Deadly Intersections

by Ann Roberts

  A familiar belly laugh erupted from the security area and her gaze settled on a group of TSA workers clustered around Jack Adams.

  He towered over all of them and gave one of the young guys a pat on the shoulder. Dressed in a blue button-down oxford shirt, tweed blazer and jeans, Jack looked forty-five and not fifty-eight. Ari knew her good genes were a blessing from both of her parents, although she was nearly a mirror image of her dead mother Lucia.

  How he’d managed to get into the sacred security area was a mystery, but Ari wasn’t surprised. He could charm anyone—his good looks made women swoon and men jealous. He looked up beyond the waiting passengers and their eyes met. She felt no urge to wave or smile but he did. He pointed to her and soon the TSA workers were staring as well. He grabbed his carry-on and waved good-bye to his new friends.

  Before she could jam her hands into her pockets and avoid a hug, he wrapped his massive arms around her and she was compelled to return the gesture. Fortunately he pulled away quickly, still holding her shoulders with his huge hands.

  “You are absolutely beautiful,” he said. “Just like your mom.”

  At the mention of her mother, her lip began to quiver. She looked away, her eyes welling with tears. “Um, Dad—”

  “No, no,” he said, handing her a tissue from his pocket. “There will be none of that. You’re supposed to be angry with me, not sad. When someone’s an asshole, you don’t cry about it, do you?”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. He always knows how to break the tension. “Let’s get your bags,” she said, turning toward the escalator.

  Conversation proved unnecessary as they collected his giant duffle and made their way to the car. The general commotion surrounding the task and his inherent nature to chat with anyone around him excused her from discussing the list of mundane topics she’d committed to memory on her way to the airport. Instead he resumed a conversation with an elderly woman he must have met on the plane and on their way up to the garage, he turned to a man next to him and asked, “Is Durant’s still the best place in town to get a steak?”

  The man said yes, but other passengers disagreed and a short but lively discussion ensued. It was the noisiest elevator ride she’d ever endured. Once they were in the 4Runner and driving away, she mentally reviewed her topic list.

  “I don’t want to talk about the weather, the Diamondbacks or how much the valley has changed in the last four years,” he said suddenly, interrupting her thoughts. “What else is there?”

  She shook her head and a sliver of a smile crossed her lips. She didn’t want to like him again. “You’ve just vetoed all the easy ones, Dad, so you pick.”

  “Let’s talk about Jane.”

  She chuckled, knowing her best friend was great conversation material. A fellow real estate agent, he’d known Jane Frank for years.

  “Good choice,” she agreed. “Jane’s doing great, making lots of money and continuing her quest for the perfect woman.”

  “I take it the quest may be never ending?”

  She shook her head and merged with the freeway traffic. “Jane is a free spirit. She loves being single.”

  “Do you?”

  Her mouth went dry. She knew that if she looked over at him, one eyebrow would be arched, his head would be lowered and he would be peering over the top of his sunglasses. She focused intently on the Saab in front of her and didn’t answer right away. She finally said, “I think we need to talk about something else.”

  He sighed and looked out the window. “Fine.”

  Neither said anything else until she pulled into a parking spot outside of McGurkee’s Sandwich Shop.

  He shifted in his seat and in an excited voice blurted, “How ’bout those Phoenix Suns?”

  Chapter Four

  Twilight slipped over the McDowell Mountains as he entered the preserve. He followed the strip of asphalt around several curves, past the picnic ramadas and parking areas that lined the road. Remnants of Saturday night parties lay discarded along the desert embankment—fast food wrappers, soda cans and dozens of beer bottles. The piles of trash grew thick at the base of the ramadas, the sanctified places of congregation. He shook his head at human thoughtlessness and avoided the glass shards that littered the roadway.

  As a cop he knew the police view: if no one called to complain and nobody got shot, desert parties were ignored. It was the line between violence and revelry—a fine line at best—but the lack of police manpower made the distinction necessary.

  He scowled as a cloud of dust enveloped his car, worrying that the dirt path would ruin his suspension. The road crested over a hill. He saw the ramada and a dark Explorer parked next to it. Behind the wheel, Vince Carnotti, the leader of the Carnotti crime family, a known felon and his surreptitious boss, spoke into his cell phone.

  He pulled up behind the Explorer and quickly joined him. He nodded at Carnotti, a man who was twice his size with enormous hands. He was rumored to have crushed a man’s skull just by putting his head in a vice grip.

  He waited until Carnotti slapped his phone shut and asked, “How are you, Vince?” He tried to sound casual but noticed the slight quake in his voice.

  Carnotti nodded slowly. “I’m good. The weather helps my joints. I can’t stand New York winters anymore, but this fuckin’ inversion layer drives my emphysema crazy.”

  “I hear you, Vince.”

  Carnotti turned in his seat and pointed. “What are we doin’ about that dyke, Molly Nelson?”

  He nodded, grateful that Carnotti moved right to business. “It’s handled.” He hoped he sounded confident but not cocky.

  “I’m trusting you,” Carnotti said. “Nelson got too close to our operation during that whole Itchy Moon thing. You of all people should know what we stand to lose.”

  “I’m well aware of what’s at stake,” he said.

  He would be the first to die, or worse, go to prison if the operation was exposed. The media would crucify him as a dirty cop, and his family would pay the price. But he was in too far to go back.

  He added, “Really, Vince, you don’t need to worry. I’m working another angle. Believe me, I know her weak points and how to exploit them. By the time I’m through her career will be history.”

  Chapter Five

  Molly sipped her scotch, wondering how Ari’s reunion with her father was going. She really understood her dilemma but wanted to connect with Captain Big Jack Adams, a retired cop who hated her current boss almost as much as she did.

  She rubbed her eyes and stared at the spreadsheets she’d set on the bar. The numbers seemed to blur together, and she blinked several times to clear her head. All of the entries began with 6815, four numbers she was sure were part of an address, the address of a mole in the police department—a person who’d had her informant decapitated and stuffed in a trunk. She’d combed the list of owners many times looking for a clue, but so far none of the individual names or corporations stood out. It might help if you weren’t drinking in a bar.

  She drained her second scotch and motioned to Vicky.

  Vicky poured another round, her eyebrow raised. “This is a little early for you, Molly.”

  “Who are you? My AA sponsor?”

  Vicky shook her head and walked away. It was their latest running joke. Vicky was the only person allowed to comment on her drinking. Not even Ari said anything. She understood it was a taboo topic, but Molly imagined if she knew that she was frequenting Hideaway nearly every day, she would vehemently object. She’d also be crushed if she learned that her increased drinking coincided with their recent declaration of love and commitment.

  She gulped her drink and stared into the empty glass. She loved Ari. She knew that. But she couldn’t understand how a woman with the body of a goddess would want a woman built like a linebacker. She lived in fear that Ari would someday ask herself the same question. Yet after eight months Ari remained.

  Her cell phone chirped, and she frowned when she saw that it was Andre. Why would he be
calling on Sunday?

  “What’s up?”

  “We’re working, Mol. It’s a big case and Ruskin’s asking for us. Says Sol Gardener called us in.” The excitement in his voice was unmistakable.

  David Ruskin was their boss, and the only reason he would ever request her would be because he was directed to do so by the chief of police.

  “What’s the case?”

  “Ten-year-old girl shot at Washington School.”

  Molly was confused. “What about the Edgington murder?”

  “Coroner ruled it a suicide, and now we’ve got this case. I’m on my way to the crime scene. Get your ass down here!”

  Washington School stood like an old watchman over South Phoenix. Built in 1917, the school was a throwback to the east coast design, a single rectangular building with two stories. Rows of parallel windows wrapped around the entire structure and a set of steep concrete stairs led up to the enormous front doors.

  Molly and Andre stared at the façade. The majesty it possessed in past decades had vanished. Every window pane was riddled with holes from rocks or bullets. The thousands of tan bricks lining the exterior were faded from the unforgiving Arizona sun.

  A dozen crime techs and officers scoured the grounds as they walked across the dusty remnants of the schoolyard, patches of hardy Bermuda grass still visible and kept alive by the intermittent rains.

  Andre’s gaze swept the property. “When did they close this place?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. A long time ago. And now it just sits here.”

  They stopped in front of the swing set, the crime scene tape loosely draped around the poles in haphazard fashion. A tarp rested over the body, and Andre squatted, lifting up a corner while she turned away. She hated looking at dead kids. She stared at the swing, wondering if the little girl had been terrified or if she’d known her killer and death was just an unexpected moment free of fear. She sucked in her breath as a wave of nausea passed through her. She closed her eyes, wishing she was back at Hideaway.

  “Tell me what we know.”

  “Victim is Maria Perez. She was found in front of the swings. There’s a dirt scrape here that suggests she was trying to stop the swing—”

  “Because she was going to run away,” she added.

  He nodded. “Maybe. It’s hard to know. Shot at point-blank range with a thirty-eight. Took one bullet to the chest and fell to the ground. Found around five by two teenagers coming to make out on that bench over there.”

  They walked the twenty feet to the bench. It was old, and she couldn’t imagine anyone sitting on the rotten wood. Yet the ground was littered with condom wrappers, suggesting that more than kissing occurred on the warped planks.

  “Are the techs searching the school?” she asked, her gaze settling on the two end rows of windows, the ones facing the playground.

  “Yeah, but so far they haven’t found anything. Not that it would be easy. The place is a mess. Tons of trash everywhere, vermin and bugs. There wasn’t anything obvious.”

  “Obvious,” she repeated. “Let’s go across the grounds first.”

  Andre read from his notes. “The teenagers told the first officer that everybody knows to stay away from the school. That’s for the drug users only. I guess the kids play on the equipment, and the addicts leave the kids alone, sort of an unspoken rule.”

  They silently walked the perimeter, going around the long way. He pointed at a piece of fence ripped away from its post. Judging from its location, it was an entry for drug users, away from the street, away from patrol cars. Only a zealous cop, one who wanted to go looking for trouble, would bother to get out and inspect the area on foot, which was unlikely to happen very often.

  They rounded the backside of the building, and she saw a second hole, the one the children used. She realized the school sat on a huge plot of land, and indeed it would be possible for the addicts and street people to enter through the east side of the fence and never know there were children to the west of the building. She doubted the two groups came in contact, but perhaps they had yesterday.

  They headed toward the school as the last crime tech exited with a shake of his head toward Andre. Molly scowled, almost certain they’d missed a clue. Her gut told her there was something inside. She was sure of it.

  The smell assaulted her as she crossed the threshold. She immediately shone her flashlight at her feet, worried that she’d step in excrement or a rat would scurry across her loafer. The path in front of her was clear, but trash and drug paraphernalia lined the walls. She imagined the classrooms were equally disgusting if not worse. They stepped into the first room they came to, the winter sun already struggling to set. A weak light seeped across the floor, the filthy windows obscuring the brightness she’d hoped to find.

  “This is practically hopeless today,” she murmured. “We need to come back tomorrow.”

  “Can’t we do it now,” he whined.

  She threw him a glare. She knew he hated to get dirty. “Quit being such a princess.”

  Chapter Six

  Ari floated on the edge of consciousness unable to decide whether to rise and get an early start on what would likely be a hectic Monday or stay in bed for another half hour, avoiding the inevitable beginning of the week. Her head sunk deeper into the soft pillow, making the decision for her, and she reached for the comforter, longing to cocoon herself in the soft down.

  Molly had other plans and pulled all the covers away. She wrapped her arms around her and caressed her nipples.

  “Yes, my love,” Ari whispered.

  She sighed, caught between the gentle touch of Molly’s lips as they lazily explored her earlobe and the very deliberate motions of Molly’s fingers, nestled between her legs in maddening foreplay.

  “Let go,” Molly commanded and Ari felt her mind float away in the morning sunlight.

  When she stopped quaking twenty minutes later, Molly’s hand drifted over the curves of her legs and bare bottom. “You have the most beautiful body,” she said. “I hope I please you.”

  “Uh-huh. That was magnificent.”

  Molly smiled at the compliment, but Ari knew her answer wouldn’t matter. She had come to realize that bolstering Molly’s confidence was a requirement of their relationship—regardless of what she said, Molly doubted her. Ari would never understand the sexual power she wielded over her. When Molly touched her she lost all control, her body responding with animal instincts to each caress.

  Swatting her buttocks playfully, Molly rose from the bed and disappeared into the living room. She smiled as the steady rhythm of piano notes filled the small apartment. Some women enjoyed the afterglow of sex in each other’s arms, but she was serenaded by her lover, an accomplished pianist who played for very few people and was composing a song, Aria, just for her. It was the most intimate and romantic gesture she could have ever imagined, knowing Molly poured her creative genius into a gift unlike any other.

  The familiar music drifted into random notes like an unfinished road disappearing abruptly into the forest. She experimented with various chords and replayed changes until the road extended a little further than before. Her ability to evaluate her music amazed Ari. She would construct musical riffs, connecting some to the piece and throwing the others out, a kind of musical trash. Eventually she returned to the beginning and played what she had written so far.

  No longer willing to lounge in bed alone, Ari rose and wandered to the living room. Sunlight seeped through the closed blinds casting shadows over the black piano. Molly’s naked body swayed gently back and forth, her shoulders rising and falling with the music. Ari hovered and explored her tangled, blond curls.

  Molly continued to play, albeit poorly, despite her touch. She leaned back and Ari enveloped her in a full embrace, her lips taking up residence at the base of her neck.

  “Oh, God,” Molly sighed. Her arched fingers collapsed on the ivory keys, announcing her willing defeat.

  Ari tipped her chin and buried her
tongue deep in her mouth while her hands fondled the large breasts she dearly loved. She ended the kiss and stared into her blue eyes. Molly radiated beauty and intelligence even if she didn’t know it.

  “Let’s go back to bed,” Ari said, a wicked smile on her face. “I believe I owe you an incredible orgasm.”

  “I can’t,” she groaned. “I have to get to work early. We need to interview Maria Perez’s mother and go back to the crime scene. It was nearly dark last night, and I’m worried we missed something.”

  Molly wandered into the bathroom and Ari’s ever curious nature demanded that she follow. “What happened to the Edgington case?”

  She shook her head. “Apparently it wasn’t a murder. Coroner says the guy killed himself with booze and pills mixed in the flask.”

  She remembered the silver flask next to Edgington, the scrawled note and the locked door. It certainly looked like a suicide.

  “Were his fingerprints on the note?”

  Molly grinned. “I love it when you think like a cop.” She kissed her forehead and stepped into the shower. “Yup, his fingerprints were on it.” She kissed her again and shut the curtain. “Suicide, babe,” she said over the whoosh of the shower spray.

  Ari frowned. She’d met Warren Edgington, and he hadn’t acted suicidal. He’d flirted shamelessly like a man about to be divorced and free.

  She opened the shower curtain and gazed at Molly’s incredible body. “You know, they’re both involved in real estate.”

  “That’s not a motive, honey, so now Andre and I get to investigate the murder of a kid. Shot in the heart at close range.”

  She turned away and busied herself with the soap. While Molly would never have children of her own, she loved them, particularly her niece and nephew, who adored her and welcomed Ari as their second aunt. This was a horrible case to inherit.

  Molly glanced up and said, “Honey, I need to get ready, and as much as I love shower sex, I just can’t today.”