Mercy Street

by Mariah Stewart

  She looked up at Mallory and added, “I was determined that he was not going to grow up to be anything like his mother, and as God is my witness, he is not.”

  Mary grabbed Mallory’s wrist and gave it a tug. “I have lost everyone I have ever loved, you understand? You have to find my grandson and bring him home, and let him get on with the wonderful life he’s supposed to have. You have to find him before something terrible happens to him, and I lose him forever, too.”

  SEVEN

  Mallory took the steps leading from the county courthouse at a brisk pace, grateful to have completed her business without having run into anyone she knew but not wanting to push her luck. Though it pissed her off that after nine years on the force, she had to submit fingerprints and references and sign a consent form for a background check, she paid her two hundred dollars and tied up all the loose ends that had been required to apply for her private investigator’s license. If Mary Corcoran hadn’t grabbed her heart when she’d grabbed her wrist yesterday, Mallory might have said the hell with it all and told Father Burch to find someone else. But she knew there was no one else who would approach this case the way she would; no one else better at ferreting out the fine points and following up on the details. It had been a source of pride for as long as she’d been a cop, and while at first the thought of becoming a PI felt like a huge step down, after meeting with Mary, Mallory realized something very important: It didn’t matter what she called herself. She would search for the truth until she found it. Period. She’d never approached a case with lesser resolve and she wouldn’t do so now. Ryan Corcoran mattered. Courtney Bauer mattered. Chances are they were somewhere in or nearby the city, and she was determined to track them down.

  Hopefully, they’d both still be alive when she found them.

  The streets surrounding the square upon which the courthouse stood were narrow and one-way. Mallory’s low heels clicked on the concrete as she hurried to her car. Completing the paperwork had set her back by more than an hour after she’d left the diner, and she wanted to go back to the playground and finish the walk-through that had been cut short the other evening.

  And there was that matter of checking out the other side of the fence, the side facing the alley that ran behind the last row of town houses before Kelly Creek cut through. While the police report had indicated that the neighborhood had been canvassed the day after the shooting, Mallory knew that how thoroughly would have depended on who was doing the canvassing. She knew, too, that if she’d been assigned to this case, it wouldn’t have mattered to her who had done the preliminary investigation. She’d have gone over the area with a fine-tooth comb, and would have personally spoken to every resident who admitted to having been home from eight o’clock on the night of the shooting until the following afternoon. There was no telling who might have seen or heard something they weren’t aware could have been connected to the shootings. Getting the right answers more often than not depended on asking the right questions. When she was with the department, she was the one who usually did the asking, but who did they have now who was as thorough? No one that she could think of. Which was, of course, why Joe Drabyak was so quick to offer her name to Father Burch. He knew if he had to depend on his current staff to solve the case, it would go cold and stay cold, especially since the sniper gave no indication of turning himself in anytime soon.

  Joe had mentioned that he had someone new starting next week, Mallory recalled as she got into her car and started the engine. Must be someone with some experience, if he or she was coming in at detective level, and he or she must be good or Joe wouldn’t have bothered. She drove away wondering where Joe had found his new hire.

  Ten minutes later, she was standing behind the swings where Adam Stevens and Jamey Tilton had met their deaths, her digital camera in hand, lining up the shot from the swing to the slide. She took the picture from several angles, then went to the slide and climbed the ladder. She raised the camera to capture a photo to the swings from the top of the slide, just where she thought Courtney could have been standing when she heard the shots and looked up to see the killer or killers. Mallory got off several frames before a shadow edged into the picture. She hesitated then took the last shot, slid the camera back into her pocket, and looked out over the playground.

  To the right of the swing set stood a man wearing dark glasses and a blue baseball cap. Mallory was pretty sure he was the same man she’d seen the other night. She hadn’t seen his face, but the stance was the same.

  Military background, maybe.

  He was definitely watching her, so on a whim she took the camera back out of her pocket and snapped his picture, then looked at him for his reaction. There was none that she could see.

  Definitely military.

  Could be a member of one of the victim’s families, she thought as she climbed down the ladder. Could be a reporter. Or he could be the killer, returned to the scene of the crime because he couldn’t stay away. She knew that many killers did exactly that: came back again and again to relive the moment. Some did their best to involve themselves in the investigation, to stay close to it. Force of habit sent her right hand inside her jacket, seeking the weapon that was no longer there. Must be something like phantom pain, she was thinking, wondering how long it would take for that reflex to go away.

  With luck, she’d have her license to carry concealed before then.

  “Hello,” Mallory called out to him as she rounded the slide. Might as well take the initiative, she decided, since he made no attempt to disguise the fact that he was watching her. “Nice day.”

  “Very.”

  He stood between her and the path, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops, but made no move toward her.

  “You the park inspector?” he asked as she drew closer.

  “What?” She almost laughed.

  “You were here the other night, and now I see that you’re back and taking pictures of the playground equipment,” he said with a touch of sarcasm. “I figured you must be inspecting it.”

  She continued walking.

  “Or you could be a reporter. Or maybe the parent of a kid who fell from the top of the slide.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “So I’m wondering, which is it?”

  Mallory forced a smile. “None of the above.”

  He stepped into her path.

  “I’m guessing you’re with one of those tabloids, maybe, since the more legitimate papers have run their stories without photographing the scene of the crime from every conceivable angle.” He took off his glasses. “And don’t try to pretend you don’t know that a couple of kids were shot and killed here.”

  “I’m not a reporter,” she told him, close enough now to study his face while he studied hers. He was almost handsome, she thought, nice features and neatly trimmed sandy brown hair. Dark blue eyes. Wary eyes.

  Cop’s eyes.

  “You’re a cop,” she said, watching his face. He was too casually dressed to be FBI; not spit-and-polish enough to be state.

  “Technically, not until Monday,” he told her.

  Joe’s new hire.

  “You’re going to inherit the case, the shooting case,” she said.

  “Ah, I get it. You’re a psychic.”

  She shook her head. “Just someone who’s interested in the case.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “I’m a friend of the Corcoran family.”

  “The missing boy. The one believed to be the shooter.”

  “He wasn’t.”

  “I’d expect a member of the family to stick up for him.”

  “I’m not a member of the family,” she corrected him. “I said I was a friend of the family.”

  “A friend of the family who likes to take photographs of the crime scene. Interesting.” His eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you doing here?”

  She hesitated.

  “Mary Corcoran asked me to help find her grandson.”

  “And why would she do that?”

  “
Because I used to be a detective.”

  “That explains the reaching for the gun that isn’t there.” He raised one eyebrow. “So what are you now, a PI?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Just a—”

  “Right. A friend of the family.” He looked annoyed. “What’s your name?”

  “Mallory Russo.” She watched his face, but her name didn’t appear to register with him. Might as well throw it out there. “I used to be with the department here in Conroy.”

  “Charlie Wanamaker.” He did not offer to shake her hand.

  “There’s a Wanamaker family that lives over on Fourth Street,” Mallory said. “Any relation?”

  “My mother and sister,” he told her.

  “So that was your brother who was killed two years ago in Iraq?” She could have added, And your mother that I picked up, oh, about a dozen times for public drunkenness back when I was on patrol?

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry. I never met him, but I heard Dan was a great guy.”

  “The best.” His face seemed to harden. He changed the subject abruptly. “So you’re trying to help Mrs. Corcoran find her grandson. Any leads?”

  “Not really.” She shrugged. “You have any thoughts on it?”

  “Not really.” He mimicked her shrug. “I haven’t finished reading through the entire file yet.”

  “Joe gave you the file before you even started the job?” Her interest was piqued.

  “He’s been letting me read through it in the conference room down at the station when I can find a minute here and there to stop in, thought he’d give me something to think about until next week.”

  “Who are the statements from?”

  “Different people.”

  “I can’t believe he’s given you access to the file.”

  “Sounds as if you know him well.”

  “Like I said, I used to be a detective here in Conroy.”

  “Used to be? You quit?”

  “Moved on to other things.” She had no intention of going into details with this stranger. The stranger who’d been hired to replace her, so it would seem. “Joe must be eager to get you on the case.”

  “He wanted me to start a couple of weeks ago. I had some things I had to take care of, but he didn’t want to wait that long for me to become acquainted with the case. He wanted me to be able to move right into the investigation. This seemed to be the most expedient way to do that.”

  “But you’re technically a civilian,” she pointed out.

  “Technically, I suppose you’re right.”

  “Well, it’s been nice chatting.” She extended her hand, and he took it. “I should be getting along.”

  “So how do you see it?” he said, holding on to her hand a few moments longer than necessary and ignoring her attempt to leave. “What do you think really happened that night? You obviously don’t think the Corcoran kid or his girlfriend was the shooter.”

  “No, I don’t”—she slid her hand from his light grasp—“and Courtney wasn’t his girlfriend. They and the two boys who were killed were all really close friends and had been since kindergarten.”

  “Any thoughts on who the killer was, then? Or what happened to the kids who are missing?”

  She shrugged again.

  “Oh, come on.” He laughed. “This is the second time I’ve seen you here. You know you have some thoughts on what went down that night.”

  “Assuming I had thoughts, why would I share them with you?”

  “Because there might be some things I could share in return. Like statements from witnesses, that sort of thing.”

  “What makes you think I can’t get those on my own?”

  “Oh, please.” He laughed again, and she liked the sound of it. “Your eyes got a hungry look in them when I mentioned having read them. The minute you leave here, you’re going to call Joe Drabyak and ask him why he allowed a civilian to look at the investigative reports.”

  He had her there.

  “Why would I share my theories with you? And why would you even be interested in what I think?”

  “A, because we both want to get to the bottom of this, and B, because I’m thinking you’re the detective Drabyak said was going to be real tough to replace.”

  “What else have you heard about me?” she asked, prepared for the worst.

  “What should I have heard?”

  Mallory bit the inside of her cheek and ignored the question, thinking about the offer to share. It was tempting. It would certainly be to her advantage to have access to the information she normally wouldn’t be able to get, unless she went directly to Joe and asked for it. She hoped she’d never be desperate enough to have to do that, which would not only make her feel inept but also kick-start the rumor mill all over again if anyone ever found out.

  And if Charlie didn’t actually start full-time until Monday, that would give her five days to get as much information as she could before Frank and some others started filling the new guy’s head with garbage about her. Not that she cared about his opinion of her, but once they got to talking, chances are Charlie wouldn’t be as interested in sharing much of anything with her.

  She took her phone from her pocket, speed-dialed a number, and waited.

  “Joe, it’s Mallory. Talk to me about Charlie Wanamaker…” She walked past Charlie and continued toward the gates so that he could not overhear the conversation.

  “How do you know about Charlie?” Joe did not sound surprised that she was asking.

  “We more or less ran into each other at the playground.”

  “Thirteen years on the job in Philly, the last few as a detective. Came highly recommended. He’s from the area, and local is always good. He knows Conroy, he knows a lot of the folks around here. He was by far the best candidate for the job. We were damned lucky to get him.” Joe paused, then added, “It wasn’t easy to replace you, Mal.”

  “I appreciate that. Why’d he come back, if he was doing so great in Philly.”

  “Family obligations.”

  Interesting.

  She wondered how Joe would react to the idea, so she decided to just lay it out there. “Listen, what are the chances we can more or less make a sort of deal here? Information for information, theory for theory. Totally off the record, of course…”

  “So you want an open dialogue with my soon-to-be detective,” Joe said. “You think you have insights that could help solve the case?”

  “Maybe.”

  Joe laughed. “Technically, I can’t tell Charlie what to do, since, technically, he doesn’t work for me yet.”

  “You’ve given him access to the case files.”

  “True. Originally, he was to have started two weeks ago, but he had to delay his starting date twice. I can’t spare any officers right now because of this damned sniper, but Charlie did mention he would have some free time, on and off, so we agreed he’d become familiar with the case before Monday so that he’d already be into it when we gave him his badge and his gun.”

  “No point in wasting any time.”

  “That’s how I look at it. And he was more than willing to get a head start on it, so I figured hey, why not. I couldn’t think of one good reason not to.”

  “So you’re okay with this? Us pooling our info?”

  “As long as this is kept between you, me, and Wanamaker.”

  “That would have been one of my stipulations.”

  “Then we’re on the same wavelength. And between you and me, I can’t say it bothers me to have your fingers in this pie. You know how much I respect you. You were a damned good detective. Charlie’s coming on board with a fine reputation: They were really upset about losing him down in Philly. I have high hopes for him.”

  “One thing, Joe.” Mallory turned and started back down the path toward the bench where Charlie was waiting. “I had to sign an agreement not to discuss my employment with anyone, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to anyone.”

  “Magellan
made you sign an agreement not to let anyone know he’s involved?”

  “Yes. Of course, you know, since Father Burch had already spoken with you, but I’d appreciate it if it didn’t go beyond you and me.”

  “It’s not something I need to discuss with anyone, Mal, don’t worry about it. But what did you tell Charlie? You tell him you’re a PI? Who does he think your client is?”

  “It will be a few more weeks before I’ll have my license, so I’m not pretending to be something I’m not. I told Charlie I was a friend of Mary Corcoran’s.” Mallory paused. “Which after yesterday isn’t really a lie.”

  “You learn anything from her?” he asked a little too quickly. “Has she heard from the grandson?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  “I guess that’s one of those things you’ll talk to Charlie about if it happens, right?”

  When Mallory didn’t respond, Joe said, “Well, I’m just as happy to keep this arrangement we’re talking about under wraps as well. The last thing I want is for the press to get the idea that you’re working undercover on this. It could lead to a lot of shit that neither of us needs to deal with.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” she said. “Now, why don’t you discuss that part of the arrangement with Charlie…”

  Mallory sat on a bench and watched Charlie pace as his soon-to-be boss reiterated what he and Mallory had discussed. She’d known Joe would jump at the proposition, and why not? He’d want to be kept in her personal loop, to know what she knew when she knew it. It was like getting an extra detective for free. His person would be in on anything she dug up—and Joe had to know she’d dig up something before too long—and his department could take the credit for it. Between her inability to discuss her employment, and the fact that she wasn’t yet licensed, Mallory couldn’t act publicly even if she wanted to. Joe had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

  “It’s fine with me as long as you’re clearing it,” Charlie was saying as he walked back to Mallory. “Did you want to talk to Mallory again? Mallory, did you need…?”

  Mallory shook her head and stood up and reached for the phone after he disconnected the call.