Drawing Fire

by Janice Cantore

  A few minutes later she pulled into the parking lot. Luke Murphy, if he were good, would have been here already, but Abby still got out of the car and headed inside. She knew as she stepped through the door, smelling sweat and stale beer, that if someone had asked her why she was there, she would not have had an answer. She showed the flyer to the manager and received a surly grunt and shake of the head.

  “Look—” Abby smacked the counter so the guy would look at her—“this kid is underage. Your license goes if I find out you’re harboring an underage runaway. You’ve lost it before for a similar reason.”

  “I don’t harbor anyone.” His piggy little eyes narrowed. “I kick her out two days ago. She tried to sleep here. I kick her out.”

  Jaw tight, Abby pulled one of her business cards from her pocket and wrote on it, Call me. I want to help. She pushed it toward him.

  He grunted and glared, clearly not wanting anything to do with her card.

  “If she comes in again, just give her this.”

  Still facing reticence, Abby pulled a twenty out of her pocket. “Here.” She handed the card and the twenty to the piggy-eyed man. “If you see her again, give her this card. If she calls me, there’s another twenty in it for you.”

  The money and the card disappeared into his pocket as he pursed his lips.

  Abby yawned on the way back to the car, thinking not only had she lost sleep over the runaway, she was out twenty bucks as well.

  WHILE HE WAITED for a callback from a client, Luke idly did a Google search for news articles about Abby. He knew he’d read about her over the years. She was a good cop and had been cited for bravery if he remembered right.

  He quickly hit pay dirt. She’d been awarded the medal of valor. The heroic incident cited happened while she was still in uniform—a firefight where she risked her life to pull a wounded officer out of the line of gunfire. There was a brief synopsis of her career in bullet points for the article.

  She’d never used deadly force and was given a meritorious service award for talking a man out of killing himself after he’d just killed his brother. She’d worked in patrol for five years and then moved on to an auto theft task force, which was her position when this article was written. He found a few more articles, but anytime she was interviewed, her statements were professional and frustratingly brief. The more he read, the more he was intrigued.

  The phone rang, but it wasn’t his client. It was Bill.

  “Just met my new partner,” Bill said, telling Luke about Abby Hart and his new assignment. “She asked me to follow up with you, show you a six-pack.”

  “A six-pack? She has a suspect already?”

  “A cat burglar who all but confessed. She knows you didn’t see his face clearly, but we’re trying to build a case. You mind if I bring it by?”

  “Can I meet you somewhere? I have a client to see in Bellflower—just waiting for a confirmation call. How about Tracy’s? I hope I can help.”

  “That would be fine. I think I know why Hart’s so good. She’s not a glory hog. She had an idea on who the suspect might be, and instead of taking it all on herself, she tags Page and his team to bring him in. Now this gives CCAT a possible homicide collar and she’s fine with that. She is in no way a hard person to work with, and what she’s done with this case proves she’s a team player.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  As Luke hung up, he realized he envied Bill. He’d love to spend eight hours a day with Abby Hart.

  When his client finally called, Luke knew he couldn’t devote any more time to studying up on the enigmatic detective. He had meetings scheduled that couldn’t be postponed. His PI business paid the bills, but often it was feast or famine. In famine he would earn cash working with his stepdad. Now, as his plate filled with work, he didn’t want to short anyone, so he switched gears and pulled out the client’s file, amazed at how difficult it was to stop thinking about the green-eyed homicide investigator.

  ABBY PARKED HER CAR in the driveway but stopped before getting out. There was a large bouquet of flowers on the porch.

  Hmm, she thought. Not my birthday. Not a holiday. What then?

  She got out with Bandit in tow and stepped up to the flowers—her favorite, a mixture of red, white, and yellow roses—and plucked the note off.

  Sorry about the argument. Hope your night wasn’t too tough. Love, Ethan

  She sighed and smiled. “That’s why I’m marrying you. You are the most thoughtful man on the face of the earth.” Ethan was always quick to apologize. Abby remembered that when they were kids, Ethan was always the peacemaker. He truly was even-tempered and easygoing. Abby wondered why they ever argued, and a twinge of guilt bit. Is it me? Too tired to go there, she pushed the thought from her mind and concentrated on simply enjoying Ethan’s thoughtfulness.

  Heart light, she brought the flowers inside and introduced Bandit to her backyard. He didn’t seem particularly impressed. He sniffed the perimeter before scooting back to the door and yawning.

  Granted, there wasn’t much to be impressed with in her backyard. While Aunt Dede was the consummate gardener, turning two acres into something close to paradise in Oregon, Abby was content with a small lawn she paid someone else to mow for her. When Dede had visited, she’d been pleased with the front yard, which was populated with pretty plants that thrived despite Abby’s lack of attention to them. But she’d called the backyard “sparse.”

  Smiling, Abby stepped aside as the dog pranced back into the house. “I’m right there with you, bucko.” She opened the little bag of dog food she’d picked up on the way home and poured some into a cereal bowl.

  Setting it down in front of Bandit with water in a matching bowl, she apologized. “Sorry I didn’t get you a special food bowl. Maybe this weekend.”

  Bandit didn’t seem to mind as he attacked the food with gusto.

  Abby’s smile faded when she picked up the phone to make the last call she planned to make before bed. She studied the card Murphy had given her for a minute. As much as she wanted to dress him down for calling the press, this call wasn’t about him; it was about the girl, Nadine. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled and dialed.

  Just as she was expecting to leave a voice mail message, Murphy answered.

  “Detective Hart.” His breathless voice came on the line. “What can I help you with?”

  Abby swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, irritated by the feeling of nervousness. “I have some information that may help you.” She told him about Destination X and the piggy-eyed manager.

  Murphy was silent for a moment. “Thank you. That’s good information. Here you are in the middle of a homicide investigation, and you help me out.”

  Abby flushed, glad this was a phone call and he couldn’t see. “It was just a quick stop on the way home, and it was for the girl. I hope you find her.”

  “Yeah, me too. Oh, uh, by the way, I heard you arrested a suspect in the murder this morning.”

  She frowned. “Did you find that out when you talked to the press about the homicide?”

  “What? No, I haven’t talked to the press. Bill Roper is my best friend. He just called to tell me he was bringing a six-pack of photos by. Was my information helpful?”

  Bill Roper is his friend. That’s why Murphy recognized me, Abby thought.

  But if Murphy hadn’t talked to the press, who had? There was nothing to be done about it now. Mud in the tires.

  “Yes, your description brought to mind a person of interest. I had a hunch and my hunch appears to be correct.”

  “You make it sound as though you just got lucky. I think you know your stuff. You’re a good and conscientious detective.”

  Abby squirmed, uncomfortable with his praise. “It’s my job, Mr. Murphy. I take it seriously. Good luck finding your missing girl.”

  “Well, that’s my job, and I take it seriously as well. Thanks again, Detective. I hope we speak again, and when we do, it’s Luke.”

  Abby ended the call and won
dered at the effect just hearing the man’s voice had on her. She thought of Ethan and bent to smell the roses. Argument forgotten, the two weeks until his return would drag.

  Yawning deeply, she walked into her bedroom, more than ready for a hot shower. Peeling off her clothes carefully, she inspected the bruise in the mirror. It was an ugly red-purple color now. She knew it would hurt more tomorrow and over the weekend. An image of the train bearing down on her threatened to bury her and she pushed it back. I’m fine.

  “No volleyball this weekend,” she said to Bandit as she tried to make an overhand serve, grimacing as she did so. She and a mixture of friends—some she’d played with in college, some she knew from church, and one or two from work—had a standing playdate for beach volleyball on the weekends.

  Abby stepped into a hot shower, grateful for the soothing heat. She stood there for a long time, letting the frustrations and the aches of the day wash away. Once finished and wrapped in a robe, she stepped to the fridge to grab some milk for her Oreo cookies, her favorite wind-down snack.

  Cookies in hand, she stopped at her desk and opened the book that was her personal investigative file into the Triple Seven homicides. The first page was a photocopy of the front page of the newspaper the day after the fire.

  Suspicious, Horrific Fire Claims Popular Restaurant and Personable Owners

  The murderous details came out later, but this page was Abby’s curious favorite. The picture under the headline was of her, looking lost, held snugly in Woody’s arms against a backdrop of smoke and emergency vehicles. The expression on Woody’s face said he’d protect her to the death. Abby’s tousled hair fell over one side of her face, and her right hand gripped his uniform collar. She often stared at the photo and tried to remember that day, tried to see back into that forlorn girl’s mind, but she couldn’t. The only memories she had came to her from what she had read—generalities about what it was like at her parents’ restaurant back then. Her own memories were fragmented, and she didn’t know what was real and what was imagined.

  Everything changed for her that day. Like the victims she dealt with today, nothing could be put back the way it was. But something inside screamed that she be able to say that the killers had paid. A part of me will always be that lost little girl until that day.

  She closed the book and settled into her reading chair, a big overstuffed leather chair with a large ottoman, exhausted but unable to shut down. It was early, only four thirty, but she was beat.

  Munching Oreos dunked in milk and being in her home office calmed her and erased the bad parts of the day. Three walls were floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and the shelves were about 75 percent full. Against the only wall with a window was her desk. But it was the books that calmed her, entertained her, and kept her sane. When Dede had finally entered the picture and brought her home, adopted her, and became her family, the Bible became the most important book in the mix. It rested on the arm of her chair, and she put her milk down to pick it up and open it to the fourth chapter of Hebrews.

  What was the last passage you read, Cora?

  Abby’s translation titled the chapter “The Promise of Rest.” I hope you entered God’s rest, Cora, she thought. Verses 12 and 13 were well known to Abby; they were memory verses. Verse 12 she’d learned in Sunday school: “For the word of God is living and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.”

  And verse 13 she knew by heart. Both Ethan and Dede used her love of the verse to convince her it was folly to get wrapped up in the twenty-seven-year-old cold case.

  “Trust God with your parents’ killers,” Ethan had said. “He knows where they are. They aren’t getting away with anything.”

  “Abby, I lost a sister I barely knew . . . and over what? I don’t know. Don’t put yourself in danger. Your motto is God’s promise: they might run, but they can’t hide.”

  Abby closed the Bible and set it on the arm of the chair again. She chewed on a thumbnail, feeling agitated all of a sudden.

  I do trust God.

  But I want the killers caught now.

  Are the two things mutually exclusive?

  Fifteen years ago, when she came back to Long Beach, she was ready to kick down doors. She let Woody and Asa convince her it was wiser to wait. But their wait turned into never.

  I’m done waiting.

  Bandit startled her when he jumped into her lap. Unperturbed by her momentary jitter, he curled up in a ball and closed his eyes. She finished the cookies, drained the milk, and ran her hand over the warm, hairy body. She found the feeling of his soft fur comforting.

  Hate to say it, but I want to keep this dog. With that thought, Abby closed her eyes and let exhaustion take over.

  “SORRY,” LUKE SAID with a shake of his head. “I didn’t get a good enough look at his face.”

  He handed the six-pack of photos back to Bill. They sat in a booth at Tracy’s, a cop bar and grill in East Long Beach.

  Bill put the photos back in his briefcase. “Thanks for trying. I think Hart knew it was a long shot, but she wanted to give it a try anyway. She checks all the boxes.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to run. Serving a search warrant with CCAT.”

  “I guess you’re off the hook for tonight.”

  “Sorry about that, but things look clear for the weekend. Nice of my partner to give you that lead.”

  “Sure was. When she took the flyer, I thought she was just being polite. I’d spoken with the night bartender and he said he hadn’t seen Nadine. But if that day bartender did see her in Destination X, then she must be in the area, and tonight could be the night I find her and bring her home.”

  “I’ll call you as soon as I’m sure of my schedule,” Bill said. His phone buzzed with a text. He slid it off his belt to read it. “From Jacoby. Cox has scheduled a press conference about the granny murders for tomorrow afternoon. I’m to be front and center with Abby. Talk about big-time.”

  “Will the governor be there?”

  Bill nodded.

  Luke felt a jolt and chuckled. “The full dog and pony show for the big cheese, huh?”

  “Whatever. I’m just glad to be in homicide.” He rubbed his hands together.

  “I’m happy for you. Now go break a leg.”

  Luke drove to Destination X as soon as he finished with Bill. The trip would make him late for his aikido workout, but he didn’t care. Nadine had been seen.

  “Oh, Lord, I pray that she’ll surface for me, please.” He breathed out the prayer as he drove, more hopeful than he had been in a week.

  Destination X was filling up. Luke made his way inside and approached the bar. He recognized the squat, unpleasant-looking man as one of the managers. He held up his poster of Nadine.

  “She was here?”

  The little man gave half a nod and a wave of his hand. “Gone. You go or buy drink.”

  Luke spent a frustrating fifteen minutes trying to get more out of the man, but the workday had ended for a lot of the folks employed on the west side and the manager was busy.

  Luke stepped outside, glad to be out of the beer-tainted air, and looked around. PCH was packed with traffic as daylight began to dim. The street vibrated with big rigs coming and going from the harbor, some on to LA. Voices chatted around pitchers, and he could smell food frying. It bit that he had to give up, had to admit defeat another night.

  Nadine, where are you?

  After meeting with clients and Bill, searching for Nadine, and missing his martial arts class completely, Luke returned home tired and frustrated. He sat at the computer to write up his client’s report. But once he logged in, he saw the Google alert he’d set up for Lowell Rollins. It confirmed what Bill had said. Governor Rollins would be here in Long Beach for the press conference. The alert said he’d canceled some high-level meetings and rearranged a crowded schedule for the appearance.

  Luke studied t
he governor’s photo, tapping on the desk with his fingers. The man wasn’t a bad guy as far as politicians went. He was popular in the state because he kept a lot of the campaign promises he’d made. He had a reputation for having a big heart and for helping those who were hurting, and he managed to do it without appearing to be pandering for votes. Luke found him believable and had voted for him twice.

  But even being a voter hadn’t gotten Luke the audience he wanted. He hadn’t been able to talk to Rollins about the Triple Seven murders. Two people in addition to his uncle had died in the fire that consumed the trendy restaurant. Buck and Patricia Morgan were part owners of the place with Lowell Rollins.

  Now that the governor himself had lost family to murder, maybe he’d be more receptive to talking to Luke. Every day when he reviewed the twenty-seven-year-old murder, he knew that only new evidence would get the governor’s attention.

  New evidence in a twenty-seven-year-old unsolved murder was a tall order.

  THE CALL WOKE ABBY UP after she’d just dozed off.

  “Hey, you’re not asleep, are you?” It was Megan, a teammate from college and her oldest friend in the city who was not a cop. They’d been roommates for five years until Megan got married.

  “I had a callout,” Abby said with a yawn.

  “Is that why you’re kissing Blue Line wheels all over the Internet?”

  “Huh?” Abby stretched and struggled to clear her foggy brain.

  “There’s this video going around. Some tourist uploaded it to YouTube and it’s going viral. You yanked someone off the tracks.”

  “That’s on the Internet already?” Now fully awake, Abby wondered if this was good or bad. She wasn’t beating anyone with her nightstick in the video, so she hoped it was a positive, not a negative.

  Megan laughed. “The wonders of technology! Are you okay?” Megan was a physical therapist, so Abby knew the next question would be “Can I help?”