless you’re part of the immediate family, sir. I’m sorry.”

  Duke knew stonewalling when he heard it. He disconnected as politely as he could and gathered up his notes. This mountain clearly had to go to Mohammed.

  He made it all the way to the parking lot before he heard running footsteps behind him. Winnie huffed closer, her apple cheeks even redder from the exertion, and thrust a pink message into his hand.

  “The DA called. He wants to talk to you about the Mayfield case. He said it was urgent.”

  Her normally careful writing was a near incomprehensible slash across the scrap of paper. DA Horan must have barked at her pretty good about how important it was, though Duke couldn’t really blame her for getting ruffled. Bruce Horan wasn’t the nicest guy on the block, with a superiority complex that made anyone without a title or an advanced degree fairly invisible. He was a hell of a lawyer and politician, though, which was how he’d risen to such a prominent position in the city, even when few people would cop to actually liking the man.

  Duke wondered for a moment what Scott’s feelings on Horan were, then dismissed it as inconsequential. Scott would probably call Horan a pompous asshole. Duke probably had more dealings with the man than Scott had.

  Thanking Winnie, he slipped his earpiece on as he finished the trek to his car. He didn’t need to read the number on the message. He had Horan on speed dial.

  “Detective Owen Duke, returning Mr. Horan’s call,” he told the efficient secretary who answered. He navigated through the parking structure as he waited, flashing his pass over the pad at the exit. Horan came on the line as the bar slowly lifted to allow Duke to pass.

  “Scott arranged a meeting with the judge on the Mayfield murder before tomorrow,” Horan said without preamble.

  “I know.”

  “You know? How do you know? I only found out twenty minutes ago.”

  Duke pulled out onto the sluggish lunchtime traffic. “He hinted that he might yesterday in our meeting.” It was pointless to pretend they hadn’t met. The drive-by made it public record that they’d been together. If Horan didn’t already know, he would soon.

  “You could have warned me about it, Duke.”

  “I’ve had a busy morning. I didn’t even think about it.” Which he hadn’t. Too many other things took precedence.

  Horan growled in frustration. “Well, think about it now. I wish I knew the clerk’s ass he kissed to make that happen so I could turn a few screws of my own. But I want everything you’ve rounded up on the Mayfield case since you took it over.”

  His jaw clenched at Horan’s callous condescension, but he still managed, “I’m in the process of conducting my own interviews. I’m scheduled to meet with Young later today.”

  “You think you can get a confession out of him?”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  “Then cancel it. You have more important things to do than wasting two hours listening to a murderer stonewall you.”

  “With all due respect, Mr. Horan, I’m not entirely sure you should waste any more resources pursuing Young’s conviction.” There were too many holes for Duke’s liking. It looked like Saucedo had gone for the obvious choice without really caring about the facts.

  Silence filled the line. Duke coasted to a red light and adjusted his phone where it slipped from its holder.

  “I thought your captain told you how important this case was, Detective Duke.” Horan’s voice had gone cold and hard. Those few seconds of quiet had given him time to harness his temper. “Telling me in the twilight hour that you’re not willing to give this your utmost attention—”

  “That’s not—”

  “I am not letting a murderer walk free because you’re unwilling to do as you’re instructed. Captain Sager assured me you were the man for the job. That we could count on you to put this son of a bitch back in jail where he belongs. Don’t tell me he was wrong.”

  He couldn’t believe he was actually having this conversation. He didn’t like Horan, no, but he’d helped him get more than his share of convictions. They had always had a respectful, if cold, relationship, based on sterling records. Now, Horan was treating him like a homicide newbie, like he’d never handled a murder investigation before and had no idea what he was doing.

  “This case has my full attention, sir. I want to see justice done as much as you do.”

  “Then I suggest you keep one fact straight. Hector Young killed Tana Mayfield. Your predecessor spent a lot of time putting a case together, enough to make an arrest, remember? Young is going to be tried for this murder, he will be found guilty, and he will spend the rest of his life in jail until the time comes for his lethal injection. Do I make myself clear?”

  Duke didn’t have a chance to respond. Horan hung up on him before he could.

  He resisted the urge to yank out the earpiece. Horan was blind if he thought Young was the answer to this case, and he was a moron if he thought for a second that Scott wasn’t going to tear him apart in court. Duke almost hoped Scott left him in shreds. He deserved it for his smug, self-absorbed arrogance. Hell, Duke would cheer from the back of the courtroom when it happened.

  A car honking jerked his attention back to the road and his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. He straightened out the car’s path and took a deep breath.

  Horan wasn’t
worth the wasted energy. Duke would give him the evidence as it stood. What Horan did with it was not his problem.

  He wasn’t much more relaxed by the time he reached the hospital, but with something definitive to accomplish, it was easy to compartmentalize his frustration with the DA and focus on his confusion about Saucedo. Until this case, he’d always held Saucedo in high regard. The man’s outward appearance might occasionally appear a bit slovenly, but it and his congenial nature hid a sharp mind. Most suspects never knew what hit them when Saucedo showed up for an arrest. He slithered past their defenses by being everybody’s buddy. The possibility that it had all been a sham left Duke more than a little anxious.

  He flashed his badge at the senior citizen volunteer at the front desk and strode determinedly toward the bank of elevators to take him to the fourth floor. In and out, that was the plan. Get his answers. The less time he spent in the hospital, the happier he was going to be. Over the years, he’d grown accustomed to having to question witnesses and victims in their hospital beds, but that didn’t mean he liked it. He would never like it. Part of the reason he’d always wanted to be a cop was so he could keep people from ever having to experience hospitals.

  The fourth floor was bright and cheery, souring Duke’s mood even further. The only valid explanation he could come up with for Saucedo’s negligence was that part of the file had been mislaid. It didn’t happen very often, but, occasionally, notes got put into the wrong case, or they got slipped into a dead file by accident. If Saucedo claimed to have done the missing interviews, Duke would give Winnie a call and have her pull all the reassigned cases. If not…

  He’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

  He didn’t bother the nurse sitting at the central station, but instead headed straight for Saucedo’s room. The door was shut, and he knocked once before pushing it open. The first bed was freshly made, and when he stepped around the dividing curtain, fully expecting to see Saucedo, he came up short.