by Ann Roberts
She laughed. “I wish I had that freedom.”
Biz’s eyes wandered up and down her body. “And so, Ms. Adams, what would you choose to wear if you weren’t shackled by the fashion sense of the rich snobs who judge your clothes the first time they meet you?”
“I don’t know. Something casual.”
Biz touched her arm. “I’ll bet you’d look fantastic in a pair of tight leather pants and a tank top. It would go great with your new motorcycle.”
She rolled her eyes at the mention of her father’s recent birthday present. “I don’t think so,” she said.
“Have you ridden it yet?”
She shook her head, conscious that Biz still held her arm.
“My offer still stands. I’d be glad to teach you how to ride.”
“I don’t think so. I’ll probably just sell it when I have time.”
“That would be a terrible waste.” She tipped Ari’s chin until they gazed into each other’s eyes. “I want you to make me a promise.”
“What?” she whispered.
Biz’s finger stroked the side of her cheek, and her knees went weak. “I want you to promise me that before you sell that incredible machine you’ll at least let me take you out on it. You need to know what you’re missing.”
She closed her eyes momentarily, oblivious to Biz’s words. When she finally opened them, Biz was grinning. She knows she has power over me.
With that thought she burst the bubble Biz had wrapped her in and scowled. “You’ve broken every rule we agreed to. You’ve flirted. You’ve touched me, and you’ve clearly made a pass at me.”
Biz shook her head in disagreement. “I haven’t made a pass at you, at least nothing really overt.”
“And what would you call that last move?”
Biz hooked her finger inside Ari’s waistband. “That was just testing the waters. Do you really want to know how I make a pass at a woman, an incontrovertible and obvious pass?”
She remained motionless, unable to move or speak. Biz was too close and the sexual energy between them was debilitating. She just stood there, praying Biz would leave soon, before Lorraine came out or Molly drove up. Of course if Molly pulled up right at that moment, they would make the newspapers, for she’d pull her gun out and kill Biz.
But Biz just continued to smile, her finger stroking Ari’s belly. “If I were really going to make a pass, I’d kiss you. I’d kiss you hard. I’d kiss you so deeply that I’d pull all the breath out of you.”
Biz’s comment rang in her ears, and she was too stunned to respond. Common sense pulled her away, and she retreated inside the office. She leaned against the wall for support. She remained there, breathing deeply until the sound of the Shelby’s engine roared out of the neighborhood.
Chapter Ten
The woman called Checkers clucked her tongue four, five, six times—a nervous tick she could no longer control. It was an inevitable holdover from her days as a smoker, a habit she hadn’t been able to afford for years.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
The Greyhound bus terminal was busy since it was a Monday, and the security guards wouldn’t notice her for a while. She slipped into a molded plastic chair in the bustling lobby and glanced up at the TV in the corner. Her favorite show Law and Order was playing, featuring Briscoe and Green. She loved Lennie Briscoe. He reminded her of Sully with his thick New York accent and his “tell it like it is” attitude.
She missed Sully, but that was a lifetime ago back when she had a home.
And Laurie. Her dear, sweet Laurie.
Tears welled in her eyes, and she sniffed. No point in thinking about the old days. They were over and would never return. Sully was dead and Laurie was gone. Briscoe and Green stood over a body, a crimson stain at the base of his skull. She shuddered involuntarily at the sight. So much violence, so much blood. Or had she imagined it?
It hadn’t seemed real. Her dear friend Professor Shakespeare had bought her a hamburger, and she’d taken it back to the old schoolhouse and eaten it in the empty classroom that faced the swingset. No one was there to bother her, and she loved watching the children play.
Ten, eleven, twelve.
Pictures scrolled through her mind like the old-time movies at the Coney Island arcade. She’d pay her penny and crank the handle, watching the sepia images flip over one on top of the other, faster and faster.
Like the swinging. The little girl going higher and higher, a smile on her face. Just like her Laurie. Laurie loved the swings.
She’d seen the dark man coming before the little girl. He looked wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be there. She couldn’t call out to her! It was like watching TV. There was nothing she could do to help Briscoe and Green.
Then he stood in front of her, the gun in his hand. She had tapped on the window and cried out—too late!
The little girl on the dirt, a halo of red over her heart, like the one Briscoe and Green saw. There was more, but the images were turning. Too fast! She couldn’t stop to see. And the blood on her hands. How did the blood get there?
“Checkers, what are you doing here?” a baritone voice asked.
She grinned and met his stare. “Just hangin’, Bruce.”
He laughed. “Aw, Checkers. You know I can’t let you stay here. Rules are rules even if you remind me of my grandmother.”
She continued to smile at the tall, thin black man who couldn’t be more than twenty-five. He barely filled out his uniform, and the sight of him reminded her of the first time she’d seen Sully in his military dress blues. She’d fallen in love with him at that very moment.
“C’mon, Checkers. I’ll buy you a Coke.”
Bribery always worked. She pulled herself up, grateful to get something out of the deal. That was life on the streets. If it didn’t work for you, it wasn’t your friend.
She walked with him to the concessions stand, checking her pocket for the five dollar bill that a kind, well-dressed lady had slipped her that morning.
Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.
Still, there was something important to remember, but she couldn’t think of it. The pictures. The blood.
Bruce handed her the cup of promised refreshment, and she shuffled to the doorway, her eyes glancing up at the TV screen over the bar. She stopped, almost dropping her drink in the process. A woman sat at a news desk, a stack of papers in her hand, her serious expression recounting the details of a tragic accident on the Beeline Highway. Checkers couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Bold white script bannered the bottom of the picture, announcing the woman as Laurel Ann Jeffries.
Her Laurie.
Chapter Eleven
Molly popped two aspirin, glanced at the third one that had fallen into her hand and downed it as well. She rubbed her temples and stared at the Perez file. The interview with Hector Cervantes had left her cold. It was clear that the only person he cared for besides himself was his brother. If Hector felt Maria Perez was a threat to Raul, Molly knew she would’ve paid.
“Nelson,” a voice called from the doorway.
She closed her eyes for an instant, wishing Captain David Ruskin would vanish, but when she looked up he’d entered her office, his jacket thrown over his shoulder, obviously leaving for the day.
“Where are we with Perez?”
His voice sounded accusatory, as if the killer should be caught by now. “We’ve got some leads. It’s looking like it might be gang related.”
He rolled his eyes. “Since when do gangs take out kids?”
She knew there was no point in explaining the investigation to him. He really had no interest in the facts and would never engage in any type of information exchange with her. “It’s just a possibility,” she said.
“We need more than that, Nelson. We need results. You and Williams ought to be able to handle one major investigation now that Edgington’s file is closed. It’s not like you’ve got a lot more on your plate, right?”
“Give her a break, Dave.”
She shifted her gaze to the large figure in the doorway, a man the size of a bear—Big Jack Adams. She swallowed hard and wished she could crawl under her desk.
Ruskin said nothing as he shuffled his feet. Adams moved very close and dwarfed him.
“I can’t imagine you’ve been out in the field within the last decade. I doubt you know how hard Detective Nelson is working.”
Molly bit her lip, trying not to laugh.
Ruskin’s whole face moved but he said nothing. Without ever acknowledging Jack, he barked, “I want something concrete by tomorrow,” before he stomped out.
Jack waved good-bye and chuckled. “I’m Jack Adams, and you’re Molly Nelson.”
She nodded and met his strong handshake. “Great to meet you. Thanks for all of your help with the John Rondo investigation,” she said, referring to a case he’d helped her with a few months before.
He crammed his large body into the visitor’s chair. “I should thank you. I guess I miss being in the game. Retirement hasn’t been an easy adjustment.”
“I can only imagine. I don’t know what I’d do if I wasn’t a cop.”
He met her gaze and nodded. She felt a kinship with him, and when she looked at his face, she saw traces of Ari. Her cell phone rang with Ari’s ringtone, the old Safaris’ song Wipeout.
“Um, excuse me, but I have to take this.”
She jumped out of the chair and went to the hallway. “Hey.”
“Hi, baby. How was your day?”
“Great.” She glanced toward her office. Jack was studying her two framed commendations. “Aren’t you going to dinner with your dad?”
“Yeah, but that’s not until eight. I’m taking him out for Greek. If nothing else it’ll be entertaining and give us a few conversation starters.”
“It can’t be that bad, can it? I’ve heard he’s a great guy.”
Ari sighed. “It’s just hard, babe. There’s a lot of history, you know? He threw me out, remember? Disowned his gay daughter?”
“Of course, honey. I understand. Forget what I said. This case really has me bummed. We had to go to the coroner’s today and watch the autopsy. I can’t tell you how hard it was.”
“Honey, I’m sorry. You would’ve been better off with the Edgington case.”
“Well, I’m gonna get whoever did this. The mother’s totally distraught and confused. It’s not like the girl had any enemies.” Hector Cervantes’s smug grin flashed in her memory—she quickly thought better than to worry Ari about the details of their encounter. “We have a few leads. Someone, maybe the killer, was watching from a room inside the school. I hate that damn school,” she added absently. “The whole place should be leveled to get rid of all the dealers and junkies.”
“But that’s an historic building,” Ari argued. “I mean it’s horrible what happened to that little girl, but that’s not the school’s fault. The city should do a better job keeping people out of there.”
“You mean the police,” she clarified. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“Well, maybe there should be more police presence,” Ari said slowly.
“I see. It would be better for the cops to be out patrolling vacant, abandoned buildings, which by the way are unsafe for humans to inhabit, rather than following up on rapes and murders. That makes sense.”
“That’s not what I mean, honey. C’mon, I’m not even thinking about what I’m saying here. I’m getting ready for an evening with my father. Cut me some slack, please?”
She felt her anger sliding away, but instead of letting go, instead of turning toward the warmth and friendliness of her voice, she pulled the confrontation back between them.
She glanced back to her office. Jack was checking his voice mail on his BlackBerry. “So are you finally going to tell your father about us tonight?” she asked with resentment.
“Maybe. I’m not sure. I want to tell him about you, but we need to talk about other stuff first. There’s so much in our past—”
“What about the present? Isn’t that what’s most important? Am I important?”
“Of course you’re important. You just don’t understand.”
She could hear the frustration in Ari’s voice, but she was tired of being the invisible girlfriend. “I guess I don’t. I thought when you said I love you it meant something.”
“Of course it means something,” Ari replied, her voice cracking.
“Well, I’m not so sure.”
When Ari was silent and offered no further protests, she felt her anxieties wrap around her gut. She opened her mouth, knowing she’d gone too far.
“I’m rather sorry I called,” Ari said icily, cutting off her chance for an apology. “This is obviously not a good time. Maybe we could talk tomorrow.”
She closed her eyes in defeat, understanding the double message. Ari was hurt, and she didn’t want them to spend the night together.
“Fine,” she whispered.
She snapped her cell phone shut and shook her head. Why did she pick a fight?
She returned to her office just as Jack was standing to go. “I’m sorry that took so long.”
He waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it. I remember those days. I need to get going anyway. I’m meeting my daughter for dinner. Maybe we could grab a drink at Oaxaca sometime,” he suggested, referring to the nearby cop watering hole.
“That would be great,” she said brightly. If Ari ever managed to reveal their relationship to Jack, she imagined the three of them could share some laughs.
He left and her eyes drifted to her messy desk and the day’s newspaper that lay in front of her. Ironically she was connected with both of the top stories—the murder of Maria Perez and the suicide of Warren Edgington. She’d gained one case and lost the other. She grabbed Edgington’s autopsy report and scanned it. Traces of pills and alcohol had been found in his system. His wife had admitted that she was thinking of divorce after discovering he’d had an affair with a mystery woman that the police couldn’t seem to locate.
She frowned. She hated loose ends, but people caught up in affairs took many steps to hide their identities. Still, there was that key with the red and white twist-ties. A key to the lover’s house or apartment? Probably a dead end. Yet Ari wasn’t totally convinced it was suicide. She rubbed her temples. She needed to let it go.
She picked up the newspaper again and gazed at a picture of Edgington with his family on their yacht, smiling and content, obviously all a sham.
The wealth and luxuriousness of the Edgingtons’ lives contrasted to the simple school photo of Maria Perez just a few columns away on the front page. Such vastly different existences. It was clear the newspaper preferred writing about the tragedy of a depressed businessman who had everything to lose rather than the death of a little Hispanic girl whose family had gang ties.
She sighed in disgust and pulled out the spreadsheet of addresses. Somewhere among all the numbers was a key to a department mole, someone who was a leak and working for a crime family. She studied Andre’s notes, realizing that many of the upscale addresses were owned by corporations. These probably warranted more scrutiny.
Andre knocked on the door ten minutes later, interrupting her progress. The look on his face told her something was wrong.
“What?” Molly asked.
“I went back to Selena Diaz’s house to ask about the science fair, but she wasn’t there.”
Molly shrugged her shoulders. “So she wasn’t home. You’ll go back tomorrow.”
“No, Mol. That’s not what I mean. They’re gone. The whole family’s left.”
Chapter Twelve
When Ari spilled her morning coffee all over a contract after she’d stubbed her toe on the credenza, she looked longingly at her bed. The Egyptian sheets and feather pillows called to her, tempting her to give up on the day and crawl back under the covers. She could easily rationalize that she should heed these omens. Instead she carefully cleaned up the mess, calculating that re-writing the contract
would consume an extra hour from somewhere in her day.
She realized she was in a foul mood because of the fight with Molly. She had slept alone on a night they traditionally shared, and it was her own doing. She’d been angry and wanted to punish her. She’d punished herself as well. But Molly had said some cruel things to her, and although she’d come very close to mentioning their relationship at dinner with her father, she’d side-stepped the issue.
She thought about the initial awkwardness of the evening with him, which was why she had chosen Bacchanal, a Greek restaurant with belly dancers and performers. Discussing the finer points of belly dancing had definitely broken the ice and given them plenty of conversation openings.
After several rounds of Ouzo, he’d asked loudly, “Who’s the love of your life?”
“I’m not going to discuss it,” she said.
She’d glanced over at Sol, her godfather and Molly’s highest-ranking boss, who watched the exchange between them.
Jack leaned closer. “I’m not asking for details, honey. I just want to know that you’re happy.”
“Of course she’s happy,” Sol interjected, slapping Jack on the back. “Why wouldn’t she be? She’s young, gorgeous and incredible at her job.” He raised his glass in salute. “Ari, darling, if I’d had any daughters, I hope they all would’ve been just like you.”
She blushed. Sol had fathered three boys, all of whom were highly successful. In fact before Ari had come out, Sol and Jack had regularly tried to set her up with Sol’s youngest son.
“Look,” Jack pressed, “I just know that it sucks being alone. It’s important to find someone. That’s all.”
She was touched by his sentiment, and the words nearly fell from her lips, but a belly dancer twirled to their table and pulled Jack away to dance. She wasn’t surprised when the woman wrapped her arms around his neck and thrust her chest in his face. All women were charmed by Jack Adams, but she’d never seen him flirt with anyone except her mother.
