Disorderly Conduct (The Anna Albertini Files Book 1)

by Rebecca Zanetti

  He’d had that look from the beginning. “I understand his childhood was traumatic before he left Ireland,” I murmured.

  “A lot of people have crappy childhoods,” Pierce said, taking the picture and sliding the back off to look for evidence. Just the photo was in there. “Most of them don’t sell drugs or commit assaults.” He tossed the entire bundle on the sofa, where it bounced.

  I couldn’t help myself. I picked it up and set the picture to rights, securing it inside the frame before setting it back down. Then I looked some more. Aiden’s kitchen held an old toaster and microwave with no dishes in the sink. The fridge revealed a couple of takeout cartons and a six-pack of beer.

  Then I turned for his bedroom, which was also neat. Clothes were folded nicely in the drawers.

  A male tech shimmied from beneath the bed, tugging out a red lace bra. “Thirty-Six D,” he said, bagging it before drawing out two thongs, one black and one a hot pink. “Size four and size six. This guy gets around,” the tech murmured.

  “There are club bunnies,” Pierce muttered. “They think motorcycle gangs are sexy.”

  I wasn’t sure about the club, but Aiden Devlin was definitely sexy. Chances were he didn’t have trouble finding female companionship. The guy could really kiss. Jealousy tried to rear inside me, and I slapped that bitch down. Not now.

  Pierce’s phone buzzed and he lifted it to his ear. “Pierce.” Then his face cleared, and his eyes blazed. “Excellent. Thank you for the speed.”

  I paused. “What?”

  “Based on the information you provided, I finally got a warrant to dump Devlin’s phone. Guess who he has been in contact with a lot the last few months?”

  I held my breath. “Who?”

  “Melvin Whitaker.” Pierce smiled, and the sight was less than pleasant. “It’s time to drag them both in.” The dark amusement slid from his face like a PowerPoint animation. “That is, if we can find them.”

  Chapter 32

  Thunder woke me out of a dead sleep, and I sat straight up in bed to turn on the bed table lamp. Breathing deep, I leaned back against the headboard and listened to the storm. Harsh rain splattered down, pinging off the roof while the angry wind threw pine needles against the windows.

  I exhaled and calmed my body. Truth be told, I loved spring storms. There was something about being safe and cozy inside while nature roared a protest to the end of winter.

  Even so, I grasped the .380 auto off my bed table and padded barefoot through the bungalow to peer through the window by my front door. My relief was complete at seeing the squad car still parked by the garage.

  Having a police guard really did lead to a decent night’s sleep. The unregistered weapon in my hand that I’d purchased at a garage sale years ago didn’t hurt, either. Yeah, I had a registered gun in my car and a concealed permit to carry. But I had a few more around for protection. Someday Jareth Davey was coming for me, and I wanted to be ready.

  I kept the gun at my thigh while walking back to bed just as my cell phone rang. My chest compressed. Phone calls in the middle of the night were always bad.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Hey. It’s Detective Pierce.” The sound of rain echoed all around him.

  “This can’t be good,” I muttered, setting the gun in my drawer and reaching for the discarded jeans on the chair.

  “Nope. Not at all.” Indiscernible voices came across the line. “Meet me at the morgue in fifteen minutes.”

  I paused in pulling my jeans up. “No way. Uh, uh. I am not going to the morgue in the middle of the night.”

  He sighed. “Just wait in your car for me. I promise I won’t let the ghosts get you.”

  “Wait—” But he’d hung up. Who was in the morgue? It wasn’t family or anybody I was close with, or he would’ve done the notification in person. But why me? Or had he called Nick, too? Grumbling, I zipped my jeans and threw on a blue sweater before brushing my teeth and yanking my mass of hair into a ponytail.

  I ran out to my car, somewhat mollified that the cop car followed me all the way to town and to the morgue, where Pierce was already waiting, leaning against the wall by the back door and smoking a cigarette. The sight of him doing so caught me off guard. Pierce had a vice? My tennis shoes splashed up water, but it had stopped raining, so I didn’t bother with a jacket. “Those things will kill you,” I said when I approached him.

  He dropped the butt into a puddle of water. “I know. I quit months ago, but this case…”

  It was oddly gratifying to see that the cranky detective wasn’t so perfect. Even now, in the middle of the night, his dark blond hair was perfectly in place, the gray at his temples giving him a look of sophistication. Or maybe experience. I followed him inside the silent building. “Who is dead, Pierce?”

  “How about you call me Grant after midnight?” He pressed the button for the elevator.

  Right. Was he flirting? If so, he sucked at it. I lifted an eyebrow.

  He lifted his right back.

  Okay. Now he was getting annoying. With a huff, I followed him onto the elevator, down a floor, and onto the morgue level. Sheets covered two bodies on the examination tables. Bile rose in my throat.

  Dr. Bay Mandi looked up, his eyes huge through goggles and his frame wiry beneath the white lab coat. He lifted the goggles. “Hi, Anna. Detective Pierce.”

  We both said hi.

  Pierce tugged a sheet off the face of the first body, showing a huge flat nose. A clear bullet hole was visible in the center of his forehead. “Know this guy?”

  I gulped. “Yes,” I croaked. “He’s one of the two guys who shot at us the other day in front of the courthouse and then chased me away from Melvin’s and up into that tree.” When Pierce pulled the other sheet free, the room swam around me. Another bullet hole in the middle of the forehead. “That’s the other guy. The one with acne.”

  My knees buckled, and Pierce grabbed my arm, steering me out into the hallway. I took several deep breaths.

  Pierce pushed me onto one of several plastic orange chairs lining the hallway. “I need to know. Did you tell Aiden Devlin about these two men?”

  I needed to put my head between my knees. Oh, boy. Now was the time to confess everything, and yet, maybe I should just answer the question. “Yes. Also, Spider said guys like this needed a hole in the head.” Had he been telling me something?

  “And Devlin?” Pierce persisted, dropping to his haunches so we were face to face. The breezy scent of salt and ocean wafted near me.

  My stomach lurched. I nodded. Aiden would never do anything like this, right? “Yes. I told him about these guys.” When we’d been having a nice dinner, and my guard was down. Way down—which ended in excellent morning sex.

  “What did he say?” Pierce asked quietly.

  My mind spun. “He said—he said that he wouldn’t let me be in danger, and that he’d take care of it.” It couldn’t be. Right?

  “Well,” Pierce said grimly, “I guess he did.”

  After returning home from the morgue, I couldn’t go back to sleep. So I cooked for a few hours, making meals to store in the freezer. I found comfort in my kitchen, remembering the many times I’d cooked with both of my grandmothers. My mom disliked the kitchen with a passion, but my dad was a great cook. He’d taught me as much as my grandmas put together. I threw together two lasagnas, a dish of cannelloni and some homemade spaghetti sauce before placing them in the freezer. Feeling guilty, I blended the ingredients for a hearty Irish stew before dumping it in two plastic bags, wanting to appease both sides of my heritage. I also made a Bailey’s cheesecake. I was covered for dinner for a couple of weeks, at least.

  Waiting until an almost decent hour, I called Wanda to see if she could fit me in for an early appointment, even though it was Sunday. If I let myself stop sleeping again, I’d lose too much of what I’d worked hard to do. Talking to her would help.

  I quickly got ready and headed out to what actually felt like a warm spring day. Finally.r />
  My hands rested on the steering wheel as I wound through town, dressed down in dark jeans with a sweater for the nice Sunday. Maybe I’d just wear sweats and watch a Supernatural marathon of my own, eating only pizza and ice-cream. Although, I’d have to beg off of the family barbecue that day, saying I had a cold or had to work. It was okay to do so once in a while. Yeah. That was a good plan.

  My phone buzzed. “Albertini,” I answered.

  “Hey, Sunshine. It’s Sheriff Franco over in Silverville. Sorry to bug you on a Sunday.”

  The sheriff was about eighty years old and had coached me in softball for over a decade. Even so, I wanted to smack my head against the steering wheel. “Hey, Sheriff. Dad said you have the newest letter.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I’m calling. I’ve had requests from a federal agency for the cards, or copies of them, as well as the case files. Do you know what’s going on?” The sheriff sounded the same as he had my entire life. Calm, cool, and grumpy. He was like another grandfather to me.

  Unfortunately. My temples started to ache just enough to tick me off. “Yeah, I think so. Nick Basanelli has taken over as the prosecuting attorney here, and he promised to call in some favors to find Jareth Davey.” Though by all accounts, it wasn’t going well. Davey knew how to hide. “My guess is that Nick has friends in several agencies.”

  The sheriff cleared his throat. “You want to know where Davey is?”

  “Yeah,” I said softly, pulling into a parking slot on Main street. “I’d like to at least know.”

  “Okay dokey. I’ll send them the info. Bye.” He hung up.

  I grinned. He’d never been much good on the phone. Thought it was too impersonal for people who really wanted to communicate. Then I stepped out of the car to the sidewalk, wove around a flowerpot and into the building, taking the stairs to Wanda’s office.

  The place looked much better than before. The boxes were gone, the books were stacked on shelves, and the plants had been placed at strategic points. Wanda gestured me inside and then finished a phone call, pointing toward a sofa near the fireplace and two chairs.

  I chose one of the chairs.

  She hung up and walked my way, dressed in a pretty floral skirt with white blouse. “I’m glad you called.”

  “Thanks for fitting me in on a Sunday.” I waited until she’d sat and then told her everything that had happened since I’d last seen her, including my trip to the morgue just hours before.

  “Bailey’s cheesecake?” she asked after I’d wound down.

  I started. “Well, yeah. Wait a minute. What about the morgue?”

  She grinned. “Sorry. I’m hungry. Any chance you could pay me in food?”

  “Gladly,” I said, sitting back in the overstuffed chair and finally relaxing for the first time all week. “You don’t cook?”

  “Nope. My wife did, and I miss that as much as her.” Wanda sighed. “So. The morgue. I mean, Eww. Right?”

  “Right.” I leaned forward. “It smells like formaldehyde and death. So gross. Do you think Aiden killed those guys?” The question was haunting me. He couldn’t have done that.

  She shrugged, and her trio of gold necklaces tinkled delicately against each other. “Dunno. What do you think?”

  I set my head back on the chair. “I really don’t know. If he did, that scares me.” I wasn’t ready to tell her that I’d slept with Aiden. I’d talk to Lacey first about it, like usual.

  Wanda waited.

  Heat climbed into my face. “Then I wonder—”

  “If Aiden would take out Jareth Davey for you?” she asked quietly.

  My gaze dropped to my hands. When was the last time I’d had a manicure? Way too long ago. Not that I could go to the new spa, since they’d been shut down for running drugs. “Yeah. I know it’s wrong.”

  “Who could blame you?” she asked. “The guy has stalked you your entire life, and you can’t find him. How freeing would it be to know he was gone?”

  My head jerked up. “You think I should ask Aiden?”

  “God, no. Murder is wrong. It’s not wrong for you to wish you could feel safe again.” She leaned forward. “Don’t feel guilty about feelings, Anna. They’re all good and right. It’s actions that make or break us.”

  Intellectually, I knew that, but it sure helped to hear it. I glanced at my phone. My hour was half up. “I need you to profile Aiden for me,” I said.

  She crossed her legs. “I’ve never met the guy.”

  “I know, but based on everything I’ve told you, do you think it’s possible he killed those two guys from the van?” I didn’t want it to be true.

  “Sure.” She tilted her head. “Don’t you?”

  After seeing his rap sheet, it’d be logical to think that, but I didn’t. I just didn’t think he’d cold-bloodedly murder two men. “Why would he do such a thing?”

  “Why do you think?” she asked.

  The shrink’s questioning was starting to tick me off. “That’s what I’m asking you. He wouldn’t have killed them just because of me, right? I mean, if he did kill them. They’re from a rival gang, so that would put them in the crosshairs of the Lorde’s guns.” I hoped.

  She glanced toward the window, obviously mulling it over. “Well, he saved you when you were kid. Per your words, he thinks that’s the only good thing he’s ever done. Would he take that further to save you again?”

  I held perfectly still. “Yeah. Would he?”

  She looked back toward me, her eyes soft. “You know him better than I do. Psychologically? Yes, it is possible. What do you think?”

  I really didn’t know. My phone dinged, and I glanced down at a text from Nick saying both Melvin and Aiden had been brought in. I guess I was about to find out.

  Chapter 33

  Nick pulled a table closer to the one-way window in the police station interview room, and I gratefully hopped up on it to watch the interrogation of Melvin Whitaker. I’d already called my mom to tell her I had to work and would miss the Sunday family barbecue this week.

  “My grandma cut out the picture of us in the paper from the other day,” Nick said, also taking a seat. The wooden table groaned under his weight.

  I rolled my eyes. “Figures. I’m sure mine has, too.” They’d completely ignored the fact that we’d been on the scene of a homicide at the time. I looked through the glass. “Where did you find Melvin Whitaker?”

  “Hotel near the border. He’d used credit cards,” Nick said.

  Melvin looked even skinnier than last time I saw him. Today he wore wrinkled gray pants, a polo shirt, and a shiny gold watch. His skin sagged at the arms and beneath his chin just enough to show he was in his sixties and not in good shape. Probably spent too much time in a lab creating illegal drugs. He fidgeted on the small chair, scratching his ear once in a while.

  Nick leaned back. “He looks nervous already.”

  I nodded, my mind thinking over the day. “Hey. The sheriff from Silverville called, and I told him to release copies of my ongoing case files about Jareth Davey to your friends.”

  Nick turned. “What friends?”

  I sat up straighter, my spine snapping to attention. “Somebody federal. I figured it was you calling in favors.”

  “No,” Nick said slowly. “I have a couple of private investigators I work with who are the best. I have them hunting down Jareth Davey.”

  Wait a minute. “Then who asked for my files?”

  Nick shook his head. “Don’t know, but we’re going to find out after this. I promise.”

  I didn’t have time to answer because Detective Pierce strode in, still wearing his tac gear and looking powerful. Probably to intimidate the scientist. Pierce slapped a manila file down on the table, and Melvin jumped. “Do you understand your rights as they’ve been read to you?” he asked.

  Melvin looked up; his eyes sharp. “Yes.”

  “So you’ll be interviewed?” Pierce asked, taking a seat to the left and keeping our view unobstructed.

  �
�Sure.” Melvin shrugged a narrow shoulder. “I have done nothing wrong. What is going on?”

  Pierce leaned back as if he had all the time in the world. “How do you know Aiden Devlin?”

  “Going right for it, is he?” Nick breathed. “Nice.”

  Melvin fidgeted more. “I’ve never heard that name.”

  Pierce pulled the manila file toward him. “You’ve never met Aiden Devlin?”

  “No.”

  “Ever talked to him on the phone?” Pierce asked.

  “No,” Melvin breathed, looking toward the door.

  “That’s interesting.” Pierce drew out a piece of paper that had been highlighted across a bunch of rows. “Because these are your phone records, and these highlighted rows show phone calls between you and Aiden Devlin, who is a Lordes Defender and a well-known criminal in the area.” He pushed the paper across the table.

  Melvin swallowed, his Adam’s apple jiggling. His gaze dropped to the paper, but he didn’t reach for it. “You didn’t have probable cause to search my phone.”

  Pierce nodded. “Probably not, but Devlin committed a battery and took evidence in an ongoing investigation, so I had plenty of probable cause on him to get a warrant. This is his phone dump…and here you are. Over and over and over again.”

  Melvin swallowed again. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

  “You just lied to me. That proves something.” Pierce drummed his fingers on the tabletop before pulling out two large photographs. “Here are two guys who ticked Devlin off. As you can see, they’re both dead.”

  Melvin paled; his gaze caught on the paper. “Then I shouldn’t tick him off.”

  “Ah, but now you’re a loose end. It’s my understanding, as a Lorde’s Defender, that Devlin takes care of all loose ends. You’re a smart guy. What do you think one bullet does to the brain?” Pierce asked.