Internal Affair

by Marie Ferrarella

  “No, not personally,” she told him.

  He looked around again. Action figures, dolls, stuffed animals. Did she have some kind of toy hang-up? He didn’t think he’d ever seen this many toys outside of FAO Schwartz toy store.

  Patrick found himself wondering more and more about his new partner and liking it less and less. “Don’t tell me Santa Claus is really a woman.”

  “These are for the kids at St. Agnes Shelter. That’s the shelter for abused women and children,” she explained. “I’m collecting for them.” Innocence personified, Maggi turned her face up to his. “Care to make a donation?”

  “I know what St. Agnes Shelter is.”

  She’d struck a chord, one he would have preferred not having struck. He was intimately familiar with the shelter she’d named. It had been around for twenty years. Long enough for him and his mother and sister to visit once. Flee to, actually. They’d been forced to go that time his father had completely lost control. Patrick remembered because it was shortly after his aunt Rose, uncle Andrew’s wife, had disappeared.

  His father’s drinking binges had gone from bad to worse. When his mother tried to get him to stop, one thing had led to another until he was threatening to kill all of them. Despite that, Patrick knew his mother would have remained with his father, but Patrick had pleaded with her to think of herself and Patience. And told her that he would kill his father if anything happened to either one of them. In the end, more afraid of that than harm to herself, she’d gone, but only after he’d promised to come with her.

  So he’d gone to the shelter with his mother and sister and had seen firsthand the sadness that existed in places like that. Everyone tried to cheer one another up, but the sadness had hung on like a steely specter, waiting for them, never letting go.

  They’d gone home again, amid his father’s promises to his mother that things would change. They had, but not of his choosing. His father was killed in the line of duty less than six months later.

  Maggi looked at the dark, brooding man in her living room. Something was going on here, Maggi thought. More than just his cynicism. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, fine.” He waved a dismissive hand at her question. “I was just thinking that maybe I will make a donation.”

  He shrugged, drawing his eyes away from her face before he did something stupid he’d regret. And then, because he’d been on the inside, because he’d seen the vacant eyes and the despair up close in children who were old before their time, he added, “That’s a good thing you’re doing.”

  An odd note stirred in his voice. She couldn’t begin to interpret it. There was a lot of that going on when it came it Cavanaugh, she thought. Somehow, she was going to have to find a way to get closer to the man. So far, she hadn’t a clue as to how.

  “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”

  His eyes narrowed as he maneuvered his way around the living room, his path impeded by piles of toys. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, you don’t exactly act as if you approve of me.”

  “You’re all right. I mean, as far as cops go.” Impatience began to break out of its bonds. “Can we get on with this?”

  “Sure.” She edged over to her computer, which was on, her cable connection already opened. “Where would you like to start?”

  He looked around, at a loss. “How about finding a place to sit?”

  “Sorry.” Since the sofa was close to the desk, she cleared a place off for him, moving the brigade of stuffed animals closer together and over to one side. She grinned, gesturing toward the spot. “I’m sure that Big Bear and the others won’t mind sharing their seat with you.”

  “Big Bear?” He stared at the large white polar bear with its silly grin and drooping head. “You named the stuffed animals?”

  “Not me. The toy manufacturer beat me to it.” The bear looked as if it was going fall forward so she tucked it in beside the stuffed fox. “But I used to whenever my father gave me one.” A fond look curved her mouth. “I was an only child—he liked to spoil me.”

  “Yeah, it shows.”

  If his words were any more weighed down with sarcasm, they would have made a hole in the floor. “Oh?”

  “You like getting your own way.”

  Maggi tried not to take offense, but it wasn’t easy. “That’s called a forceful personality.”

  “That’s called being a pain in the—” He sighed. If they were going to do anything productive, although he still wasn’t sure what, then this was the wrong way to go. “Sorry, let’s start over.”

  Maggi sat down at the computer, her back to him. “Fine by me.”

  He paused, unable to wrap his mind around his late partner and the possibility of wrongdoing, especially when his mind kept traveling the short path to the woman sitting at the computer.

  The question came of its own accord, as if he had no say over the matter. “You’ve mentioned your father several times.”

  “Sorry, does that bother you?”

  There was a touch of frost in her reply. He ignored it. “It’s just that you never talk about your mother.”

  Maggi glanced toward the framed photo on the side table. It was of the three of them. The last one she had of her mother. “My mother died when I was nine. Car crash.”

  He’d heard her tell Alicia about her mother, he just hadn’t realized she’d been that young when her mother died. “Sorry, didn’t mean to…” Uncomfortable, Patrick let his voice trail off.

  “Didn’t mean to what, ask me a personal question? No problem. Just means we’re getting closer together.”

  The look on his face was one of annoyed disgust. She would have been a little disappointed if he hadn’t reacted at all.

  “You’re not going to be happy until we’re joined at the hip, are you?” he asked.

  “If I’m going to be your partner, I need to know how you think,” she told him simply. And if I’m going to get any answers for IA, that won’t hurt, either.

  “Why?”

  “So I can anticipate your next move. So I can be there to cover your back.”

  He’d wandered over to the side table and picked up the family photograph. They were all smiling. The smiles looked genuine. In the single shot he had of his immediate family, the only smile in the photograph belonged to Patience, who would have smiled standing next to the devil himself. His sister would probably like McKenna, he thought.

  “You keep pushing me out in front and covering my back,” he said.

  “Sorry, does that bother you?” She turned around to glance at him and was surprised to discover that he was right behind her. “I’d take the lead but I get these Neanderthal vibes from you that tell me you wouldn’t let a woman walk in front of you. It’s a macho thing, am I right?”

  Why the hell were her eyes getting to him when her wagging tongue was rubbing the very flesh off his body? Annoyed, he took a step back. “Which is why a man shouldn’t be partnered with a woman.”

  Maggi sighed, her eyes fluttering shut for a second as she sought strength. “That is so wrong I don’t even know where to begin.”

  He laughed shortly. As if she was going to ever be quiet. “But you’ll find a way, won’t you?” He made a decision. “Look, this was a mistake.” He began to back away. “I can—”

  He was going to say that he could get the information he needed by himself. “Not easily,” she interjected.

  Ordinarily, what people thought had less than no effect on him, but for some reason, when it came to her, Patrick didn’t like being cast in the role of an idiot. “Are you saying I can’t get the information I need without you?”

  “No,” she contradicted. “What I’m saying is that it’ll take you longer than if you let me help.” She raised her eyes to his. “And I’m betting that you’re smart enough to put whatever differences we still have aside to tackle this.”

  “Whatever differences we still have?” Patrick hooted incredulously. “Mary Margaret, there
are nothing but differences between us.”

  Maggi tossed her head, sending her hair over her shoulder. She looked at him pointedly. “Oh, I think we found some common ground and it seems to be widening all the time.” Before he could comment, she moved her swivel chair back to face the computer. “Okay, let’s start out with the basics.”

  As he stood watching over her shoulder, Maggi called up Eduardo Ramirez’s vital statistics via an internal program that had been installed by the Aurora police department some years earlier. The safeguards on it were brand-new. In an instant, they had Ramirez’s social security number, his driver’s license as well as a thumbnail sketch of his background and education. In the area designated for any incidents reports, there was nothing. His record was surprisingly spotless, given their suspicions.

  “You have access to that?”

  She heard the doubt in his voice. Maggi indicated the screen. “You see it, don’t you?”

  Patrick was beginning to figure out how her mind worked. Sideways, like a sidewinder. “You’re not answering my question,” he persisted.

  Maggi smiled to herself as she took in the information she’d pulled up. “Let’s just say that if there’s a paper trail of some sort, I can get access to almost anything we might need to clear this up.”

  She had already gotten into Patrick’s banking records the night she’d received her assignment. But if Patrick was trafficking in something illegal and getting paid for it, he wasn’t putting the money into anything that showed up on her radar. That fact didn’t clear him, just made him harder to pin down. But then, if this mission had been easy, she wouldn’t have been here.

  “You really weren’t kidding about being able to hack into data banks.” The look he gave her wasn’t quite accusing, just mystified. “Where did you learn how to do this?”

  She didn’t bother boring him with the fact that she had perfect recall. The kind that made people leery around you. “From a computer genius I knew in high school.” She thought of Ronnie Rindle and smiled to herself. “He liked to challenge himself. His aspirations ended when he was caught starting a major upset on Wall Street by moving stock around and having false data show up in accounts.” She still got cards from Ronnie at Christmas. “While he was behind bars, he found a new passion. Pottery. Keeps him out of trouble.”

  Patrick didn’t quite follow her narrative. “And he passed on his mantel to you?”

  Ronnie had tried to get her to join him, but she’d politely pointed out the very real danger of what he was doing. He’d been caught the very next day. “No, just gave me a few tips in gratitude.”

  “Gratitude?”

  “He was kind of lonely. I was the only one who called him a genius, not a geek. He was a little odd, but nice.”

  Patrick had a feeling that she was the type of person who could find some good in almost anyone. They were as different as night and day. “For a felon.”

  “Reformed felon. Very good sculptor, really.” Maggi looked back at the screen. “We’ve got Ramirez’s social security number, shouldn’t be too hard for us to get anything else. His wife said something about the money being in First Republic, didn’t she?”

  “You figure the money’s just sitting in his bank account?”

  “If your ex-partner got mixed up in this by accident, sure, why not? You make things too complicated, Cavanaugh. Only hardened criminals pay attention to safeguards and details. Besides, if Ramirez was accustomed to blowing money the way you said he was, he’d want it where he could get his hands on it easily enough.”

  But even now, she was frowning. A scan of the bank’s records showed that the joint account held by Eduardo and Alicia Ramirez had less than a hundred and fifty dollars in it.

  “This wouldn’t take care of a week’s groceries for a family of four,” Maggi commented. The money had to be somewhere else. But where?

  “See if there’s another account.”

  She’d already tried that. “Not with his name and social on it.” Maggi bit her lip, tying again.

  “Try his wife.”

  “That’s what I’m doing.” Glancing over her shoulder at him, she grinned. “You know what they say about great minds.”

  “Yeah, they’re inside swelled heads.” No one was going to accuse him of thinking like this woman.

  Maggi shook her head. “Definitely need to work on your holiday spirit.”

  Patrick pointed at the flat panel. As far as he was concerned, Christmas was just another day, like all the rest. “Keep your mind on the screen,” he told her tersely.

  Maggi typed, her fingers flying, keying in codes. Watching her, Patrick marveled at how fast she was going. When he typed, it took him more than a minute to find every letter of a word.

  Sitting back, Maggi looked at the information she’d manage to pull up. She was far from satisfied. “Okay, Alicia Ramirez has a checking account with almost a thousand dollars in it.”

  He thought of the way the woman had turned down his offer to help. “I guess it was just her pride, then,” he surmised.

  Still typing, Maggi wasn’t ready to throw in the towel. “Maybe, maybe not.”

  There was something in her voice that put him on the alert. “You find something?”

  Yes! “There’s a third account.” Satisfaction rippled through her as the information began to emerge. “Neither Ramirez nor his wife is the principle reportable social security number on it.”

  He didn’t follow and hated feeling dumb. “Then how did you—?”

  She turned the screen at an angle so he could see it, as well. “I tried to link either one of them up with another account. You know, like maybe in one of the kids’ names.”

  “And?”

  She tapped the top line of the screen. “You have any idea who Maria Cortez is?”

  “No, why?”

  “Well, she and Alicia have a joint account together and this Maria’s social security number is the one that gets reported to the IRS. And whoever she is, she must be one rich lady.”

  Moving aside, Maggi indicated the bottom line of a series of entries, all made in a relatively short amount of time. And fairly recently.

  The current balance in the account was close to two hundred thousand dollars.

  Maggi shook her head as she looked at the figure. “If this does represent money that Ramirez was putting away in his wife’s name, all I have to say is that the raises in your department must be phenomenal.”

  Chapter 13

  She was having a hard time concentrating, what with Patrick behind her, moving back and forth like a brooding duck at a shooting gallery. Until now, she would have sworn that the man had been created without any nerves, but this clearly flew in the face of what she thought she knew about him.

  It was obvious that what they were discovering about Ramirez bothered him. Why? Because she was getting close to something, or because this was about someone he’d allowed himself to think of as a friend? Did it disturb him because he thought his judgment was poor, or because it was Ramirez, a man he’d liked?

  Whatever the answer, the relentless movement behind her began to grate on her nerves. When she hit a misstroke and had to backtrack, she bit off a curse. Trying to hold on to her temper, she glanced over her shoulder. “You know, I could do this a lot faster if you weren’t pacing around like that.”

  Patrick stopped, not because she wanted him to but because he hadn’t realized he was pacing. His own display of unrest annoyed him. “I thought nothing distracted you.”

  “So did I.”

  Her answer was barely audible and was meant more for herself than for him. She was becoming increasingly attuned to Patrick and not in a useful way. Maggi was afraid that it would make her want to tip the scales and the second she did, she became worse than useless to Internal Affairs.

  Patrick pointed a finger at the screen. “Just work.”

  She caught the vein of distress beneath the royal command. “This is bothering you, isn’t it?”

&
nbsp; He raked his fingers through his hair, sending it into further disarray. Watching him, she found herself wanting to do the same, but she kept her fingers flying over the keyboard. It was safer that way.

  “Wouldn’t it bother you to find out you had a crooked partner?”

  “Yes,” Maggi deliberately turned around to look at him, “it would.” She watched his face.

  Nothing. Not a flinch, not a twitch, not an uncomfortable look. You’re either very, very good, Cavanaugh, or you’re innocent.

  And she knew exactly which way she wanted to vote. Trouble was, you couldn’t vote on facts. They either existed or they didn’t. So far, there was nothing she could find to substantiate the rumors against him. But that didn’t mean they weren’t true, she reminded herself. Just that Cavanaugh was good at burying things.

  It didn’t take Maggi much more digging to discover the identity of Alicia Ramirez’s partner on the joint account. Cortez turned out to be Alicia’s maiden name. Maria Cortez was her mother.

  Playing on the side of the angels, she asked, “Did Ramirez ever mention or hint that his mother-in-law was well-off?”

  Patrick shook his head as he stared at a flickering light on her tree. She needed a new bulb, he thought absently. “He didn’t say much about her except that she was a dragon lady and never forgave him for getting Alicia pregnant.”

  The more she heard about his late partner, the more she liked him. But then, she’d learned a long time ago that nothing was ever black or white. Dirty cops could be nice guys, too. “Pretty open, wasn’t he?”

  “That’s my whole point.” The frustration Patrick felt was barely contained beneath the surface. “If he’d gotten into something that wasn’t aboveboard, he would have told me.”

  Still on the side of the angels, she pushed a little further. “Then maybe this is his mother-in-law’s money.”

  He looked at the screen she’d pulled up, his expression darkening. “Not if she was making deposits up to six weeks ago.”

  She looked at the string of deposits that were listed. They’d stopped abruptly the third week in October. “Why?”

  “Because I attended her funeral nine months ago.”