“What if I tip over the edge, become like those guys in prison? It’d be so easy.”
“You’re not made that way. Your heart is too good.”
He threw up his hands. “See? I already have you fooled. That’s the first step of any predator—gaining the victim’s trust.”
Morgan frowned at him. “I stopped being a victim years ago. Not all of us are that easily fooled, Parkin.”
Alex gulped the remaining coffee and rose from his chair, wondering why the hell he’d even told her all that. “You ready?”
She gathered up her trash and deposited it in a nearby bin.
“We are not done with this conversation, Alex.”
“Yeah, we are. There’s nothing more to say,” he said, falling in step with her as she headed for the front door.
“You think you’re the only one who walks that line?” she asked.
“No, but I’m the only one I worry about.”
*~*~*
Sarah’s apartment was located in a carriage house behind one of the district’s old mansions. The small building was inviting, done up in yellow and white, with colorful flowers sitting in terra cotta pots on the porch.
“This is nice,” Alex said as they headed for the front door. “I could live here, though it is a bit overdone.”
“I could too. It’s just the right size,” Morgan said. She angled a thumb over her shoulder toward the big house behind them. “As compared to that one.”
“I figured you for a mansion type of girl.”
“When I was younger maybe, but not now.”
“I like smaller places. My buddy has a camp on the bayou. I used to go there pretty often, especially when Alicia and I were fighting. It helped clear my head.”
“You two were having trouble even before the arrest?”
“Yeah. She didn’t like me being undercover, home only now and then. It was rough on her. Of course, I didn’t figure she would screw my partner.”
“Your ex had lousy taste. A choice between you and Simms? Give me a break.”
Alex’s smile told her he appreciated the compliment. Given where his mind had been at the coffee shop, she was pleased to see him shaking off the gloom.
He’s wrong. He’s not a predator. Never will be.
His words about her husband had been cruel, but after her initial shock, she’d come to accept that he had a right to be bitter. Six years of his life had been lost because of Wayne. If it’d been her in prison, she wouldn’t have forgiven him either.
Morgan knocked on the door, and it opened a short time later to reveal a woman with red-rimmed eyes. Her hair was mousy brown, up in a bun, and she appeared to be on the verge of more tears. Morgan introduced herself and Alex, explaining that they were investigating Sarah’s poisoning.
The woman nodded. “Her father called, said you’d want to see me. Come on in.”
The house proved just as enchanting on the inside. The wood floors were old, but in good shape, and the walls were painted a warm green. Carefully selected pictures hung here and there.
Laura led them into a kitchen with granite countertops and white cupboards, a line of collector plates hanging above them. It felt like a home. She gestured for them to sit at a butcher-block table. Morgan pulled out a chair and settled in. Alex chose to lean against the counter.
Laura reached for the kettle, then hesitated. “Tea or coffee?”
“Nothing for us, thank you,” Morgan said.
Laura filled the kettle. “Sarah and I met at a concert a year or so ago. We hit it off, so we decided to room together. She’s really sweet. A bit bullied by her dad, but she’s got a good heart. Her only fault is that she’s naïve, too trusting.”
Alex cleared his throat. “I know it’s hard, but please tell us what happened this morning.”
The woman nodded. “I’d just gotten home from work—I work at Ochsner’s ICU, so sometimes my hours are weird. Sarah’s boyfriend brought her in the front door and dumped her on the floor. Said she was sick. Then he took off, just left her there. I swear he’d have done the same thing if I hadn’t been home. Just left her there to die.”
“What is her boyfriend’s name?” Morgan asked.
“Casey Calloway. He’s a total prick,” Laura said, her eyes sparking now. “But Sarah never saw that in him. He messed with her head all the time, and she believed whatever he told her.”
“How long had she been dating him?” Morgan asked.
“A couple months. I was hoping she’d dump him. He made me nervous, you know? Just something about him felt wrong.”
Laura pulled a cup out of a cupboard and added a tea bag. Alex shot Morgan a look, clearly eager to get on with it, but she shook her head. Sometimes it was best not to push too hard.
“Sarah was having trouble breathing, her heart rate was sky high, and her muscles were cramping. There was some white powder under her nose, so I figured it was cocaine. I called 911, because she doesn’t do drugs. At least, she never had before.”
“When did you find out she was poisoned?”
Laura paled. “At the hospital. They’d seen another case like her earlier in the evening, and they said it was strychnine.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Why the hell would he do that to her?”
“You sure this Casey guy was the source of the dope?” Alex asked.
“Who else? I mean, he was always pushing her to do stuff she wasn’t comfortable with.”
Laura jumped when the teakettle began to whistle, then looked embarrassed.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’d be freaked too if my roommate was that ill,” Morgan said.
“It was so . . . ” she trailed off, then spent the next minute or so making the tea. A calming ritual, apparently.
“Where can we find this guy?” Alex asked. Morgan knew he was pissed and wanted some face time with old Casey. She was right there with him.
“He lives near the university. Has his own place. The address would be up in Sarah’s room.”
They followed Laura up the stairs and into a bedroom with an abundance of pink and rose-patterned fabrics.
“She’s a girly girl,” Laura explained, tears threatening again. “It’s why we get along so well—I’m a tomboy. We balance each other out.” She searched through Sarah’s iPhone, while Morgan took a visual tour of the room.
“Here it is,” Laura said, handing over the phone.
Morgan gave Alex a look, hoping he knew what she wanted him to do.
“You know, I think I would like some tea,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”
“Ah, sure. No problem,” Laura replied.
“I’ll be right down as soon as I put this in my phone,” Morgan said.
When Laura and Alex returned downstairs, Morgan smiled to herself. It was as if she and Alex had been partners for years, they read each other so easily. After making note of the address, she hunted through Sarah’s phone for more information.
Casey’s only form of communication was texting. His last one was just before three a.m., when he asked Sarah to meet him. Said he had something special for her, and this time she couldn’t back out. That it was going to be great fun, and she didn’t want to disappoint him. Not like the last time.
“You slimy bastard.”
Why would he supply coke to a judge’s daughter? That seemed guaranteed to buy you serious jail time. Had he known the stuff was tainted, or was that just bad luck?
Morgan laid the girl’s phone back on the desk and did a fast troll through the closet and drawers. All she learned was that Sarah was a fan of shoes, lacy white underwear, and was a 32B.
By the time she reached the kitchen, her partner and their hostess were sitting at the table, talking quietly. Alex had a way about him that put women at ease. Though he’d claim it was pure predator, she knew it was the caring side of him, the part of him he thought he’d lost in prison.
He took a long sip of tea and set the cup down. “Anyone else you can think of who might want to hurt Sarah?”
<
br /> “No, not really. She was doing well in school and had lots of friends. It was just Casey who frightened me.”
Alex looked up at Morgan, and she gave a quick nod.
“Then we won’t take up any more of your time. Thank you for your help, and for the tea.”
Laura nodded numbly. “I’m going to get some sleep, then head back to the hospital. I’m just afraid they’ll call and . . . she’ll be . . . ”
Alex took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “You gave her the best shot at survival. Don’t count her out of the game just yet.”
The tears flowed now. “Thank you.”
As they walked back to the car, Alex swore. “I want that asshole in pieces. I want to hear him beg for his life.”
“As much as I’d love that, you don’t need the assault charge.”
He sighed in understanding. “Anything worthwhile on her phone?”
“No. Calloway texted her, asking her to meet him. It’ll be hell proving this guy gave her the dope, no matter how much we push him,” Morgan said as they reached the car.
Alex gave her a feral grin. “It all depends on how you ask the questions.”
*~*~*
Calloway’s house stood back from the others on the block, with nothing special that called attention to it in any way. A blue Chevy sedan sat in the driveway in front of the garage. As Alex walked by it, he touched the hood.
“It’s cold. Bet he’s been inside ever since he ditched his dying girlfriend.”
Morgan gave him a searching look. “If you do go medieval on this bastard, leave enough for the cops to haul to jail, okay?”
Alex smiled. “I’m really getting to like you, lady. You know that?”
“I figured as much after this morning.”
“No, that was about sex. This is a statement of respect.”
“You can’t respect a woman when you have sex with her?” she shot back.
Alex counted himself lucky that they reached the house at that point. He knew conversational quicksand when he accidentally stepped in it. In lieu of answering, he pounded on the door. No reply.
He pounded again. “Calloway? We need to talk to you!”
He was about to batter the door a third time when it swung open, revealing a young man with short, curly blond hair, a scraggly goatee, and dark circles under his eyes.
Grieving for his girlfriend? Like hell.
“You Calloway?” Alex already knew the answer, because he’d seen a picture of Sarah and this loser on her desk.
The man gave them the once-over and shook his head. “No, he’s out. Headed for the airport. Going to Europe, I think.”
Alex grabbed the fool’s collar and shoved him back into the house.
“What the hell are you doing?” Calloway demanded.
Morgan closed the door behind them as Alex maneuvered him down the hall and into what appeared to be the front room. It made a city landfill seem pristine, what with the half-empty pizza boxes and beer bottles on the coffee table, and the cigarette butts and burned-out reefer stubs in the overflowing ashtrays.
Morgan kicked a crumpled McDonald’s bag out of the way. “Could you be any more of a slob? No, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”
“Who the hell are you guys?”
“The kind of people who really don’t like you,” Alex said, shoving Calloway so hard he landed on the couch. Then he stood over him, crossing his arms over his chest and putting on his “I really want to tear you a new one” expression. Just another thing he’d mastered in Angola.
“We’re here about the girl,” he said.
Calloway’s eyes narrowed. “You’re with them, right?”
Them?
“Yeah, we are,” Morgan said, sharing a look with Alex.
“But how do I know you’re working for the Russians? You could be cops or something.”
“Vy na samom dele obshchaya chlen, ne tak li?” Alex said. You really are a total dick, aren’t you?
“What does that mean?” Calloway asked, frowning.
“It means I speak Russian.”
“Oh, okay.” The man seemed to relax, as if that was proof enough. “I got the pictures just like you asked. They’re on my phone.” He waved toward a smartphone resting on the cluttered coffee table. “Go ahead, check them out.”
Blackmail?
Pictures of a judge’s daughter snorting coke would be a potent weapon, a clever way to buy Redburn’s judicial opinions on key cases, especially if Vladimir Buryshkin ever came to trial. All it would take was ensuring that the Russian’s case ended up on the judge’s docket.
“But you screwed up,” Alex said, wanting to keep this guy talking. “The girl is in the hospital.”
Calloway shrugged like it was no big deal. “I don’t know what happened. Sarah was just supposed to get high, nothing more. My debt’s all clear, right? That’s what the big Russian dude said. I get you the photos, I’m golden.”
Morgan picked up the phone and accessed the pictures. Then she slowly walked behind the couch, out of Calloway’s line of sight. He whirled around to look at her.
“These are good,” she said. “You got copies of these photos stored away somewhere?”
Calloway shook his head. “You think maybe I should?”
Morgan’s eyes met Alex’s and she raised an eyebrow. “It’d be horrible if anything happened to them.”
The loser nodded. “Okay.”
“Which Russian did you talk to?” Alex asked. “Vasily or Dimitri? We work with so many of them.”
Calloway returned his attention to him. “It was the guy with the broken nose. Boris K-something. Ka . . . misky? I joked about the bandage, and he slapped the shit out of me. How was I supposed to know? You know, it was weird. He didn’t sound Russian at all.”
Well, hell.
It appeared that Miri didn’t have a stalker problem—her attacker at the bar had been one of Buryshkin’s people after all. Alex shot a quick glance at Morgan, and she nodded her understanding. From the focused look on her face, and her quick tapping on the phone’s screen, he suspected she was deleting each of the incriminating photos.
If he could ever fall in love with a woman again, she’d be the one.
He refocused on the loser, leaning down to hold Calloway’s attention. “The coke was laced with strychnine. If the judge’s daughter dies, guess who he’s going to be gunning for?”
Calloway’s eyes went as big as dinner plates. “I didn’t know! They just said to buy some blow and get pictures when she snorted it. How was I supposed to know the stuff was bad?”
“Where’d you get it?” Morgan asked, moving back around the couch.
“From some guy on the street.”
“Name?”
The man shrugged his shoulders. Alex yanked him off the couch, sank a fist into his gut, and then dropped him back on the couch. Calloway bent over coughing, a step away from throwing up. As he struggled for air, Morgan set his phone back on the coffee table.
All gone? Alex mouthed. She nodded.
“Where’s the rest of the coke?” he asked.
“There isn’t any,” Casey wheezed, still clutching his stomach. “I didn’t have that much money, so I only bought enough for her.”
“What a truly thoughtful boyfriend you are,” Morgan said.
The conversation had run its course, and despite Alex’s sincere desire to beat the hell out of this little prick, Calloway wasn’t worth the jail time.
Morgan read his thoughts. She picked up a fast food napkin and scribbled something on it, then tossed the napkin onto the loser’s lap.
“That’s the local DEA phone number. Ask for Special Agent Fredd. She’ll want to hear what you have to say.”
Calloway’s expression shifted to terrified. “Wait, you said you worked for the Russians. You lied to me!” Then his future dawned on him. “They’ll kill me if they know I’ve talked to you.”
“Call the feds or update your will, because the photos are hi
story now,” Morgan said, her voice cold. “It’s your choice. We don’t give a damn either way.”
“What?” Calloway cried out.
As Alex shut the front door behind them, they could hear him storming around the house, spewing obscenities, none of them the least bit inventive.
“What does it say about America’s educational system that he can’t even use the F-word properly?” Alex asked. Morgan chuckled. He grabbed her arm, pulled her back toward him, and planted a kiss on her lips.
“What was that for?” she asked.
“For saving Sarah’s future.”
She rewarded him with a shy smile. “Score one for us. Now that we’re done with this scum, we need to talk to the other victims’ families.”
Which was the last thing he wanted to do. “I’d rather check with some of my sources, see if they’ve heard anything about where the dope is stored.”
Morgan hesitated, then nodded her approval. “Let’s get you a rental car, then we can meet later and compare notes.”
He looked back toward the house. “Buryshkin wanted that piece of shit to set up Redburn’s daughter, but somehow the moron buys the Russian’s poisoned cocaine. Is that rich, or what?”
“That’s the truth. I’ll give my contact at the DEA a heads-up on this guy. Maybe they can talk him into testifying against Buryshkin.”
“Ko-shack-ya lapa,” Alex murmured.
“What?”
“It’s Russian for cat’s paw. It’s what they’re doing—co-opting people. Making us their puppets.”
“Except you cut your strings,” she said.
“Have I? From where I stand, it looks like I’m still as much of a pawn as ever.”
Morgan appeared to ponder on that as they drove away from the house.
“How long, do you think, before they make their move against Calloway?” she asked.
“I give him one day, tops. Frankly, I’m surprised he isn’t dead already. They must be getting sloppy.”
“Like leaving the corpses at the warehouse. Maybe Buryshkin’s losing his touch.”
“As long as he doesn’t slip through our fingers, I’ll take him, sloppy or not,” Alex said.
Chapter Seventeen
Once he had wheels, a sedate, brown sedan that did nothing for his macho image, Alex made the rounds and came up empty. Hunting down some of his old confidential informants proved to be an exercise in aggravation. Three were dead, one had found Jesus and owned a used-car lot, and another refused to talk to him, unsure of where his loyalties lay.
Cat's Paw (Veritas Book 1) Page 18
