by L. A. Witt
“If you have another heart attack, I’ll kick your ass.” If I could erase that particular episode from my life, I would. It was the only time Vic had ever been less than capable, and it had scared the shit out of our family.
“I’m fine. Stop beatin’ around the bush.”
I stared at the television. It was easier than looking at Vic. “I think I fucked things up with my new partner.”
“How so?”
“Well, we’re working a case right now that’s . . . shit, I don’t even know how to describe it. Machiavellian, maybe. There are a lot of leads to follow, and more and more of them are ending with people turning up dead. One of those bodies was pretty much a warning to Andreas, and IA is breathing down my neck about him, and I—I misjudged a situation. I think, at least. I don’t know because he wouldn’t fucking tell me anything about it, and . . .”
Vic sighed. “Did you bug him?”
I blinked at him. “How did you even guess that?”
“Because you wanted to do the same thing to your brother. Remember? Putting trackers in all his clothes?”
“And I maintain that if we’d done that, you could have saved yourself a lot of trouble when he ran off earlier today.” God, had that just been this afternoon?
“It’s a violation of privacy, son.”
“It’s practical.”
“You can’t do that to people you care about. Not unless you got no other option, not if you want them to trust you.”
“You sound like Andreas.”
“And you sound like a sulky little shit,” he said, but it seemed mostly fond. “It’s rough, I can’t pretend it isn’t. And trust is a two-way street. So, your partner: do you trust him?” Vic’s gaze pinned me in place. “Regardless of what’s goin’ on that you can’t control and don’t know about, do you trust him?”
That was the million-dollar question. And in the end, it was surprisingly easy to answer. “Yes. I do.”
“Then you’ve gotta prove that. You’ve gotta give a little. And you’re gonna have to be the bigger man there, kid, because from what I remember of Ruffner, he’s never been much for trusting people. You have to set the tone and hope he follows. You can’t force him to, though.”
“I’m worried.”
“I know you are.”
“And I’m scared.” It felt like setting a broken bone to admit it: painful, but necessary. “Because this case is a big deal, and it could be an even bigger deal if . . . This could go way up the chain. Higher than I would have dreamed just a week ago.”
“Within the force?”
“Maybe. I think it’s more political, but someone’s working against us from the inside.”
Vic scratched at the silver stubble on his chin. “You know, years ago, back when your brother was finding his feet at the DA’s office, he came to talk to me about something weird going on over there. Cases that could have been prosecuted were being dropped, defendants who should have been sent away for good were getting off light. Nobody was talkin’ much about it, but from what he gathered, the DA wanted to focus on the big fish. Only there never was any way to go after the bigger guys, because there were no smaller guys around to get information from. That was back when Crawford was still DA, of course, before he ran for mayor. Ugly race.”
Ugly was putting it mildly. Crawford hadn’t been favored to win against the incumbent at the time, and had resorted to a smear campaign so brutal it could have come out of Tammany Hall. In the end, the sitting mayor was indicted for embezzlement, and also accused of having an affair with the underage daughter of an aide. He’d committed suicide a month after leaving office, just days before he was scheduled for sentencing.
“Nobody could prove anything against Mayor Crawford, of course,” Vic went on. “Nobody even wanted to try. Things have calmed down some since then.”
“I think they’re firing up again.”
“You can’t go after someone that high up without protection for you and your partner. Protection or an iron-clad case. You know that, right?”
I groaned. “I do know that, but I don’t have it.”
“Maybe you’re not talking to the right people, then. If you can’t go any lower, then maybe you need to go a little higher.”
“No lawyer or judge is going to talk to me about this.”
“Mayor Kramer has a widow. Nice woman, she and your mom email every now and then. She lives in a rent-controlled apartment over near the interstate.” Vic grunted. “Hell of a comedown from the mayoral mansion.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You think she knows anything? She didn’t say anything during her husband’s trial.”
“Maybe she couldn’t.”
It was a thought. If the list of contacts we had was being cut down by outside forces, then maybe it was time to focus on people who weren’t on the list. There were a lot of ways for the testimony of a criminal to be called into question, anyway. But Mrs. Kramer had avoided personal fallout from her husband’s takedown. It was possible she knew something or could point us in a new direction.
Of course, for her to point us anywhere, I had to be on speaking terms with Andreas again. I’d called him ten times since he’d driven off, and he hadn’t picked up once.
That was a problem for tomorrow—later today, actually. I needed to sleep, but I didn’t fit on the love seat anymore. “Think I’ll wake Asher up if I crash with him?”
Vic waved a hand. “He won’t mind. When does he ever mind you?”
“Hey, it happens.”
“Not these days. Go, get in there, go to sleep.”
“You should too.”
“I will in a few minutes, son.”
I left him in the living room and walked down to Asher’s door. It wasn’t locked. I let myself in, quietly got rid of my shoes and jeans, and then settled onto the close side of Asher’s enormous bed. I was trying to be stealthy, but his eyes opened just before mine closed. “Darren?”
“Yeah, ’s me.”
“Are you okay?”
I smiled a little. “Just tired. Can I sleep here tonight?”
“Sure.” He reached out and ruffled my hair. “Tell me about it in the morning, huh?”
You won’t remember to ask me in the morning. “I will,” I said, then buried my face in the pillow and tried my damnedest to fall asleep.
It still took far too long.
The direct approach had failed me with Andreas. I tried calling him once after I woke up the next morning, and got nothing. Okay, fine. I had ways around that. I drove back to the deli Andreas had taken me to earlier that week and grabbed a ham and cheese croissant. Then I went by Starbucks for coffee for three. By the time I got to the precinct and was actually face-to-face with Paula again, I felt pretty calm.
She, on the other hand, looked like she’d been there all night. “Omigod coffee, oh fuck, give it to me,” she moaned as soon as I stepped into the conference room.
“Why are you still here?” I asked as I handed over her latte.
“My brain.” She tapped the side of her head. “It’s too busy to go home. Don’t worry, I caught a few hours of sleep.” She pointed at the folded jacket in the far corner of the room.
“You slept on the floor?”
“You make it sound like a bed of nails. Nails. God. Can you imagine sleeping on a real bed of nails? Like, I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about all the hands that were missing them, y’know?”
My nose wrinkled with involuntary disgust. “I don’t think those are the nails the metaphor is referring to.”
“Well, either way it would be nasty. Where’s your dark and gloomy shadow on this fine . . . whatever day it is . . . morning?”
“Ah.” I gave her my best grin. “Actually, I could use your help with that.”
“Oh really?” Despite her obvious fatigue, Paula managed to impart an impressive level of disdain. “You fucked it up? In the space of one evening?”
“How do you know he didn’t fuck it up?”
; “Because if it was Ruffner’s fault, you wouldn’t be looking at me like a guilty puppy. Which, stop that, your eyes are criminal.” She considered it for a moment. “Fine. But only because you’re going to bring me a latte every day for the next week.”
“Service with a smile,” I promised her.
“Yeah, I wish. Hang on.”
She pressed the Call button on her phone, and of course he picked up on the second ring with her. Of course he did. I literally had to clamp my lips together to keep from speaking while she talked to Andreas. A minute later he was on his way, and Paula took her jacket to catch a few more hours of sleep in the break room. I was nervous—of course I was nervous—but all I really needed to do was keep Andreas from walking out the door the instant he saw me. That was where the food came in. It smelled good, I had to admit it. If my mom hadn’t made me waffles before I left, I’d have bought one for myself.
Shit, I really was spoiled.
I was ready when the door opened. “Son of a bitch―” Andreas began. I cut him off before he could get going.
“I’m sorry.” It was best to get that out there first, because I really was. “I shouldn’t have put a tracker in your car, I get that. I didn’t do it for the captain or IA, I swear to God. I did it because I was worried you’d try to ditch me and go do everything on your own, and lo and behold, I was kind of right, but―” I raised a hand in a placating gesture “―I know you were doing it because you felt like you had to. There’s stuff going on that you haven’t explained to me, and I’d really appreciate it if you would, but I’m not going to push. Okay? Not now. We need to work together and I need to trust your judgment, and I need you to believe you can rely on me. So. Let’s chalk it up to me being an insecure jackass and get back to work.”
No reply. Time to move on to step two. I tilted my head toward the food. “I brought you lunch. More like brunch for you, probably, because I doubt you’ve eaten.” Andreas looked tired. He was still wearing yesterday’s clothes, and they were rumpled—had he slept in his car? It still probably wasn’t safe for him to go home right now. If I thought he’d let me get away with it, I’d offer to give him a massage, because I’d seen boards less stiff than he looked right now. “And I had an idea about a new line we could take on the case.” Sit down, c’mon, just please sit down. Don’t walk out. Don’t make me leave you alone.
He finally sat and grabbed for one of the remaining coffees first thing. “Fine. Talk.”
I sat across from him and pulled out everything I’d dug up on the late Mayor Kramer. “First things first: how are you at sweet-talking widows?”
I could sweet-talk my four-year-old. On occasion, I could even pull it off with my older kids, though they didn’t really fall for it anymore. Anyone else could go fuck themselves.
Most of the time, anyway. Today, we needed an audience with a woman who’d sworn to spit in the face of anyone on this city’s payroll, including cops. Especially cops. If we were going to get more than five seconds of her time, someone with some actual charm and tact needed to talk to her.
My puppy-eyed partner with the smooth voice and the soft smile—he was definitely the man for the job.
I sat on the conference room table, working my way through the ham and cheese croissant he’d bought, and listened while he made the call.
“Ma’am, I understand completely.” He paced back and forth while he talked. “We’d be happy to meet you wherever is convenient for you. Yes, yes, I understand. No, ma’am, I promise we’re—” He rolled his eyes and mouthed Are you fucking kidding me? at the ceiling.
I suppressed a laugh, as much to keep her from hearing it as Darren. I didn’t need him thinking I was in the mood for joking or anything other than strictly business. The croissant and coffee might’ve melted some of the ice, but I was still pissed about the tracker in my car, not to mention rattled that he’d shown his face. If Blake had seen him and recognized him, Darren and I would both be washing up on the riverbank right about now.
But I couldn’t explain that to Darren without going into detail about my relationship with the kingpin. Or that no amount of apologizing or buttering me up with croissants—goddamn, this was a good croissant—was going to change the fact that he’d nearly fucked up that relationship and with it, our investigation.
With a huff, Darren shoved his phone in his pocket and turned to me. “All right. She’s meeting us at the Grand Royal Hotel at four.”
I raised an eyebrow. “The Grand Royal?”
“Yep. As she put it, if she’s going to talk to us, she’s getting a good meal out of it, and the city’s footing the bill.”
I grunted. “Given Mrs. Kramer’s history with the city, I suspect this isn’t just about scoring a three-hundred-dollar lunch on the taxpayer’s dime for spite.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. In her shoes, I’d want to do this in public. As visibly as possible.” I crumpled up the empty croissant wrapper and tossed it at the trash, but missed. “Hiding in plain sight, in a way—no one with anything to hide would talk to the cops out in the open like that.”
“You think so?”
“Call it a hunch.”
Darren leaned down to pick up the balled-up wrapper, and dropped it into the trash can. “You think she knows anything useful?”
“It’s entirely possible.” I absently rubbed my arm, which was sore as hell and itchy where the doc had glued it. “I hadn’t thought about asking her before, but your stepdad’s right—Crawford’s shit probably started well before he was elected, and the widow of his opponent might know something.”
He relaxed a little, as if my approval meant something.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. “We’ve got a couple of hours. We should probably—”
“Use that time to clear the air about last night?”
Son of a bitch.
“Which part?” I asked through gritted teeth. “The part where you bugged me, followed me, and jeopardized my meeting with a contact?”
“Jeopardized—” he sputtered. “Do you hear yourself? You were meeting with—”
“And do you think you’re the only one using trackers and listening devices?” I hissed, stepping up in his face. “Breathe a word in this building about what you saw, and I’ll make sure you’re reassigned so fast—”
“Do you really think the captain would reassign me?” he threw back. “On your request?” With a humorless laugh, he added, “Pretty sure you already tried that. How’d it work out for you?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Just be discreet, all right?”
“Fine. But,” and he sounded serious about it, “I don’t appreciate surprises like last night any more than you do, and I’d like to suggest that you tell me what the hell is going on before we have any more misunderstandings.”
“Oh yeah? Before or after you start trusting me?”
He exhaled sharply and turned away, throwing up his hands. “I apologized already. What more do you want?”
“You think an apology cuts it? Do you realize what could have happened last night if—”
“No, Andreas.” He spun around, his face angry but his eyes pleading with me. “No, I don’t realize what could have happened, because I don’t know what the fuck is going on. You’ve kept me in the dark since day one, and only give me little nibbles here and there to keep me placated. I’m trying to work with you. I’m trying to solve this case.” He showed his palms. “I fucked up. I admitted I fucked up. But would you believe for one second that I was trying to do the right thing?”
I held his gaze. Admittedly, I couldn’t argue with him. In a way, he was the equivalent of an eager golden retriever who chased after a stick and brought back an angry rattlesnake. He was only trying to do what he was supposed to do, and he didn’t actually mean to make things worse.
“All right.” I picked up my jacket and keys. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Wait, what? Where are we going?”
“Someplace where the walls
don’t have quite so many ears.”
Someplace where the walls didn’t have quite so many ears was a park down by the river. At least this was out in the open. Any eavesdroppers would have to be experts at camouflage to avoid detection on this sprawling, treeless riverbank.
I was admittedly extra paranoid. After what happened at the bowling alley, I’d spent two hours last night combing my car and my apartment for more bugs, and found two. One of them I didn’t recognize. The other was made by the same company as the tracker Darren had used. They could’ve been planted by anybody—one of Blake’s cronies, a double agent informant, the captain, IA, Darren. There was no telling for sure who was listening on the other end, but right now, they were both being treated to the sounds of an endless loop of exceptionally terrible and moist-sounding porn, coupled with a recording of a barking dog.
With the sounds of potential bestiality keeping the eavesdroppers entertained, Darren and I left my car and walked toward the river. We found a weathered, graffiti-covered picnic table, and I sat on it with my feet on the bench.
Hands in his pockets, Darren faced me. “Think we’re out of earshot of anybody who might care what we’re talking about?”
“That depends. You bring anyone with you?”
Groaning, he rolled his eyes. “You want me to strip down and prove I’m not wearing a wire?”
“Look, I get it—you want me to trust you, and you apologized. But you’ve got to understand why I’m so paranoid.”
He sighed. “Yeah. I do. And I swear, I’m not wearing any wires.”
I studied him for a moment and decided I believed him. He’d been pretty damned contrite all morning, and I suspected it wasn’t an act. “All right. So . . .” Shit. Where to start? “Okay, let me start at the beginning. Trust me—it’s relevant.”
Darren nodded, shifting his weight. “Okay.”
“I told you when I was diagnosed, I self-destructed.”
“Right . . .”
“I basically tried to do the opposite of suicide by cop.”
“You tried to get killed on the job.”
