Ronan hesitated a second, casting a glance at Diego. His expression was unreadable. “Yes, sir,” he finally said and walked out.
Diego let Ronan lead the way across the bull pen. He found himself looking at a messy desk. Ronan plopped down in the chair at the desk opposite his. It was equally messy. The guy picked up a large iced coffee and slurped on the bright orange straw sticking out of it.
Diego sat gingerly at his new desk and surveyed the paper and other detritus strewn over the surface. “I thought you said you’d cleared all of your cases.”
Ronan looked at him over his straw. “We did. Vicki likes to hang onto stuff that doesn’t have to go into the file. You know, background info, research, shit like that. Plus she’s a squirrel and never throws anything away.”
Eyeing what looked like stuff you’d find in Happy Meals, Diego understood exactly what his new partner was saying. “What am I supposed to do with all of this?”
Ronan shrugged. “Stuff it in a box. I’ll take it to her house, and she can sort through it. It will give her something to do while lying around. She’s already going crazy. Hates daytime television.”
“I don’t suppose as her former partner you’d like to…” He made a sweeping gesture at the desk and gave Ronan a hopeful look.
Ronan grinned back at him. “Not a chance. I have my own crap to deal with.”
That was certainly true. “How do you stand working with all that heaped up?”
Ronan only shrugged and went back to sipping his drink. There was no chance to push the issue. A uniform came up and handed Ronan a slip of paper. His partner’s laid-back demeanor didn’t change, but he stood up. “We’ve got a DB. I drive.”
Diego stood up, too, his nerves jangling at the idea of going out into the field. He ruthlessly shut down the feelings. If he couldn’t handle taking a case, then he was done being a cop. Besides, this was new territory. The whole point of moving to Boston was to take his therapist’s advice to change up his environment, to change up his thought patterns. “Fine by me, Callaghan. I didn’t think you’d want to ride bitch on my bike anyway.”
As soon as he used the crude expression, he regretted it. His mother would have slapped him up the back of his head for being so disrespectful. He was letting his worry about his partner looking down on him put him in a defensive position. That was a stupid way to start their relationship and his new job. Not wanting to compound the problem, however, he didn’t back track on his comment.
Ronan looked at him from the corner of his eye. “You have a bike? What kind?”
“Harley.” He didn’t add the “of course” although it was implied in his tone.
“Nice.”
Okay, so points for him. He’d managed to impress his partner over his choice of ride. Juvenile to be sure. He’d take them anyway.
Ronan’s car was a fairly nondescript, mid-sized standard issue coated in a fine layer of dust. The inside looked like the mobile version of Ronan’s desk. Diego gingerly slid in and buckled his belt even as he kicked a fast food bag away. Ronan did the same and started the car, all while still sipping his coffee. Of course, the cup holders between them were jammed with change and crumpled napkins, but still.
“You want me to hold that for you?” While it was the last thing he wanted to do, it beat crashing.
“Naw, I’m good.”
Ronan peeled out of the lot, working the steering wheel as if he was on a Sunday drive. The streets of Boston had earned their reputation, although as a New Yorker, Diego sneered inwardly at the idea it was the worst traffic in the country. Ronan hit the siren and maneuvered around the other vehicles with a skill Diego had to admire even putting aside the fact that it was done one-handed.
“Where are we going, exactly?” Diego asked, resisting the urge to cling to the dashboard.
“To the river, by the Hatch Shell.”
New as he was to Boston, Diego understood that the river was the Charles and the Hatch Shell was the outdoor venue for concerts, most especially by the Boston Pops Orchestra on the Fourth. He decided not to ask any more questions and let his partner concentrate on not crashing.
The crime scene was easy to spot. A couple of marked cars and an ambulance were already parked on the side of Storrow Drive, a roadway too narrow and congested for parking. Traffic had started to back up even though it wasn’t rush hour. A beleaguered uniform directed harried drivers away from the blockage. Diego got out on legs slightly shaky due to the ride over and those damn nerves of his. He took what he hoped was a subtly big breath and let it out slowly.
He could do this.
Ronan ambled up to the uniforms and the other responders, greeting most of them by name. The reaction from the others was telling. Big smiles and hand shaking told him that his partner was well-known and well-liked. He supposed that wasn’t a bad thing. As Ronan stopped to question some of them about details, or maybe just to talk about sports scores, Diego continued on to the victim. Everyone moved away as he approached, giving him his first look at the DB. Male of so far an indeterminate age. A woman leaned over him on her knees. Diego saw blonde hair in a ponytail and a shapely ass.
He walked around the prone figure, taking in the visible details. Shoes barely holding together, grease stained pants that looked like they’d come out of a dumpster topped with a hole-filled T-shirt and grimy hands and arms. All that was immediately overshadowed as he caught sight of the gaping wound from ear to ear. The woman who was examining the corpse sat back on her heels and looked up at him. Diego’s attention was immediately stolen by pale, flawless skin, high cheek bones, and vividly blue eyes.
The woman flashed him a smile. “Hi, I’m Cassidy Barnes, the new M.E.”
The nascent smell of human decay wafted up to him. Despite that little horror, his body was on high alert, the lure of Dr. Barnes’ gaze overwhelming anything else. It took a few seconds before Diego’s mind and tongue started working enough for him to answer her.
“Um, hi,” he said, squatting down on the other side of the corpse. Damn, he was usually smoother than that with women. “I’m Detective Sergeant Diego Nieves. I’m new, too,” he added with a smile that usually resulted in at least a phone number. Not that he was trolling for a date over a dead body, but Holy Mother of God, this woman was too enticing to ignore.
“I’m thinking you’re new to Boston and not just the force. Your accent is subtle, but I’d say New York?”
“Correct.”
“Well, I’m Boston born and bred, just new to the coroner’s office.”
Her accent wasn’t the thick stereotypical one he’d heard from some people in the area. She sounded more cultured, and he’d bet the diamond studs twinkling in her earlobes were genuine. She probably came from a section of Boston that was lined with trees and quiet. Classy and expensive, yet her expression was open and inviting.
Diego wrinkled his nose as he looked down at the body. “I hope this isn’t your first.” ’Cause that would suck. The man hadn’t been in the water apparently as his body was dry and didn’t look bloated. But that was a small mercy. It was an ugly corpse to view.
Cassidy sighed. “Not my first. Although I won’t know for sure until I’ve had a chance to do a thorough autopsy, my initial guess is that this man died from having his throat cut.”
The understatement and its dry delivery caught him off guard. It seemed incongruous with what he saw that she would be capable of cracking a joke while examining gruesome remains. He understood the impetus, of course. Gallows humor helped to keep the horror they dealt with every day at bay. He stifled a laugh as someone walked toward them and stopped at the head of the body. Glancing up, Diego saw Ronan. His partner had ditched his coffee, thank God, and was looking wide eyed not at the DB but at the ME.
“Hi,” Ronan said, squatting down. “I’m Ronan Callaghan, Nieves’ partner.”
Cassidy gave him the same winning smile she’d given to Diego, so maybe she was just friendly with everyone and his shot at getting her t
o go out was a long one.
“Callaghan, huh? That’s a name I’ve heard before.”
“Oh?” Ronan’s expression became guarded and his tone a little chilly. His body stiffened just a bit, as if he were bracing for a fight. That was odd.
“Yes, I met a Daire Callaghan on my first case.”
Just like that Ronan’s expression and body language changed again. “Oh, yeah, my older brother, emphasis on the old,” he said with a charming smile that probably got him not just women’s phone numbers but the women themselves.
Cassidy raised her eyebrows. “Really? He seemed younger than me.”
Before Ronan had a chance to back pedal on his age comment, Diego jumped in. He was pretty sure he was older than Ronan, and while he might not be the doctor’s age, he happened to like more mature women.
“Please excuse my partner, doctor. Given his young age, his frontal lobe just finished growing. He doesn’t appreciate the appeal of maturity.”
Cassidy grinned at the statement. Ronan’s mouth opened for a retort. Figuring they’d wasted enough time, Diego overrode him. “So, the victim?”
Both Cassidy and Ronan shifted their attention to the body.
“Middle-aged male, or close to it, between forty and forty-five, I’d say,” Cassidy began. “He’s been dead for about ten hours, putting T.O.D. at around midnight. Looks like a single stroke of a sharp blade from left to right, so you’re looking for a right-handed killer. I’ll have to do a tox screen, but the lingering smell of alcohol indicates he may have been drunk when killed.”
“I’m told he had no I.D. on him,” Ronan jumped in, his tone all business and his look serious as he gazed at the corpse. “Appears he was a vagrant.”
“That’s certainly what his appearance indicates,” Cassidy concurred.
Diego was about to weigh in on the observation when he focused on the victim’s hands. He got down on his knees to take a closer look, and at the fingers in particular. He held out his own hand without looking up.
“Can I borrow some gloves?”
“Sure.” Cassidy slapped surgical gloves in his open palm.
Sliding them on both hands, he picked up the victim’s and held it up for scrutiny. With rigor already setting, it was hard to lift it too close, so Diego stayed bent down.
“What’s up?” Ronan asked.
“Take a look at his fingernails.” Diego moved to his left to give Ronan room to slide closer. “As dirty as he is, his nails aren’t torn. They look recently groomed, you know like with a nail clipper.”
Ronan dropped to his knees and hunched over the hand. He nodded. “You’re right.” Scooting back, he gestured to the head that was angled back given the gaping hinge across the neck. “Can you please pull back his lips?” he asked Cassidy.
She did so gingerly, and Ronan peered at the teeth revealed. Ronan looked at Diego and gestured with his own head. “Take a look at his teeth.”
Diego braced a hand on the ground and leaned over. While they weren’t the best set of choppers he’d ever seen, the victim appeared to have all of them and they’d been cleaned on a regular basis.
“If this guy was homeless, it was a recent event in his life,” Diego observed.
Ronan nodded his head. “I agree. Interesting. How quickly can you do the autopsy on smiley here?” he asked Cassidy.
She looked back and forth between the two of them, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I’ll put it at the top of my list.”
Ronan shot her a megawatt smile that turned his boyish charm up to an eleven, the bastard. “Thanks. Let me give you my number so you can text me when you have the preliminary results.”
As he watched the exchange of information, Diego reminded himself they were working a case, not a bar, and that his focus needed to be on the victim, not his sudden desire to pound his new partner’s face into the ground.
Chapter Two
Ronan cranked the A.C. in the car as he loosened his tie. After spending a couple of hours going over the crime scene and interviewing the jogger who’d spotted the body, he was as hot, sticky, and sweaty as he’d been earlier after his jog. His new partner, on the other hand, still had his suit jacket on and looked fresh as a daisy. Ronan eyed him with distrust. He wasn’t sure the guy was human, and it was just one more point against him. Being from New York and undoubtedly a Yankee’s fan had been the first strike. Eyeing the new M.E. with obvious male interest was another.
Cassidy Barnes was an unexpected treat and a far cry from the other pathologists he’d worked with. He’d spotted her before he even reached the cadaver and had wrangled her deets from one of the other crime scene investigators before he introduced himself. Word was that she was not only new but had serious medical credentials and could practice anywhere she wanted. She was also really nice to everyone, patient with subordinates, and funny in an unexpected way. She was also, of course, gorgeous. He’d seen that fact for himself. And, drumroll please, not married, engaged, or even dating as far as anyone knew.
Maybe she was gay, but he didn’t think so. He knew when a woman was into him, and the vibe from Dr. Barnes was a sexy “hi there” one. He was sure of it. Unfortunately, he was equally as sure she felt the same way about his partner. The look in her eye when she stared up at Diego held the same gleam she’d aimed at Ronan, and that sucked. Either she was playing games or she liked them both. Neither possibility appealed to him. Plus, when he looked at Diego, it was like looking into a mirror. The guy held the same “I want to go there” expression as Ronan knew he did himself.
He pulled out into the heavy traffic of Storrow Drive with a hard yank of the wheel and grinned inwardly in satisfaction as his partner grabbed onto his “oh shit” handle. Ronan decided it was a good idea to put thoughts of Cassidy aside and concentrate on the case for a while. “So what do you think?”
“I think our victim either fell on hard times within the last forty-eight hours or so and turned into an instant homeless man or there’s something more going on here.”
Damn, although Ronan was inclined to find fault with the transplanted New Yorker and potential dating rival, he had to admit the man had excellent police skills. The observation about the fingernails had been dead, so to speak, on.
“Yeah, I agree. On the surface, he looked like every other dead vagrant I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen quite a few. It’s too easy for them to die of exposure or get hit by a train or to end up in a deadly fight over booze or even shoes. I hate how we do such a lousy job taking care of our own, especially the vets. This guy could have easily been one if you looked at only the clothes and the layer of dirt. You were right, though, about the grooming underneath the grime. And it wasn’t just the nails and the teeth. Did you look at his hair?”
Diego nodded. “It was unkempt, but not matted and not very long. It had been trimmed recently.”
“Yeah.”
He cut over to exit off Storrow and head to the precinct. He was hoping to have a chance to change his shirt and clean up a little before the lovely Cassidy was ready to see them. He always kept spare clothing in his locker, and he wanted to look his best when he went to the morgue. He was hoping to have a chance to ask her out. That is, if his partner didn’t get his shot in first.
Stealing a glance at his passenger, Ronan could see why a woman would be interested. Diego was handsome in an exotic way, with short dark hair, olive-toned skin, and brown eyes. Ronan’s hair was equally dark, and he knew his blue eyes made for a nice contrast to that. But his skin tended to be too pale if he didn’t spend some time in the sun. He had a few inches on Diego, although the other man was more muscular.
And, comparing himself to another man was more “Mean Girls” than macho, so he should knock it the fuck off.
“The question is,” he said to get his thoughts back on track. “If the guy wasn’t really homeless, who the hell would go to the trouble of trying to make him look as if he were? Or was this some kind of weird-ass version of slumming it for him and the gam
e got a little too real when an actual homeless man killed him for his money?”
“Perhaps the poor guy was mentally ill or suffering from dementia and wandered away from home,” Diego offered.
“That’s an interesting angle.” Ronan pulled into the precinct lot. “Look, I need to change. Standing out in that heat has turned me into a melting Popsicle. Why don’t you check on the missing person files while I head to the locker room? I’ll be quick about it and come give you a hand. Something might pop there before we get word from Cassidy.”
“Sure. That’s a good idea.”
It rankled, even though it shouldn’t, that while his new partner was the senior man of the two of them, he didn’t pull rank and nix the plan because Ronan had suggested it. The guy was obviously secure in his position and didn’t feel the need to throw his weight around. That was a good thing, so why did it irk him?
He shook off the feeling as he headed into the locker room and made short work of cleaning up. By the time he returned to his desk, Diego was in deep concentration on his computer.
“Nothing’s popped so far,” Diego said without looking up from the screen. “If the vic went missing recently, it wasn’t from Boston or the surrounding area.”
Ronan plopped into his chair and booted up his own computer. “Maybe he hopped a train from somewhere else.”
Diego looked over at him skeptically. “Does anyone actually do that anymore?”
“Sure,” Ronan replied with a shrug. “It’s harder these days, but it happens.”
Diego rocked back in his chair. “Did you notice the shoes?”
“What about them?”
“He wasn’t wearing any socks, so it was easy to see how they fit on his feet and they looked about a size too big to me.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Homeless people make do with what they can.”
“True, but it will be interesting to see if the vic’s feet show problems from wearing the wrong size. That’s something that should be in the M.E.’s report.”
Coincidently with the mention of the lovely Cassidy, Ronan’s phone pinged. Pulling it out, he read the text and grinned. “Post-mortem’s about done. Cassidy says to come over any time, and she’ll give us the run down.”
Double The Risk Page 2
