Fallen Five

by Erica Spindler

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Thursday, November 16

  9:05 A.M.

  The next morning, Micki arrived at the Eighth a few minutes late. She felt a hundred percent lighter in spirit than the day before. Eli was back. She knew what she was dealing with. They could beat this together.

  “Morning, Susan. Any messages?”

  “Just one.” Sue’s gaze darted from Micki back to her computer screen. “Major Nichols wants to see you right away.”

  “You okay?” Micki asked.

  She kept her gaze trained on the screen. “I’m fine. Just busy this morning.”

  “Is Zach in?”

  “He was here earlier, then left again.”

  Micki frowned. “Did he say where he was going?”

  “He didn’t say, I didn’t ask.”

  Micki had a hard time believing that. Susan made it her business to know everybody’s everything. “Should I wait for him before I go see Major Nichols—”

  “No.” Susan looked up, but didn’t meet her eyes. “Only you this morning.”

  Only her? A queasy sensation settled in the pit of Micki’s stomach. She thanked the woman and started in the direction of his office. Susan stopped her, looking flustered. “Not Major Nichols’ office. The war room. Sorry.”

  The war room? Just her, not Zach? Susan’s nerves and the pin-drop quiet squad room? Whatever was about to go down, it smelled like an ambush—and she had a good idea who they were gunning for.

  A moment later, Micki saw that she was right. Three men sat at the table, but the one who spelled the biggest trouble for her was Captain Pete Newman, head of the Public Integrity Division, the unit that investigated complaints against NOPD officers and presumed you guilty until you proved yourself innocent.

  What the hell did they have on her?

  She took a deep breath and strode confidently into the room. “Major Nichols, I understand you wanted to see me.”

  The chief answered for him, another bad sign. “That’s right, Detective Dare. Have a seat.”

  He indicated the chair at the head of the table.

  “Thank you, Chief.” She took it and moved her gaze between the three men.

  “You know Captain Newman, of the PID.”

  “Of course. Captain.” She nodded in his direction, then redirected her attention to Chief Howard. “What’s this about?”

  Her stomach took a nosedive when Newman, not the chief, took over. “Detective Dare, on Monday, February twelfth, did you, without your superior officer’s permission, go to the 2 River Tower and Hotel to interview Mrs. Natalie King?”

  “Yes, sir, I did.”

  “And did you go on your own and without Detective Harris’ presence or foreknowledge?”

  “Partly, Captain. I left Detective Harris a voice message telling him what I meant to do.”

  “I believe your message said you were”— he looked at his notes— “going to take one last crack at her.”

  They’d spoken to Zach already, she realized. Of course they had. They always interrogated the partner first. “That’s a figure of speech, sir. But yes, I imagine I did say that.”

  “You don’t remember what you said? This was only three days ago.”

  “It was a voicemail, sir. How many voicemails do you leave in a day?”

  He pinned her with his gaze. “This isn’t about me, Detective.”

  “No, sir.”

  “So, again, did you leave Detective Harris a voicemail saying you meant to take another crack at Natalie King?”

  “And again, yes, I left a voicemail, but I don’t remember the exact wording of it.”

  “I’m confused by your actions, Detective. The case was closed, was it not?”

  “We received the path report that morning, yes. The Coroner’s office ruled King’s death a suicide.”

  “And neither you nor your partner, during the course of your investigation, uncovered anything that might contradict that ruling?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Hence my confusion, Detective. Why did you feel the need to re-interview Mrs. King?”

  Her palms started to sweat. Obviously, Natalie King had registered a complaint. The big question was, what had the woman said about her? And now, how did she answer the question honestly without revealing the truth and looking like a total nut job?

  “Before writing my report, I wanted to confirm a few case details,” she replied evenly. “I wanted to make certain it was done right before we closed the book on it.”

  “I see.” He looked down at his notes, then back up at her. “Why did you decide to act without Detective Harris?”

  “He was over at Central Evidence. He wanted to take a last look at the evidence before writing his report.”

  “You both seem extremely concerned with double-checking the details of a case that turned out to be pretty clear cut. Is there something you’re not sharing with us?”

  “Absolutely not. We’re both extremely thorough, Captain Newman.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. And I’m sure the Chief is, too.” He cleared his throat. “But still, you couldn’t wait for your partner?”

  “I didn’t think this was a big deal. A few simple clarifications. That’s it.” She looked at Major Nichols. “I had orders to write up my notes and move on. That was my focus.”

  “What did you do immediately before making that call on Mrs. King?” Newman asked.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You left Major Nichols’ office at approximately twelve-thirty. Then what?”

  They knew about Carmine. She’d signed in at HQ. “I went to my desk and reviewed the case.”

  “Is that the only case you reviewed?”

  “No, sir. I reviewed an unresolved, six-year-old case.”

  “The Three Queens investigation.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why was that?”

  “What is this about?” she asked again.

  “Your thought process, Detective Dare? If you don’t mind?”

  “The King case caused a similar gut reaction in me that The Three Queens case did. As you know, good cops sometimes have to go with their gut.”

  “Is that why you went to see your old partner, Detective Angelo?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “We discussed the case. That’s all. It was good to see him. What do you want from me, Captain?”

  “The truth, Detective.”

  She was pretty damn certain he couldn’t handle the truth. Lightkeepers? Dark Bearers? Creatures that steal your most closely-held secrets and transform themselves into anyone? Hardly.

  “That is the truth.”

  “Mrs. King has filed a complaint against you. She charges that you harassed and bullied her.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Major Nichols stepped in. “Detective Dare. Micki. This is me you’re talking to. For over a year, the pressure on you has been intense. You and Harris have worked some very high-profile cases. My God, in one of them you were wounded in the line of duty. In another, your partner was.”

  “Your point, Major?”

  “Police officers are human beings. Meltdowns and burn-outs happen. It’s to be expected.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “No burn-out, no meltdown. Grateful for the opportunity to serve the people of this great city.”

  She sounded like an advertisement, and a corny one at that. But sometimes corny sentiment proved to be just what the doctor ordered.

  Not this time, she realized, as Newman started up again.

  “So, you wouldn’t describe your behavior with Mrs. King—or any of your colleagues—as outside the norm?”

  “I would not.”

  “Not in any way unraveled?”

  “Is that how she described me?” Micki asked. “If so, this is starting to sound like a ‘she said/she said’ situation. With all due respect, I would hope that my years of loyal and exemplary service would carry some weight her
e.”

  “In a ‘she said/she said situation,’ it definitely would. However, Mrs. King provided us with video of the incident.”

  “Video?” she repeated, her lips going numb and the beginnings of a vicious headache exploding at the base of her skull. “I don’t understand.”

  “Provided by security footage from the hallway outside of Mrs. King’s apartment. Let’s have a look, shall we?”

  She didn’t need to have a look. She had a pretty good idea what the camera must have caught.

  She was screwed.

  He opened his laptop and spun it toward her. Her mouth went dry as he hit play. Even as she told herself she didn’t want to see this, she couldn’t look away.

  The video was black and white, the picture quality poor. Still, there was no doubt it was her and King entering the apartment. No drama at all.

  Yet.

  Newman fast-forwarded. This, she knew, was where it got dicey.

  And then there she was, leaving the apartment, expression dazed. Weaving slightly, sort of collapsing against a wall. Her mouth moving, like she was talking to herself.

  It was painful to watch. Then it got even worse. Her, charging toward King’s door. Pounding on it. Even though there was no audio, it was obvious that she was shouting for the woman to open the door.

  Micki felt sick, but she couldn’t drag her gaze from the grainy image. She anticipated each moment of the footage: her face twisted with fury; King tugging her inside, away from the camera’s eye. But that’s not the way it appeared. No, the video made it look like she pushed her way in.

  Outplayed, Micki thought. Every step of the way. When King grabbed her wrists and yanked her over the threshold, she’d known the camera would be blinded to her vicious grip on Micki’s wrists, her sly smile and obvious glee as she threatened Micki. Without audio, they wouldn’t hear her laughter after.

  And a picture was worth a thousand words.

  Suddenly, Micki appeared back in the frame, stumbling backwards out of the apartment, righting herself as the door slammed shut behind her, then turning and running for the elevator.

  Her face burned with embarrassment. She’d looked and acted like a crazy person.

  But she’d had reason. Good reason.

  One she couldn’t explain.

  “Had enough?” Newman asked.

  Micki nodded. “More than.”

  “Would you like to change your response to the question about your behavior of late?”

  Someone having a meltdown. A major one. Nichols had been offering her an out, she realized. The pressure. The pace. Being wounded.

  She should have taken it. God, she wished she’d taken it. It was too late now.

  “You’re not hearing what she’s saying to me. She threatened me. She threatened people I care about. I know that’s probably hard to believe—”

  “Yes, it is,” Newman said quietly. “And I don’t.”

  Micki’s mind raced. Eli would have spoken to someone by now, Zach for sure.

  She looked at Major Nichols. “There’s more to this story. Talk to Detective Harris. He’ll back me up.”

  “I’m afraid he won’t. I’m sorry, Micki, but I spoke with him early this morning. He described your recent behavior as erratic and your state of mind as dangerously fragile.”

  “What?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing—or how much the words hurt. Like a stake being driven into her heart.

  She’d trusted him. Believed he had her back, one hundred percent.

  “He’s worried about you,” Nichols said softly. “So is Detective Angelo. They’re on your side, Micki.”

  Carmine, too? “Right,” she said, the word coming out choked.

  “You’ve been through a lot in a short period of time. And Hank’s death was a terrible shock. We feel for you, we understand and support you.”

  Chief Howard stepped in. “But we cannot, I cannot, have one of my detectives in the field while in such a precarious emotional state.”

  “You’re . . . firing me?” She could hardly say the words. The NOPD was her family. Her job was her life.

  “For now, it’s just a suspension. Mrs. King was gracious—and very kind. She doesn’t plan to pursue action against the department, on the condition we relieve you, at least temporarily, of your duties and you seek psychological help for your problems.”

  Micki struggled to keep her emotions in check. What had Eli said the night before? That chameleons could get in your head, learn your most closely held secrets. They could read your soul—what you loved most, and hated most. What you feared, and how to break your heart. Even your darkest longings.

  She’d been completely outmaneuvered, Mick acknowledged. She had no job, so no family, to rely on. She’d broken trust with those she cared for most. And as a final twist of the knife, if she wanted her job back, she had to see a shrink.

  The chief continued, “And I need your assurance you will not contact her again, not in any way.” He paused as if to let that sink in. “Can I get that assurance from you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you understand your conditions for reinstatement?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll need your firearm, Detective. And your badge.”

  The words echoing in her head, Micki stood. She removed her shoulder holster, laid it and the gun on the table. Her badge was next, and she slid it across the table to him, hand rock steady even though she felt as if her world was collapsing around her.

  “Get help, Micki,” Major Nichols said. “Rest. Get healthy. I want you back. I need you on the street.”

  “May I get something from my desk?”

  “Of course. I’ll get someone to accompany you.”

  A moment later, Stacy Killian met her at the war room door. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

  “There’s more to the story than their version of events.”

  “There always is.”

  They made their way into the squad room. Zach was at his desk. He looked stricken when he saw her. She strode over, stopping directly in front of him. She shook with the force of keeping her emotions in check.

  “How could you?” she asked, voice low.

  “I’m worried about you, Mick.”

  “Bullshit.” She placed her palms on the desk and bent to look him square in the eyes. “You didn’t stand up for me. Partners have each other’s backs.”

  “You’re not yourself, Mick. The last two days proved that, don’t you think?”

  “I should have known not to trust you. I should have stuck with my gut. You’re a—”

  “Micki,” Stacy said softly, touching her elbow, “you don’t want to do this. Not here.”

  Micki stopped. Stacy was right. Everyone was watching them. Everyone was listening, taking notes. She’d be at the top of everyone’s list to talk about over a beer at Shannon’s Tavern later.

  Proving the validity of the reason for her suspension.

  Screw all of them. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

  Without another word, she collected a few personal items from her desk, turned and left the building.

  As the Nova roared to life a few minutes later, she wondered if she’d ever be back.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  10:35 A.M.

  “You okay?”

  Zach glanced up. The question had come from Stacy. She’d returned from accompanying Mick downstairs, and was looking at him, her expression concerned.

  “Yeah,” he said, “I’m fine.”

  “That’s bullshit,” she said, voice low. When he didn’t respond after an awkward moment, she added, “Something’s not right here. And you know it.”

  He could hardly meet her eyes. Micki’s words from this morning—and her actions of last two days—collided in his head.

  He cleared his throat, not wanting her to know how unnerved he was. The words Mick had hurled at him had hit their mark. He should have had her back, no matter what.

  “
Look, Killian, I’m not sure what all Mick’s dealing with, but I am sure she needs some time to sort it out.”

  She drew her eyebrows together. “This way? A suspension? I don’t know everything she’s going through either, but I know Dare. And she’s a straight shooter. And you’re supposed to be her partner.”

  Zach watched her walk away, the truth of her words thundering like a drumbeat in his head. Mick was a straight shooter. By the book, dedicated to the force and the job. If the major hadn’t shown up at his apartment early this morning with the tape, he wouldn’t have believed the accusation.

  But he did see the tape. It had been incredibly damning.

  And the way she’d come on to him, that wasn’t the Mick he knew. And her anger when he’d refused her advances? Her all or nothing ultimatum? Where had that come from? Never, not in a million years, would he have expected that behavior from Mick.

  Not the Mick he knew anyway.

  But she wasn’t the Mick he knew. He massaged his right temple, and the knot of pain that had settled there. He thought back, piecing together the timeline of the last few days. Mick had been fine until that package from Hank arrived.

  Or had she? She’d thought she’d seen Hank before she got the package. Twice—once Friday afternoon, then the morning of the delivery. She’d admitted having had dreams about seeing him. Angel had heard her call his name in the middle of the night.

  She was either having a psychological break, or something had gotten to her. Something supernatural.

  If a Dark Bearer was involved, he’d have picked up the energy.

  Zach pushed away from his desk and headed for the major’s office. He tapped on the door, then stuck his head in the office. Nichols sat at his desk, staring out his partially opened window. The building that housed the Eighth pre-dated air conditioning, and the nearly floor to ceiling windows were designed for maximum circulation. His looked out over Royal Street.

  “You have a minute, Major?”

  Nichols tore is gaze away from the view and waved him in. He sighed. “Tough morning.”

  “Yeah.” Zach sank onto one of the chairs facing the major’s desk. “How’d she take it?”

  “Faced with the video, there’s wasn’t much she could say. She claimed King threatened her by threatening the people she cared about.”