Shit I thought I had her, but now she’s pissed again. “What about homicide?”
Parker stood. “I’ll think about it and get back to you tomorrow.”
“Captain Winfry wants this resolved by the time he gets back.” She glanced at her phone. “In ten or fifteen minutes.”
“In that case, the answer is no. Excuse me, I need the ladies’ room.” Parker walked out.
Corelli stared after Parker. She’d sure done a whiz-bang job convincing her. Damn. She hated being dependent. But desk duty was deadly. Maybe she should follow Parker and grovel. She stood, then thought better of it. If she was any judge of character, Parker would be back. And if not, she would grovel later.
Parker dashed into the ladies’ room, glad to find that it was private. She locked the door and leaned against it, her breath coming in quick bursts, the sweat tickling her shoulder blades. She splashed cold water on her face and pressed a wet paper towel to the back of her neck. Damn. Why risk her career and her life dealing with Corelli’s shit? So she’d be on desk duty, big deal. God, country, family and doing the right thing were important to her too, but she didn’t go around sticking her nose in hornets’ nests. She leaned toward the mirror and looked herself in the eye. Except isn’t that what she’d been doing at the precinct? Preaching to cops about building better cases, cops who’d been on the job since she was in elementary school.
Coward. She believed Corelli and it offended her sense of right and wrong that the department hadn’t protected her reputation, hadn’t vigorously defended her. So why was she hesitating to say yes? Not getting cooperation? Nothing new there. The assholes at the two-nine never gave her the time of day. The danger? Being a cop is dangerous. Being an outcast along with Corelli? She was already an outsider. The ostracism? It wouldn’t be fun, but if Corelli could walk the gauntlet and endure the abuse, so could she. No, it was Corelli’s attitude. Instead of groveling so she could make the grand gesture, Corelli had acted like she didn’t need her.
Parker straightened. Put your pride aside. Trust your gut. Corelli’s a good cop and exposing those dirty police was a good thing. You became a cop to nail the bad guys, and bad cops are very bad guys. She took a deep breath. Even people who trash her say Corelli is a crack detective. This is your opportunity to get into homicide and learn from the best. If it means putting up with her attitude and being ignored and shot at, so be it.
Decision made, she went to face the dragon. Detective Corelli was sitting in the same position, straight as a soldier, but with a fuck you sneer on her face. She wavered. As she sat and faced Corelli, she considered telling the bitch to shove it, but then she reminded herself that her goal was homicide. And she always met her goals. She cleared her throat. “I’m in.”
The smile that Corelli flashed belied the antagonism that Parker had observed. “You surprised me, Detective Parker. Are you sure you have the balls to walk the gauntlet with me?”
“Damn you. Are you always like this? I’m already regretting it.”
Corelli grinned. “You’re doing the right thing. Time will tell whether you’ll regret it.”
Chapter Two
Corelli slammed the door of the unmarked car and quickly scanned Wall Street. Eight-ten in the morning and the place had the feel of an anthill with zombie-like financial worker ants marching from every direction to their jobs. Happy she wasn’t one of them, she silently thanked Winfry for pushing them to the top of the catching order. Solving murders was what she did best.
Corelli turned to look for Parker and nearly knocked her over. “Jeez, why the hell are you standing so close?”
“Not much space on the sidewalk.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Captain’s orders, remember?”
“I doubt he meant for you to get up my ass. Just stay near.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to irritate you.”
“Apologizing irritates me. Breathing down my neck irritates me. Quoting the freakin’ captain irritates me. Suck it up, Detective. Just use your head. Let’s go.”
Corelli glanced over her shoulder and caught Parker mouthing “fuck you” to her back. She pretended she hadn’t seen it but smiled as she pushed through the revolving doors. Inside, she stepped to the wall. Parker followed. Corelli surveyed the lobby: one guard behind a high marble counter and one beyond the turnstiles leading to two banks of elevators. Four security cameras mounted high on the walls, one facing the entry, one facing the counter, and one facing each of the banks of elevators.
Parker followed her gaze. “Should I get the tapes from the cameras?”
“You’re with me. We’ll get someone else to do it.”
They elbowed their way through the crowd waiting to talk to the guard standing behind the marble counter. The grumbles quieted when Corelli flashed her shield. “What floor?”
“Thirty-five,” he said, pointing to the left bank of elevators. “The nearest one, the executive elevator for Winter Brokerage. What’s going on?”
“An investigation.” She narrowed her eyes. “If you or your partner, there,” she pointed to the guard standing at the turnstile watching people swipe their ID cards, “mention our presence to anyone, you’ll answer to me? Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it but you don’t have to get so nasty.”
“I need to be sure you understand.”
He buzzed them through the turnstile and they stepped into the elevator. Corelli pressed thirty-five. As the elevator started to move, she glanced at Parker and caught the flicker of a smile. “What’s so funny, Parker?”
“Sounds like you had a bad night.”
“Every night is a bad night, Detective,” Corelli said, her voice low and husky.
Parker’s smile disappeared.
Damn, that sounded pathetic. Corelli cleared her throat. “Homicide 101. First lesson. One, I want your thoughts and ideas and your questions, especially the ones you think are stupid. Two, unlike TV, we don’t play good cop, bad cop. I ask the questions. You take the notes. Three, if you see something, tell me, but be discreet.”
“Please don’t condescend to me. I’ve been an ADA and a cop. I know my way around a murder scene.”
“But this is my murder scene, Parker. Homicide 101 says the lead is in charge. Got it?”
“That’s no reason to treat me like an idiot.”
“Don’t be so thin-skinned. I’m just laying out the rules. Just one more point and the first lesson is over. If you feel sick when we examine the victim, leave the room for a few minutes.”
Parker blew the air out her mouth between closed lips. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Do what?”
“Deal with your attitude. I don’t ask stupid questions. And, I’ve seen my share of dead bodies.”
“Just sayin’.” Corelli glanced sideways at Parker. “So what do we know about the vic?”
Parker sighed and opened her notebook. “Connie Winter, President of Winter Brokerage Services—”
The elevator stopped and the door slid open. They stepped into a frigid room, wood paneled, filled with Persian rugs, graceful furniture, and gold. Gold sparkled in the molded plaster octagons on the ceiling, in the threads running through the green and brown brocade fabric covering the chairs and sofas, and in the elaborate frames surrounding the lush paintings on the wall facing the elevator. A screen decorated in a gold and green floral pattern covered the opening of the marble fireplace. Even the lamp on the wooden reception desk glowed golden. The room reeked of perfume. And money.
The gold-framed mirror hanging over the fireplace reflected a woman crumpled in the chair farthest from the elevators. She leaned forward, a blanket around her shoulders, head drooping, arms clutching her body and appeared dangerously close to tumbling off the chair. A steaming cup of something sat on the table next to her. She didn’t register their arrival. The police officer hovering near her glanced at the woman to see if there was any recognition before joining them. He resembled a walrus: soft brown eyes
, black curly hair, a drooping mustache, and a heavily muscled upper body. Officer Enrique Hernandez introduced himself then examined their IDs and shields. His gaze lingered on Corelli’s face for a few seconds, but he handed her the log without comment and watched her enter the required information.
“What time did you get here, Hernandez?”
“About seven thirty a.m. We happened to be on Broad Street in front of the Stock Exchange when the 911 came in.”
“Who called it in?”
He nodded in the direction of the woman. “Sandra Edwards, the victim’s assistant.”
“And what did you do when you got here?”
He turned his back to Edwards and lowered his voice. “Ms. Edwards was pacing out here in the reception area, nearly hysterical. After we calmed her down, she directed us to the dead, er, victim’s office down at the end of that hall, in the corner. It was obvious she was dead, so we didn’t touch anything. We checked the entire floor then called it in as a probable homicide. Officer Shaunton went to secure the office with the victim and I stayed here to maintain the log. When the bus arrived, the EMTs confirmed she was dead.”
“It’s freezing. Did you turn up the air-conditioning?”
“It was like this when we got here.” He glanced behind him. “Ms. Edwards seemed to be going into shock so the EMTs left a blanket and my partner got her a cup of coffee. I’ve tried to keep her talking but she hasn’t responded.”
“Good work, Hernandez. We’ll interview her in an office or conference room nearby. Keep arriving employees in the reception area. If they ask, tell them there’s a problem under investigation. I’ll send your partner out to help you. You ever catch a homicide before?”
Hernandez nodded.
“Then you know the drill.” She handed him her card. “Call my cell if any brass or politicians, including the mayor or the governor or the president of the United States, show up.”
Corelli knelt in front of Sandra Edwards, but she remained hunched forward, seeming not to notice. The flowery sweetness of the woman’s perfume was sickening. Corelli coughed, swallowed, and took a minute to focus her attention, pushing the fragrance to the background. She placed her left hand on the woman’s shoulder and spoke in a low voice, trying to bring her back from wherever she had retreated. After a few minutes Edwards lifted her head. She stared at the bruises on Corelli’s face but didn’t comment.
“Ready?”
“Yes,” Edwards whispered.
Corelli lifted her to an upright position. She flinched when Edwards grabbed her swollen right hand. The blanket slid onto the chair. They remained locked together for a minute as if they might dance then Edwards took Corelli’s arm, leaning on her like an ancient arthritic, and they limped down the hall.
Corelli tilted her head at Parker, indicating she should come too, and caught a silent exchange between Hernandez and Parker: his raised eyebrows and her shrug as she picked up the coffee and the blanket.
Edwards led them to a conference room with a view of water towers and rooftops, the East River and the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, brightening the mauve and gray color scheme, warming the room somewhat. Edwards settled in a chair close to the window. Parker handed her the blanket, placed the hot coffee in front of her on the wooden conference table, wrinkled her nose and turned away, apparently hit with the perfume for the first time. Despite the blanket, Edwards shivered. Corelli removed her jacket and draped it over Edwards’s shoulders.
“You’ll freeze without your jacket. I’ll get my sweater in the closet in the hall and the jacket from Phil Rieger’s office.”
“Detective Parker will get them.”
“Mr. Rieger’s office is the fourth on the left.”
They were silent, waiting for Parker. Edwards stared at the gun strapped to Corelli’s side and tears trickled down her face. She made no effort to dry them.
“Sorry, to be so long,” Parker said. “The jacket was in a different office, the one at the far corner. The sign said Human Resources.”
“That’s strange.” Edwards exchanged Corelli’s jacket for the sweater.
Corelli slipped back into her jacket, happy for the warmth. “Which way to Ms. Winter’s office?”
They left Edwards in the conference room and headed in the direction she’d indicated. The uniform outside the corner office watched them approach, her eyes on Corelli’s bruised face.
“Officer Shaunton, I’m Detective Corelli and this is Detective Parker. All quiet here?”
“Yes.”
“Go up front and help your partner manage the employees as they arrive.”
Shaunton nodded and strode toward the reception area.
Corelli touched Parker’s shoulder to keep her from entering the room. Parker tensed and shifted slightly, as if trying to get away from Corelli’s hand. Ah, she doesn’t like contact either. “We’ll gather first impressions of the scene from inside the door. You do a rough but detailed sketch, including the position of the body and the furniture. It doesn’t need to be a work of art, but it needs to be accurate and complete.”
Corelli readied her digital camera. “I’ll take pictures.”
“With that.” Parker laughed. “It’s so old it must have about three pixels. Let me.” She took out her phone.
“What the fuck are you doing, Parker?”
“My smartphone has a much higher resolution, so we’ll get better quality pictures and we won’t need a sketch.”
Corelli glared at her. “Didn’t you hear what I said, Parker? I’m the lead. That means I decide how we proceed. Shove your freakin’ phone and all its pixels in your pocket.”
Parker backed away. “No need to yell, I’m not deaf. I just thought—”
“I’ll do the thinking. You draw the freaking sketch. Got it?”
A shadow passed over Parker’s face, but she pocketed the phone.
“Now that we’ve got that straight, see if you can manage to put on protective gear so we can get to work. Unless, of course, you have some better idea about what we should do?”
“Damn it, Corelli, I was just trying to help. Why do you have to be so nasty?”
“More to the point, Parker, why can’t you follow orders?”
They donned protective gear in tense silence.
“Let’s go,” Corelli said. As they stepped into the unlit office, they were assaulted by a flash of light. Corelli dropped to the floor, pulling Parker with her. They lay there a few seconds, not moving, Corelli’s ragged breathing the only sound. The light went off.
“What the hell was that?” Parker said, pulling herself out from under Corelli and onto her knees. The light went on again.
Corelli rolled to her knees. “Sorry.” She holstered her Glock. “The lights must be activated by movement.”
“That’s obvious. What’s not obvious is why you dragged me down and drew your weapon. Were you demonstrating a lesson from Homicide 101?”
“Gee, I hope I didn’t damage your fancy suit.” Not a wrinkle in my baggy jeans and jacket.
“My suit is fine.” Parker scrutinized Corelli’s face. “I’m just glad you didn’t shoot me or yourself. Are you all right?”
The concern on Parker’s face and in her voice was embarrassing. Corelli liked her anger better. “If I wanted to shoot you, you’d be dead. Same for me. Get over it.”
“Are you going to tell me what that was about?”
Corelli took a deep breath and met Parker’s gaze. “A couple of tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, followed by three months undercover makes a person…sensitive.” It also makes it hard to sleep, leading to anxiety and anger. And it kills your appetite, leading to clothes that hang on you like a scarecrow.
“I’m sure you’re sensitive,” Parker said, retrieving her pen and notebook from the floor. “But you also seem edgy and angry.”
“You know Parker, I hope the chief is right and you have what it takes to watch my back, but I damn well know for sure y
ou’re not qualified to analyze my mental state. Let’s just get to work.”
“You’re the lead.”
“Ah, you remember.”
They edged into the room. The stench of decomposing flesh combined with the metallic smell of blood and the stink of excrement engulfed them. The pervasive reek of stale cigarette smoke vied with the fetid odors for dominance. Corelli felt the bile rise and forced it back. Despite the many murders she’d investigated and what she’d seen in Iraq and Afghanistan, death still bothered her. She hoped she never got used to it.
She glanced at Parker, who wore a hint of green around her mouth. Corelli pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket. “Put a handkerchief over your nose and don’t breathe too deeply.”
Parker frowned but pulled out a handful of tissues. “Most of the bodies I’ve seen have been outside. The smells seem stronger inside a place like this.”
Corelli coughed. “Not to mention it appears she’s been dead a while.”
From where they stood they could see the back of a high leather chair and the right shoulder and arm of someone sitting in it. Except for the smell, the buzzing of the flies, the blood pooled on the white carpet around the chair, and the bloody footprints leading toward the door, Winter might have been working.
“Unusual,” Parker said, eyeing the spectacular view of lower Manhattan sweeping north toward midtown out the two walls of floor-to-ceiling windows. “Most people sit with their back to the view.”
“Safer that way,” Corelli said. “Nobody can sneak up on you.”
“Clearly Ms. Winter wasn’t worried about that,” Parker said. “Or maybe she thought the view of the Hudson River, Statue of Liberty, Battery Park City, the World Financial Center, rooftops, water towers, and New Jersey, was worth the risk.”
“Yeah. It sure worked out good for her.”
Corelli’s eyes were drawn to the hole in the skyline where the twin towers used to stand. Suddenly she was there. Her eyes and nose burning from the acrid smoke of the burning fuel, her throat raw from the choking black cloud of dust, her ears assaulted by the roar of the huge building collapsing and the screams of people near her. The helplessness. She staggered.
A Matter of Blood Page 3
