by Anna Sugden
He carried his coffee through the living room and past the front door to the den, the one room in the house that he’d made his own by adding his collection of state police photos, a buttery-soft leather sofa and a mahogany desk. Flipping on the desk lamp and positioning his coffee on the desk pad, he switched on the laptop.
But when the screen appeared for a new search on his internet browser, he could only stare at the empty box. It shouldn’t be this hard. He’d conducted hundreds of investigations over the years, and now that he was at the center of one, he was struggling with where to begin. Obviously, he needed to start with his team members. Coworkers. He couldn’t call them a team anymore, at least not until he figured out who was the broken link.
Instead of typing, he reached in his desk drawer and pulled out a pen and a legal pad. He started a list of names, each one striking a fresh chord in his melancholy: Polaski, Campbell, Leonetti, Donovan, Cole, Campbell, Maxwell, Roberts, Warner, Jacobs and, of course, Morgan. Then there were the other shifts, too.
He’d eaten dinner with some of their families. Had been to birthday parties at their homes. Some he felt he’d known forever, while others were new to the post. He’d trusted a few with his history, and all of them with his life, and now he wondered if he really knew any of them.
Lowering his pen, he moved his fingers back to the keys. He would have to search each of them, obviously, but who would he start with? Maybe his pseudo-partner in this unofficial search should come first. She definitely gave him as many questions as she answered. Even her offer of help raised a red flag. Who took such a risk just because it was the “right thing to do”? Nobody he knew. There was definitely something she wasn’t telling him.
Delia even had a motive to want to see him discredited. She was ambitious and, quite possibly, jealous of his record with the force. She’d made a few comments about his smooth trajectory through the state police ranks and had joked about his upcoming commendation—the one that likely had been put on hold. He hated to think she might have offered to help him just so she could take him down and earn special recognition, but he couldn’t rule it out. He couldn’t rule out anything.
The truth was that Delia had behaved more suspiciously than any of the troopers since the whole bank incident. She was one of the newer troopers and the most obsessively private. He probably knew less about her than he did any of them, other than that she was the stepdaughter of a minor political figure with a bad reputation. So everything told him he should be looking at her.
Everything but his gut.
“It isn’t her,” he announced to the officers in all of those photos. Most of them would have told him he should check Delia out with more reliable sources than his hormones. But it wasn’t hormones telling him to look in another direction. At least he hoped it wasn’t. He was using the sixth sense that he’d honed during more investigations than he could count. The one he trusted implicitly. It told him that though Delia Morgan might have secrets, they had nothing to do with him or his problems. Anyway, he knew better than anyone that people had a right to their secrets. They shouldn’t have to see them on the TV news.
Of course, his hunch didn’t mean he wouldn’t scrutinize Delia as carefully as any of the others. Especially now that he understood intimately how the innocent could be made to look guilty. However, it did mean he could look at the others first. But as he turned back to the list on paper, making bullet points next to each name, his hand hovered over the last name.
His pen refused to make that last dot. Maybe some questions simply needed to be answered before he could move on to the others. Setting his pen aside, he moved back to his keyboard. With a sigh, he typed Delia Morgan.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DELIA WASN’T SURE she had the right place as she stepped into that crowded blue-collar bar that was positively pounding with after-work intensity. It had seemed like a good idea to meet Ben over in Warren, where neither of them were likely to be recognized, but now she wasn’t so sure. With its low lights that cast all the faces into shadow and its sticky floors from what had to be yesterday’s beer, Dilly’s Place appeared to be the perfect location for a crime scene rather than somewhere two people might solve one.
At least the patrons were too busy blowing off Hump Day steam to notice her as she passed behind the bar stools. Good thing since she couldn’t have looked more out of place if she’d put on her uniform and drawn her weapon on the bartender while he poured drafts from the taps.
The east wall was covered with yellowed posters and banners from the three Detroit sports teams. A dark wood bar stretched along the west wall with flat-screen TVs at either end providing an out-of-place bow to current technology and a long mirror bearing dated smears of a long-ago cleaning. A few tables were squeezed into the center of the room, with a line of dark booths attached like train cars all the way to the kitchen door.
“Dee. Over here.”
Dee? How she heard his voice over the chatter and the brokenhearted chorus of a country ballad, she didn’t know, but the sound broke through the din and kicked off a tingly hum inside her. A hum that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. She tried not to make too much over the fact that he’d called her by a nickname. He’d just been trying to get her attention.
Opposite the bar, Ben had slipped into one of the booths—not quite in the back corner like in a clandestine meeting in a movie, but close. Just the thought of those types of meetings sent a shiver through Delia of something she was wary to define. Instead, she noted that Ben sat facing the bar’s main entrance. Even if they were violating a direct order by working together, Ben had followed police procedure in positioning himself where he could monitor patrons as they entered and exited the bar.
She needed to follow his lead, focusing on the job they were here to do. That would be better than allowing herself to think about how the low lights, probably intended to cover spotty glasses, made the place seem somehow...intimate.
On rubbery legs, she approached the table and sat on the bench opposite him. Knock it off, she told herself as she sat, unwound her scarf and unbuttoned her coat. She’d set boundaries for herself regarding this meeting, and she was darn well going to make sure they held strong.
“Dee?” she couldn’t help asking, though there were so many questions she should have asked instead.
“Thought it would be easier to hear. Besides, would you want your real name thrown around in a place like this?”
“Probably not.” She glanced around once more. “Interesting location you picked to meet.”
“Everyone minds their own business here.”
She nodded. That did matter. “How did you find it?”
“A sting about five years ago. We were assisting several other agencies.”
“Sure none of the other officers—or the commander—hang out here?”
“Not that I know of. But then I haven’t been here myself in years. So we’d better keep an eye out.”
When she looked up at him, a sardonic smile lit his lips. Why did her gaze have to linger on those lips? If only she could stop wondering if they were soft. She had to look away before she made a fool of herself, so she lowered her gaze to her lap and pulled her cell from her coat pocket. She held down the button to shut it off.
Not that she usually received calls, but right now it wasn’t enough to just silence the ringer. Until she figured out how to block her parents’ number, she couldn’t risk allowing it to vibrate and tempt her to look at it. Especially in front of Ben. She would never be able to hide it from him if they called when he was there. He read her too easily.
“Expecting a call?”
“I’m turning it off.”
The side of his mouth lifted. “You’ll be out of contact with the post.”
“Just for a little while,” she said, even if the idea of it had her straightening in her seat. It would only be an hour or so.
“Good.” He watched her for a tick longer than necessary. And then a little longer.
She shifted again. “What?”
“Your hair looks different.”
Did it look bad? She laced her fingers together to keep from reaching for the band she’d used to tie her hair back. She’d been in a hurry. To get here. To where he was.
“I like it.” He looked away as if he didn’t mean it.
She licked her lips, shifting her gaze from her hands to his face and back again. Why did she care what he thought about how she looked, anyway? Oh, she cared, all right. More than she should care what anyone thought. Especially any man.
Slipping her arms out of her coat sleeves, she took her time arranging her coat over her shoulders. She needed to steady her hands if she didn’t want him to notice how nervous she was. How flustered he made her.
“I know it’s too soon to expect results, but did you see anything at the post last night that set off any alarms for you?” he asked instead of calling her on any of it.
Either he hadn’t caught on, or he realized they had more important things to talk about. He rested his elbows on the scarred table, waiting for her answer.
It pained her to have to dash that hope in his eyes with a shake of her head. “Too soon. The place is still in an uproar. It definitely hasn’t returned to normal.”
He nodded. They both understood that the Brighton Post wouldn’t return to normal for a long time. If ever. Even if it did, that would only be a “new normal” with staff changes and, possibly, an arrest.
“Everyone still seemed supportive of you.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s good, I guess. Even if one of them is probably lying.”
“Probably.” Strange how much she hoped it wasn’t him.
A waitress, dressed in a sporty referee uniform that was miniaturized from too many dryer spins, approached them. “Something to drink, honey?”
That the woman had addressed her question only to Ben grated on Delia’s nerves. Was she seeing things, or had the waitress just leaned in closer to give him a good look at the melons she’d crammed in that tiny striped shirt? Delia crossed her arms over her own subpar breasts. And honey? Where did that broad get off calling him that right in front of her? What if they’d been on a date or something? That was rude, plain and simple. Jealousy had nothing to do with it. Not a thing.
Ben kept his gaze on the waitress’s face as he ordered soda water with lime. A safer choice than whatever had sidelined him yesterday morning.
The waitress turned to her. “What about you, sweetie?”
The woman smiled down at Delia. So she had endearments for everyone. Fine. Delia ordered a soda, trying not to worry about dirty glasses and questionable ice.
“Could you throw some nachos in with the drinks?” Ben asked the waitress before she hurried away to turn in their order.
Delia couldn’t help but smile at both his suggestion and the irony of the situation. This secret meeting was the closest thing she’d had to a date in...she paused to calculate...a really long time. Of course, this wasn’t a date, either. If only she could convince her hands of that. They were so sweaty that when the waitress returned with her mug of soda, Delia wrapped both hands around it to cool them off.
“Figured that now wasn’t a good time to pick up any new bad habits,” Ben said.
“What?” When she slanted a look his way, he gestured toward his mug with a lime slice on the side. “Oh. Right.”
“Well, other than the obvious, was anything different at work last night?”
She considered telling him the truth, that everything had been different without him there, but she decided against it. “Not really. Other than Trooper Roberts coming in late. Something about construction on US 23.”
His lips lifted as he sipped through his straw. “She uses that one too often. She needs a new excuse.” His smile slipped away as he drew his eyebrows together. “But no one seemed to be acting, I don’t know, strangely?”
She shook her head. “Sorry.”
A flash of that odd look from Trevor Cole crept into her thoughts, but she dismissed it. If the other trooper had been staring at her, it was probably because she’d been too obvious while observing all of them. Great. Someone had been behaving strangely, all right. Her.
She cleared her throat. “How about you? Were you able to find out anything? I know your internet search opportunities are...limited, but maybe you found something.”
“Nothing important,” he said vaguely. “Just did some general searches on a few coworkers’ names.”
“Hope you didn’t waste time looking up mine.” She licked her lips. Had she spoken too fast? “I mean, if you did, you probably would have already died from boredom.” At least he would have if he’d looked up her last name, rather than the name of her mother’s second husband.
“I didn’t find out much of anything about anyone.” Ben paused until she looked up at him again. “How could I when I was working with what amounted to a chisel and a stone tablet?”
“We’re both doing the best we can.”
The waitress returned with a platter of nachos, plates and wrapped cutlery. Until the food had been set between them, dripping with cheese, Delia hadn’t realized how hungry she was. She dished out a serving and dug in, taking several bites before she sensed that he was watching her. Looking up from her plate, she set her fork aside and wiped her mouth on a napkin.
“I forgot to eat today,” she said, pushing her plate away.
He set aside his plate of nearly untouched food. “Guess I wasn’t that hungry after all.”
She couldn’t blame him.
“Well, let’s see if we can figure some of this out,” she said, returning their conversation to the case. “Maybe we need to back up and look at the big picture. I’m not even sure why specifically you are considered a person of interest.”
“Polaski said I was the ‘common denominator.’ I don’t see how I could have signed off on the chain of evidence in so many of the cases in question.” He stopped and made a circular gesture with his fork. “How is that even possible? We run three shifts. How could drug evidence only be collected on the afternoon shift?”
“Well, it’s good to know that nobody sells drugs on midnights or mornings.” She shook her head, rolling her eyes. “That has to be a relief for troopers working those shifts.”
“Right? You and I obviously chose the wrong shift.”
“Still, I can see how that would look suspicious,” she said. “Do you know which cases they were referring to?”
“I have a few guesses. We don’t have those types of drug arrests every day.
“Possession, sure, and even possession with intent to deliver, but charges for manufacture and delivery are less common.”
Pulling his plate back to him, Ben stabbed his fork into a nacho chip that was likely soft by now, but he still didn’t take a bite. “I would love to look at the cases, see who the arresting officers were and compare the locations. Look for things they have in common. Besides me.”
“Where would you get ahold of that information?”
“The commander had a file on his desk when I was in his office. I’m not sure that was it, but he kept touching it every time he said something about the case. State investigators must have given him a copy. What I wouldn’t give to get a look at that.”
Delia swallowed, dread building inside her. He needed a copy of that file. Could she risk getting it for him?
“I can get it.” Apparently she really did want to be fired. Or maybe be charged with impeding an investigation. Forget being “in for a penny.” She was going for whole gold bars.
Immediately, he shook his head. “No. I can’t ask you to do that. I was just thinking out loud.”
“You didn’t ask.” In fact, he’d never asked her to do anything for him, and yet she was already in shoulder deep and sinking fast. “As for the thinking-out-loud part, if you don’t want my help, then keep those thoughts to yourself.”
“I’ll try to remember that. And Delia?” He
waited until she looked up at him. “Thanks.”
She nodded, well aware of how hard it was for him to let her do any of this. If the tables were turned, Ben wouldn’t have hesitated to step up for her or for any of the other team members. That made the betrayal of one of them seem so much worse. She shoved away that thought. How could she be thinking of Ben as the victim when she didn’t know for sure that he was innocent? She needed to remember that.
“I know it seems unlikely, but do you think any of this has to do with the thing at Brighton Bank & Trust?”
“The thing?” He smiled at her description of the event, but then he shook his head. “I’ve been trying to look at the bigger picture, too. I know it’s too soon to rule anything out, but I can’t make a connection there.”
He held his hands out from his sides. “On one hand, you have missing evidence from a series of drug arrests. On the other, there’s a botched bank robbery by a couple of punks who got their ideas from an old Keanu Reeves movie.”
“You’re kidding. Do you mean Point Break?”
His smile finally reached his eyes. “Only instead of the being the ex-Presidents, these guys wore monster masks.”
She grinned back at him. “And the suspects didn’t have any place to surf once they were finished robbing banks.”
“That, too.”
She twirled her fork around on her plate. “But the timing seems awfully coincidental.”
“I think so, too. But the investigation itself could have been going on for months. The crimes in the case might go back even further than that.”
“But still—”
“I know. We can’t rule it out. It’s Law Enforcement 101. Coincidences don’t exist.” He frowned, shaking his head. “This one, though, just might buck against that truth.”
Strange how she disagreed with him on that, even if he had more law enforcement experience than she did. Those two news reports—about the bank robbery attempt, then the announcement of the formal investigation—a week apart, didn’t sit well with her. That awful news segment replayed in her thoughts, bringing with it that same sick feeling as when she’d viewed it for the first time.
