Perry blinked, managing to look both contrite and amused at the same time.
Emma took a breath, reining in her displeasure. “I appreciate your concern, I do,” she went on, more patiently. “I even appreciate your interest, twisted as it is at times. But quit with this Daina Buchanan thing. I’m not interested in your little matchmaking ideas. I’m not going there. I’m not even considering it. So give it a rest.” She gave him a meaningful look. “Are we clear on this?”
He gave her a tiny frown, a tiny pout, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. “You’re no fun.”
“Oh, please, I’m tons of fun,” she returned dryly. “Now get in the car.” She straightened, then added, “Wait, one other thing.”
He looked at her with interest, good humor intact.
“About the other day,” she went on.
In an instant, his humor disappeared, to be replaced by sober attentiveness.
She hooked her thumbs in her gun belt and smiled gently, “I want to apologize for…flying off the handle the way I did. Like I said, I do recognize and appreciate your concern. And just so you know, you weren’t too far off the mark. But we need to be clear on one thing: if I tell you something personal, it’s because I trust you.” She paused a moment, letting her words sink in, then added, “I don’t want to have to think twice before telling you something, Perry.”
He nodded, looking sheepish. “Sorry,” he said quietly.
She inclined her head, grateful for his understanding and acceptance. “Thank you.” She tossed the keys in the air, caught them, and threw him a wink. “Now let’s get out of here before we get arrested for loitering.”
***
The next couple of days flew by; she was almost surprised when Friday night rolled around. She welcomed the routine familiarity. She had not received any phone calls, had heard nothing more about Daina Buchanan’s situation, and had not inquired into it. Perry had remained silent on the subject, whether he knew any more or not. She admitted to herself that she was interested, curious, perhaps concerned, but whether there was something going on or not, she wasn’t about to involve herself.
Before Friday night’s shift ended, a couple of cruisers were called to the Palliser, a downtown bar where a fight had spilled out onto the street. By the time Perry and Emma pulled up, the scene was chaos, the street and sidewalks full of people, as if everyone had decided to throw a huge block party. Emma was hard pressed not to stare openmouthed at the people who sat in groups or staggered about with their drinks in hand. Her ears were assaulted by music blasting from the windows and doors of vehicles parked on the street. At either end of the street, a couple of cruisers sat with lights flashing, as if their sole purpose was to provide a light show.
She took in this weird tableau as they came to a stop. She glanced at Perry, who looked back and shrugged.
“It’s downtown Winnipeg on a Friday night. Are you surprised?”
By the time they found the officers who’d first arrived on the scene, everything seemed under control. Gathering in the lobby of the Palliser, they looked on as an inebriated, scruffy fellow was led out in handcuffs, protesting angrily, “None of this is my fault! I just got in the way! Where’s my knife, dammit? Why don’t you arrest the bastard who stole it!”
A chorus of yells and the sound of breaking glass came from the street.
Emma and Perry bolted out the doors, to a mob scene unexpected and unprecedented. The boisterous, mostly good-natured crowd, which had seemed to be diminishing, appeared to have swelled. Two groups were trying to flip two cruisers, one of which happened to be theirs. Both Emma and Perry’s first reaction was to jump into the mêlée and rescue their cruiser. And then they both checked themselves.
“Call for backup,” Emma said, shaking her head. “We are not going into that without backup.”
Perry didn’t argue. He got on the radio, but obviously a call had already been placed. Three more cruisers pulled up at either end of the street, lights flashing, sirens wailing, trailed by two fire engines and three rescue units.
Emma raised her eyebrows at Perry. “Wow. You’re good.”
Perry choked back his laughter and Emma grinned. Together, they ran down the steps to meet the other officers just stepping out of their cruisers. The crowd had decided that it had gotten a little too busy for their taste and were abandoning the party. The police let them go, and converged instead on the two groups manhandling the cruisers.
Emma was mildly alarmed to see that their cruiser was very close to being overturned. But as the police rushed the group, many of them bolted and the few that remained were pulled to the ground and cuffed. The cruisers dropped back to the pavement on all four tires.
By the time the excitement was over and they had returned to the station, it was close to three forty-five A.M. By four-thirty that Saturday morning, their reports had been filed and they were free to leave the station.
As Emma drove home, the very first vestiges of dawn were showing. Exhausted as she was, she felt that thrill she always did when she caught a sunrise. With the windows wide open and the morning summer air rushing past her, the promise and beauty of the day presented before her took her breath away. She reveled in the drive, reluctant to end it, but sleep beckoned to her.
As she entered the lobby, her attention was caught by a white envelope stuck in the frame of the building’s mailbox. The print on the envelope, bold and black, caught her eye. She frowned and took a step closer. It was addressed to her. She removed the envelope from the frame and headed for the stairs, tearing open the envelope as she went.
The sheet of paper within contained a half-dozen typewritten lines.
What is it with you fucking dykes?
Do all of you stick together
and look out for each other?
You saved her ass once
Don’t try it again
I have no problem taking out two of you
“What the hell?” she muttered tightly. She whipped her head up to take a quick look around. There was no one around and nowhere anyone could hide. She read it through again and the full impact of its meaning slammed home. The threat to Daina Buchanan was obvious. The threat to herself shocked her. Whoever had written the letter obviously knew her. Knew who she was, knew what she did for a living, knew where she lived. As that realization ripped through her, Emma jerked her head up again.
Her first reaction was to climb the remaining stairs and get to her second-floor apartment. Her training made her realize that it was probably not wise to retreat to the questionable safety of her apartment. Whoever had delivered the envelope had entered her building. The small hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Her apartment might not be the haven she wanted it to be. She stepped back onto the landing, carefully refolded the letter, and slid it back into the envelope.
Cautiously, she headed back down the stairs to the lobby. It was four fifty-five A.M. She could get to the station in less than fifteen minutes. She had to let the detectives in charge of the Buchanan case know that the threat to the singer was very real and obviously not past. As an added bonus, she would also get the opportunity to lay her own private life out in the open for all to see.
Wonderful. Could this get any better?
CHAPTER NINE
During the drive to the station, Emma prepared herself for the inevitable. She’d never been outed before, and she certainly had never gone about openly declaring her sexuality. But now, one innocuous-looking piece of paper was going to do both for her, neatly, succinctly, and without preamble.
She reminded herself that the letter wasn’t about her. This was all about Daina. The irony was not lost on her that the more she tried to distance herself from the singer, the closer, it seemed, the two of them were being drawn together. She knew events would happen as they did, and she couldn’t control those events, but she would not let herself be controlled by them, either. She hoped that once she presented the letter to the sergeant on duty, her involvement in the situation
would progress no further.
Sergeant Michaels looked up from his desk as she appeared at his door. He was perhaps ten years her senior, an unremarkable looking man, with pale gray eyes and a tanned, well-lined face that was open and often reflective of exactly what he was feeling. Her eyes were constantly drawn to his fashionably short-cropped hair, which was entirely, almost shockingly, white. He didn’t lack confidence, seemed to have it in excess, in fact, and this, coupled with his solid build, made him seem larger than his average height. He was professional and, to her knowledge, competent and friendly enough, yet she had never warmed to him. He was her superior and she respected him as such and that was the extent of their relationship.
“Emma, what can I do for you?” He seemed surprised to see her, which she could understand. She’d only just said goodbye to him.
She held up the envelope. “I found this, this morning,” she said, “stuck next to my apartment mailbox. It’s addressed to me, but it has to do with the Daina Buchanan case.”
He stood, frowning. “What is it?”
“It’s a letter—well, it’s a threat, actually, against Ms. Buchanan.” She paused, then added, “And myself, in a way. You’ll want to read it.”
“Are you the only one who’s touched it?”
“As far as I know. It was sealed when I opened it. I had no idea what it was about.”
“Let’s get it in a protective casing, then I’ll have a look at it.” He pulled a clear plastic casing out of a drawer.
Opening the envelope once more, she withdrew the letter carefully, making sure to handle it now only by its edges, and slid it into the casing. She then slid the envelope in beside it and sealed the casing. She handed the plastic sleeve over to the sergeant. And while he read the letter, she watched his face carefully, keeping her own face expressionless.
When he looked up, his eyes were keen. He locked his gaze on hers. “What’s your take on this, Emma?”
The question was ambiguous. She wondered if that was his intent. “Considering the circumstances,” she replied carefully, “I think we should take it very seriously.”
He nodded decisively. “We’ll need to get some copies of it, then I’ll send this one to the lab.” He held up the original. “I’ll make some phone calls, see how many of the investigative team I can get together. You’re okay to hang around for a while?”
“Of course,” she said quietly. She knew she didn’t have a choice, but she appreciated his asking. The investigative team would need to question her regarding her involvement, not only in the finding of the letter but also how and why she was involved.
She took a seat in one of the chairs across from his desk, waiting while he busied himself with the tasks at hand. When he was done, and a clerk had come to retrieve the original to take it to forensics, he looked at her with some concern.
“Are you okay with being dragged into it like this?”
She cocked her head ever so slightly. “Does it matter?” she asked, keeping her tone and expression impassive.
“No, I guess not.” He paused, then added, “You’ll have to answer a lot of questions, personal questions, you realize that, don’t you?”
“I’m aware of that, yes.”
“You’ll be treated with respect and consideration, I promise you that. We’ll be as discreet as possible.”
She gave a single nod. “Thank you. I appreciate your saying that.”
He nodded, seemed about to say something more, then dropped his gaze to the copies of the letter on his desk. When he looked back at her, he asked, “Any thought on who might be behind this?”
At any other time, such a question might have been laughable. But Emma had to give him credit; they were obviously thinking along the same lines.
“No,” she replied, in the same careful vein. “But it would…appear to be someone who knows me. The fact that they know where I live, they know I’m a cop, they…know my personal life, it would pretty much have to be someone who knows me. To some extent, anyway.”
He nodded and held her eyes. “But not necessarily someone you know.”
It sounded more like a statement than a question, and a rather odd one at that. It brought her up short. She was unsure if he actually expected a response. There was already a good piece of herself out on the table. She felt more than a little reluctant to offer up anything more. And so she kept her expression neutral and said nothing.
“Could it be someone she knows?” he went on, without missing a beat. “Someone who knows her?”
Emma blinked, caught off guard. “Who? Daina Buchanan?”
“Yes. Do you think that the person who wrote this,” he indicated the letter with a gesture, “who’s responsible for all this, knows her?” He was looking at her intently.
She returned his look unflinchingly. “I have no idea. I suppose. Why are you asking me?”
“Well, at this point, you’re really the only one who can provide some insight.” His tone was sympathetic. “I’m not trying to put you on the spot; you’re already there, unfortunately. I just want your opinion.”
Emma’s discomfort was growing with each passing minute. But she knew it would likely only get worse. She clamped down on her feelings, as she said, “My opinion, then, is that it’s possible.” She allowed herself a small frown. “Anything is possible. You know that.”
“Yes, but is it probable?”
“Probable?” Her frown deepened. “Honestly, I have no idea.” She paused, then asked, “What if it is?”
He looked down at the letter. Then he said quietly, “Because if it is,” and he looked up, meeting her eyes once more, “then it’s someone who knows her and you.”
Emma went very still. She returned his look steadily, but as his words sunk in, the implications startled and confused her. He’d gotten ahead of her, which she hadn’t expected, and broached a line of thought she’d come nowhere near considering.
“It may be a perfectly harmless connection,” the sergeant went on. “It may be…the garbage man, who knows? But it may not be. If there is a connection between the two of you, and it certainly seems there may be, we have to find it. Which means both of you will have to be questioned. About some very personal things. Do you understand?”
Emma gave a very small nod. “I’m starting to.” And the more she came to understand, the more unhappy she became.
“I can appreciate that we may be walking into a delicate situation here, and I’m sorry it had to come out this way.” Sergeant Michaels indicated the letter; whether he realized the pun or not, she didn’t know.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“And, of course, I am just speculating here, that’s all we can do at this point.”
Emma pressed her lips together, but said nothing. There was nothing to say.
“Why don’t you go get a coffee, Emma?” the sergeant suggested to her gently. “It’s already been a long night and morning and it isn’t over yet. And I have some more calls to make before anyone else arrives. I want you to carry your weapon twenty-four/seven, I’ll get the authorization. And I want you on admin leave, effective immediately, for five days.”
She nodded and got to her feet.
“I’ll have a unit sent to your apartment, so it’ll be there once you leave here. We’ll want to make sure everything is secure there.”
She nodded again. “Thank you.”
She turned and left his office, heading for the stairs to the basement. She badly wanted coffee, but getting her handgun and holster took precedence. As she descended the stairs, she was aware of the tension in her shoulders and back, and made a futile effort to shake it off. But neither the tension nor the questions and concerns tripping over themselves in her mind could be banished so easily. She was troubled that Sergeant Michaels’ line of reasoning hadn’t occurred to her. Because it made perfect sense. It would have to be someone who knew both of them. There really was no other explanation.
“Jesus, you’re slippin’, Kirby,” she
muttered to herself in the abandoned stairwell.
As much as she felt scattered personally, professionally she was completely focused. As much as she disliked the idea of having her private life exposed and dissected, she knew she would cooperate fully, without hesitation. Someone’s life was at stake. And the cinderblock that had taken up residence in her gut would, she knew, eventually disappear.
She reached her locker and removed her gun and two holsters, an ankle holster and a belt holster. The belt holster was more of a clip really, designed to be worn at her back on the inside of her pants. Both allowed her to carry her weapon out of sight. She fixed the belt holster in place, strapped on the ankle holster, and slipped her gun in. She checked to ensure her ID badge was in her pocket where she always carried it, then slammed her locker shut.
Time for that coffee. She was more than a little tired, but figured that between the coffee and the tension thrumming through her nerves, she’d be able to hold out awhile longer yet.
By the time she got back, coffee in hand, there were already a couple of members of the investigative team present. Emma went and sat once more in Sergeant Michaels’ office. Some fifteen minutes later, Michaels came to get her. She was shown into one of the smaller debriefing rooms where there were three other individuals seated, none of whom were familiar to her. All eyes were on her as she entered.
Two were in uniform, both constables, fresh faced and serious looking younger men who looked far too alert for the early hour. Just looking at them made Emma feel even more tired. The other wore a charcoal gray suit jacket which looked a size too big for him, and a light gray shirt open at the throat. His pewter colored tie was very loosely knotted, hanging down almost to his breastbone. The sight bothered her; she looked away from his prominent Adam’s apple.
As Emma chose the empty seat at one end of the eight-foot table, facing the sergeant, she filled a glass from the pitcher of ice water before her. She could see that each of them had a notepad and a copy of the letter before them. She was introduced to the three of them, including Detective James, who was in the process of readjusting his tie. She nodded in return, and then settled herself into the chair, placed her hands in her lap with fingers interlocked, and proceeded to answer their questions.
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