Ryder cocked his head. “You’d do that?”
Winter got in the car. “Why not? It’s your case. Drop me off at the station so I can get my car. And tell me what else Ayers said, so I’ll know what to leave out of my talk with Upton.”
CHAPTER 29
The bacon he’d purloined at the Hilton had made Winter think about food, and even though it was still mid morning he hit the McDonald’s drive though as soon as he had picked up his car at the station. All day breakfast, a dream come true for a cop . . .
Winter had asked Cindy to set up a time with Melanie Upton. He would talk to her, but he had no interest in muscling in on Ryder, which is why he wouldn’t push back if Ryder complained to Logan that Winter didn’t do a good job on the interview. The case was full of drama queens. Ryder could have it.
In the meantime he could try a few more places where Gruse had taken photos of women. Cindy was on a tear, doing an incredible job of identifying backgrounds, the woman was indispensable. If half the detectives had her doggedness there wouldn’t be any open cases.
Three of the full frontal photos had been taken at Marburg Park, so Winter headed that way. He found the spot easily enough, the bandstand visible in the background. The main walkways from the street entrances crossed here, an easy place for Gruse to spot subjects. In the photos the women were captured mid stride, not posed; they could have been shot without the women knowing.
Winter made two more stops, a local coffee shop and a bakery. The women who had been photographed nearby didn’t work there. He wasn’t discouraged; investigations often went like this, even with his experience he never knew just where the next piece of the puzzle would fall into place. Often he wondered if cases would have been solved earlier—or not at all—if he had spoken to Person X before Person Y, or had asked a different question.
It wasn’t a total loss, the bakery woman had given him a free coffee bun.
Ryder barely glanced at the list of locations he was supposed to visit before tossing them on the passenger seat. More busy work from Winter on the Gruse investigation. He still didn’t understand Winter’s obsession with identifying the women Gruse had photographed. Did Winter really believe one of them killed Gruse? And would just admit to it?
Gruse was his case, after all, and damned if he was going to let Winter jerk him around. Ryder would have to listen to the Captain, but so far Logan hadn’t said a word about having to identify the women Gruse had photographed. Winter would probably bend Logan’s ear about it, but until then, Ryder wasn’t going to waste any more time. Besides, the Upton case had turned out to be much more interesting than the Gruse investigation. It wasn’t a homicide, but he could make a name for himself clearing the Upton assault—it would certainly get more airtime than the murder of Gruse. That was unfair, but it was the way of the world.
If Jason Ayers was innocent, he’d be grateful to Ryder for clearing his name. Maybe grateful enough to offer Ryder a gig as a consultant on Shock and Awe. If Ayers was guilty—not a good outcome for becoming a consultant, but Ryder would be in the papers—then Melanie Upton would be the grateful one. Either way, Ryder would come out ahead.
Logan told him he couldn’t talk to Melanie. But no one said anything about her sister Gigi. He’d get this case solved before Winter found a way to steal all the credit.
Winter’s tires rumbled over the railroad tracks, reminding him of the times he had crossed as a kid on his bike. There had been no crossing gates then, and he hadn’t worn a bike helmet. Back then no one did, just as no one had safety seats or shoulder harnesses or airbags. A lot of his friends had lived on this side, and if his grandfather had not married a woman whose parents happened to own a lot on the other side of the city, Winter would probably have grown up here too.
Though the streets grew increasingly run down as he drove, Winter never really thought of them as seedy. Yet he could understand how a visitor would think so; the older model cars, the tenements, ancient air conditioners hanging precariously out of double hung windows. No Starbucks here, no juice bars, not even a large grocery store. Marburg had some nice sections, but it wasn’t an affluent city, yet the difference in the neighborhoods was obvious all the same.
Would Jason Ayers come here to meet with Melanie Upton? Ayers’s high school friend Carlo didn’t think so, but Carlo admitted he had hung around this part of town with Ayers growing up.
Cindy had called Winter and given her Upton’s address and the time Upton had said she’d be available. Winter knew the street, he’d been down it before, just as he had most of Marburg’s streets. Even when he didn’t remember the name he would know the street as soon as he turned on it, it was how his mind worked.
He purposely took a slightly roundabout way, getting a handle on changes in the neighborhood. Some of the buildings had new tenants, a few of the houses had different colors, but the place still felt the same. Not quite poor, but not middle class either, filled with people who were either on the way up or the way down.
Not much traffic, so it was easy to hear the revving motorcycle pulling into an alley next to a grungy bar called Marv’s. Winter recognized the bike’s high back leather seat stitched with a silhouette of a naked woman. Winter had chased the bike’s owner out of town a year ago, a lowlife named Sal Tully who’d been beating on his girlfriend. There was no proof, and she wouldn’t press charges, but everyone knew it, and the woman’s six year old had pulled Winter aside and told him as much. The six year old wasn’t Tully’s, and neither were his three other half siblings, but just because the woman didn’t have good luck picking men didn’t mean she deserved to be beat up. Not that any woman did; a man abusing a woman was Winter’s definition of the ultimate scumbag. Winter obviously hadn’t been clear enough, because Tully was back, and still sporting the very identifiable bike adornment, the stupid shit.
Winter turned into the alley, blocking Tully’s exit. The bike was still revving for no reason, Tully just sitting there, Winter recognizing him even from the rear, curly hair tied back in a ponytail, a worn leather vest, a lightning bolt on his neck. Tully didn’t turn around, he probably couldn’t hear Winter’s car over the bike engine. No one else was in the alley, although the space between Tully and an old garage was lined with motorcycles.
Winter was about to get out, had a better idea, and nudged the car forward. His gun was on the seat next to him and he edged it out of the holster. When he was almost up against Tully’s rear wheel he waited until Tully was in full rev, then leaned on his horn. Tully almost flew out of the seat, jerking his head around, his hand slipping off the clutch as Winter had hoped, and the bike lurched forward, knocking over one, two, three bikes and then crashing sideways into the garage door, Tully’s right leg trapped under his own bike.
Winter tucked his gun under his shirt as he got out of the car. Tully’s bike had stalled, the biker trying to free himself, but part of the garage door had pinned it in place. Winter shifted his body so that he’d be in position when the back door of the bar opened, and sure enough, four guys in leather burst out.
One gave Winter a hard look, the other three ran to their bikes, ignoring Tully. Winter kept his eye on the beefy guy staring at him, his reaction would determine what happened next.
“Shit, Tully, what’d you do to my ride?”
“I didn’t do nothin’, it was that cop.”
Winter shrugged. “Didn’t touch your bikes. Tully drove over them.”
Tully was still struggling on the ground, flecks of dirt and grease in his beard. “You made me, you snuck up behind.”
“You forgot the part about me blowing my horn,” said Winter. “You were in the way, I just wanted to get by.”
The beefy guy looked from Tully to Winter. “That right, Tully? You drove over our bikes because he blew his horn?”
Winter didn’t recognize the beefy guy, but he knew their colors, a fringe club associated with a small Boston gang. Not legit, but not big time either, larcenies, some drugs. Tully wasn’t weari
ng their colors.
“It’s not my fault, Stan. Somebody help get this bike off me.”
Stan, the beefy guy, ignored him. Stan looked to be the guy in charge, so Winter said to him, “I told Tully last year I didn’t want to see him around again. I thought there must be a problem with his ears, but he heard my horn just fine.”
“He do something wrong?”
“He beats on women. One in particular I know, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a habit.”
“This woman, she something to you?”
“Nope. Just a citizen.” Winter knew the biker would understand, a citizen was under Winter’s protection, not someone part of the biker universe.
Stan’s eyes narrowed on Tully, then glanced at his crew. “Your bikes okay?”
“My mirror’s busted, and the muffler will need to be chromed.”
“I’m sure your friend Tully will pay for the repairs,” said Winter. He could see Stan calculating, balancing the cost of attracting police attention on his crew against backing Tully.
Stan said, “He’s no friend of ours from now on. You good with that?”
Winter understood the message, Tully would get no refuge with the bikers. Bikers weren’t all the same, just like cops and any other group, but most of them had a thing about not getting physical with women. “I am if I don’t see him around again.”
The biker nodded at Winter and said, “Get him up. Tully, time to give you an escort out of town.”
Ryder had agreed to meet Gigi Doyle in a small city park a few blocks from her office. She had asked him not to come to her office, claiming she didn’t have much privacy. Ryder had no real reason to insist, nor did he want to work past his shift to interview her in the evening.
The park was just an empty lot between two buildings on a busy street, but it had a wall waterfall, an oasis in a sea of office buildings. Ryder arrived early, sitting at one of the metal bistro tables in the corner away from the waterfall where he could watch the entrance. It wasn’t yet lunch time, the park was empty except for two elderly men playing chess.
A young woman entered, dressed in a dark blue jacket and matching skirt, her dull hair cut to her chin. She wore small framed glasses and carried a gray shoulder bag. At first Ryder didn’t think it was Gigi Doyle; this woman was demure, almost mousy, but after a moment she approached Ryder, her steps tentative.
“Detective Ryder?”
Ryder stood up and shook her hand. “Yes. Miss Doyle?”
“That’s right.” She sat down, clutching her bag in her lap, her back stiff.
Up close, Ryder could see the similarities to her sister, the same cheekbones, eye color, a soft nose. They actually looked pretty much alike, but they couldn’t have been more different in appearance; where Melanie was confident and alluring, Gigi was shy and reserved. Melanie would look right at you, Gigi hadn’t met his eyes yet. Ryder had no idea what Gigi’s figure was like, covered by her loose jacket and long skirt.
“Thank you for meeting me,” said Ryder.
“I don’t have much time,” she said. “My boss called a meeting for right after lunch—”
“Don’t worry, this shouldn’t take long. And we can always continue at another time. I just have a few questions about your sister.”
“You spoke to her, didn’t you? Shouldn’t she be here?”
“We have spoken to her, and probably will again,” said Ryder. “We’re trying to find out who broke into her place.” Doyle fiddled at the strap on her bag. “There’s no need to be nervous.”
“I’m just not used to talking to policemen.”
“Am I that scary?”
Doyle finally looked up, confused, maybe not sure if Ryder was serious. An uneasy smile flittered over her mouth for just an instant. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—.”
“I know. Your sister was on this television show, and she said, well, she implied, that Jason Ayers might have been the man who broke into her apartment. It wasn’t clear if she was speaking about that same night, although she does mention a police report—”
“I didn’t see the show.”
“Really? Your sister was on television, and you didn’t watch it?”
“I don’t watch that much tv. I travel a lot for work, and by the time I get back to the hotel it’s late and I just eat and go to sleep. Even when I’m at home I don’t watch much.”
“But you know about the show?” Ryder was taking notes.
“Mel told me. What are you writing down?”
“Just a few notes to remind me about our conversation.” Ryder hesitated, he’d never shown a civilian his notes, but Doyle was so nervous he turned the small book toward her. “See? Just your name, the time and place we met. Then I noted that you were aware of the television show and didn’t watch it. That’s all.” He was glad he hadn’t added the part about her being nervous, but would later. “Has Melanie been on television before?”
“She’s done a few commercials, I did see one of those. She’s a very good actress.”
“You ever thought about being an actress yourself?”
“Me? No, I never had any interest. Besides, Mel’s so pretty.”
“The two of you look alike,” said Ryder. He meant it, although he really wouldn’t have called Doyle pretty.
“I guess so. But she’s older—not that she looks older, and, I don’t know, more confident and willing to take risks. I like a nice steady job, acting is hit and miss.”
“Do you know a lot of Melanie’s friends?”
“Not really, we’re in different circles. Why?”
“We’re just trying to find out if maybe one of her friends committed the break-in. Or an acquaintance. Did she know Jason Ayers well enough that he might have been familiar with her place?”
“You mean her apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Well, maybe, from when they were dating.”
Ryder was just about to jot a note, he looked up, surprised. “Your sister is dating Jason Ayers?” That’s what Melanie had said on The Other Woman, but it’s not exactly what Jason Ayers had just told him.
“Well, yes, I mean, I’m not sure what their exact relationship is right now, I don’t talk much with Melanie about her—personal life. But Jason grew up in Marburg. He and Melanie have known each other for a while, they are both into the whole acting thing. I mean, it’s not that big a city, right? I know she used to see him, I’m not sure what their relationship was—”
“You said they were dating.”
Doyle clutched her bag strap so hard Ryder thought it might snap. “I was using the term loosely. I know they went out, I even met him once or twice, although that was a few years ago.”
“Did you ever see Ayers at her apartment?”
“No, I’ve actually only been there a few times.” Doyle watched Ryder take a note, and then said, “I’m not going to get anyone in trouble, am I?”
“Don’t you want the person caught who did this?”
“Of course, but what if—”
“What if what?”
“Nothing.” Doyle looked at the waterfall, biting her lip, her voice barely audible over the sound of the flowing water. “You think Jason did it?”
“We don’t know yet. Did your sister ever mention anything about Ayers being rough with her?”
“Get rough with Melanie?” Doyle looked back at Ryder, incredulous. “I don’t think so.”
Because he had stopped to deal with Tully, Winter was going to be late for his appointment with Melanie Upton. He had forgot to take Upton’s number with him, so he tried calling Cindy to notify Upton, but Cindy’s line went right to voicemail. Winter hated voicemail more than he hated phones.
Even though he was late, he cruised slowly past Upton’s apartment, wanting to get a sense of how an intruder might come in. He’d read Ryder’s notes—rigid as he was, the guy took good notes—but wanted to see for himself. Upton’s apartment was above an Indian restaurant, a separate door facing the street whi
ch likely led to stairs. Unless there was a separate entrance in the back, it was probably an illegal rental, but Winter couldn’t always keep the building codes straight, a lot was grandfathered in. Two windows faced the street, another on the side overlooking an alley which led to the back of the building. The other wall was shared with a furniture refinishing business, so no windows there. An intruder coming in from the front would have to climb through a window over the restaurant, unlikely. The side was a possibility, but would require a ladder.
Across the street from the restaurant was a dumpster and an empty lot, then another row of buildings, a tenement, a plumber. The restaurant doors were open, Upton’s windows were closed.
Winter eased his car into the alley, which opened into a relatively large parking lot, empty except for a single car. The restaurant had a back entrance, but Upton’s apartment did not. Two second story windows on this side, one smaller than the other, probably a bath. There was no fire escape ladder.
He parked in the lot and walked back around to the front of the building, avoiding the condensate dripping from an AC unit in the bath window. Next to a wooden door, a homemade embossed label stuck on a mailbox in the wall read Melanie Doyle Upton.
The door looked solid enough, with a deadbolt, but it was propped open with a wedge. Winter let himself in, the hallway dark and humid hot. He left the wedge in the door and creaked up the steps.
No deadbolt on this door, just a keyed lockset. Winter knocked. Though Winter had seen Melanie Upton’s photo and had watched part of The Other Woman show on Ryder’s phone, he was still unprepared for the visceral energy she exuded in person. The first thing that struck Winter were her eyes, full and bright, with a hint of green. A bit taller than average height, somewhat brown hair. She was wearing a form fitting athletic top with skin tight jeans and no shoes.
Random Revenge (Detective Robert Winter Book 1) Page 33
