Her spine was as straight as a dancer’s as she peered at Harper through glittering glasses. ‘Are you the police? Because we called many times.’
The crowd around her nodded and murmured.
‘I’m not the police, ma’am,’ Harper said politely. ‘I’m a journalist.’
‘Journalist.’ The woman looked, if anything, less pleased about this. ‘From the newspaper?’
‘Yes.’
‘The newspaper ignored it, too.’ The woman announced this condemningly.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said. ‘Could you tell me now? Who are they?’
‘Boy on the left is Jarrod Jones,’ the teenage boy offered before the woman could reply.
‘Other one’s Lashon Williams,’ someone else said.
Harper made quick notes.
‘And you say they’ve been fighting?’ Harper looked around, encouraging more.
‘They’ve been fighting for six months,’ the elderly lady informed her disapprovingly. ‘One says this is his block. The other says it’s his. Back and forth. Back and forth. I told the police someone was going to end up dead.’
‘Tonight it all kicked off,’ the teenage boy explained, with a hint of delight.
This was all Harper needed.
‘Thanks very much,’ she said, making the last of her notes. ‘Could I use your names in my story?’
The crowd recoiled.
‘Hell no.’ The boy looked so horrified she might as well have asked if she could boil him alive.
‘I can’t believe you would even ask that,’ the elderly woman admonished.
There was something so authoritative about her demeanor, Harper found herself backpedaling.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean …’
‘For heaven’s sake,’ the woman said, shaking her head.
The crowd of onlookers seemed suddenly less friendly.
‘She’s trying to get people in trouble,’ someone muttered, and the others agreed with growing enthusiasm.
Still muttering apologies, Harper beat a tactical retreat, trying to fade into the shadows. When she’d left the crowd behind, she made her way closer to the crime scene, where the two victims/criminals were being treated.
Standing to one side, she squinted at the scene, cast in sharp relief by flashing blue lights.
On the sidewalk, two bloodstains darkened the paving no more than five feet apart.
The crowd was right – it looked like they’d shot each other at point-blank range.
‘Harper!’ Clad in green scrubs, a clear, plastic IV tube in one hand, Toby jumped out of the back of the ambulance and bounded over to her like a man-shaped puppy. ‘Look at me, back on the night shift.’
She eyed him dubiously. ‘Did you hijack the ambulance? Does anyone know you’re here? Should I tell the police?’
‘No stealing was involved,’ he assured her amiably. ‘I put myself on the replacement rota and someone called in sick tonight.’
He held up his arms, the tube dangling from his hand.
‘I’m beating the system.’
‘You’re insane, Toby,’ she said, but her tone was indulgent.
‘Yeah, in a good way, though. Right?’
‘Right …’ She gestured at the two victims. ‘Hey, is it true these guys shot each other?’
‘Hells to the yeah,’ he enthused, pointing at the gurneys. ‘You’re looking at a real-life circular firing squad. Genius on the left thought genius on the right was invading his drug territory, so he pulled his gun. Genius on the right already had his gun in his hand. They fired at the same time.’
‘Anyone else hurt?’
He shook his head. ‘This is what you call divine justice, my friend.’
A paramedic working on the one on the left signaled to Toby.
‘Hang on a minute,’ he told her. ‘I’ll be right back.’
Harper stood to one side while he raced over to connect the IV to the cannula in the man’s arm.
A minute later, he returned, snapping blue rubber gloves from his hands.
‘Is he going to live?’ Harper asked.
‘Oh, yeah,’ he said, shrugging. ‘He’s leaking now, but he’ll stop.’
With dizzying speed, he changed subjects, nudging her with his shoulder.
‘Hey, you and Walker disappeared from the party last night.’ His tone was arch. ‘Is there something going on there that I should definitely know about?’
Harper winced. So, they had been spotted.
‘No, Toby.’ She kept her tone uninterested, with a touch of irritation. ‘We left at the same time. Nothing more.’
Grinning, he nudged her again, harder this time.
‘Walker’s good people, Harper. You could do worse.’
‘I know that,’ she snapped, hoping the grumpiness disguised the panic rising in her chest, ‘but I’m not doing anyone.’
The gurneys jangled as the paramedics slid them onto the ambulances and braced them in place.
‘Load up, Toby,’ someone shouted at him.
He took a step back.
‘Maybe you aren’t. But I, for one, hope you are,’ he said impishly. ‘The man is pure sex. I’d do him myself but I don’t swing that way. Besides, I’m taken.’
Jumping up into the open door of the ambulance, he flung out his arms and looked up at the dark sky.
‘God, I’ve missed this.’
Seconds later, the shriek of its siren split the night and the ambulance pulled away from the curb. Its flashing blue lights lit up a group of officers who, up until now, had been hidden behind the emergency cars.
Right at the center of it was Detective Larry Blazer.
Harper’s mouth went dry.
Deep in conversation, he hadn’t noticed her yet. Taking a hurried step back into the shadows, she studied him with surreptitious interest.
She tried to imagine him dating Marie Whitney. Growing enraged at her. Killing her.
It didn’t seem possible. And yet.
Normally, she’d ask him for a quote about the shooting, but tonight she turned and walked away. If there was even a slight possibility that Blazer was involved in the Whitney murder then there was also a possibility he was involved in her mother’s murder.
She wasn’t ready yet to pretend everything was fine.
She was nearly to her car when she spotted Miles standing under a streetlight, checking shots on his camera screen.
‘Hey,’ Harper said. ‘Where have you been? Why didn’t you return my texts?’
He looked up from his camera, unsmiling.
‘I finally had a meeting with my coroner friend.’ His tone was dark. ‘We need to talk.’
‘What have you got?’ Harper asked.
She and Miles were sitting in the Mustang, a block from the crime scene. The only illumination came from the blue lights of the police cars in the distance. It gave everything a strobe-lit, unreal feel.
Miles hadn’t turned on the air conditioner, and it was uncomfortably warm in the car. Harper was conscious of her top sticking to her back.
The scanner on the dash was on, but the sound was turned down so the uneven hum of voices formed a backdrop to their conversation.
‘My coroner friend looked into the Whitney case,’ he said. ‘She told me some things didn’t seem right.’
‘Like what?’
‘The scene was forensically clean,’ he said. ‘No fingerprints on any surfaces. Everything was pristine. Even Whitney’s hands had been cleaned.’
Harper frowned. ‘Her hands?’
He nodded. ‘Someone had wiped her hands down, even swabbed under her fingernails. Her skin smelled of rubbing alcohol – my friend said it appeared he even cleaned her face.’
Harper didn’t know what to think.
‘Is that normal?’
He shook his head. ‘My coroner friend has never seen it before in her entire career.’
‘The detectives are saying it looks like a professional killer,’
she said.
‘This must be why.’ Miles shifted in his seat, turning to face her. ‘Get this – Whitney was naked when her daughter found her, but clothing fibers were found inside her wounds.’
Harper’s forehead creased. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means she was wearing clothes when she was killed,’ he explained. ‘But the killer took them when he left.’
The skin on the back of Harper’s neck prickled.
‘Whatever you’re thinking,’ she said. ‘Say it.’
His eyes met hers.
‘Harper, as far as I can understand it, everything the coroner would normally use in their investigation is missing. Clothes gone, weapon gone, victim’s hands cleaned, nails scrubbed, face wiped. The killer even wore surgical shoe covers so he’d leave no prints in the blood.’
Harper felt oddly calm – like she’d already known this was what he had to tell her. Everything was pointing in one direction.
‘No ordinary killer would know what forensics would look for,’ Miles concluded. ‘This guy knew everything.’
Harper looked down the street at the flickering blue lights.
‘Like a cop,’ she said softly.
‘Like a cop,’ he repeated.
She turned to him. ‘There’s something I have to tell you.’
Quickly, she explained what DJ had learned at the college, including the description of the man wearing a badge. She didn’t tell him who that description reminded her of, though. She wanted to see if he would draw his own conclusions.
When she finished, Miles sat back in his seat.
The scanner crackled with ambulance dispatches, police checking in, a burglary on East 27th Street.
‘It sounds like Blazer,’ he said finally.
Harper was surprised by how relieved this made her feel. She wasn’t going crazy.
‘Or it could be someone else,’ he continued, a cautioning note in his voice. ‘We can’t draw conclusions. Lots of jobs give you a cheap suit and a badge. It could be a security guard.’
‘A security guard who knows to swab her face?’ Harper asked, her voice rising. ‘To take her clothes? To clean under her nails? To wear shoe covers?’
Tension sharpened her tone.
‘He would be the best damn rent-a-cop in America today.’
‘I hear you,’ he said calmly. ‘I’m just saying, we can’t jump to conclusions. There are a lot of factors at play here.’
Seeing her rebellious expression he held up one hand.
‘But,’ he said. ‘Yes. This looks like a cop. Or like someone who really knows police business damn well. And that is not good.’
‘No,’ she agreed. ‘It’s not.’
He stared through the windshield. ‘You feel like this is something you could take to your buddy Smith?’
Harper shook her head hard.
‘They’re friends,’ she said. ‘They’re both cops.’
There was no need to say more.
Heavy silence filled the car like water.
Harper felt lost. Where did she go from here? She’d never investigated the police for something like this. Everything she knew about rogue cops she’d learned from movies – they were dangerous. They were out of control. People got killed investigating them.
‘Now that you know more,’ Miles said, glancing at her, ‘you still think the same guy that killed Whitney killed your mother?’
Harper had been thinking about this all day, and she still didn’t have a great answer.
‘Maybe.’ She could hear the doubt in her own voice. ‘I need to know more before I can be sure about anything. All I have are my memories. I need to get my hands on the original crime reports from my mother’s case. See how those compare with what we know about the Whitney murder.’
‘Most of those records aren’t public,’ he reminded her. ‘You can only see the original incident report.’
‘I’ll find a way.’ Twisting in her seat, she turned until she was facing him. ‘But, Miles, what if it is Blazer? I mean …’ she paused. ‘Let’s say it is him. What the hell are we going to do then?’
Across the shadowy car, their eyes locked. The worry in his face mirrored her own.
‘I don’t have an answer to that,’ he said. ‘But I know this case is very dangerous. Are you ready for this, Harper?’
At the end of the road the police were packing up their cars, tearing the crime tape from the light posts, closing the scene. She could see the shadowy figures hurriedly preparing to move on to the next shooting. The next stabbing.
The swirling blue lights switched off one by one.
By the time she spoke, the street was dark again.
‘I have to be ready.’
Chapter Nineteen
The next day at four o’clock, when Harper arrived at police headquarters, only a handful of people lingered in the lobby, waiting for appointments.
Her steps felt stiff and careful, but she tried to keep her expression neutral. If she looked strange, no one seemed to notice.
She passed two traffic cops she knew, helmets tucked under their arms, mirrored sunglasses hooked to the top buttons of their dark blue uniforms.
‘Hey, McClain,’ one said.
She waved and said something pleasant she couldn’t remember a second later. It was a hot day, but she felt strangely cold as she slowed her steps, waiting until the two were out of the building before continuing on to the reception desk.
She forced her facial muscles to smile cheerfully when she reached the front desk.
‘Well, Harper McClain.’ Darlene eyed her with interest. ‘What’s got you all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ Harper said brightly. ‘I’m just thrilled to be at work.’
‘Mm-hmm.’ Darlene’s voice dripped sarcasm. ‘Ain’t it great?’
Sliding the police report folder over to her, she leaned her elbows against the desk.
Harper opened it and forced herself to focus on the words in front of her as nerves fluttered in her stomach.
Burglary, burglary, burglary, sexual assault, gunshots reported, gunshots reported, noise disturbance, burglary, burglary, burglary …
Pulling out the sexual assault report and two armed robberies, she busied herself making notes.
‘Harper.’ Darlene tapped a page with a long, multi-hued nail. ‘I’ve been hearing some gossip about you.’
Harper’s heart sank. Still, she kept her head down and her tone dismissive.
‘Oh great. What has the rumor mill got on me this time?’
‘Something about that murder last week. The lady from the college.’
Harper looked up at her. ‘What about it?’
Darlene lowered her voice. ‘They’re saying you spied on the crime scene with one of those telephoto lenses, and the lieutenant was not happy about it. Even the deputy chief got involved. Is it true?’
The muscles in Harper’s shoulders relaxed.
‘Now, Darlene,’ she chided, resuming her note-taking. ‘Does that sound like me?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Darlene nodded.
‘Then it’s probably true. But it wasn’t so much me as Miles, and how am I supposed to control an inspired photographer?’
‘That Miles.’ Darlene’s voice took on a dreamy tone. ‘He’s a long drink of cool water, isn’t he?’
‘Mmph.’ Harper kept her response vague.
‘A photographer,’ Darlene continued wistfully. ‘A true artist. And a gentleman, as well. Every time he’s in here he’s so polite and patient.’
She stared down the long lobby.
‘You should tell him I’m single,’ she announced suddenly.
Harper gave this serious consideration.
‘I’ll do that,’ she said.
The conversation took the edge off her nerves. By the time she finished making her notes and slid the blotter back to Darlene, she was ready.
She stopped, mid-move, as if a thought had struck her.
‘Oh, b
y the way, I’m working on an article about old crimes – murders from ten, fifteen years ago. Even older. A kind of retrospective.’ She blinked at Darlene hopefully. ‘Where could I get my hands on some old crime reports? You know, the big cases. The ones that really made headlines back in the day.’
Darlene, busy putting the folder back in its holder, barely glanced at her.
‘Well, those are in the archive, down in the basement,’ she said. ‘Haven’t you been down there?’
Harper had been to the archive many times. She’d worked down there as an intern. She also knew perfectly well that journalists needed approval from the deputy chief to go down there.
What she was banking on was that Darlene didn’t know that.
‘Oh yeah. How could I forget?’ Giving a wry smile, Harper shook her head. ‘Could you buzz me through?’
‘No problem, honey.’ The phone at Darlene’s elbow began ringing, and she reached for it. ‘Head on down. Good afternoon, Front Desk …’
Casually, Harper crossed to the security door. She kept her steps unhurried – betraying none of the tension she felt. Like it was any other day.
Still chatting on the phone, Darlene buzzed her through without looking up.
When Harper told Miles she intended to get her hands on the old records, he hadn’t pressed her on how she was going to get them.
This was how.
The long, windowless corridor leading past the detectives’ offices was busy at this hour. She joined the flow of uniformed cops, detectives and assistants going about their work. She’d been back here many times – there was no reason for anyone to mind.
Still, anxiety swirled in Harper’s stomach as she passed the 911 room. One of the dispatchers spotted her through the window and waved, still talking into her headset.
Harper lifted a hand in reply and hurried away, lowering her gaze.
About halfway down the corridor between reception and the lieutenant’s office was a wide, utilitarian staircase. Relief coursing through her body, she turned into it and dashed down the stairs.
When she reached the basement level, she paused.
From this point on, she was breaking the rules.
The police department required all civilians to be escorted at the basement level. For good reason. There were holding cells down here, as well as weapons storage rooms. This was a high-security area.
The Echo Killing Page 16
