Internal Affair

by Marie Ferrarella

  Without saying a word, Maggi scrolled back to the beginning of the account. “This account was opened seven months ago.”

  Damn it, Ed, what the hell were you up to? What were you thinking? He looked at Maggi. It didn’t make sense. “So tell me, how does a dead woman open a bank account?”

  That she could answer. “It’s very simple, really. Alicia goes in, saying she wants a joint account, but that her mother is too ill to come in and sign the papers. Wanting their business, the bank is more than happy to be accommodating. They give her a signature card to take home to mom, Alicia brings it back signed and voilà, a new account is opened, bearing mom’s name.” She stopped. He had that strange look in his eyes, the one that said he was examining her. “What?”

  “How would you know that?” Patrick asked.

  “I worked Fraud for a while in ’Frisco. You pick things up.” She frowned as she viewed the screen again. There was no doubt about it—this did not look good. Wanting to see what he would do next, she placed the ball back in his court. “Now what?”

  Patrick shoved his hands into his jeans. “Now I try to figure out what to do with this.” He hated the kind of thoughts he was having. Ramirez had been one of the few people outside his family he’d trusted. Hell, he’d trusted the man more than he’d trusted his own father. What the hell did that say about his ability to read people? He slanted a glance at Maggi. “Those deposits wouldn’t happen to be traceable, would they?”

  Maggi shook her head. “Cash, every time.” And then she paused, looking closer. “Interesting.”

  “What is?” Patrick leaned more closely over her, his hand on her shoulder as he looked at the screen.

  She felt waves of warmth working their way through her, coming out of the blue. Trying to seduce her. Not the time, Mag, not the time, she warned herself. The waves kept coming.

  Shifting, she got him to remove his hand. “The handwriting on the deposit slips doesn’t seem to match Alicia’s.” She pointed out the copies, then, hitting a button, she enlarged the portion that had caught her attention. “Hers is neat, precise.” She shifted back to the deposit slips. “This is somebody dipping a chicken’s foot in ink and making passes on a piece of paper. It actually makes my dad’s handwriting look good.”

  Patrick’s expression was grim as he looked at the samples she pointed out. “That’s the way Ramirez used to write.”

  Ramirez made the deposits, probably to keep his wife innocent of what was going on. Maggi sincerely doubted the woman knew what her husband was really up to, other than trying to avoid reporting interest on an account.

  Keeping his wife in the dark was one thing. Keeping his partner there was another matter. She was having a difficult time believing that Cavanaugh had no inkling of what Ramirez had been up to. After all, it wasn’t as if Cavanaugh was mentally challenged or walked around, oblivious to things.

  Maggi decided to go fishing. “You said he liked to talk. He ever approach you about this, make any vague references to feel you out?”

  Patrick looked at her sharply. “No, he knew better than that.”

  She was pushing him, she thought, and he looked like he was on the edge. Maggi shoved with both hands. “You mean that he knew you were a straight shooter, right?”

  He came close to telling her what she could do with her sarcastic tone, but stopped himself in time. He wasn’t angry at her. He was angry at Ramirez for betraying him and for being stupid.

  “I’m not pure as the driven snow,” he informed her tersely. “I’ve got my share of black marks, but you don’t get mixed up in something like that. One way or another, they’ll get you.”

  Her eyes never left his face as she typed in more code. “You talking about the good guys or the bad?”

  “Both.” Bullets came from both directions. The way he saw it, if the good guys didn’t catch you, the bad guys killed you. “Somebody gets greedy, somebody gets nervous.” Cursing roundly, he moved away, needing space. Feeling frustrated. “Damn it, why didn’t I see it?”

  His anguish seemed genuine. So genuine she wanted to comfort him but knew that was both stupid and counterproductive. She needed him like this. If he was emotionally strung out, he was more likely to slip up. If there was anything to slip up about.

  “Maybe because you’re not clairvoyant.”

  He didn’t need or want her sympathy. It changed nothing. Ramirez was dead not because he hadn’t gone first into that building but because he hadn’t been smart enough to pick up on things. He’d let the man down.

  “I was his partner, the guy who was stuck with him for eight, ten, twelve hours a day. I should have felt it. He’d gotten quieter in the end.” Patrick blew out a breath. Why hadn’t Ramirez said anything? Why? “I just thought he and Alicia were having problems.”

  “I thought you said he always talked. Doesn’t that mean he would have said something to you about it if he was having problems with his wife?”

  A broad shoulder rose and fell. “Well, sometimes Ramirez kept a little something to himself. Chewed on it until he was ready to share.” Now that he thought about it, things started to fall into place. Ramirez had looked as if he wanted to talk just before they’d gone on the raid, but then the man had waved it away. At the time, he hadn’t thought anything of it. Maybe Ramirez had wanted to make a clean breast of his involvement. “He’d been preoccupied that last week.”

  “Maybe debating whether or not to get out.”

  And the wrong people had found out, Patrick thought, and decided to have him eliminated. He clenched his fists in his pockets. “Maybe.”

  She stopped pretending to type and turned to give him her full attention. “Any ideas on what he might have been mixed up in and who else might be involved?”

  He frowned as he eyed her. “Right now, where I stand, everybody’s a suspect.” His meaning was clear.

  The look in his eyes made her squirm inside, but she kept a mild expression on her face as she raised her hands in protest. “Hey, I’m the new kid on the block. I’m clean.”

  “This is a virus. It could have spread out in any direction.” But he really didn’t believe she was mixed up in something. She was the one doing the probing. If anything, he held that against her, but nothing else.

  Patrick’s words triggered a thought. Her father popped into her head. The accidental shooting had gotten her father off the force. Had that been on purpose? Had her father been about to stumble onto something and been blocked just in time?

  “The trouble with conspiracy theories,” she said aloud, “is that they start making you paranoid, get you looking over your shoulder all the time.”

  He thought of the way he’d been fooled. It wasn’t an image of himself he relished. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

  She laughed shortly, thinking more of her line of work than anything he was facing. “Hell of a way to live.”

  “Key word here is ‘live’ and to keep on living.” The image of his partner on the ground, already having taken his last breath, leaving behind a wife and three small children, ran through his head. “Maybe Ramirez should have been a little paranoid.”

  “Maybe he was. Maybe he tried to get out and that’s when they had him shot.”

  She was on to something, he thought. And he needed to act on it. “I think I’ll start by talking to Dugan.”

  “The guy who shot him?”

  Mentally he was already out of the apartment and on his way. “Yeah, he’s on disability.”

  Maggi was on her feet. The man definitely didn’t know how to segue into anything. “Now? You’re going to see him now?”

  “Now’s as good a time as any.”

  If he was going to question the man, she wanted to be there. This could all wind up being part of the same puzzle. She began to entertain the idea that maybe someone was throwing dirt on Cavanaugh to avoid any undue scrutiny.

  “Give me a second to shut down my computer and unplug the tree.”

  Instinct told him t
o keep walking. He stopped anyway. “Why?”

  “Because I’m going with you.”

  “He was my partner.” He didn’t want her tagging along. It was bad enough he had to put up with it during work hours.

  She looked at him before answering, trying to figure out just what was going on in his head. “Yes, and you’re mine.”

  Arguing with her would take up too much time. And he had a feeling that if he opted to walk out, she would be right there on his tail. He might as well keep her in his sights.

  Sighing, Patrick gestured at the Christmas tree. “All right, go ahead, unplug it.”

  To his surprise, she began to crawl under the tree. He couldn’t help watching as she snaked her way underneath, her small, tight posterior moving just enough to dry his mouth. He was only vaguely aware when the tree went dark after she hit the switch at the end of the abbreviated extension cord.

  “You know, it must be five degrees hotter around this tree. Are you single-handedly trying to fund the energy company?”

  Maggi wiggled back out from beneath the tree and rose to her feet. She’d managed to emerge a little closer to him than she’d anticipated. But to take a step back would have shown him that his proximity affected her. She remained where she was, at least for a beat.

  “Hey, it’s only one month out of the year. And it makes me happy.”

  The scent of something sweet and heady swirled around him. Cologne? Shampoo? Hadn’t the woman ever heard of using scent-free products?

  “I didn’t think you needed anything to ‘make’ you happy,” he said gruffly. “I thought you came that way.”

  “Never hurts to have a little reinforcement.”

  Her smile unfurled inside him like a cat stretching awake before a fireplace. “Whatever you say.” If he didn’t back off now, he knew he was done for. “Let’s get going.”

  “Right.”

  Thank God he had backed away, or she would have had to, Maggi thought. She was going to have to remember to leave space between them. Lots and lots of space. Otherwise, the temptation to have no space at all would overwhelm her.

  Another time and place, this would have been different, and she might have acted on what she was feeling, but here it wasn’t going to work. Anything that might have been between them was doomed before she ever laid eyes on the brooding man. Allowing herself to go further down that road was only asking for trouble.

  Why did trouble have to look so damn enticing?

  Josh Dugan lived in a small wooden framed house that had once belonged to his parents and looked it. Like an aging former athlete, the two-story building sagged in a number of places and there were shingles missing from its roof.

  “Well, if he’s in on something illegal, he’s not spending the money on home improvements, that’s for sure,” Maggi observed as Patrick rang the bell. “This place would have to have some major renovations just to be classified as a fixer-upper.”

  He made no comment, listening instead for the sound of someone coming on the other side. But there was nothing. After ringing again, Patrick knocked, hard.

  A woman across the street was walking by with her dog. She stopped to look in their direction, curiosity painted on her weathered face. Pulling her terrier closer, she stopped and called out. “You two looking for Josh?”

  Maggi walked down the rickety steps, crossing the wide residential street to reach her. “Yes, you know where he is?”

  The other woman lifted her shoulders beneath a worn winter coat that had never been in style. “Gone.”

  Patrick frowned, joining Maggi. “What do you mean, gone?”

  The woman seemed puzzled by the question. “Like, not there. I knocked on his door more than a couple of weeks ago to see if he wanted to come over for some Thanksgiving leftovers—never seem to be able to get rid of the stuff, you know?” she said, looking at Maggi.

  Patrick suppressed an impatient sound. “What about Dugan?”

  The expression on the woman’s face told them she didn’t like being rushed. “He wasn’t home. Hasn’t been home since, far as I can tell.” As if to validate the information, she added, “I live across the street.”

  She pointed to a house that looked as if it had been a mirror image of Dugan’s when the builder had finished his work. Now, the second house was in far better condition than the one belonging to the missing policeman. The woman’s house squarely faced Dugan’s. Her front windows would have allowed her a perfect view of Dugan’s comings and goings. Patrick had a feeling she stationed herself at them with fair regularity.

  “Do you remember when you last saw Officer Dugan?” Maggi asked.

  The woman paused to think. “Just before then. Two and a half, three weeks ago, maybe.”

  “What was he doing?” Patrick pressed.

  She shifted the leash from one hand to the other and turned up her collar against the late afternoon wind. “Some men came over to see him. Friends from the squad I guess.”

  Patrick was on it immediately. “What makes you say that? Were they in uniform?”

  The woman looked annoyed at the close questioning. “No, I said I guess.”

  Maggi intervened before Patrick’s lack of people skills alienated the woman. “And you haven’t seen him since?”

  The woman frowned. A longing appeared in her eyes as she looked over to the other house. “No.”

  “Could you describe the men?” Maggi wanted to know.

  Again the woman shrugged. “I dunno. They were men. Average height, dark hair, nothing special. Not like Josh,” she added.

  “How many were there?”

  “Five. I remember because I wondered how they could all get into the car they were in. Like clowns in a circus, you know?”

  Maggi nodded. “Did you notice what kind of a car?”

  “Some foreign thing. Black, navy, I’m not sure.”

  It was obvious that the woman had exhausted her supply of useful information. Patrick took out a card and handed it to her. “If you think of anything else, give me a call.”

  Her hand curved around the card as she looked up at him. There was no mistaking the interest that had entered her brown eyes. “Can I give you a call if I don’t think of anything else?”

  “You might have to talk to his wife or one of his six kids first,” Maggi told her cheerfully as she hooked her arm through Patrick’s and drew him away. “Thanks for your help,” she tossed over her shoulder.

  “Thanks,” he muttered to Maggi as the woman walked away.

  “Don’t mention it.” She winked at him. “Told you I had your back.” He was suddenly striding ahead of her with purpose, and she hurried to catch up. “Hey, where are you going?”

  “To look around Dugan’s. We’ve got probable cause now.”

  “We also have nothing,” Patrick conceded thirty minutes later after they had searched the premises. He’d half expected to find Dugan’s body in a pool of blood. It was getting to be that kind of a day. “He might have just gone on vacation.”

  Maggi stopped rummaging through the man’s closet. “I thought he was in the middle of therapy with the department shrink.”

  “Can’t think of better therapy than a vacation.”

  She caught something in his voice. “You don’t believe he went on one, do you?”

  “Nope.”

  Maggi stepped away from the closet and went to check the bureau drawers. “And you’d be right. Unless he went to a nudist colony.” When Patrick lifted a brow, she nodded toward the open closet. “Suitcases are still in the closet.”

  “Maybe he had an extra one.”

  A half smile curved her mouth. “Men don’t have extra suitcases. They also don’t go anywhere without underwear. They shove it in at the last minute, but they take it.” She closed the last of the drawers she’d opened. “His drawers are full.”

  He looked at her, curious despite himself. She kept doing that to him, he thought. “How do you know so much about how men pack?”

  “Becau
se I used to repack for one.”

  “Your father?”

  “My fiancé.”

  The information stopped him in his tracks. He refused to speculate why. “You’re engaged?”

  “Was,” Maggi corrected.

  A wave of relief came out of nowhere. “What happened?”

  She wondered if he’d even understand what she meant if she said, Que sera, sera. “My father caught a bullet, I caught a plane. My fiancé stayed where he was, nurturing his career.”

  “And you’re not going back?”

  “Nothing to go back to. Since when do you ask personal questions?”

  “You must be rubbing off on me. And before you say anything, no, that’s not a good thing.”

  Maggi forced herself to get her mind back on her work. She walked out of the bedroom. “I’m going to give this place another pass. Maybe there’s something we’re overlooking.”

  He was right behind her. “Like evidence of foul play?”

  Maggi nodded. “Crossed my mind.”

  He doubted they had missed anything. The house was almost Spartan in its decor. “Easier to just take Dugan for a ride and do away with him somewhere else. Still, he might have decided to take off.”

  “Easy enough to verify, unless he decided to drive somewhere.”

  She was talking about her computer, he thought. “Back to your place?”

  She was quick to grin. “Took the words right out of my mouth.”

  “That’s a first.”

  There were other things he wanted to do with her mouth, things that had nothing to do with uttering words, but he kept that to himself. It was getting crowded there, amid all the things he was holding to himself, but he figured it was damn well safer that way. To release them into the light of day might just spell something else for him and he wasn’t willing to go there yet.

  Maybe never.

  Chapter 14

  She was getting too close.

  Not to any dark, secret underbelly that Patrick Cavanaugh was suspected of having, just too close to the man himself. Too close to emotions that had absolutely no place in this kind of investigation. Not that she would allow them to cloud her judgment or stand in the way of her doing the right thing. She had too much integrity for that.