by Shady Grace
Shit. He lowered his chin to his chest, one hand hanging limp between his knees. The bright-red dye job, those huge brown eyes staring off into space…
Someone up there really hated his guts. This case just kept getting better and better.
“You know her?”
Kelly nodded. “Street name’s Ruby Slipper. She was one of Delroy’s girls.” Up until a little over a year ago, when the pimp had harassed the wrong John and gotten himself shot in the face. Another peek at the jagged wounds riddling Ruby’s body, and Kelly resettled the tarp. This wasn’t some drug deal gone bad. A death this brutal had rage murder written all over it. “Archer’s gonna be pissed.”
Of the two dozen or so girls in Delroy’s stable, Ruby had been the only one to take the asshole’s death for the blessing it’d been. While most of his prostitutes had shifted their regulars to other pimps, gone solo or disappeared altogether, Ruby had done the unthinkable and approached Archer for help. Being the stand-up guy he was, he’d agreed to her proposition, leveraging his status as Chicago’s lead narcotics detective by making sure she had a roof over her head and money to live on in exchange for information. Valuable information.
The two of them had worked well together. Thanks to Ruby’s tips, Archer had made several big busts over the past few months. Hell, he’d even called Kelly in to assist on a few of the arrests.
Telling Archer Ruby was their latest floater was gonna suck, but better he hear it from Kelly than anyone else. If such a thing as best friends existed, they were it. Besides, Archer would need Kelly’s okay to get involved in the case. Something he was bound to insist upon.
DeFranco’s CSI team wheeled a gurney over the sand and Kelly stood, swiping his hand down his cheeks to remove the rain trickling through the twelve-hour shadow on his face. “Tell me you got something I can use.”
God knew, the last thing he wanted was to interrupt Archer’s Monday post-game highlights with a whole lot of zilch.
The medical examiner reached into his jacket pocket and held a clear, plastic evidence bag in Kelly’s direction. “Just this business card. She was clutching it in her right hand.”
The expensive linen stock was both crumpled and water logged, but the embossed printing was clearly legible. Kelly flipped the card over and back. Only two words were printed on the front—Dirty Deeds, along with a Chicago area phone number.
He frowned. Sounded like a Sicilian clean-up crew. “Any idea what this is about?”
DeFranco peered at him over the top of his glasses, unrolling a body bag on Ruby’s left. “Um, that’s your job?”
Kelly grunted and slapped the evidence bag against his palm. Archer hadn’t mentioned Ruby being involved with the mob. Their deal focused more on the local pushers who ran the South Side. He shook his head and turned away, slogging up the slope toward where Ramirez stood watch over the waiting squad.
“Yeah, well, asking questions is my job.” Starting with the two witnesses who’d found the body. “Let me know as soon as the labs are in.”
“I always do.”
Kelly smirked, the wet sand dragging at his boots until he’d cleared the beach. A white news van pulled into the parking lot just as he rounded the squad’s hood, and he snatched the clipboard Ramirez offered him before quickly ducking into the front passenger seat.
Until he had something to go on, he had no intention of being stopped for a bunch of questions he couldn’t answer.
Drying his palms along the thighs of his jeans, he twisted to face the back seat. “Mr. and Mrs.…” he flipped through Ramirez’s report. “Weaver?”
“Why are we being detained?” Hostility glinted in Mr. Weaver’s blue eyes, and he jerked his head toward Ramirez through the side window. “We already told the other officer everything we know.” His wife pressed her fingers to her lips, and Mr. Weaver slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to his side.
“I just have a few follow-up questions, and then I’ll have Officer Ramirez drive you home.” Kelly smiled. “Standard procedure, I promise.”
Mr. Weaver’s thinning hair was plastered to his forehead. His wife’s dishwater blonde curls dripped over the collar of her white blouse and light spring jacket. Not standard attire for the weather by a long shot. “Can I ask why you were out walking the beach on a day like this?”
“We weren’t.” Mr. Weaver snuck a peek at his wife. She shivered and he pulled her in tighter, nodding toward the opposite window. “We live across the street. Clarice and I were having brunch when she looked out the patio doors and noticed…” He swallowed. “Something strange rolling in the waves.”
Kelly shifted his focus to Mrs. Weaver’s drawn face. “When you first saw the body, did you see anyone else nearby? Anything that looked out of place or even something that seemed normal for the time of day?”
“Of course not.” She shuddered a second time and Mr. Weaver reached over with his other hand to squeeze her knee. “I would’ve told the first officer right away.” Peering up at her husband, she shook her head. “Oh, Howard, this is just ghastly. How could something like this happen here?”
Howard Weaver patted his wife’s leg, murmuring softly, and Kelly glanced at the forms to confirm Ramirez had jotted down their address and phone number. “Chances are good the actual crime didn’t happen in this area, Mrs. Weaver. Keep in mind, tidal currents and wind can play a factor in where the deceased washes up.”
She gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, that poor girl.”
Yeah, maybe not the best visual to leave them with but, shit. Kelly’s senses had hardened over time. An unavoidable hazard of the job. Christ knew, after fifteen years on the force, he’d seen it all.
Still, a little diversion at this junction might go a long way toward making the Weavers more comfortable, just in case he needed them for a later, follow-up visit. “One last thing and then we’ll make sure to get you home safe.” He held up the business card. “Do either of you recognize this?”
Mrs. Weaver reached for the evidence bag and studied the card a second before shaking her head. She handed it to her husband and his lips firmed. “No.”
Kelly hesitated, sliding the bag from Mr. Weaver’s fingers. If he trusted anything, it was his gut. His time on the force, coupled with the hell Jaclyn had put him through, made damn sure he could spot a lie fifty miles off. Considering how Mr. Weaver had barely glanced at the evidence, Kelly would place bets he’d just been handed a pile of bullshit. And he would win. “You sure about that, Mr. Weaver?”
“Of course, I’m sure. My wife and I had nothing to do with his heinous crime.” He waved his hand around the car. “Now if you’re done giving us the third degree, I insist you have someone take us home or I’m calling my attorney.”
Kelly nodded, grabbing the door handle. Whatever secrets the guy was hiding, they worried him enough to lawyer up. If he did, the small crack that had just appeared in the case would slam shut. Better to let Mr. Weaver go now and approach him later. After things had settled. Kelly slid his attention to Mrs. Weaver. And when his wife wasn’t around. “Thanks very much for your time. I’ll be in touch if there’s anything else we need.”
He stepped into the freezing rain and Ramirez turned as he slammed the door. He jerked his thumb in the Weaver’s direction, unzipped his jacket and tucked the clipboard and business card inside. “Take ʼem home and have a patrol swing by to make sure everything’s quiet.”
She nodded as he pivoted toward his car, waving off the slew of reporters that had arrived while he’d been interviewing the Weavers. Once behind the wheel, he cranked the heat, worked the clipboard and evidence bag from his jacket and tossed them to the passenger seat.
He reached inside his breast pocket for his cell. A glance down at the business card, and he thumbed in the number.
Long moments stretched, filled with dead air. A series of clicks like the line was being redirected to a call center in India, and he frowned, checking
the screen to make sure he hadn’t been disconnected.
The call finally rang through, and he slapped the phone back to his ear.
“Password,” a male voice answered.
Kelly hesitated. “Uh…”
The line went dead.
He held the phone away from his face, scowling. “Damn, Ruby, what kinda shit mess were you in?”
Another tap of the screen to speed-dial Archer, and Kelly rested his wrist on the steering wheel as he waited for his friend to answer.
“What do you want, asshole? It’s my day off.”
“Hey, buddy.” Kelly dropped his head back to the seat, eyes closed. “I got some bad news.”
Meet the Author
Shady Grace makes Northern Ontario her home, where the bush is so thick you can't see two feet past the tree line. Perhaps the mystery of the woods was what initially sparked her need to write. She adores strong alpha males who fall for fiery, independent women, in settings with humorous dialogue and action-filled plots. Shady believes love and sex should be exciting and unforgettable. Being able to write about it is better than cheesecake.
Shady Grace is the new pen name of multi-published erotic author BL Bonita, who earned a starred review from Publishers Weekly for Dark Sun Rising. Visit her website at www.shadygrace.weebly.com, and find her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/shadygraceerotica.
