Ghosts of Christmas Past

by Corrina Lawson

  “When are you coming back?”

  “Not sure, but keep Giamatti here until I call.”

  He walked out, and she wondered if the sex had solved anything.

  How did you prove to someone that you wouldn’t stop loving them?

  Chapter Eleven

  Al would have pounded his dashboard as he drove except he was sure the dried-up, old plastic would crack and splinter. Instead, he bashed the steering wheel with the flat of his hand.

  This was not how he wanted to behave with Noir. He was supposed to be the mature one. He was supposed to be the calm one.

  He wasn’t supposed to get that enraged, he wasn’t supposed to use sex as some sort of…he didn’t know what to call it, but it had been fueled by desperation. He knew it. She knew it too.

  He was terrified of losing her and even more terrified she’d be better off without him, so he’d tried to end it quick and dirty. Fuck. Absolutely amazing that she’d called him on it.

  He slipped into the precinct, deliberately avoiding the desk sergeant on duty, and took the steps up one floor to Major Crimes. His offices were more attic than second floor, but he’d grown used to it.

  His desk, such as it was, sat at the top of the steps. He could see his crew coming and going and have a full view of anyone who might try to enter his domain.

  His desk drawers stuck, the wood in the middle sagged, and the less said of his duct-taped-together chair, the better. On the positive, his desk was neat, had a newish computer and, finally, a flatscreen instead of the CRT monitor he’d had until just a month ago. Noir would like this place. He wished she were a cop.

  The other desks, only one of which was occupied, were as neat as his. He liked neat. He demanded his crew like it too.

  Detective Jacobs leaned back in his constantly creaking chair and looked over his reading glasses at Al.

  “Ever going to trim that mustache?” Al asked.

  Jacobs grinned and smoothed his impressive handlebar mustache. “And give up my good looks, Fixit? Never.”

  “So what’s the story going around about my confrontation with SWAT?” Al sat on the edge of Jacobs’ desk.

  “Let’s see. Either, one, you beat Petit to a pulp for no reason; two, you threatened him with a shotgun and tried to kill him before his team dragged you off; three, you two threw down and had an epic fight, which he lost because you cheated; or, four, he attacked you and you took him out. Which is it?”

  “None of the above. He spit at me because I got in his face, then I bashed him with the shotgun. He went down after one blow.”

  “He spit in your face?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jacobs put up his hands. “Say no more, Captain.”

  “How bad is he hurt?”

  “Your doctor buddy, Leslie, said he was just staying overnight for observation. Said Petit’s got a hard head, just like every cop he knows.”

  “Hah.”

  “So what’s our next move?”

  “I write up what happened and send the file to the chief of Ds and the new commissioner right this second, and see what happens.” Al shook his head. “Petit had SWAT ready to assault an off-the-books restaurant with civilians inside. In full riot gear.”

  “Asshole.”

  “Yeah.”

  Jacobs pointed at his computer. “On the nonasshole front, I pulled Alvarez’s department file, like you asked. So far, she’s clean. Oh, she’s got some marks against her in the precinct.”

  “What kind?” Al came around to look over Jacobs’s shoulder.

  “The ‘we don’t like you because you’re trying to be a good cop’ kind. Stuff like not having shoes to department regs, or improper touching of a witness. Nitpicky stuff.”

  “About what I thought. She did good with me today. She’s green but trainable. We’re pulling her in.”

  Jacobs nodded. “She’ll pretty up the place. It could use it, between you, me and Zircher. But do we have the authority?”

  “The commissioner said he’d give it to me if I solved the museum murder.”

  He filled in Jacobs about the murder, the suspects and his plan for a confession. To his credit, Jacobs didn’t laugh in his face. But it was close.

  “That plan all depends on the assumption that Matthews will confess, that he’ll flip and that we can use him to get the others. That’s a lot of assumptions, Fixit.”

  “It’s my job on the line, Detective.”

  Jacobs pinched the edge of his mustache. “But involving the Feds? Ouch. It looks like we can’t clean up our own messes.”

  “And we can’t, not yet. You know another way these clowns won’t slide free?”

  “The new mayor will shit about a federal investigation.”

  “He can spin it like he’s cleaning up corruption, especially if we can get the Feds to say ‘joint operation’.”

  “Fucking Feds,” Jacobs said. “Better bypass the Double C FBI office if you want these charges to stick. Our local Feds could be on the take too.”

  “I’ve some strings to pull with the regional special agent in charge.” Al sure hoped they’d work. “Can I leave you in charge of setting up some covert surveillance of Schneider? I don’t want her disappearing while we pull this together.”

  “Oh sure, Fixit. Not like I have a life.”

  “Yep, your busy life is why you’re here at oh-fuck-thirty while everyone is gone.”

  “I’m meeting my guy in the a.m. He works nights.”

  “At a strip club, right?” Al grinned.

  “Fuck off.” Jacobs gave him the finger.

  “That’s no way to talk to a superior officer.” Al gave him the finger back.

  “What about your girl?” Jacobs asked.

  “My girl?”

  “Your unofficial partner who’s been helping with cases. Can she help with this?”

  Al stared at him. “Just what are you talking about?”

  “All right, if you want to still keep her a secret, fine, but there are some weird rumors going around about a mysterious girl helping you obtain evidence that you had no business obtaining,” Jacobs said.

  “It’s me. I’m a ninja.”

  “I bet,” Jacobs said.

  But he let it go, and Al settled at his desk to write the report.

  He should have known there would be rumors about Noir. Cops weren’t stupid. He wouldn’t be able to keep her a secret much longer. Maybe it was for the best they wouldn’t be working together much in the future.

  But the thought of being alone soured his stomach all the same.

  Once he sent the email, he called and reached out to the Feds. He only found one live person to speak with, an underling in the department he needed, but the agent promised to pass on the message. Al made sure to use buzzwords like high-profile corruption bust.

  Next, he called Alvarez. She should have gotten at least five hours sleep by now.

  She picked up after two rings, her voice full of tired. “Yes, sir, Captain, sir.”

  “Want to work an interrogation?”

  “Yes, sir!” Her voice snapped to attention and he imagined her body doing the same, ponytail bouncing.

  Alvarez, bright-eyed and ponytailed, met him outside the shiny glass condo building in the Double C’s downtown. He wondered if he’d involved Alvarez only because she reminded him of Noir.

  He should’ve asked Noir to come instead. But this had to be a by-the-book confession for the FBI. That meant no civilians.

  They walked into the building. A decade ago, as the city was in the midst of falling apart, someone had built this monstrosity to “revitalize” the downtown. Instead, it sat uneasily between older, stately buildings and was only half-full. Still, the condos were cheap, and he wasn’t surprised a young guy like Scott Matthews set up shop here, especially since the muse
um was only a few blocks away.

  The condo lobby made it clear the Double C was remaking the glass box in its own image. The marbled tiles were already cracking and the unoccupied security desk had what could only be bullet holes in the base. If Al remembered right, the original owners had gone bankrupt several years ago. Like many of the empty, decrepit houses in the Double C, the condos were probably owned by a bank that didn’t give a damn.

  “It doesn’t fit the outside image, does it?” Alvarez said. “But some of the interiors are nice.”

  “You’ve been inside?” he said as he pressed the elevator Up button. Matthews was on the twentieth floor. He could have hiked it, but he was curious if the elevators worked.

  Alvarez shrugged. “Had a girlfriend who lived here for a while.”

  “Ah.” Al thought about asking if that meant girlfriend/girlfriend or girlfriend/lover and decided it was none of his damned business where that ponytail spent the night.

  The elevator doors opened with nary a squeak. The interior walls contained graffiti and the carpeted floor looked stained, but Al had seen worse. The elevator started moving.

  “Did you have any problems at your precinct when you reported back last night?”

  She shrugged. “A few taunts. And they busted into my locker.”

  “Ruin anything?”

  “Naw. I know better than to keep anything of value there.” A pause. “Will I have to go back again?”

  “It all depends on how this goes.”

  She nodded. He supposed he should explain what that meant. Alvarez might view this interrogation as a test she had to pass before being brought into Major Crimes. That was okay with him. Let’s see how she did.

  They stepped off the elevator into the twentieth-floor hallway. This was more like the luxury originally promised when the place was new. The blue walls were unblemished and the shiny floor reflected the fluorescent lights.

  “Sir, why aren’t we interviewing him at the precinct?” Alvarez asked.

  “Because…reasons.”

  “I would appreciate knowing them, Captain.”

  He glanced at her. That sentence had sounded friendly enough, but after a day in her company, he was beginning to have some idea of her personality. That was her being polite because she wanted to be pissy.

  “I’ll tell you after we get a confession.” No sense explaining yet they might have to hide a killer from their own people in order to deliver him to the FBI.

  “A confession?”

  “Yep.”

  “You’re sure, Captain?”

  “No, that’s why I’m going to get the confession.”

  He let Alvarez knock on Matthews’ door, which was decorated with what seemed like a hand-knitted Christmas stocking. Matthews had a lot of faith in his neighbors if he hung up something that nice where it could be stolen.

  The door was answered by a young woman wearing sweatpants and a sheer, pink T-shirt, no bra. Al immediately felt bad for noticing her chest because her eyes were bloodshot and there were dark circles around them.

  Alvarez didn’t notice the sheerness of the pink T-shirt. One question answered. A girlfriend/friend, then, for the rookie.

  Al drew out his badge and explained to the young woman that they were police looking into Johns’ murder. Pink T-shirt wearily let them in and introduced herself as Matthews’ fiancée, Rose.

  “Scott’s just getting out of the shower. I’m sorry for my mess.” She smoothed down her spiky, half-blonde, half-pink hair. “Neither of us slept well last night. I don’t know what you want from Scott but he’s not going to be very helpful today.”

  “We just have a few questions,” Al said. Really just one big question: did her fiancé kill his boss.

  “Can I get you something? I have coffee brewing.”

  Al smiled. “Sure, coffee would be great, ma’am.”

  “Oh God, please don’t call me ma’am.”

  Rose led them into a cavernous, modern kitchen with stainless steel appliances and a dining island in the middle. She poured two mugs and set them on the marble countertop of the dining island. “Milk’s on the counter. I’ll let Scott know you’re here.”

  Al sipped the coffee as Rose left. This was not only infinitely better than the precinct coffee, it was better than his own.

  “Why did you accept coffee?” Alvarez asked.

  “To keep things friendly. Contrary to what you see on television, threats are usually less effective than empathy.”

  She nodded, set her hat down on the island, straddled the stool and took a long swig of the coffee. “This is great.”

  “Yeah.”

  Rose arrived back in about five minutes, Scott in tow. She’d put on a UMass college sweatshirt over her pink shirt and brushed her hair. Nice-looking kid, and he didn’t mind the scenery, but she was no Noir.

  Matthews wore sweats and a Yale hoodie. Yeah, he should have pegged that about them right away. Idealistic college kids lured to the Double C by the promise of cheap housing and the chance to be part of rebuilding. “We’re moving forward!”—so went the pitch by the Charlton City Chamber of Commerce. This pair looked like they’d taken the bait hook, line and sinker.

  “You also work in the city?” Al asked Rose.

  “At the community gardens,” she said. “I have a degree in agricultural science from UMass.” She looked down at her sweatshirt. “We came here to do some good.”

  Al nodded. “UMass? The University of Massachusetts?”

  “Yeah, my parents couldn’t afford Smith.” She smiled.

  A public university. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t dealing with completely naïve kids.

  Matthews smoothed down his still-wet hair. His eyes were red, bloodshot and unfocused. He stumbled getting onto the stool, only steadying himself with Rose’s help.

  “I told you everything I knew yesterday, Captain,” he mumbled.

  Rose stuck coffee into his hand. He drank down half of it and then held the mug in a Vise-Grip.

  “To get to the point, it has come to my attention in the course of this investigation that your boss may have been involved in some illegal activity,” Al said. Formality often relaxed people.

  Matthews slumped over his coffee, hiding his face. “So?”

  “Did you suspect anything like that?” Al asked.

  Matthews closed his eyes for a second, then shook his head. “Why should I?”

  “Because you’re smart and seem to care about your job,” Al said. “I can’t find who killed your boss if I don’t know what he was into. I need your help.”

  Rose took his hand. “Scott, they have to know to find out who did this.”

  He waved her hand away. “I don’t know!”

  “Withholding information from the police can be obstruction,” Alvarez said.

  Matthews groaned and put his head on the table. “I don’t know anything. Go away.”

  Rose rubbed his back. “I told you he wasn’t in good shape, Officers. Maybe come back tomorrow?”

  Not fucking likely, Al thought. “I understand. Do you mind taking Officer Alvarez to get your fiancé’s clothes from yesterday? He discovered the body. There might be some evidence on it.”

  Matthews groaned again.

  “That evidence might help us solve the murder,” Al finished. “I should have asked yesterday.”

  “Sure, I haven’t washed them yet. Let me get them.” Out of sight of the other two, Al tapped Alvarez on the arm. Alvarez took the hint and followed Rose.

  Once alone, Al walked over to Matthews, who still had his head down. Al leaned over to whisper in Matthews’ ear.

  “She’s going to figure out what you did eventually,” Al said.

  Matthews jerked his head up. “Did what?”

  Al was sure he had the right guy now.

  “T
ook out your boss.”

  Matthews finished the rest of his coffee. “No way.”

  Al leaned on the island, crowding Matthews. “I doubt she’s going to want to end up married to a murderer.”

  Matthews stood up so fast that he knocked over the stool. “Get out of my house.”

  “Maybe you’re not a murderer. Maybe you were protecting yourself.”

  Matthews took a long, slow swing that Al saw coming a mile away. Al ducked, Matthews continued his swing and nearly fell over. Al grabbed and steadied him. “C’mon, Matthews. If Johns’ partners in crime find out what you did, they’ll come after you. Probably Rose too.”

  Matthews straightened. “What do you mean?”

  Rose walked back into the room with Alvarez. Dammit, Al had been this close to a confession.

  “Did you hit him?” Rose looked down at the stool and put her hands on her hips.

  “No, he stumbled and I helped steady him.” Al looked sidelong at Matthews. “Seems he’s a bit worried about you.”

  “I’m fine.” Rose put her arm around Matthews. “But you need to go.”

  “In a minute.” Al picked up the stool and Matthews sat again, his head in his hands.

  “I can protect you and her, kid,” Al said.

  “What do you mean by that?” Rose snapped.

  “We should never have come here, Rose. The whole place is corrupt,” Matthews said.

  “Not all of it.” Rose rubbed Scott’s back again. “Please go, both of you. Can’t you see he’s in no shape for this?”

  “See how much she loves you, Matthews? But she’s in danger. I can protect her,” Al said.

  “What are you talking about?” Rose asked.

  “What makes you think we need protection?” Matthews raised his head.

  “Because the people your boss was working with decided that Salvatore Giamatti had killed Johns and sent a SWAT team after him today.”

  “What? Who’s Salvatore Giamatti?” This time, Rose looked at her fiancé for the answer.

  Matthews straightened and stood on his own, though he kept one hand on the island for balance. “You’re bluffing. That’s not true.”

  “Sure is,” Alvarez said. “Captain James had to pull rank on the SWAT team leader to get them to stop. SWAT put over twenty civilians in harm’s way to get to Giamatti. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind going through just one.”