“Why are you at my crime scene?”
Devin’s attention shifted from Meyer’s fury to the area around him. Two patrol cars, barricades, somber expressions, uniforms talking to people milling around the apartment building. “What crime scene? What’s going on?”
“Jimmie Forrester is dead.”
* * *
“I ABSOLUTELY WOULDN’T believe it if I hadn’t witnessed the scene with my own eyes,” Lieutenant Meyer ranted, pacing his office as Calla and Devin sat stiffly in the guest chairs.
Technically, Meyer couldn’t question Devin before his lawyer arrived—though that hadn’t stopped him from ordering them inside, drawing the blinds and yelling off his frustration at finding them smack in the middle of Jimmie’s murder site.
An alleged murder, anyway. According to the medics, Jimmie had died of a drug overdose in the early morning hours Monday. Jimmie supposedly didn’t do recreational drugs, as he already had several legit prescriptions to combat his mental health issues.
But since the cops had found alleged evidence against Devin at both the assault in the alley and in his apartment, Calla was holding off on buying into Jimmie’s Just Say No lifestyle.
“In a little over a week, you’re found unconscious at two crime scenes,” Meyer continued, his voice as frigidly terse as Calla’s dad’s had been when he’d found out she was secretly dating bad boy Clint Hampton in the tenth grade. “The odds are...well, there are no odds. It’s incalculable!”
“Exactly, sir,” Devin said, his voice much stronger than Calla’s had been her sophomore year. “That’s because I was outside Jimmie’s place on purpose last night. I’m accused of assault. I can’t sit around and wait for Reid to use me to get his captain’s bars.”
“Reid’s a good man,” Meyer asserted.
“But he’s wrong about me,” Devin returned.
“You were armed.” Meyer lifted his hands to the ceiling, as if divine intervention might work its way down somehow. “You can’t carry a gun in the city while you’re on suspension.”
Devin coolheadedly met his boss’s fury. “Sir, I can explain—”
“It’s my gun,” Calla burst out. “Devin was holding it for me,” she added lamely.
Meyer braced his hand on the back of her chair and pushed his face inches from hers. “And how do you have a permit to carry a concealed weapon?”
She didn’t, of course. But she was pretty handy with computer graphics. Maybe she could forge a—
“You don’t,” Meyer argued before she could think of a reasonable lie.
Calla would’ve loved to have the comfort of Devin’s hand in hers, but as her lover’s hands were currently clenching the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles were white, she instead hoped Howard’s cab wasn’t stuck in traffic. “But I do have a theory,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t crack. “A drug overdose is like poison, right? And women are more likely to be poisoners. Well, we saw a woman outside Jimmie’s apartment last night, so—”
“Remind me again when you graduated from the police academy,” Meyer shot back.
“Sir, please.” Devin rose, moving between his boss and Calla. “She’s the only one who believes me.”
“Plus, I’m his alibi.” Calla pushed herself to stand. And not behind Devin, either. Though her knees wobbled, she forced herself to meet Meyer’s gaze. “Devin has been with me since Friday night.”
“As I recall,” Meyer said, his tone clipped, “you were asleep when I got to Jimmie’s.”
On the verge of her own rant, Calla held back a scream of frustration. “So you think Devin snuck out while I was sleeping and killed Jimmie?”
“No, but he could have. Motive, means, opportunity.” Meyer ticked the points off on his fingers. “It’s all there.”
This was beyond ridiculous. Calla couldn’t imagine crimes were actually solved with this kind of logic. “You honestly believe Devin and I ordered a picnic dinner, picked it up from my best friend’s catering company, borrowed my other best friend’s Mercedes, parked across from Jimmie’s apartment building, waited until the coast was clear, snuck in, murdered him with some icky needle thing, then slipped back into the car and fell asleep while waiting for you and your blue lights to show up?”
Meyer seemed stunned into silence.
Devin’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “Her succinctness is only one of her many amazing qualities.”
“I’m also stubborn as hell.” Calla crossed her arms over her chest. “If anything, you cops should be dancing around the Maypole. This latest frame-up proves Devin—who’s one of your own, if you might call—is innocent.”
“Maypole?” Meyer echoed. “Is she for real?” he asked Devin.
“She’s from Texas.”
“There are procedures, Ms. Tucker,” Meyer explained with barely restrained exasperation. “You and Devin were found mere yards from the scene of a suspicious death, the living quarters, by the way, of the star witness against him. Without Jimmie to testify, it’s likely the assault case will be dismissed.”
Calla looked surprised. “Really?” she questioned mockingly. “I didn’t realize you needed Jimmie. I thought you had other bogus evidence to fall back on.”
Meyer wasn’t impressed with her sarcasm. “We do. Evidence that can be rolled over into Devin’s murder trial.”
“Uh-huh. And we’re sure it’s murder because poor, sweet Jimmie would never do drugs.” She tapped her finger against her chin, pretending to contemplate. “He’d just frame a cop for assault.”
For a second, Meyer seemed as though he might smile, but the impulse passed as he walked stiffly around his desk. “Despite the appearance that I’m blind and deaf, I know there’s more to this than where the circumstances point. But, as cops, we have to follow the evidence.”
Calla glared at him. “Well, I think the whole case is stupid.”
“Unfortunately, law enforcement doesn’t get to decide that. Juries do.” Meyer shifted his stare to Devin. “Typically, you’ve said little, Detective. I imagine you’re regretting your rogue investigation about now.”
“No way.” Devin sent Calla a grateful glance. “In fact, I’m stepping up my efforts. Whoever’s behind this is way more dangerous than any of us thought. The sooner he—or she—is behind bars, the safer we’ll all be.”
Calla gave his hand a supportive squeeze. “Spoken like a true cop.”
“I figured as much.” Meyer scooped up Devin’s pistol, dangling it by the butt before shoving it in his desk drawer. “Which is why I’m keeping this. You’re lucky I don’t charge you with possession.”
“I need to protect myself,” Devin said, his vivid green eyes glaring. “And those around me.”
“Stay away from this case, and you won’t need to.” Meyer collapsed in his chair, probably knowing Devin wouldn’t follow his order.
Calla thought about bringing up the obvious point that Devin had a gun on hand, so he wouldn’t have needed to kill Jimmie with drugs. Meyer would probably point out that the gun could have been used to keep Jimmie under control while the lethal dose was administered.
It seemed everything about this investigation could be interpreted in a variety of ways. And there was almost too much information. A muddle of motives and contradictory evidence that slithered around the system, popping up to cause frustration, confusion, divided loyalties and a media explosion.
Almost amateurish, but not quite.
Because it was also crafty and cold-blooded. Frosty enough that one of the assumed conspirators was lying on a slab in the morgue.
“Do you two honestly think your presence was part of the frame?” Meyer asked. “That Jimmie’s killer knew you were on scene?”
“I don’t see how,” Devin said. “Only a few friends knew what we were doing. But whoever’s behind this knew I’d be the prime suspect regardless. Calla and I being there was a happy accident.”
“Happy, huh?” Meyer shook his head in disbelief. “How?”
Loo
king resolved, Devin rose. “Like Calla said, my killing him and hanging around to wait for the cops is stupid. Jimmie’s accomplice—and likely murderer—didn’t know we were there last night.”
Meyer tapped his pen against his desk. “Dumb moves aside, the setup is getting the job done. Question is, how?”
“And why,” Calla added.
Howard, all infuriated ninety-eight pounds of him, burst through the door. “This conversation is over.”
Despite her suspicion that the NYPD was holding back and Meyer might have been on the verge of agreeing with them, Calla was wildly glad to see the attorney.
She’d had enough of a scolding for today. She needed to confer with her peeps and figure out what to do next. She refused to even consider the possibility that Devin could be charged with a crime much worse than assault.
Howard set his briefcase on Meyer’s desk—a feat in itself as it was possible the bag weighed more than he did—then flicked his thumbs over the latches. “My recorder is engaged as of this moment.”
So saying, Howard removed a tiny, plastic square from his briefcase, which he set on the lieutenant’s desk.
Calla, Devin and Meyer all hovered over the device, which was smaller than a stamp. “What is that?” Meyer asked.
Howard snapped his briefcase closed and set it on the floor. “A recording device.”
“From an episode of Star Trek?” Calla wondered aloud.
Howard smiled before he cleared his throat and resumed a sober expression. “I dabble in electronics.”
“Yeah.” Calla straightened, looking at Howard with new eyes. “I guess so.”
Howard recited the time, date and location, apparently for the benefit of the recorder.
Calla raised her eyebrows. “What? No video capabilities on your alien technology?”
Howard’s eyes gleamed. “If the FBI would only let me in their lab...”
Oh, yeah. He was exactly what they needed.
Howard clasped his hands together and turned his attention to Meyer. “Surely you’re not questioning my client without his attorney present, Lieutenant? It would be a shame to have to file a civil case against the city after you’re forced to apologize to Detective Antonio for falsely accusing him in the first place.” Howard pulled his phone from his coat pocket. “I wonder if I still have Channel One on speed dial?”
“Told you he was good,” Calla said, winking at Devin.
“I haven’t questioned the lieutenant,” Meyer said, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve simply been holding him and Ms. Tucker here until you arrived.”
“We appreciate your consideration,” Howard returned. “Somebody’s setting up my client. I expect the NYPD is making an effort to find out who.”
“I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation, but this latest development has everybody’s strict attention. Devin Antonio has been a valuable asset to the department for several years, and the investigation surrounding Jimmie Forrester’s assault and now death will be given the highest priority.”
“Turn off the recording, Howard,” Devin ordered.
“Detective, we should—”
“Off,” Devin repeated. Once Howard had done so, Devin looked toward Meyer. “We could work together.”
“I can’t authorize that,” Meyer said, his voice clipped.
“We need to go through my old cases and figure out who might be behind all this,” Devin continued, undeterred.
Meyer’s gaze darted to Calla, no doubt remembering she’d had access to those files for over a week. “Haven’t you already?”
Devin shook his head. “Not with an eye toward Jimmie’s death—and the woman we saw go into his apartment building.”
“The alleged—” Meyer began, only to have the ringing phone interrupt. After a brief conversation, he hung up with a jerky roll of his shoulders. “Lieutenant Reid will meet you in interrogation room two. You can’t be there, Ms. Tucker,” he added in warning.
Calla slid her arm around Devin. She didn’t want to leave him, but she knew Howard was the one to send into the ring and continue the fight. “No worries. I have plenty to do.”
Meyer tapped a pen against his desk. “Off the record, I believe you, Detective. I don’t think you’re responsible for Jimmie’s assault or his death. But I can’t help you.”
Devin said nothing. Howard picked up his briefcase.
Calla kissed Devin’s cheek. “Until further notice, he’s the sheriff,” she muttered before scooting from the room.
10
“THE CITY IMPOUND LOT is probably in Jersey.”
Calla understood Victoria’s disgust about the events of the morning, but her car’s fate wasn’t in the top twenty. With her mocha latte and the familiar surroundings of Javalicious to soothe her ragged nerves, she hoped she could hold herself together.
“If I find one scratch,” Victoria continued, “I’m suing the city for damages.”
Calla dug deep for patience. “Seriously, V, scratches on your eighty-thousand-dollar Mercedes are not a top priority.”
Shelby scowled. “Did she equate eighty grand to low priority?”
Looking triumphant, Victoria set her coffee mug on the table. “Yep.”
“Hell,” Shelby groaned. “She’s in love.”
“Told you.” Victoria held out her hand. “Twenty bucks.”
Sometimes her friends were downright maddening. They were supposed to be brainstorming Devin’s case.
“If I was in love,” Calla began in a stern tone, “the only man who’s even remotely a candidate is likely being interrogated for murder. Do you think we can stay on topic here?”
Victoria stuffed her bet winnings in her handbag. “We can multitask. We’re women, after all.”
“You sure you don’t want to talk about your relationship with Devin?” Shelby asked.
“I’m sure.” Calla frowned. “I need to concentrate on helping him get his badge back and these charges dismissed before I can even consider anything else.”
And that was as good a reason to avoid talking about the amazing, confusing joy she shared with Devin, and its precarious position in her life, as any.
Shelby nodded. “Devin has helped us out plenty of times. It’s our turn to be there for him.”
“This isn’t about payback or friendship for Calla,” Victoria insisted.
As much as Calla appreciated Victoria’s insight, she wasn’t ready for that conversation. Her friends were too good at reading her, and her feelings were too scary to examine. Whoever said ignorance is bliss was right on the money. “It is today.”
Calla’s stubbornness was matched by few people, and since Victoria was one of those, she was surprised when her friend said, “So we’re looking for a woman.”
Shelby’s eyes darkened with worry. “A killer.”
“Not necessarily,” Calla said. “Maybe Jimmie really
did overdose. Devin described him as jittery. The police say he’s mentally unstable. He could have taken the drug on this own.”
“Suicide?” Victoria wondered.
Calla still found it hard to believe things had gotten so grave in less than twenty-four hours. “That can’t be ruled out, I guess.”
“But Meyer thinks it was murder,” Shelby prompted.
“He used words like alleged and suspicious death, but, yeah, I think so.” Calla recalled the lieutenant’s anger and concern. This turn in the case had thrown him, too. “Until the autopsy is finished, we can’t know for sure.”
“When will that be?” Victoria asked.
“Sometime today, I guess,” Calla said. “Not that Reid is likely to tell us the results. And Devin’s contact who’s been feeding us information at the precinct is in robbery. I don’t know if he can find out anything about a possible murder.”
“Regardless,” Shelby put in, “we need to go through Devin’s case files to find a woman.”
“Not necessarily a woman he arrested, though.” Victoria cupped her hands around her mug. �
��Somebody’s wife or sister, somebody pissed off her loved one was arrested.”
Calla considered the new angle Victoria had proposed. It was one option among so many. She wasn’t sure which tactic would yield the best results, and the continual images of Devin in that stark interrogation room weren’t helping. If Howard wasn’t with him, she didn’t see how she wouldn’t melt into a useless puddle on the floor. “The woman could also be a cousin, maiden aunt or college roommate. The possibilities are endless. It’s a daunting task.”
Shelby sighed. “Especially without our usual inside source—Devin.”
“He’ll be around later,” Calla said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.
“Sure he will.” Shelby sipped her cappuccino, probably to hide worry lines. “I can’t believe Lieutenant Meyer won’t help.”
Victoria leaned back in her chair. “He doesn’t want internal affairs knocking on his door, too.”
“He’s as worried as we are.” Though Calla was disappointed he wouldn’t do more. “Devin worked with a homicide cop back in the spring. Maybe he’d be willing to give us the inside scoop.”
“It’s worth a try,” Shelby agreed.
Whether it was the coffee or the familiarity, Calla already felt better. “I’ll get Devin to contact him while we—”
Victoria’s phone chimed. “Sorry, that’s the alarm for my meeting.”
“Thanks, guys.” Calla stood and hugged each of her friends. “I appreciate you taking the time.”
“Meet later to go over the case files?” Victoria asked.
Calla found a smile. “You bet. You still need to meet Sharky.”
“The cat?” Victoria wrinkled her nose. “Guess I won’t wear black.”
Shelby gave Victoria an affectionately exasperated look. “I’m sure he’s adorable.”
As Calla rode the subway back to her apartment, she was surprised how eagerly she was looking forward to seeing her adorable new addition. Once she’d buried her face in his soft fur, apologized for dumping him while she raced off to a stakeout, she was sure she could pull out her laptop and concentrate on research.
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