The commissioner stared at him. Al stared back. Crap, what if he did get fired?
I could spend more time with Noir, er, Lucy.
“I understand where your attitude comes from, Captain, especially knowing how my predecessor did this job.” The commissioner crossed his arms over his chest. “I haven’t earned your trust.”
Al shrugged. “The way of the world.”
“Let’s play a game. If you had one wish that I could grant, what would it be?”
“I hate games.”
“One wish, Captain.”
“Okay. Then give me more resources to do my job well,” Al snapped.
“Sounds like a lot of wishes.”
“I need a lot of resources.”
“Such as?”
This was definitely a trap. Al answered honestly anyway.
“I’m putting together my own team in Major Crimes. The chief of detectives has been trying to get approval of the personnel I want through regular channels, but everyone is territorial about their people. If the approval came down from your office, I could grab the cops I need in a heartbeat.”
“And you think your judgment is so good that you deserve a blank check for your team, Detective Fixit?”
Like many who used the nickname, the commissioner said it with a sneer.
“Captain Fixit,” Al corrected. “And, yes, I deserve it. Ain’t nobody else stepping up to the plate, which is why I’m stuck with the nickname.”
The commissioner stared for a bit longer and then nodded. “All right, Captain Fixit. You send me a list of who you want on your team by noon the Friday before the holiday, and I’ll approve it.”
Al cleared his throat. “You’re kidding.”
“No.” The commissioner smiled. “You are apparently the best I’ve got. I’m not going to waste your skills just because you’re a pain in the ass.” He went back around and sat at his desk. “But you fuck this up, I’ll make sure you get the lion’s share of the blame. I’ll kick your ass off the force in a heartbeat.”
“Put up or shut up, then,” Al said.
“You got that right. But there’s one condition.”
“Knew it was too good to be true.”
“The condition is you solve this museum murder ASAP. Make it a victory for the department, and you’ll have what you need. If not, you’re screwed.”
“I can live with that.”
“We both have to live with that.” The commissioner waved him out of the room, and Al didn’t know whether to cheer or groan. Was this the commissioner setting him up to fail, or was this a new start? He supposed it didn’t matter either way until or unless he solved the museum murder.
Once in the hallway, he checked the phone. A text, sure enough, from Noir and sent from the burner phone too. Something was very wrong. At least she’d sent the code for “call me ASAP” instead of “I’m in serious trouble”.
There was also a text from Alvarez, asking him to come back to the museum, that they’d found something.
He needed to do two things at once. He split the difference—texted Alvarez that he was headed back to the museum and called Noir.
“That took you a while,” Noir said.
“I was in a meeting with the police commissioner.”
“Crap. Um, did I somehow get mentioned?”
Oh hell, serious trouble. “What did you do?”
“I beat up a couple of guards at city hall. They deserved it. But as Noir, so they didn’t see me.”
“Are you okay?” Al took a deep breath and leaned back against his car. Not fair. She should only get in trouble when she was with him so they could do it together.
“I’m at our warehouse,” she said.
She was safe. Good. “I’m sure whoever you beat up deserved it. Run it through for me.”
Al listened to the whole story on the drive over to the museum. He’d always assumed most city employees were corrupt, so that part seemed par for the course. The immediate concern was that the guards had known who Cassandra was, and they probably knew where she worked.
“Noir, if Schneider has any pull, she’ll send a patrol to your artists’ colony. Don’t go back there and tell your people to scatter.”
“Already done. Cassandra was paranoid about the ‘pigs’ going after her people.”
“Good. She had reason.” One worry solved.
“Why? What’s this murder that Schneider was talking about? This Johns guy?”
“That’s the murder I’m working. Johns was a curator at the museum. Someone bashed his head in.”
“Oh. Wait, now what Schneider said makes sense. They must have been stealing stuff from the museum.”
“Yeah, it seems that way from what you overheard. Good catch, that’ll save me some time on the investigation. Keep puzzling out that thumb drive. It’s probably some sort of accountant’s code about the city budget. And stay put.”
“That won’t find Salvatore.”
“Salvatore Giamatti is a murder suspect now, and therefore dangerous. Stay away from him.”
“He might not be your guy. He’s really good to Cassandra.”
Al parked in the museum lot and made sure no one was lurking around. “Schneider thought Giamatti was guilty and this was a crime of opportunity, so if it was your friend’s guy, it might have been self-defense. My vic had a loaded gun. But even if it was self-defense, people who flee murder scenes are dangerous and desperate.”
“Al, I’ve done this before. I know that. But that just means we need to find Salvatore before anyone else.”
“Working on that.”
“So will we.”
“Have you considered you’re dragging a civilian, namely Cassandra, into this if you go looking for Salvatore? You can watch out for yourself. What about her?”
“That’s a low blow, Al.”
“But true.”
“Yeah, I guess. Okay, we’ll work on this thumb drive until you’re free. But if you find him, will you call me?”
“Absolutely.”
“And you’re not going to assume he’s guilty?”
“I never assume anyone is guilty.” Giamatti was probably guilty. But he was also a witness to government corruption, and if there was evidence of theft at the museum, Al wanted the people who did that too. “Except the guys who tried to grab you at city hall.”
Attack his woman? That wouldn’t go unanswered.
Time to start making his own version of a Christmas list.
“I’m less worried about them than their bosses,” Noir said.
“All the more reason to stay put.”
She sighed. “I thought you were eager for us to be partners again?”
“Being partners sometimes means someone has to watch over witnesses.”
“All right. And be careful, okay? You get reckless sometimes.”
“I’m always careful.” He hung up and parked his car. Reckless, huh? Noir didn’t realize he was far less reckless when he had her watching his back. Or maybe she did.
He stayed in the car, going over the new information in his head. How had Salvatore gotten involved with the museum stuff? He was just one of several accountants, so what had clued him in to this, whatever this was?
What really bugged Al was the body being displayed in death. That pointed to blinding rage, a big fuck-you to Johns. The killer could’ve been one of Johns’ partners in crime, but thieves didn’t make statements, they took money.
He wanted to brainstorm some ideas with Noir later.
Al went in the front door of the museum this time, rather than the back entrance he’d used earlier.
The reporter who’d been camped out on the front steps earlier was gone, probably bored out of his mind waiting for something exciting to happen. Real-life police work had no theme songs or snappy
montages.
A huge sign hanging over the entrance foyer proclaimed Winter Art Camps for the Kids! Otherwise, the foyer was strangely empty. He turned left and went to the security room, located behind a door marked Private.
Alvarez and the two security guards were waiting for him.
He sized up the room. Only two chairs, indicating two guards per shift, and one of the seven monitors was a CRT, not an LCD.
“Looks like the budget is about the same here as in my precinct,” Al drawled.
The guards, a matched set of brawny men—one black, one white—nodded.
“What did you find?” he asked Alvarez. He noticed a black duffle bag was at her feet. That must be the victim’s belongings. She was still keeping watch over them, as he’d ordered.
Good. She was holding up okay for pulling a double shift.
“Unfortunately, the video cameras surrounding Holidays of the World are inoperative. We’re not sure how long they’ve been broken.” Alvarez glared at the guards. “But we have video of our victim arriving last night, after closing hours.”
“Let’s see that, at least.” Yeah, it was too much to hope the murder was on tape.
The guards cued up the footage and Al watched a late model Ford Fiesta pull in. Not an ostentatious guy, the victim, or maybe he didn’t want anyone asking questions about how he could afford a fancy car. A battered Ford Taurus pulled in next to the Fiesta.
Unfortunately, the driver of the Taurus was out of camera range. The video stopped.
“That’s it?” Al asked.
“They went in a private side door that only employees can access,” Alvarez said, and the two guards nodded in unison. “No cameras around the back. But about thirty minutes later, the Taurus pulls out.”
“License plate?” Al asked.
Alvarez ripped a page from her notebook and handed it to Al. “Ran it already, Captain.”
“Good.” But inwardly he groaned when he read the name. Salvatore Giamatti, the missing city accountant. That moved Noir’s friend firmly into the “possible murderer” category. He wasn’t going to call her with this news. Better let this play out.
“Any idea where the victim was before this?” he asked.
“He left about two p.m. that afternoon and came back like you see here on the tape,” Alvarez said.
The guard showed him a logbook, which indeed had their victim signing out at two p.m.
According to Noir’s information, that jibed with the time Salvatore had left his office. “They went to meet,” Al said. “Any guesses where?”
The matched set of guards shook their heads in unison again.
Al sighed. “Okay, Alvarez, grab that duffle and come with me.” He looked at the guards. “Thanks for the help, gentlemen.”
The black guard cleared his throat. “I didn’t like him. Johns, I mean. I’m sorry he’s dead but he was kind of an asshole. He treated the kid who worked for him like a servant.”
“At least one person agreed with you or he wouldn’t be dead,” Al said.
He left the security room, Alvarez at his side. “Where are we going, sir?”
“The parking lot to look over Johns’ car.”
She looked away. “Um, I did walk out to it, sir. But it’s locked and I didn’t see the keys in his duffle.”
Al grinned. “Feel up to a little lesson in grand theft auto, Officer Alvarez?”
“Is that allowed, Captain?”
“Oh hell yes. So long as it solves the case.” He buttoned his coat and held the door open for her. “After you.”
Huh. She might even have blushed at his exaggerated gesture. Noir said he was charming every now and then. He never knew when that was.
Chapter Six
“I put in your anniversary as Salvatore’s password and it worked, Cassandra, but all the thumb drive shows me is a series of numbers. I can’t make sense of it.” Lucy sat back in the desk chair and rubbed her eyes. “Sorry, I thought I could sort it out.”
“I can’t either.” Cassandra stood and stared at the towering levels of metal shelving against the outer wall. “You could do great things with all this leftover metal.”
“I’ll add it to my to-do list.”
“I could make this look awesome, given time.” She turned around. “Your cop buzz you back yet?”
“No.” I hate waiting.
“I hate waiting,” Cassandra said. “I want to look for Salvatore myself.”
Lucy closed the thumb drive window. It was odd Al hadn’t at least texted her back, even with the museum murder to solve. Here was their chance to work on a case, and he had told her to sit on her hands.
“If we were to look for your guy, where would we start?” Lucy asked.
“I wish I knew.” Cassandra stared at the calendar page, the postcard and the knick-knack again. “Funny you should grab this from Sal’s office. I made it by slicing up a menu at a hole-in-the-wall place where we ate two weeks ago.”
“How did you get the paper to stay in this shape?”
“I sprayed it with a clear-glue base.”
“Um, cool.”
Cassandra set the little totem down and pulled out her phone. She checked her messages and drew back her hand to throw the phone against the wall in frustration.
“You shouldn’t. It’ll cost to replace.”
Cassandra carefully set it on the coffee table. “I miss the old phones and the days when you could slam down the receiver with finality. But, you’re right. I lost a phone not too long ago. Even with insurance, the replacement was two hundred bucks.”
“Did you track your lost phone first to see if you could find it?”
“No, I didn’t have tracking on that one but I made sure to get it on this one. Of course, I never lose this one.”
“Yeah, tracking is awesome. Oh. Damn, I should of thought of this before. Cassandra, is Salvatore on the same phone plan as you?”
“Yeah, it was cheaper that way—oh wait, I get it!” Cassandra snapped to her feet. “I could track his phone. I’m an idiot for not thinking of that right away. I’m contacting the carrier right now.” She punched in the number on the keyboard.
“It’s possible Salvatore isn’t at the same place as his phone.” Better Cassandra face a worst-case scenario.
“It’s a place to start.” Cassandra held up a finger as someone picked up on the other side. Lucy grabbed a pad and paper from the computer area and put it on the table in front of Cassandra.
“I’ll hold… Okay… I know, crazy how they go missing… Okay… Great.” Cassandra wrote down an address. “I know, you only have its last-known location. Thanks so much for your help.”
Cassandra held up the pad when she was done. “Son of a bitch.”
“You know where it is?” Lucy asked.
“It’s the restaurant I was just talking about. It’s called Rickey’s. She serves the most awesome pie.”
“Pie? That sounds worth a visit even if your guy isn’t there.”
“It is,” Cassandra said. “You game?”
Lucy checked her phone one more time. Nothing. Snooze and lose, Al. “But what are the odds of finding Salvatore still there? He can’t stay overnight at a restaurant.”
“Well, there’s a place to crash at Rickey’s too. There are a few businesses hiding in that underground.” Cassandra cleared her throat. “All off the books.”
“Let’s go, then.” Lucy tucked her phone in the pocket of her coat.
Cassandra closed her hand around Lucy’s wrist. “You have to promise not to tell your cop about this place.”
“He’s not going to care about illegal businesses.”
“I don’t know him. And we already had cops chasing us today.”
“They weren’t cops, they were city hall rent-a-guards.”
“Lucy. Promi
se.”
What the hell. What Al didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. And there might be pie.
“Okay.”
“You going to go invisible on me when we get there?” Cassandra asked on the drive across town.
“That’s probably the best way to search the place,” Lucy said. “Remember, if Salvatore wanted you to find him, he’d have called you by now. You may not like what we discover, if we find anything at all.”
“He could be a lying, cheating bastard. I know. But I need to find out, one way or another.”
“I sure as hell understand that,” Lucy said.
Lucy had thought city hall was messed up, but the neighborhood Cassandra drove to made her even sadder. City hall was offices. Business.
This had once been a thriving community where people raised their kids, worked hard, hung out and lived a good life. Home.
Now, much like the neighborhood near the abandoned warehouse, every other house here was burned out, only shells left. No doubt the copper pipes had been stripped out too for their resale value.
There were a few houses in the neighborhood with beautiful yards and newer cars in the driveway. Lucy wondered how the residents managed to protect them.
Once, the neighborhood block of corner stores must have been busy and full. Now the drugstore was missing half its roof. The dry cleaners had no windows and fire had charred the roof. It was just as well they hadn’t had a big snowstorm yet or else the roof might have completely fallen in.
“How can anything thrive here?” she asked.
Cassandra parked around the corner from the stores. “I could say the same about that neighborhood you and your cop built up. Or our artists’ collective. Or the gardens on the other side of town. Sheer stubborn refusal to look reality in the eye.”
Lucy smiled. “I get that.”
“I bet you do.”
Cassandra put up a hand to shade out the midday sun. “You going to do your invisible thing now?”
“Sure,” Lucy said, already having done it.
Cassandra did a complete three-sixty. “Jesus, Lucy. Give me some warning.”
“Noir. Call me that when I’m working.”
Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Sure, Shadow. Follow me.”
Ghosts of Christmas Past Page 6
