Desolate Mantle (Street Games Book 2)

by L. K. Hill

  “Sam threw her. She landed up here.”

  Tyke’s eyebrows rose. “Threw her?”

  “Yeah.” Gabe finally reached the top of the pile. Buried in wood to her waist, Kyra had stopped struggling. “You stuck?”

  She was looking warily at Tyke. “Yeah. I moved around, trying to stand up. Now my leg’s caught.”

  Gabe lowered his voice. “That’s Tyke. He’s a good cop. You have nothing to fear from him.”

  She gazed up at him, expression unreadable beneath her pale Supra makeup. She looked so different that way. Like a teenage gangster.

  “Your leg, is it wedged?”

  She shook her head. “No, I just can’t find a foothold to push up from.”

  Gabe put his palm against the wall behind her and checked his footing to make sure it would hold, then held out his arm. She grasped it at the elbow and he pulled. Nothing happened. She came up two inches or so, but not enough to free her. Not by a long shot.

  “Do you want me to come up?” Tyke asked.

  “No,” Gabe said. “It’s too precarious. I don’t think this pile would hold us both. Here.” He took his phone out, turned on the flashlight app and handed it to Kyra. “Use it to look down around your legs. Make sure there aren’t any nails or anything that will hurt you if I yank you out.”

  She obeyed. “Nothing. Just wood. Might get a splinter or two, I suppose, but I can deal with that.”

  Gabe shoved his phone back into his pocket and stepped up carefully beside her, putting his feet directly next to her arms. When his footing felt sound, he squatted down, putting his cheek beside hers and curled an arm around her waist. Despite her less-than-feminine appearance, she smelled good, a mixture of citrus and floral scents.

  “Ready?” he asked, and she nodded. “One, two, three.” He’d expected some resistance from the wood, thinking he’d have to yank hard to get her out. With one swift pull she came lose completely. The momentum of his pull coupled with her entire body weight coming suddenly free knocked him backward. He fell against the wall, arm going out for balance, and she fell against him, her hands gripping his shirt at the chest.

  She raised her eyes to meet his, their faces so close he could feel her breath on his chin, and even in the darkness he thought he could see color in her cheeks. “Sorry,” she murmured.

  He shook his head. “Don’t be. Not your fault. You just, ah, don’t…weigh very much,” he finished, feeling stupid.

  Her face broke into a smile. “Oh, God bless you for saying that.”

  Gabe laughed out loud and Tyke joined him, chuckling behind his hand below them. Kyra pushed away from Gabe and turned, struggling to find her footing on the precarious wood pile. Gabe held onto her as she moved away and Tyke offered his arm from where he stood on solid ground down below. Between the two of them, she made it off the pile without further incident.

  Gabe followed. Tyke glanced up at him and, for a moment, Gabe thought Tyke would offer his hand again, but at the last moment Tyke donned a mischievous grin. “Really not holding your hand, man.”

  Gabe rolled his eyes. A chuck of wood came loose under his foot and he slid, nearly wiping out. At the last minute, he leapt into the air, landing on the pavement beside the pile and nearly falling on his face. Tyke frowned at him in much the way Gabe thought he would if Gabe suddenly decided to try out a ballet stance. Kyra either didn’t notice his near mishap or pretended not to.

  She turned to face the two of them and an awkward silence descended. “Um, thanks,” she said.

  “No,” Gabe said. “You helped us first. How did you get there so fast? It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes from when I left you the voice mail.”

  She shrugged. “I was only a few blocks away.”

  “How often do you check your messages? You just happened to get it?”

  “If I’m actually doing something—in a meeting or talking to people—then probably only once an hour, or however long it takes me to get to a safe place where I can check them. Otherwise I probably check them every ten to fifteen minutes. Gets kind of boring out here, walking around trying to network and absorb information. I’m on social networks more than you would think.”

  Gabe raise an eyebrow. “Are you saying next time I should tweet you?”

  Kyra laughed again. Gabe was beginning to love that sound. “I think leaving me a message is probably still your best bet.”

  Gabe nodded. “Well, thanks for getting here so fast. Once again you totally saved our operation.”

  Tyke raised an eyebrow at Gabe. Once again? It seemed to say. Yeah, Gabe would definitely be doing some explaining when they got back to the precinct.

  “Supra, this is Tyke Madson, my partner.”

  Tyke stuck his hand out to Kyra. “Nice to meet you, Supra. Thank you for your help.”

  She smiled and shook his hand. “Of course.”

  “You okay?” Gabe asked, looking her up and down. “Maybe you should get checked out the hospital.”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  “He threw you against a wall.”

  She gave him an annoyed look and he sighed. Definitely stubborn, but he’d already known that. “Is everything else okay?”

  “Yes—” she frowned. “Actually, now that you’re here, I have something disturbing to tell you about the Mallory Butler case.” She glanced uncertainly at Tyke.

  “You can speak in front of him,” Gabe said quickly. “We help each other on cases, and he knows the particulars of this one.”

  She nodded. “Mallory Butler had a baby.”

  Gabe frowned. “She did? I don’t remember reading that.”

  “Me neither,” Tyke put in.

  “In this place,” Kyra gestured vaguely to the alley system behind her, “the prostitutes don’t always go to the hospital to give birth. I have no idea whether there’s a birth certificate for Mallory’s son. Maybe. Maybe not. But, there will be a death certificate.”

  Gabe raised an eyebrow. “He’s dead? How old was he?”

  “Thirteen months. He died the same night she did.”

  Tyke’s eyes widened, and Gabe imagined his had as well. “How? From what?”

  “SIDS, apparently.”

  Silence stretched while Gabe considered that.

  “Well, that’s one hell of a coincidence,” Tyke said.

  Kyra gazed at Tyke, her eyes calculating. “Maybe.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” Gabe asked. It smelled rotten to him, too, and he wanted her theories.

  “For one thing, thirteen months is pretty old for SIDS. It usually affects much younger babies. Newborns. And to die the same night. I don’t believe in coincidence.”

  “So what was it, then?” Tyke asked, sharing a look with Gabe.

  “I have no idea. Honestly,” she shuddered.

  Gabe sighed. “Okay. I’ll look into it. See if they did an autopsy. What was the child’s name?”

  “She called him Wayne. Wayne Butler.”

  “When did you learn this?” Gabe asked.

  Kyra took on a somewhat chastised look, and Gabe could tell she was about tell him something he wouldn’t like. “I actually knew before I broke into your house.”

  Tyke gasped, but Kyra ignored him.

  “So why not tell me then?” Gabe asked, following suite.

  She sighed. “Because I’d never heard that Mallory had a baby either. I wanted to make sure it was true—that Sadie knew what she was talking about—and avoid sending you on a wild goose chase. Besides, I wanted to investigate it further. I hoped I’d find something more than just the stark facts.”

  “And did you?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “The baby was at a sitter’s, an old woman who helps out the working girls who have children. I talked to her about anything strange that may have happened that night, but this woman is hard of hearing. If anything weird happened, I think she slept through it.”

  “We’ll need her name,” Tyke said.

  K
yra gave it.

  The silence stretched again, and Gabe turned to Tyke. “Can you give us a minute?”

  “Oh. Sure. I’ll just be…over here.” He moved away, stopping to loiter far enough away that he wouldn’t hear their conversation.

  “Kyra, I wanted you to know…the man we picked up back there for solicitation? We just needed a reason to bring him in. We think he can tell us something about our killer. The one targeting prostitutes.”

  “Danny Bronco?” She sounded skeptical. “What do you think he can tell you?”

  “You know him?” Gabe asked.

  She shrugged. “Only by reputation. I’ve never spoken with him.”

  Gabe nodded. “Our vice unit says he’s friendly with most of the working girls and knows their comings and goings. If anyone else—besides you, I mean—has noticed the killer or that the girls are being targeted in any way, it’ll be him.”

  She gazed steadily at him, her face alert, but unreadable.

  Gabe shrugged. “I wanted you to know that we’re actively working on it.”

  She gave him a genuine smile and met his eyes. “I’m glad.” She glanced over to where Tyke seemed to be trying to scrap something off his shoe. “You seem to trust him.”

  “With my life,” Gabe said without hesitation.

  She smiled again. “Good.”

  A large, dark circle on her neck drew Gabe’s eyes. He hadn’t noticed it before now, but it didn’t seem like the kind of thing that would have happened being thrown into the wood pile. “Every time I see you, you have fresh bruises.”

  She immediately looked self-conscious, and her hand twitched upward. “The Slip Mire is dangerous. And I’m not the most graceful woman in the world.”

  “Grace had nothing to do with Sam picking you up and throwing you. You really ought to see a doctor.”

  She shook her head, sounding annoyed. “I’m fine, Detective. What’s your point?”

  “You’re not…letting anyone abuse you, are you?”

  She smiled without humor. “I wear a disguise and carry a gun. Do I seem like the kind of girl to let anyone do anything to me?”

  He smiled in spite of himself. “No,” he said softly. “Is there anything you need? Anything I can do?”

  She began backing away from him. “Not tonight.”

  He wanted her to stay, but could think of no reason to keep her. “Be careful out there, okay?”

  “Right back at ya, Detective. Don’t slide on any more loose wood.”

  “Hey!” So much for her not noticing.

  She grinned at him and turned away. A moment later, she’d disappeared into the shadows.

  “Okay,” Tyke’s voice at his shoulder a minute later made him jump. “Start talking.”

  Chapter 11

  “Think he’s nervous enough, yet?” Tyke asked as Gabe strode into the observation room. Gabe glanced toward the glass window. Behind it, Johnny Bronco sat at a table, his leg bouncing nervously. He ran his hand over his head, as though he wanted to run it through his hair, but he was mostly bald, with only patches of greasy brown fur above his ears and neck. A husky man of mixed ethnicity, he had dark eyes and olive skin.

  “Actually Tyke,” Shaun said, coming into the room with Detective Howard in tow. “Howards is gonna help Gabe with this. He’s dealt with Bronco before and may be able to get more out of him.”

  Tyke met Gabe’s eyes. He shrugged with only the slightest hesitation, but Gabe caught the irritation in his best friend’s eyes.

  “Fine by me,” Tyke said. “Mind if I observe from here?”

  “I was going to ask you to,” Gabe said. “I’d like another pair of eyes to keep tabs on his body language.”

  “Well, you’ll have two,” Shaun said, setting his file folder and coffee cup on the table and taking up a position beside Tyke. “And the answer to your question is yes. He’s nervous enough. Go ahead.”

  Gabe nodded and followed Howards out one door and then through another.

  As soon as Howards opened the door to the interrogation room, Bronco leapt to his feet. “This is bullshit, man! I was framed! Entrapment’s what that was! You can’t—”

  “Relax, Johnny,” Howards snapped.

  Bronco didn’t relax, but he stopped shouting.

  “Please sit down,” Howards said.

  Bronco didn’t budge.

  “Sit down,” the other detective said in a more commanding voice.

  Glaring first at Howards, then at Gabe, Bronco dropped angrily into his chair.

  “Thank you,” Howards said, and took the seat across the table from Bronco. Gabe remained standing, leaning against the wall beside the door. “Now,” Howards continued. “You were caught soliciting a prostitute—”

  “Pfft. Right. She a cop too?”

  Gabe’s heart sped up. Bellamy’s cover was on the line here.

  Howards sat back in his seat, looking relaxed. “You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, Johnny. The sting operation was set up to trap her. She’s a well-known prostitute in these parts and has information on several other girls vice needs to know about. You’re just the poor schmuck who decided to solicit her tonight.”

  Bronco’s shoulders slumped, the corners of his mouth curling into a pout.

  “That said,” Howards leaned forward, laced his fingers, and rested his hands atop the table. “We might be able to help you out. If you help us out.”

  Bronco’s eyes came up. “Yeah? How?”

  “This is detective Nichols.” Howards motioned to Gabe without taking his eyes off Bronco. “He works homicide in the Mire. If you can supply him with some information, we may be able to make this particular solicitation charge go away. You game, Johnny?”

  Bronco looked Gabe up and down, sizing him up. Gabe elected to keep his face passive, not giving anything away. Bronco’s eyes slid back to Howards, looking distinctly unhappy.

  “Nichols is a decent guy, Bronco. He’ll treat you fair. And this is your third strike, isn’t it?”

  Bronco gave an exaggerated sigh reached back to massage his ample neck. “Fine. What you want to know?”

  Gabe stepped forward. “Howards tells me you keep tabs on most of the working girls in your part of the Mire.”

  Bronco glared at Howards again.

  “I don’t mean their services, Johnny,” Gabe said quickly. “I mean you watch out for them.”

  Bronco shrugged. “They take care of me. I take care of them. They nice girls. Take care of my needs—”

  “That’s not going to help you here, Johnny,” Howards interrupted.

  Bronco rolled his eyes. “I know you cops think they all whores, but most of them are real sweet-natured. I don’t wanna see ‘em get hurt.”

  Gabe nodded. “I believe you. And I’m glad you watch out for them. They need it, and I’m sure they appreciate it.”

  Bronco made another “pfft” sound, which Gabe ignored.

  “But you haven’t done very well looking out for them this past week, have you Johnny? Three of them have ended up dead.”

  Bronco’s face fell into a stony blankness.

  Gabe straightened and waited for him to speak again.

  “That’s what this is about?” he finally asked, expression unchanged. “Them dead girls in the Mire? If you gonna accuse me of that I want a lawyer.”

  “No one’s accusing you of anything, Johnny,” Howards said, voice strong and steady. “But neither will we believe you know nothing about it. You pay attention to everything that goes down in the Mire. You must know something about the killer. Something our crimes scenes won’t tell us.”

  “Well I don’t!” Bronco angrily mashed his hands into the front pocket of his hoody and stared at the table hard enough to bore a hole through it. He was so livid, his face turned purple.

  “Johnny,” Howards said quietly, patiently. “Remember that solicitation charge.”

  “Remember the girls,” Gabe added. “You say you care about them. This psycho is targeting them. Thr
ee in a week is one hell of a murder spree. That kind of rage has nowhere to go, Johnny. He’ll take it out on more of these girls. Help us protect them.”

  Bronco’s face softened, but he kept his eyes firmly on the table.

  Gabe felt a flare of irritation. “If he kills them all, who’ll take care of your needs then?”

  Bronco glared daggers at Gabe. At least he wasn’t staring at the table anymore. After a moment, he sat back and heaved a deep sigh. “I don’t know who’s doin’ it. And I don’t think this will help you out none.”

  “Tell us what you know,” Gabe said firmly. “Let us decide how helpful it is.”

  Bronco swung his gaze between Gabe and Howards, looking conflicted. “It has nothing to do with them ones that was murdered.”

  “What do you mean?” Gabe asked.

  Bronco sighed again. He looked at Howards. “You remember Lacy? You picked her up a couple of times?”

  Howards nodded. “Sure. Lacy.”

  Bronco rolled his eyes. “You don’t remember her at all. Anyway, a while back—”

  “How long, Bronco?” Howards interrupted again. “We need a time line.”

  “I don’t know man!” He moderated his tone when Howards gave him a warning look. “I guess it was about two months ago. I was…” he glanced up at them, “a little out of my head.”

  “You were high,” Howards nodded. “Go on.”

  “I didn’t know where I was. I wandered into the Mire. Real deep. Deeper than I’d usually go.”

  “How deep?” Gabe asked.

  “Close to where the Prowlers stake their claim.”

  Gabe frowned. “Did you have an encounter with one of them?”

  Bronco shook his head. “Naw, man. But while I was there, I heard this scream. And Lacy came running out of a place deeper than where I was. Like I said, I was outta my mind, so I got spooked and ran. Either she was wearin’ wings that night, or I was trippin’, ‘cuz she kept up with me.

  “When we got to M Street, my head felt clearer. I asked her if she was okay. She kept going on about a monster or demon that tried to kill her. I figured one of her customers just beat on her, but she was real spooked by it. I took her home.”

  “Was she hurt?” Gabe asked.