by Debra Webb
“Why the hell not?” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “Why do you have to make this so damned difficult? The safety of every member of my staff is my responsibility. It feels like you left the relative safety of your position with the FBI and came here to see how fast you could get yourself killed.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and lowered his voice a few decibels. “I need you to be more careful, Jess.”
That last part came straight from Dan, not from the chief of police. He was worried about her. And she wasn’t making his job easy. Every cop, all the way up the chain of command, was watching the dynamics of their relationship, and she understood this. Maybe she was punishing him somehow by refusing to conform to the expectations of others. Maybe it was her way of keeping some amount of emotional distance.
Wesley had sworn that was what she did to him. She married him and then did everything possible to push him away. He called her a coward—afraid of falling too far.
Why hadn’t hearing his voice today evoked even one hint of what she felt just standing here being lectured by Burnett?
Even knowing how Burnett made her feel, she didn’t trust herself or him… not the way she needed to. The idea that Annette and her husband were having trouble flashed through her mind. Was that the kind of woman he preferred? One who wouldn’t give him so much grief? Or was Jess just looking for a way to stay out of the truly dangerous territory?
Maybe she had let her emotions and determination override her logic today. But that happened sometimes. The need to do the right thing outweighed the self-preservation instinct. That territory was familiar… it was this kind of territory that terrified her.
“This is what I can promise,” she offered. “I will never walk into a situation like that without knowing what I’m up against and the odds of pulling it off without casualties. You have my word on that.” Which was exactly what she had done today. A strategic move with a small measure of risk and the potential for a huge payoff.
He stared at her as if he expected more. Jesus Christ, what did the man want from her?
“Are we good now?” she ventured.
Suspicion clouded his eyes. “You never mentioned your contact in LA. That must be one hell of a contact to have all the information you needed just like that.” He snapped his fingers.
Jess flinched. Her pulse fluttered at the rigid lines that now defined his face. “He’s head of the bureau’s West Coast gang initiative.”
Burnett nodded. “Captain Allen mentioned the guy. A Supervisory Special Agent Wesley Duvall. Wait, I know that name. I think that’s your ex-husband.”
Jess boosted a smile into place. “It’s a small world. Seems like exes are bound to come back into our lives.” She gave him a little salute. “Good night, Burnett.”
She absolutely would not stand here and justify calling her ex for information on a case when his ex was crying on his shoulder every time he turned around.
Walking out without another word carried far less impact considering she was barefoot.
Just like Darcy Chandler when she flew over that banister.
18
10:18 p.m.
Nina was drinking with those men. She even danced around the room and laughed when they leered at her and made remarks DeShawn didn’t understand.
He didn’t like this. It was wrong.
Watching this made him sick. What was wrong with her? Was she so afraid of her brother that she thought she needed these guys to protect them? DeShawn wanted to protect her. He wanted to take her far away from here where her scumbag brother would never find them.
As he looked away, something on the television caught his attention. He stared at the muted screen. For several seconds the images didn’t make sense. Then Jerome’s face appeared front and center.
DeShawn rushed to the table where the TV sat and grabbed the remote. He pumped up the volume. The reporter was talking about multiple homicides in Pelham. This couldn’t be right. Why would Salvadore kill Jerome? He didn’t know anything. No one did.
DeShawn’s heart slid down to his feet as he listened to the details of the gruesome gang killings. Jerome was dead. Murdered by a bunch of thugs. Four others were dead, decapitated. Their faces appeared on the screen. His heart nearly stopped altogether then. Those were the four men who had brought him and Nina here.
They’d left and hadn’t come back. The six in the other room had filtered in throughout the day and evening. He didn’t know any of them but Nina seemed to know them all.
Then that lady cop, Jess Harris, was on the screen again. A picture of DeShawn appeared next to her. Ms. Harris was working overtime to find him and his female companion, the reporter said. A drawing that looked a lot like Nina came on the screen next. There was a big reward for anyone with information on either of them.
Why didn’t the news show anything about his grandparents? Were they okay? If Salvadore could hurt Jerome, he could definitely hurt DeShawn’s folks. Wouldn’t the police be protecting them?
But they hadn’t protected Jerome.
DeShawn knew better than to believe for a second that the cops would care about a handful of black folks who lived in the hood.
He needed to check on his grandparents.
He needed to get out of here.
“Hey, baby, what you doing?”
Nina sounded drunk. Her voice was thick. He wanted to rant at her but the others were listening and watching. He didn’t like this. Drinking in excess was bad.
“Jerome is dead,” he muttered. “So are those men who brought us here.”
She hugged herself around him. “I’m sorry about Jerome. He was a nice guy.”
“Yeah, he was,” DeShawn snapped. “And now he’s dead because of your brother and guys like that.” He stabbed a finger at the thugs in the other room.
“Look!” Nina pointed to the TV. “It’s that cop lady.” She beamed a bleary-eyed smile up at him. “She got in my brother’s face today. I mean, she was fearless, Jose said. She is so perfect for what comes next.”
DeShawn pulled away from her. “What’s going on, Nina? I thought we were trying to escape your brother, not hang around to watch him kill our friends. He could hurt my grandparents!” Fear wrapped tighter and tighter around his chest. Why didn’t she see?
“Shawney, listen to me.” She took his face in her hands. “I told you running away wouldn’t help. I’ll never be free until Salvadore is dead. This is a war. We have to be strong. So many of his people are on our side. See.” She waved to the guys in the other room. “And there are many more.”
DeShawn shook his head. “I don’t understand. What’re you saying?”
“I’m saying Salvadore is going down and that cop lady is going to help us make it happen.”
That was crazy talk. “That cop is not going to do anything for you! Listen to what you’re saying, Nina! The only thing she’ll do if she catches us is put us in jail for all the trouble we’ve caused.”
“She will help us,” Nina insisted. “She will do it to save you.”
19
Mountain Brook, Friday, July 30, 10:30 a.m.
“Did Detective Wells mention what this meeting was about?” Harper inquired.
Jess wondered how closely Harper and Wells’s relationship mirrored hers and Burnett’s. With the emotional balancing act between personal and professional, any sort of relationship, even friendship, was difficult. Did they play the same tug-of-war with boundaries? Were they perfect for each other but destined to be apart for one reason or another? Did their respective pasts and all the baggage—and exes—they’d acquired over the years keep them from moving forward?
No, that would be her and Dan.
He’d sent her a good-night text just before midnight. For about three seconds in his office she had sensed that he was jealous of the idea that she had contacted Wesley. Which made about as much sense as her being jealous of Annette.
God, they were screwed up.
Jerome Frazier and DeShawn Simmons had h
aunted her dreams when she’d finally gotten to sleep last night. She needed to find that kid. It was too late for his friend and she intended to see that Lopez paid for that somehow.
First thing this morning she and Harper had sat in on the search team commander’s briefing on the nothing they had found despite their hard work and a rundown of the hotline tips, which were growing fewer and fewer with each passing day. The reward had prompted an initial rush but the response had slowed considerably now. Damn, but they needed a break.
She’d also accompanied Harper to the nine o’clock meeting with Burnett. Harper had gotten basically the same don’t-do-that-again talk she’d been given last night.
“Wells said she had information about the Chandler case,” Jess finally said in answer to Harper’s question.
He nodded. “You mean the case that’s not our case.”
“Exactly,” Jess confirmed. Their investigation, beyond the ongoing search, was at a standstill and it was driving her nuts. As much as she wanted to help DeShawn, there was nothing else she could do until Lopez made a move or a lead came their way.
Later today Darcy Chandler would be laid to rest. Afterward there was a celebration at her home for close friends and family. The grandmother had invited Jess. She needed to go. Mainly to watch all those dance moms, especially Dresher, and the husband. But also to take another look around that second-floor landing.
Lori breezed in through the entrance of the café. Jess waved and Lori hurried over to their table. She looked great. Rested. And, judging by the spark in her eyes, ready to get back to work—officially. And since both her personal physicians and Dr. Oden had released her, that was happening on Monday.
After the good-mornings were swapped, Lori asked, “Did you guys order?”
“Coffee.” Jess lifted her cup. She’d had two already.
“I’m starving.” Lori waved down a waiter.
Another Broken Egg was new to Jess but she was glad Lori had chosen this café. The atmosphere was relaxing and amazing smells were coming from the kitchen.
When they’d placed their orders, Jess couldn’t take it anymore. “What have you learned?”
Lori had been keeping tabs on Corrine Dresher and her daughter Katrina. She had also looked into the accidental death of Michelle Butler.
“I’ve asked Sandra Butler, the mother, if she’ll talk to you and she’s agreed.”
“You think there’s something there?”
Lori lifted her shoulders and let them fall in a noncommittal shrug. “The accident report is as clean as a whistle. No one saw anything other than a woman and two girls walking along the street. Suddenly one stumbled into the street in front of an oncoming car. Three days later the little girl is dead and Katrina Dresher gets her spot on the team.”
Silence settled while the waiter delivered Lori’s coffee and refilled the empty cups on the table.
“I have to tell you, ladies,” Harper said, “this cutthroat little girl dance team business is creepy.”
Jess had to agree with him.
“I was a dancer when I was a kid,” Lori piped up. “Not all the dancers and their moms are insane.”
Harper chuckled and Jess was almost envious of the look that passed between the two. If Lori didn’t watch out, she was going to find herself married to this man. Not that sharing a life with Harper would be a bad thing by any stretch of the imagination. But Lori was fiercely independent. Jess wondered if last week’s near-death experience had her rethinking all that she believed about herself and life.
“What conclusions have you reached?” Jess was dying to hear all of it. Maybe something Lori discovered would help her find the missing piece of the Darcy Chandler puzzle. That would be a welcome respite from getting basically nowhere on the Simmons case.
“Fourteen years ago, both Corrine Dresher and Alexander Mayakovsky were dancers in the Hamburg Ballet, the most prestigious dance company in the world.”
“Dresher was a ballerina?”
“A very good one,” Lori confirmed. “She was like at the top of her game but something happened or changed and she disappeared from the limelight fourteen years ago. I’m thinking that based on the age of her child, she left her career because she was pregnant.”
To belong to such a celebrated and elite dance company would require tremendous dedication and a grueling schedule. Having a child certainly wouldn’t fit into that daily agenda. Why would Dresher give that up at such a pivotal time in her career? Had the pregnancy been planned?
“What about the Russian? Is there any possibility that he and Dresher were more than dance troupe friends? He and Chandler didn’t hook up in New York until twelve years ago, two years after Dresher left Hamburg.” The two decided to marry and came to Alabama and took over her grandmother’s ritzy school. “If Dresher and he had an affair, Chandler may not have known.”
“Not necessarily so,” Lori countered. “Darcy Chandler was also a dancer in the Hamburg Ballet. She was an alternate. Part of the company but not one of the premier ballerinas. She spent her time there way in the background. Like a stand-in three times removed.”
“It would be nice to know the dynamics of their relationships back then.” Expecting the truth from Dresher or the Russian was wishful thinking, Jess figured. And finding members of their old dance troupe would take resources the department would not want to expend on a closed case.
“The point is,” Lori offered, “the three knew each other back then, so Dresher and her daughter’s appearance here last year was more like a reunion. Fourteen years ago Dresher disappeared. Chandler stayed way out of the limelight and then she returned to the US. She didn’t fare much better with the New York City Ballet. Kind of like always a bridesmaid but never a bride. According to the few records I found she remained on staff as a sort of nobody until she moved home to Birmingham.”
“Mayakovsky suffered one knee injury too many and he was out next,” Harper interjected. “That was supposedly the reason for his move from Hamburg to New York where he became a training coach.”
“Until he came here with Darcy,” Jess summarized.
“There is no way all this can be coincidence.”
Jess wholeheartedly agreed with Lori’s assessment. The waiter arrived with breakfast. Jess could hardly contain herself until he’d gone away again. “So if Dresher and the Russian had a thing… and she shows up here fourteen years later with his daughter in tow…”
“That would certainly turn Darcy’s world upside down if she discovered the truth,” Lori surmised.
“Her grandmother said something changed about two weeks ago but Darcy wouldn’t talk about it.”
“I have a friend,” Harper announced, “who owes me a favor.”
Jess and Lori exchanged a look. “Go on,” Jess urged.
“He can have a look at certain bank accounts and see if there have been mutual exchanges. Of course, none of what he discovers would be admissible in court.”
“Do it, Sergeant.”
“I’ll make the call now.”
He stepped away from the table. Lori watched him go. The yearning in her gaze was about as inconspicuous as a neon sign.
“If you’re game,” she offered, “I can see if Ms. Butler is available this morning.”
“I don’t know what we’re going to be able to accomplish with all this,” Jess admitted, “but I can’t let it go.” Darcy Chandler’s shoes had been nagging at her for days. She needed to get back in that house. The idea that she was being buried today, the final event in her existence, with so many unanswered questions made Jess feel ill.
“So you and Harper got called on the carpet this morning,” Lori prompted. “I’m missing all the drama.”
Jess stared at her omelet and wished she could revive her appetite. She knew the food would be awesome. Everything on the table looked and smelled heavenly.
“We did,” Jess confirmed. “Burnett will have my hide if I don’t watch my p’s and q’s from now on. We have a big
meeting on Monday morning to go over what SPU is about. He scheduled staggered staff meetings for the entire afternoon to ensure the whole department gets what we’re here for.” She stabbed at the mass of eggs and veggies on her plate with her fork. “I made a lot of folks angry but I accomplished the first phase of my goal.”
Lori gave her a nod. “Then you did what you had to do.” She grinned. “Harper told me what happened. He said you put that gangbanger in his place. Scared the hell out of him.”
Jess laughed. “I tried.”
“He also said you talked to your ex,” Lori ventured. “Anything there I need to know about?”
Jess went for another laugh but it fell flat. “Just that he knows the world of gangs inside and out. I needed his help and he came through.”
“Wow.” Lori gave her a knowing look. “Does the chief know?”
“He does and it’s kind of weird.”
“Like watching him with Annette,” Lori guessed.
“Exactly.”
Harper returned to the table. “He needs three, maybe four hours.” He draped his napkin in his lap and prepared to dig into his own omelet. “Then we’ll know if this triangle has been exchanging more than heated words.”
The money trail was frequently littered with bodies and loaded with motive.
• • •
Vestavia Hills, 12:55 p.m.
“Ms. Butler, I appreciate you seeing me.” Jess sat on the edge of the sofa, wishing she didn’t need to do this.
The woman had been through enough. Losing her daughter had devastated her as it would anyone. Eight months was not nearly enough distance from the tragedy to face the kind of questions Jess needed to ask.
Like the Simmonses’ home, this one looked and felt more like a shrine to the little girl who was now gone than a home where people lived. Jess understood that it was the way this woman had survived. She had surrounded herself with memories. Whether or not she would be able someday to slowly sift out some of the past, Jess couldn’t say. Some folks never recovered from losing a child. It was too devastating. It went against nature… against the cycle of life.
