OUT OF THE BLUE

by Caroline Clemmons

  Iceman took another step toward Brendan. “I told you, man. We didn’t do nothing and we don’t know who off’d the cop. Plenty of uniforms already asked.”

  Brendan wasn’t letting them off that easily. “If you were guessing who did it, who’d be first on the list?”

  The boys looked at one another before the leader answered. “Don’t know. We ain’t got nobody mad at us now. ‘Sides, we take care of our own problems.”

  Brendan would bet they did. “Tell me exactly what you remember of that night.”

  The kid shrugged. “Nothing to tell. We was out front near the street. Minding our own business. You and the other cop showed up looking for Trey. This car drove by and shot you two, then drove off.”

  “Did you recognize the car or the people in it?” The looks they traded one another confirmed his opinion that they’d seen something, but what? These boys were wild and reckless, but as far as he knew they weren’t into murder.

  Their brash gang leader cocked his head at an angle. “Nah, ain’t seen them before or since.”

  Deirdre looked at the kid named Trey then back at the leader. “Did you run or call for help?”

  Iceman’s face scrunched in anger and he stabbed a finger at her. “We don’t run from nothing. Trey went over to the patrol car and called on the radio for help.”

  Damned if she didn’t smile at Trey. “That was smart. Good for you.”

  What was she doing, acting friendly to this bunch? He hoped to hell they didn’t think her smile was a come on.

  The gang boss looked her over. “Hey, you talk funny.”

  She stared back at him, acting as cocky as he did. “And I thought it was you who talked funny. Do you remember anything else about that night, or maybe anything odd that happened the day after?”

  The guy stepped forward. “Maybe you’d like to come over here in the corner. I’ll share all I know.” He looked at his friends and laughed.

  Brendan pushed her behind him. “Maybe you can think about it and let me know.” He passed around cards with his name and cell phone number. “There’s a hundred bucks reward for the guy who gives me a name or good information.”

  One or two boys pocketed the cards but most dropped them on the filthy floor.

  About what he expected, but he’d had to try. “Come on, Deirdre. We’re through here.”

  The punks followed, leering and issuing catcalls at Deirdre as she got into the car and the two of them drove away.

  “What the hell were you thinking back there? You said you knew when to keep your mouth shut.”

  “Aye, and I know when to open it. And you needn’t yell. Sometimes a boy will share things with a woman he won’t tell a man.”

  He glared at her. “Yeah? Well, you wouldn’t have enjoyed what they wanted to share with you.”

  “I know what you’re saying, but they’re only lads and not nearly as brave or rough as they hope you’ll believe.”

  “Damn, you sound like Larry.”

  “I think I would have liked him. It’s sorry I am he’s gone.”

  “Stopping at the scene and talking to the only witnesses was probably time wasted. Only takes one kid with the right piece of information, so I held onto hope.”

  “You might hear from one of those who kept your card. Each of them was afraid to speak in front of the others.”

  “I sure as hell hope one of them calls me. I don’t have anything else.” He looked at her while they stopped for a traffic light. “And when I said let me do the talking, I meant I didn’t want any interference from you.”

  She sat with her arms folded across her chest, obviously angry with him. Too bad. She should have been quiet and let him handle the gang.

  “I need to stop by my place and get some clothes since I’m staying at Mom’s for a few more days.”

  “Because you don’t trust me.”

  Damn, subtlety had never been his strong suit. “If she was your mother and a stranger popped in as you have, what would you do?”

  He saw her posture relax.

  “Aye, you’re right. I’d make sure me ma was safe.” She looked at him and he spotted a sheen of tears in her large dark blue eyes. “But I tell you I’m naught but a simple healer who means no one harm.”

  “Right, so you’ve said.” Why go over that again?”

  Chapter Eight

  “Here’s my house.” He stopped on the street to collect his mail then pressed the garage door opener. The door slid open and he pulled in and shut off the ignition before he noticed Deirdre craning her neck to look up at the door as if she’d never seen one open and close.

  She turned back around. “There’s so much to learn.”

  Maybe, or maybe she was one hell of an actress.

  “It works from the button here on this device hanging from the keychain or from the button here on the dashboard.” He punched the button and the door lowered. “Let’s go in and get what I need.”

  The garage opened into the kitchen. Surely he could figure out whether Deirdre was dangerous in a few days.

  She was peering around at everything. “This is where you live?”

  “Most of the time. Unless Mom needs me at her place to help out with a project.”

  “Like me?”

  He laughed. “Yeah, you’re her latest project. Don’t worry, she’s happy to have you there.” But he wasn’t. “Let me show you around. Down here we have the living room, dining room, and study. There’s a bathroom off the foyer and another near the kitchen with a washer and dryer.”

  “It looks as if you had something on the walls that aren’t here now.”

  “Loaned some paintings to...to someone.” No need to explain about the museum exhibit to which he’d loaned the priceless paintings from his grandparents’ collection. He led her through the rooms, then opened the French doors onto the patio. An eight-foot brick fence enclosed the small yard, most of which was occupied by a swimming pool.

  “You have a tiny lake in your garden?”

  “Called a swimming pool and built by the previous owner before I bought the place. Probably not something I'd have built, but I like having it in weather like this.”

  “Look at the water. You can see right through it.”

  “I pay a pool company to make sure of that.” He led her back inside.

  “The bedrooms and another couple of baths are upstairs. If you’re afraid to go up with me, you can wait down here.”

  “Why would I be afraid to go upstairs? Many the times I climbed up to old Mrs. Finnegan’s bedroom. These look very sturdy, not like the rickety steps in her house.”

  “Never mind. Come on.” He let her precede him. He stopped and grabbed a duffel bag from the hall closet. “My bedroom’s in here. There’s a guest room across the hall and another bathroom.”

  Deirdre looked around but walked with her hands locked behind her as if afraid to touch anything. “It’s a lovely place and manly. I think it suits you. Different from Blossom’s home, but I like it.”

  He couldn’t imagine why her praise pleased him, but it did. He stuffed a few things into the bag, suddenly embarrassed to be opening underwear drawers with her standing there. Not that she was paying attention. She’d gone into the hall and he supposed she’d wandered to look at the other rooms. He reached for the mystery he’d started and stuffed it and a couple more into bag, then added his laptop on top of his clothes.

  He walked to the doorway. “I’m finished. You ready to leave?”

  She stepped from a bedroom, her hands still clasped behind her. “Aye, though it’s a pleasant place to spend time.”

  They went to the car and he tossed the bag into the back seat. “Want to push the button to raise the garage door.” Now why the hell had he said that?

  She smiled. “Oh, may I?” She leaned so near he smelled the rose shampoo she’d used. Her left shoulder leaned pressed him as she reached for opener near the steering column.

  He closed his eyes and inhaled, startled when the
door moved upward.

  She looked behind her toward the open doorway. “Well, I’ll be gobsmacked.” Shaking her head, she turned back to the front and fastened her seat belt.

  He backed out, closed the door, and turned toward police headquarters. “We’ll go to Blossom’s store as soon as I stop by my office.”

  Deirdre nodded, but when he pulled into the justice center parking lot a few minutes later, panic showed on her face. “Who are all these people in uniform? Are they soldiers?”

  “Police. This is the police station, where I work. It’ll just take a few minutes for me to check on a couple of things.”

  Hand on the door, she asked, “You’re taking me to jail to lock me away? I told you I’m no witch.”

  She looked ready to bolt. Maybe he shouldn’t have come down on her so hard about being quiet.

  “Deirdre? Of course not. Mom and I explained that you can stay with us, remember? This is where I work and I need to see people here. It won’t take me long.”

  She didn’t look reassured, but she didn’t run. He came around and opened the door for her then guided her inside, ignoring the curious stares of other officers. With his hand on her back he felt her shudder, but she didn’t comment. He turned his desk chair so it faced the corner rather than the cubicle opening. “Sit here.”

  She looked at him with the same wariness he’d once seen on a caged panther captured for transport to a wilderness area. “You’ll come back soon?”

  “Yeah. Try not to talk to anyone, okay? I’ll be back in ten minutes tops. You can keep track on the clock there over my desk.” He figured he’d better hurry or she’d be out of there, but he handed her an outdated magazine. If she really was from the past, it would be new information for her, wouldn’t it?

  He left her reading and hurried to see Conor Wilson in the evidence room. Brendan hated the man in charge of filing and storing all evidence seized at a crime scene or arrest. The man’s slovenly run department had lost crucial evidence on one of Brendan’s arrests.

  Conor closed whatever he’d been reading—probably a girlie magazine—and slid it into his desk.

  “You still drooling over evidence from the porn raids or are you low enough to bring in your own?”

  Conor bluffed, “Cataloging the stuff is part of my job.”

  “Then why try hiding it from me?”

  Conor scowled. “Thought you were on vacation.”

  “I am. Stopped in to see if you found the gun from that convenience store heist yet?”

  The man smirked. “You sure you even turned it in?”

  Brendan fought to control his temper. He lost the battle. “You know damn well I turned it in. The case goes to trial in three weeks. Without that gun, the whole department will look like a bunch of losers.”

  Conor’s smirk became a sneer. “You mean you will, don’t you, rich boy? Why are you even on the force? With all your money, you don’t need this job.”

  “However much money I do or do not have makes no difference. I do my job and you’d better do yours. Find that gun or I’ll file a formal complaint against you.”

  Conor stood and came around his desk. “Listen, I’m sick of you parading around like Mr. High And Mighty when we all know you don’t have to scrabble to make ends meet like the rest of us. Driving your new car and thinking you’re roughing it because it’s not the Ferrari you could afford. Don’t tell me how to do my job.”

  “Apparently someone needs to because you keep losing evidence.” Brendan knew that this wasn’t the first time Conor had incorrectly filed or lost crucial evidence. He even suspected the man had taken money under the table to ensure certain evidence disappeared.

  Conor’s eyes sparked with hatred. “I’ll have the damn gun for exhibit at the trial, okay?”

  “Sounds like you know exactly where it is. So why don’t you produce it right now?”

  “Get off my back. You’re not the captain.”

  “See that gun’s found.” Brendan turned, a bitter taste in his mouth from the encounter.

  Next, he paid a more pleasant call on his friend and division chief, Owen Baylor. Owen had encouraged him since his first day on the force, and Brendan considered the older man his mentor. Both shared a love of order and precision in law enforcement.

  Owen was a cop’s cop, and had a wall of commendations to prove it. When Owen’s marriage had ended in divorce four years back, Brendan had hoped Owen and Blossom would get together, but it hadn’t worked out. Much as he loved his mom, he figured she was too flaky for Owen.

  Owen rose and stuck out his hand. “Hey, son, you’re supposed to be recuperating. I figured you’d be at the lake fighting those fish.”

  “I was. Had to pick up something from my condo.” No point mentioning he was staying at the lake.

  “What’re you doing here?”

  “Wanted something from my desk.” It was a lie. He could have checked with Conor via phone. The truth was that Brendan wanted to be back in the loop, desperately needed to be active solving this case. “Any news who shot Larry?”

  Owen shrugged. “Naw, told you it was a gang drive-by. Damned kids were no help.” He clapped Brendan on the back, barely missing his sore shoulder.

  Brendan winced in spite of himself.

  Apparently oblivious to the pain he’d inflicted with his greeting, Owen continued, “I liked Farris. Hell, everyone did. You know how we feel when one of our own goes down. We’ll try every angle but, in a case like this, we may never find out who did it. For your own sanity, you have to let it go and move on while we work the case.”

  Brendan mourned not having his dad to offer counsel—not that Dad had been big on parental duties when he was alive. But a guy needs a man to offer guidance. Owen filled that place, was like a father to him.

  Brendan accepted the advice even though he couldn’t follow it. “I’m trying but, damn, it was my fault. If I hadn’t insisted me stop off to talk to that kid, Larry would still be alive. I should have gone straight to where you sent us. But I didn’t.”

  Owen chuckled. “Must be the first time you ever broke a rule, so get over it. You’ve got to quit beating yourself up about this.” He guided Brendan out of his office. “If they hadn’t hit Larry, it might have been those teens. You wouldn’t have wanted that either.”

  “No, I wouldn’t have.”

  Owen nudged him. “Now, get whatever it is out of your desk and get out of here. Don’t come back for four more weeks, you hear?”

  Brendan nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be out of the way in a sec. Let me know if something turns up, though.”

  “We will.” Owen put an arm across Brendan’s shoulders in a brief hug.

  Brendan suppressed another wince from the pain shooting through his body as a result of Owen’s bear-like condolences.

  Owen leaned close to his ear. “Hey, I’ve been where you are. Losing a partner is rough, but you have to go forward. It’ll make you nuts otherwise.”

  Brendan nodded. “You’re right. It’s not easy, but I’ll get there.” He walked away, knowing he’d never get over the senseless death of his friend.

  When he glanced back, Owen had gone into his office and closed the door. At least Brendan had the comfort of knowing that Owen would make sure he did everything humanly possible to find the killers. Not that he doubted his fellow officers, but Brendan intended to keep searching on his own. No harm in that.

  He dropped by the desk that Larry had used. An officer he hardly knew, Ned Warren, sat in Larry’s chair. He liked Ned, but it hurt to see his friend replaced so quickly. “Farris’ stuff still here?”

  Warren shook his head. “His brother picked up the personal things right after the funeral. I’m working his cases.” He hesitated. “Rough, him going down.”

  “Yeah. Anything unusual in his files?”

  The other man raised his eyebrows. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.” Brendan shrugged and wished he had a clue. “Maybe something that’d catch your e
ye as odd.”

  “Not that I saw, and I checked over all of the current cases.” Warren stood then jerked a thumb at the file cabinet. “I have to get out of here, but if you want to check, knock yourself out.”

  Brendan went through the folders, noting most bore Larry’s precise block print on the header tab. All the recent ones were cases they’d worked together. After a few minutes, he gave up. While he was alone, he might as well check Deirdre for priors. Reaching in his pocket, he fished out the list of names she’d written for him. Next, he pulled up the database.

  Nothing.

  He tried various spellings, but found no one who appeared close to her description. Black hair, blue eyes, twenty-five, about five eight, and about a hundred-twenty-five pounds. He tried her parents without luck.

  Hell, she’d probably made up her name and her family tree. He wished he were more trusting. No, he didn’t. That was the kind of naiveté that, added to a penchant for helping the downtrodden, had led his mom to hook up with his dad. Look where that had gotten her.

  Disgusted with his lack of success and life in general, Brendan went back for Deirdre. “We might as well get out of here.”

  She hopped up and all but threw the magazine aside. “Saints be praised.”

  “What are you afraid of?” She looked so miserable that he had an urge to cradle her against him.

  Whoa, where’d that come from?

  No cradling.

  No cuddling.

  No way.

  Protect and serve, that’s all he’d signed on for.

  She refused to meet his eyes, but hugged her arms. “There are too many feelings in here. They rush at me.”

  Feelings in here? What the hell kind of nutty answer was that? Why’d he bother to ask?

  When they reached the car and climbed in, she sagged against the seat and closed her eyes.

  He’d give it one more try. “Something wrong?”

  She looked at him. “Sure and I feared you’d lock me up for being here without me proper papers.”

  Damn, she must still think him a demon. “Deirdre, I promised I wouldn’t report you or lock you up for not having the right papers.” He shrugged as he pulled the car onto the street. “Who’d believe me if I told them you came from 1845 and landed in the lake by my boat? They’d think I was crazy. I’d be the one locked up.”