“No.” Brenda was sobbing now. “I told you what happened.”
Brewster persisted. “Now she’s out of the picture, but in all the confusion, you realize you’ve left some incriminating evidence behind. God forbid hubby finds out what little wifey’s been up to in the big city. So you go back and get it.”
“You’re wrong.” Tears streamed down her face, and her head twisted from side to side.
Brewster hulked over her like a bird of prey. His voice was loud and threatening. “You’re not going to get away with it.”
She collapsed, listing to one side, as if she was a tire Brewster had punctured with a sharp nail. Sobs wracked her.
“Pete, outside.” Brewster twisted around. Matt motioned with his hand. Reluctantly Brewster followed him out.
Matt put his hands on Brewster’s shoulders. “I thought this was a slam-dunk, pal,” he said. “But now I’m not so sure. Let’s hold off for a while.”
Beads of sweat ran down Brewster’s face, and his breath came in short, angry bursts. “Bullshit,” he said. “We’re almost there. She’s spinning. We got motive, opportunity, and evidence. We can’t stop.”
Matt hesitated. He wanted to believe his partner. He wanted the case to be over. He knew a lot of other cops wouldn’t quit. They’d bully, terrorize, even lie until they got what they wanted. He was tempted. He wanted it. He closed his eyes. His gut said Brenda Hartman was telling the truth. He opened his eyes and took a breath. “Let’s check out her alibi.”
“Come on, man. Even if it checks out, you can’t put any stock in what a dyke says. They all cover for each other.”
Matt searched his partner’s eyes. He didn’t like what he saw. “Look. She copped to the burglary. Call the state’s attorney. At least we can get that going.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Before he left the station, Matt called Donna Cleveland. But it was six in the morning, and her machine picked up. He left a message to call him ASAP, then headed home. The day had dawned sunny and unseasonably warm, last night’s fog stippling the sky with gold-tinged clouds.
It occurred to him that they probably had enough to indict Hartman even without a confession. But he couldn’t. Aside from the fact he thought she was telling the truth, Brenda didn’t look strong, and she wasn’t in great shape. She couldn’t have tossed Romano into the dumpster by herself. She would have needed help. Aside from Cleveland, she didn’t know many people here, and Matt didn’t see Cleveland as an accomplice. The pieces didn’t fit, no matter how much he and Brewster wanted them to.
***
The smell of coffee woke him. He opened his eyes and saw Georgia perched on the bed, steam rising from the cup in her hands. She was wearing one of his T-shirts. She smiled, leaned over, kissed him. “So? Is it over?”
He shook his head.
Her smiled vanished as she handed him the cup. “I’m sorry. I know how much you wanted it.”
He sat up and sipped the coffee. Black and strong, the way he liked it. “Thanks.”
She lifted a hand to caress his forehead.
He set the coffee down.
“You want to go to synagogue?”
He shook his head again. “Too much going on.”
An hour later Georgia dropped him at the station. A night in jail apparently had made Brenda Hartman realize the seriousness of her situation. She’d called her husband; he was driving in from Muncie. The Assistant States Attorney, Tom Dirksen arrived and was talking to Brewster.
“We want her shipped down to Twenty-sixth and Cal after bond court,” Brewster said.
“You want bail waived? On a burglary charge?”
“We think she murdered Julie Romano.”
Dirksen’s eyebrows arched.
“But we don’t have enough evidence,” Matt cut in. “We need more time with her.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know. But with her history, she’s a flight risk.”
“How’s that?”
“She ran away from home a couple of months ago.”
Dirksen scowled.
Matt knew that would get him. Run-aways were supposed to be screwed up teenagers, not mature women.
“Home is Indiana?”
“Yeah, but she ‘s been jumping around the Midwest for a while, and we’re concerned she’ll pull a disappearing act. How much time can you get us?”
The states attorney shrugged. “Maybe a few days at most.”
“That’ll help.”
Matt retreated to his desk. He was writing up his report when Donna Cleveland called. She confirmed she and Brenda had been together the night Julie Romano died. She could even supply the names of the women they ‘d gone to the movies with.
Matt hung up and crumpled his report into a ball.
***
That night Matt did go to the synagogue for the ceremony that concludes the Sabbath. Georgia stayed home. He was surprised to see Ricki Feldman. She was wearing a jumper over a white turtleneck, and her silky dark hair was loose, softly framing her face. He sat next to her, and they walked out of the sanctuary together after the service.
“You know the service backwards and forwards,” she said, her boots clicking on the parquet floor of the hall. “In Hebrew.”
He smiled.
“Where did you learn so much?”
“Here and there.”
“You went to Jewish day school, didn’t you?”
“Guilty. But that was a long time ago.”
“I wish I knew more about the liturgy and the rituals.”
“You will if you keep showing up here.”
“I will if I talk to you.”
“I’m not that learned. You ought to talk to my father.”
“You’re just modest.” She smiled shyly. “You’re an odd duck, you know. Religious scholar. And Detective. Don’t misunderstand me,” she said. “I think it’s wonderful. You—you’re—” Her hands made circles in the air as she searched for the right words. “You’re committed to protecting things. Physical and spiritual. A person could feel very safe with you.”
Safe? Is that how she saw him? He couldn’t save his own soul, much less anyone else’s. “I’m nothing special.”
“You’re wrong.” She trotted over to the rack of prayer books near the door to the sanctuary, grabbed one, and started thumbing through the pages. “Here.” She opened the prayer book wide and handed it over, pointing to the bottom of the page. Matt scanned the passage. It was one of the blessings recited on the Sabbath. The prayer asked God to bless people who served the community and to forgive them any wrongdoing.
“See?” She took the book back. “Special dispensation. Direct from the Boss.” She smiled. “Not a bad deal. Everyone needs an edge.”
He watched her place the book back on the rack. Then he asked, “So, what brings you back?”
She hesitated. “It—this seems like a good place to be. I need some perspective.” She explained about the dog. “Actually, I’m glad I ran into you. Your friend, Detective Stone, suggested I get a bodyguard.”
Matt’s eyes widened. “Stone said that?”
She slid her eyes to the side. “Well, he didn’t disagree when I brought it up.”
Matt leaned against the wall. Stone wasn’t an alarmist; he wouldn’t suggest something like that casually.
“I don’t like threats, Matt. I don’t want someone invading my privacy.” She brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. “No. That’s not it. The truth is that the dog made me realize I’m not in control of this situation. And that’s unacceptable.” Her chin tilted up. “Anyway, what I want to know, is …” She hesitated. “Look. I know Stone thinks the world of you, and well— do you think maybe you could help us out? As security? When you’re off duty, I mean?”
The expression on her face told him she was serious. He drew in a breath. It wouldn’t be hard time, and the thought of seeing her on a regular basis filled him with an unexpected spasm of pleasure. Then reality returned. He crossed his arms. “I’m in the middle of two cases, and I barely have time for to eat. Anyway,” he hoped he sounded self-effacing, “I’m not exactly the bodyguard type.”
Her eyes lingered over his body. “I wouldn’t say that.”
Matt felt his face get hot. He wasn’t sure what to say, when Howard, one of the congregants, passed them with a plate of food.
“There you are, Matt.” He bent his head towards Ricki. “She was asking if you were coming.”
She looked down. A flush spread from her neck to her face. The same lock of hair fell across her face again. A sudden impulse made Matt want to brush it off her forehead. As if she had read his mind, she looked up. Their eyes locked, and he saw a question in hers, a tacit invitation.
“I understand.” Her voice was low. “It was just a thought. Tell me,” she said after a pause, “How did a day school student end up as a cop? That’s got to be an interesting story.”
Matt followed her into the kitchen. Her voice, now cheerful, seemed to belie the intimate moment they had just shared. “Not—not really.” He felt awkward and confused. “Things happened. I changed. I mean, the times were different.”
She eyed him. “It was a girl, wasn’t it?”
He threw her a surprised look. “How did you know?”
“Whenever a man fumbles for words, there’s usually a woman involved.” She helped herself to an apple. “Am I right?”
Matt took a sweet roll.
“What happened?” She bit into the fruit.
He didn’t answer.
She stopped chewing. “She wasn’t Jewish.”
Again he looked up.
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “What was her name?”
“Caroline.”
“Pretty.”
Matt was quiet.
“You don’t want to talk about it.”
“Not much.”
“Okay.” She waved the hand that held the apple. “So what brought
you
back?”
“I—I’m not exactly sure,” he lied. “It was after I worked my first homicide.”
“There’s something about death, isn’t there? The finite quality of it. The permanence. The absence of choice.”
He started. “How do you—”
“My mother.”
He put down the roll. “I’m sorry. I forgot.” Ricki Feldman’s mother had died when Ricki was quite young.
“It’s okay.” She reached out, her fingers grazing his forearm. They exchanged glances. She withdrew her hand. The skin where she’d touched him felt singed.
“I—I’d better get back.”
“Sure. You have things to do.”
He made no move to leave.
“I’ll see you.”
He forced himself to push through the door. Outside, away from the warmth of the synagogue, the wind had picked up, and leaves danced in chilly gusts of air. The night seemed darker, bleaker, lonelier. As he climbed into his car, he looked back at the building. She stood just inside the door, framed by the light, watching him go. As he pulled away, he asked himself a question. If God really intended for Jacob to marry Leah, why did He put Rachel in his path?
Chapter Twenty-six
Georgia pulled the early shift on Monday. When she got to the station, she found a message to see Doyle ASAP. She was surprised. She’d hardly shared more than a brief conversation with him in the three years she’d been on the force. The door to his office was closed. She knocked tentatively.
“Yes.”
She poked her head in. He waved at her. “Georgia. Come in.” His voice was measured and calm, but something about it made her uneasy.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Close the door.” She did. He cleared his throat. He didn’t ask her to sit down. “Officer Davis, we have a situation.” He straightened some papers on his desk, making sure they were aligned in a stack. “It has been brought to my attention that you and another officer have exhibited a blatant disregard for our policies.”
“Excuse me sir? Which policy would that be?” She hoped she didn’t sound smart-ass, but there were so many. Of course, Doyle could probably recite each one.
“Specifically, the code of conduct that forbids fraternizing with officers of the opposite sex.”
The world tilted. Pipe smoke rose in a haze. The gray blinds slanted in daylight.
“Our rules specifically prohibit officers from having relations outside the professional arena. We have reason to think you violated that rule.”
A shiver edged up her spine. She tried not to panic.
“Not only is it bad for morale, but it affects our productivity, and in a very real sense, our ability to serve and protect. If officers are emotionally involved with each other, their commitment to the public and to their partner is in jeopardy. Who knows what could happen?”
Georgia studied her feet. If she moved one toe, she’d have to move all the others in turn. To make it all come out even. Maybe that would make the problem go away.
“I’m aware that it is not always an easy thing to do. Especially when you’re partnered with someone of the opposite sex. Or you think that another cop is the only person who understands what it’s like to risk your life every day.”
Now her breath came in angry bursts. Doyle thought she was making it with her partner, Robby Parker.
“Commander, Officer Parker and I are not involved with each other. “
Doyle leaned back, a smug look lifting the corners of his mouth. “I’m glad to hear that. So that means the information I have is false?”
Georgia fell silent. How could she deny her relationship with Matt? Hell, she was living with him. But that was none of Doyle’s business. Or anyone else’s. Except that someone had made it theirs. The parking lot last Friday. Christ. She knew she shouldn’t have given him a ride.
“Our policy states that any officer suspected of consorting with another officer, beyond casual social interaction, is automatically suspended with half-pay. I assume you’ll want to file a grievance with the association, and you’ll be entitled to a hearing, of course. That will be weighed along with the other evidence when we ultimately resolve the situation.” Doyle hunched forward. “But if you tell me there’s no truth to this rumor, Officer Davis, I’ll believe you.”
He was giving her an out. All she had to do was lie. Tell him that she wasn’t seeing Matt. That she wasn’t living with him. That’s what she should do.
Doyle picked up a pencil, drummed it on his desk.
She opened her mouth to tell him the lie. Nothing came out.
“Officer Davis?”
“What about Matt? What’s going to happen to him?”
“We’ll deal with him.” A smile curled his lips.
That’s when she realized Doyle hadn’t known who the other officer was. Until she blurted it out. She’d been sucker- punched.
***
Carrie Nelson slammed down the phone. “Now I’ve heard it all.”
Matt looked up. They were in the conference room, ground zero for the Task Force.
“Simon’s bimbo brigade.” She thumped her fist on the table. “That’s another one with the same story.”
“What does that make?” Brewster asked.
Nelson nodded. “Around twelve. This guy had some racket.”
“You want to let me in on it?” Matt said.
Nelson shook her head. “I’ve probably talked to dozens of the names in the black book, and for the most part, I’m getting the same story. It’s amazing. Get this.” She leaned back. “Simon meets most of them at East Bank. They’re working their butts off— all of them aspiring models or actresses, they say. He watches them work out. Then starts a conversation. He’s sympathetic. Understands what it’s like. How much they want to make it in show biz. And he can tell there’s something about them that’s different. Special.”
“The old one-two,” Brewster offered.
“Hold on,” Nelson said. “It gets better. After he’s got their attention, he lays it on. He can help them, he says, give ‘em an edge, being a dentist and all.”
“What? He’s ‘gonna clean their teeth?” Matt said.
“Better. He’s got this new equipment. So new, it’s still experimental. It’ll make their teeth as white and straight as the ivories on a piano. Think of the possibilities, he says. Close-ups, toothpaste, lipstick ads. The only thing is they’ll have to come up to his office in the evening. It’s so experimental, you see, the FDA hasn’t approved it yet.”
“The FDA? What the hell does the Food and Drug Administration have to do with anything?” Matt asked.
“You’re asking me? But these girls don’t know. Most of them buy the whole thing and actually show up. At night. And he does work on them. Bleaches their teeth, does something, who the hell knows? They don’t. But here’s the thing. They do think their teeth look better afterwards.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. Of course, most of them can’t pay the bill, so naturally, he takes it out in trade.”
“I – I don’t believe it.” Matt sputtered. “And they fall for it?”
“Not only that.” Nelson laughed. “Here’s the kicker. Most of them said they loved what he did for them. Said they’d do it again. Some even said how good he was in the sack. So you tell me who the bimbos are.” She gazed at Matt, then Brewster.
“You think we’re in the wrong racket, Carrie?” Matt said.
“Well, if the shoe fits...” Nelson wiped the grin off her face. “But ‘lemme ask you something. What do we say to his wife?”
“Nothing,” Matt said after a pause. “She already knows what he is. She doesn’t need us to spell it out. Unless you found someone who copped to being with him last Friday.” He looked hopeful.
“Sorry.”
“What about you, Brewski?”
“Nothing here.”
The phone in the office rang. Matt got it. It was Tom Dirksen from the States Attorney’s office.
“Bad news,” Dirksen said. “The Judge won’t go along on Hartman. Either bring him stronger evidence or he’s ‘gonna cut her loose.”
“The letters won’t do it?”
“She’s ready to cop a plea for the burglary. But because it’s a first offense, he’s leaning toward letting her off on probation and community service.”
“She’s going home?”
“Unless you got something you haven’t told me.”
“No. In fact, it’s worse.” Matt told him about Brenda Hartman’s alibi.
Dirksen sighed. “You may as well kiss her good-bye. Chalk it up to a bad collar.”
As he replaced the receiver, the door to the conference room opened, and Doyle crooked his finger at him.