Among the Shadows (15 page)

“And you'd know that how? Were you in the men's locker room?”

“No, sir. I wasn't. But I know—­”

“What you know,” he said, cutting her off, “is only what John told you. Only his version of what happened. Nothing more.”

She opened her mouth to protest and he raised his hand to silence her.

“Let's look at the facts, shall we. Your partner told you something different, probably said Kenny instigated it. But how reliable is his word? Isn't this the same John Byron who's been observed, on several different occasions, passed out drunk in his city-­owned vehicle?”

“Chief, I don't know what you've heard but—­”

He leaned over the desk toward her, cutting her off once again. “What I've
heard
is that two of my detectives have been—­how should I say this?—­fraternizing with each other. As I'm sure you are aware, it's a clear violation of this department's standard operating procedure for two members of the same unit to engage in any fraternization. Furthermore, if this were taking place, I'd be forced to transfer one of them out of the unit. But you already know this, right detective?”

“Yes, sir. I do.”

“Have you anything to add?”

She didn't know how much of what Cross was saying he could prove, but it was obvious he'd set his sights on John and that was bad enough. “No, sir. I don't.”

Cross raised his brows. “Are you telling me that you and Sergeant Byron aren't involved?”

She gave him her best eye contact. “We are not involved, sir. I'm not sure where any of this is coming from.”

He sat back in his chair, the grin gradually reappeared. “Well, I'm so relieved to hear it. In that case, Detective, why don't you bring me up to speed on the murder investigation.”

 

Chapter Twenty

A
N OLD PROVERB
warns against dwelling on things that have already happened. A good police investigator is the exception to the rule. John Byron was an excellent investigator, unable to let go of anything that had already happened. Ever. He was alone in the conference room, updating the whiteboard and scrutinizing it for anything they might've missed, when Shirley Grant poked her head into the room.

“Excuse me, Sarge. I don't suppose you have a second, do you?”

He turned toward her. “What do you need?”

“There's a sweet old lady in the waiting room. She's been waiting for over an hour to meet with Detective Joyner, but she's tied up.”

Now that Stanton's press conference had aired, Byron suspected the wing nuts were already coming out of the woodwork. “Have one of the other detectives help her.”

“I can't. She says she'll only talk to Detective Joyner.”

“Any idea what she wants?”

“Apparently, Diane left a business card in her door.”

“Okay, give me a minute. I'll come out and get her.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. Her name is Ginny Anderson.”

“Got it.”

Byron opened the door to the glassed-­in waiting area of CID and stepped inside. Seated alone was a well-­dressed diminutive woman. He guessed eighty, at least. She looked up from her magazine as he spoke. “Mrs. Anderson?”

“Yes.”

“I'm Detective Sergeant Byron. I understand you're waiting to speak to a detective.”

“Yes. I'm waiting on Detective Joyner,” she said, examining the card in her hand. “I found this in my door.”

“She's busy at the moment. It could be a while. Maybe I can help you.”

“Are you her supervisor?”

“I am actually,” he said with a smile.

“I suppose it would be okay, then.” She started to get out of her chair.

“We can talk here if you'd like.”

Anderson's expression turned serious. “Sergeant, I am going to be eighty-­three next month and this is the first time I've ever stepped foot inside a precinct house. But I watch television and I know how this is supposed to work. If you want my information, we will need to speak in an interview room.”

“You're absolutely right, Mrs. Anderson,” he said, doing his best to hide his amusement and impart a solemn tone of voice. “I apologize. Right this way.”

They walked through the maze of desks toward the interview rooms. Byron caught the curious gaze of LeRoyer as they passed by and gave him a wink. LeRoyer grinned.

The bright blue doors of the three CID interview rooms had always reminded Byron of the television game show
Let's Make a Deal
. And unlike the usual visitors to the interview rooms, Byron highly doubted Mrs. Anderson would have any need to utter those words. He led her to room number three, as it was the only one not currently in use. “Is this okay?” he asked.

“It's fine,” she said as she sat down and set her purse on the table directly in front of her.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked. “Water maybe?”

“I'm fine, thank you.”

Byron closed the door and sat down across from her. “So, Mrs. Anderson, what do you have for me?”

“Don't you have to read me my rights?”

He smiled again. “Actually, we only do it when we're interrogating a suspect. Unless you've done something you need to confess, I feel comfortable we can skip the Miranda warning.”

“Well, okay. You're the expert.”

“Do you have some information for me?” he asked, hoping this wasn't a waste of his time.

“I think so. I live across the way from a nice young man by the name of James O'Halloran.”

Byron was no longer amused by his visitor. He'd been waiting for a break and realized, however unlikely, she might be it. “Do you know what happened to him?”

“I just found out he was murdered in his home.”

“That's right. And we're investigating his murder. We canvassed the entire neighborhood a week ago, Mrs. Anderson. Why did you wait to come in?”

“I've been away visiting my daughter and her family since last Wednesday. I came home and saw the card in my door. I didn't know why the police would have left a card in my door until I saw the news about Mr. O'Halloran. Did you know he was a police officer?”

“Yes, I'm aware. You said you had something to tell us. Do you know something about his death?”

“Well, I'm not sure if this is anything helpful, but I kind of keep an eye on things in our neighborhood. I guess some ­people might say I'm a bit of a nosy parker, but I don't think it's a crime to care about what's going on around you. Right?”

“You're absolutely right. Better safe than sorry.”

“That's what I think. Like the kids at the middle school, sometimes they cut through our yards and do mischief. Mrs. Yankowski's fence got vandalized last year and I saw the boys who did it.”

“Did you see something that might help us on the O'Halloran case?”

“Well, I'm not sure. I know he was sick with cancer. He had nurses come to the house every day. During the week it was a cute little redhead girl and on the weekends it was a healthy young man.”

“Healthy?”

“I don't want to say he was fat. He was big-­boned. You know, healthy.”

Byron nodded his understanding while still doing his best to suppress a grin.

“I got used to seeing both nurses come and go and was familiar with what they drove,” Anderson continued. “But the night before I left, let me see, it would have been last Tuesday, I saw a man park out on the street in front of Mr. O'Halloran's and go inside.”

“Did you get a good look at him?”

“No, it was too dark, but I know he was a good-­sized man.”

“How do you know he went inside the house?”

“I watched him.”

“Did you see what he was driving?”

“Yes, it was a light-­colored Honda van. Maybe silver. It's always so hard to tell at night.”

“You didn't happen to see the plate number, did you?”

“No, I'm afraid I didn't.”

“Had you seen that vehicle there before? Could it have been one of the nurses?”

“No, it was the only time I'd seen it since he's been out of the hospital. The nurses don't drive vans. The cute little red-­haired girl drives a light green Subaru wagon and the healthy young man has a black mini Jeep. I think it's called a Liberty.”

“How do you know so much about cars, Mrs. Anderson?”

“I was an insurance adjuster for forty years. I know my cars, Sergeant Byron.”

“I guess you would. Did you see the man leave?”

“I did. He got there around eight. I'd say, give or take, and left a little after nine-­thirty.”

“Was he alone both times you saw him?”

“Yes, he was.”

“Did you see or hear anything strange while he was there?”

“No. He came, stayed for a little while, then left.”

“And you're sure this was last Tuesday night?”

“Yes, because I left for my daughter's house in Massachusetts first thing on Wednesday morning, about six o'clock. I can't believe someone would hurt such a sweet man. He was a police officer you know.”

After taking Mrs. Anderson's information and walking her back to the elevators, Byron called Tran.

“Dustin, I need you to run 10–28 checks on our list of former SRT. I want a list of every vehicle currently registered to them and their spouses.”

“Sure thing, Sarge. What am I searching for?”

“I want to know which one has a tan or silver Honda van.”

“
W
HAT THE FUCK
is your problem?” Diane said as she marched into the police gym.

Crosby, who'd had the gym to himself, was doing standing curls in front of a large mirror. “You'd better not be talking to me, Detective.”

“Can't find anyone your own size to pick on?” she said, ignoring his warning.

He set the barbell on the rack with a loud clang, picked up a towel, and wiped the perspiration from his face. “I can only assume you think I've slighted you somehow. And you've lost your good sense. That's the only thing I can come up with to explain your insubordinate tone.”

“Why are you fucking with John?”

“If you're talking about Sergeant Byron, I've done nothing to him. Don't have any reason to.”

“Really? The bruise on the side of your face says differently. Heard he knocked you on your ass.”

“Don't believe everything you hear.” Crosby walked over to the bench, where he already had a bar loaded up with steel plates, and sat down.

Diane followed him. “I thought you were tough, but I guess you're nothing but a big pussy. Getting the chief to fight your battles for you?”

“You don't know what the hell you're talking about.”

“Don't I? I read your statement accusing John of assaulting you.”

“So you read my statement, big deal. He attacked me.”

“Huh. I'm curious why that would be? I noticed there wasn't any mention of what led to you getting knocked on your ass.”

“Call it a disagreement between sergeants. Nothing that concerns you,
Detective
.”

“Doesn't it? Who I decide to sleep with sure as hell sounds like my business.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You don't? That's strange, because the way I heard it, you asked John if he was tapping my, quote, ‘sweet African ass,' end quote.”

Crosby blushed. “Look, I was only kidding. I wanted to get a reaction from him. I didn't mean anything by it.”

“Well, congratulations, you got a reaction, from both of us. Now,
Sergeant Crosby
, I'll tell you what's gonna happen. You'll go see Cross first thing in the morning and tell him you were mistaken about what happened. Then you're going to drop your assault charge against John.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because if you don't, by the time tomorrow is over I'll have filed a complaint against you charging racial and sexual discrimination in the workplace.”

“You're bluffing. You won't do it.”

“Try me.”

“It's my word against John's, what happened in there.”

“You're forgetting about the new property detective.”

Crosby laughed. “He won't say anything.”

She held up a handwritten statement. “He already did.” She watched as the color ran out of his face. “Don't forget,
Sergeant
, first thing tomorrow morning.”

R
ESPONDING TO T
HE
lieutenant's text, Byron walked to his office and sat down.

“Stanton approved your overtime request for the surveillance,” LeRoyer said.

“Great. I want to have those details up and running tonight.”

“What did granny want?”

“Might be a lead on O'Halloran.”

“Seriously?”

“So how many officers did he approve?”

“One per night.”

Byron sighed. It was about what he'd expected. “I guess it's better than nothing. Did he approve all of them?”

“All but one.”

“Which one?”

“Cross.”

“What the fuck, Marty?”

“Hey, you're lucky you got Williams. Cross tried to nix that one too.”

“This is total crap.”

LeRoyer sat back in his chair, staring at Byron. “Gee, thanks, Lieutenant, for getting all but one of them approved. You're awesome. I don't know how you do it, but you always seem to come through for me. Oh, it's nothing, John. I'm am here for you, after all.”

“Thanks, Lieu.”

“Don't mention it.”

Byron's cell rang, it was Tran. “That was fast. What've you got?”

“A big fat goose egg. None of our folks have anything close to an Odyssey.”

Would've been too easy anyway, Byron thought.

“Assuming she's right,” Tran continued, “they either borrowed a vehicle or we're barking up the wrong tree.”

“Check the local rental companies,” Byron said.

“Sure thing. Might take me a while.”

“Let me know.” Byron hung up and got up to leave LeRoyer's office.

“Oh, John, before you go. You're familiar with the department's policy on fraternization, right?”

B
YRON HAD WRITTEN
the surveillance OT request and was leaving the shift commander's office when he received a text from Diane.

“We need 2 talk. Pick U up out front in 5?”

This can
't be good.
He typed the letter
K
and hit send.

“
H
E ASKED IF
we were involved,” Diane said after filling him in on her meeting with Cross.

“LeRoyer gave me some shit too,” Byron said. “What'd you say?”

“I said we weren't. It's none of his damn business anyway. Think Cross put Kenny up to it?”

“Probably. Taught him to sit and stay too. He's trying to trump up stuff so he can have me suspended.”

“How the hell can he do this, John?”

“He's the Ass Chief. It would appear he can do most anything he wants. Besides it's not like I haven't given him plenty of ammunition.”

“He can't suspend you without due process.”

“He hasn't suspended me yet. And it's not my suspension he's after anyway. He's trying to get me thrown off this case.”

“Why?”

“I'm not sure, but he's been blocking my every move. He convinced Stanton not to let us set up surveillance on him. Where are we going anyway?”

“Coffee.”

“Okay,” he said.

“I just had to get out of there. This is total bullshit.”

He turned to her and smiled. “There's the New York 'tude I love.”