Ghost Walking (A Maggie York Paranormal Mystery Book 1) (17 page)

“Not helpful.” Maggie frowned, but she wished it
was
that easy. “I never want to go through anything like last night again, but it wasn’t why I called you.”

Annie straightened. “What could be more important than you getting arrested?”

Maggie scowled this time. “I wasn’t arrested. Don’t make it worse than it was. And don’t distract me. I want to talk about your visit to Mrs. Brandt’s care facility last night.”

“How did you know?”

“Brandt was here this morning.”

Annie looked appalled, placing her fingers over her lips. “Uh-oh. Was he mad?”

“His reaction was…intense.” Maggie could almost feel her lips burn, and she stifled the urge to smile. “You’ve stumbled into the middle of the Federal Witness Protection Program.”

Annie’s eyes widened. “Ooh. Am I in trouble?”

“I don’t think so, as long as you don’t tell anyone else.”

But Annie wasn’t really listening anymore. “So that’s why his brother pretended to be Harry Willowby. He tried to tell me he was a cousin and helping out while his aunt was so ill. But I didn’t buy it. He looked too much like your cop. Younger, more carefree, but the resemblance is striking. So what’s the story?”

Maggie told her as much as she knew. She would trust Annie with her own life, so filling her in on Henry “Harry” Brandt, or Willowby was a no brainer.

“I won’t do anything to place him at risk. But does that mean I can’t go back? He’s cute, and funny. I was thinking up an excuse to visit again.”

“Really?” Maggie focused on her friend’s face. “You don’t usually fall for a guy this fast.”

“And neither do you. I’d say the Brandt brothers have something special going for them.”

“I haven’t fallen for him,” Maggie objected.

“Well, neither have I.”

They stared at one another. Annie finally grinned. “OK, then.” She got off the couch. “Some man-bait is in order. Get your credit cards. We need a day of shopping therapy.”

* * *

Brandt was late getting to the squad room, and three cops were waiting for him, sprawled around his desk, drinking coffee.

“About time,” Eddie Bishop grumbled. Brandt’s fifty-four year old partner had buzzed his once dark brown, graying hair to make the bald spot less obvious, but the style suited him. “I leave you for four weeks and what happens? You take on a stack of new cases to plague my last days.” Bishop finally gave him a twisted grin. “Trying to make me appreciate retirement?”

“Nice to see you too, Eddie. Welcome back.” Brandt gave him a light slap on the shoulder. Despite their frequent casework differences, including Bishop’s waning interest in meticulous police work, Brandt was glad to see him. He could use the help. Likewise the two detectives with him, Ross perched on the edge of Brandt’s desk, Barclay lounging back with his feet up.

He explained his late arrival with a vague excuse of something had come up, and they settled into work, going over the linked cases, bringing Bishop up to speed. Brandt deflected any questions on the recent interrogation of York and concentrated on other aspects, primarily his suspicions regarding the Otley case. “Call it cop instinct, but I think it’s the key. Something that happened or didn’t happen. Eddie, I’d like you to put fresh eyes on it. Go over the file with a fine-toothed comb. I know I’ve missed something, and I’m counting on you to find it.”

He turned to the other two detectives. “Can you pick up the Hurst case? And interview Coridan again. He may remember something that didn’t make it into his report.”

“Aren’t the Hurst case and Maggie’s basically closed with Pardson’s death?”

“Maybe. It’s pretty clear he shot York, but the MO’s so different it’s not clear on Hurst and his girlfriend. Besides, I want the guy behind it. The cases are linked, but I’m not yet ready to go beyond that.”

“Fair enough,” Ross said. “What about Detective York? Can we interview her too?”

Brandt hesitated, but it was a reasonable request. “Whatever you need to do, but you might give her a little space after last night. The PD’s not high on her list of favorites right now. Let me know before you make that call.”

Ross nodded, his face carefully blank.

Brandt wondered what Ross was thinking. Disapproval over Maggie’s questioning, or had someone picked up on the personal undercurrent? He wasn’t about to ask and open a door that should remain closed.

After agreeing to meet in the morning and compare notes, the detectives scattered to their separate tasks. Brandt set out to view the Pardson crime scene, looking for anything to point him toward someone other than Maggie, and then to meet with the ME for the autopsy results.

Brandt scanned the cracks and corners as he climbed the back stairs to Pardson’s second floor apartment. The tiniest evidence could break a case. No matter how good the techs were, he double-checked out of habit. He emerged into the hallway. Since the sniper had been killed in the corridor instead of a room, crime scene tape blocked off much of the floor. The manager and at least two tenants from affected apartments would soon be badgering the PD to release the scene. All in good time.

He ducked under the tape. The victim’s blood had spread out into the thin carpet, then dried to a shade nearly black, but the original pool was obvious. An arterial spray had also hit the wall. Messy for the killer. Blood on his knife hand, arm, maybe the face and hair. Certainly the shirt or jacket and shoes. There was one scuffled, partial shoe print that hadn’t yet been identified. Maybe a boot heel. Why only one? Maggie said she’d been careful, but her sneakers had left four identifiable impressions. Had the killer worn plastic covers over his shoes? A pro might. A hired killer to eliminate a hired killer?

Maggie’s suspicions might not be so far off. Bullet Castile would have the money and the chutzpah to order a string of cold-blooded killings, including his own killer, in order to hide the original crime. But even he needed a reason for so much bloodshed. If Brandt could discover that, it would all unravel.

At his next stop, the ME confirmed his prior estimated time of death and reported the direction of the wound suggested a right-handed killer. Great. That left eighty to ninety percent of the world’s population in their suspect pool.

Returning to District 13, Brandt passed the lab, spotted the manager, Cory Devane, and stopped for an update on their evidence testing.

“All the blood in the hallway was the Pardson’s.” The late-thirties African American snapped off an evidence glove and scratched his nose. “And the only shoeprint that didn’t match York’s sneakers was that partial boot heel. But that’s all I can tell you. Not enough to size it, and they vary so much it could be either a man’s or woman’s.

“Did you check all of York’s foot gear?” He didn’t want the DA or some defense attorney claiming they hadn’t been thorough.

“You bet. Nothing matched. And the only blood on her sneakers was on the bottom, nothing splashed on top. We were extra careful.” Cory’s look was pointed, as if he didn’t want Brandt to miss the significance. “But what do you make of the absence of fingerprints?”

Brandt shrugged. “I suppose he wore gloves.”

Cory shook his head. “Didn’t somebody tell you? There were no fingerprints—not anybody’s—on the apartment door or doorknob. Somebody must have wiped it clean.”

“Are you sure?” Brandt thought back, picturing the scene when it was being processed. “I would swear I saw someone taking impressions.”

“Maybe someone tried. But I have nothing.”

Brandt frowned but held back another protest. Was there a problem in the lab? How many times had he asked himself that question lately?

“I’d like to look over what we have on this case. Send me everything, including the field reports and names of our personnel who worked the scene.”

Cory frowned, his demeanor a little chilly now. “You’re the boss. I’ll have them to you as soon as I can, but it’ll take a while to collect everything.”

“No big rush. It’s just a review.” Brandt kept it casual. No reason to cause a stir…yet. “The captain’s bent out of shape over this recent string of murders. I don’t want any loose ends when I talk with him.”

“Gotcha.” Cory’s expression lightened. “I’ll do my best to get it upstairs ASAP.”

Brandt left the lab shaking his head. Another puzzle. A pro would wear gloves. He shouldn’t need to wipe down the scene. Considering how quickly Maggie got there, would he even have had time? Maybe they’d lost a bag or box of evidence through carelessness. No one would destroy normal, everyday fingerprints that should be there…not unless they’d made a mistake. One that needed to be covered up?

* * *

Over Maggie’s half-hearted protests, Annie took her shopping. They spent three hours wandering through the shops, trying on the latest fashions, admiring a shop window with high-end jewelry, and chatting over a late lunch. They were both grinning when they returned to Maggie’s apartment mid-afternoon with new jeans, T-shirts, and a couple of sexy blouses. Maggie’s last bag held a pair of badass black boots.

They dumped their bags on the coffee table. With an audible sigh, Annie dropped her new, oversized sunglasses on top of the other purchases, kicked off her shoes, and sank into the nearest chair, putting her feet up on the ottoman. Maggie headed for the kitchen to fix iced tea. She was steeping the bags at the granite counter that separated kitchen from living room when her phone rang somewhere under the pile on the coffee table.

“Annie, could you grab that for me?”

Her friend dug through their bags and surfaced with the phone. “Ooo, it’s him.” She ran toward the kitchen and shoved it into Maggie’s hand. “He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Coward.” Maggie laughed and tapped the photo on her screen. “Yes, Detective Brandt, what can I do for you?”

There was an instant of silence, then he laughed. And dammit, the sound warmed her to her toes.

“A loaded question,” he said. “Why so formal? This morning I was Josh. Never mind, but about this morning—”

“Nothing to talk about,” she interrupted, before he spoiled their kiss by saying it was a mistake or something equally dismissive.

He went on with just a slight pause. “I was about to ask what Annie said. Harry’s pretty uptight and has called me twice.”

“Oh. No problem. She won’t do anything that would put him at risk.” She grinned and slanted her gaze to Annie. “She wants to date him.”

“Maggie!” her friend squealed.

“I take it she’s there with you,” Brandt said dryly. He sounded amused and gave an exaggerated sigh. “I see nothing but problems ahead. Harry talked a lot about her too. She should run the other way. My brother’s middle name is trouble.”

“Don’t tell her that. You’ll only encourage her. Women love bad boys.”

“Does that include you? Good to know.”

“I wasn’t talking about me. Or you.”

“Weren’t you? I should call Harry and relieve his mind. Give Annie my thanks. I’ll see you soon.” He disconnected.

Yeah, and which Brandt would it be? The cop who’d accused her of triple murder or the man who’d made her lips tingle with pleasure?

Lost in thought, she laid her phone on the counter. Annie bounced off the couch and joined her, leaning both elbows on the granite surface.

When Maggie didn’t offer up the details of her conversation, Annie pushed the phone around with one finger and asked, “So what did he say?”

“He’ll see me soon.”

“That’s nice, but what about Harry?”

“Oh.” Maggie looked up with a quick grin. “That he’s trouble.” The smile faded to a serious look. Maybe she shouldn’t encourage her. “Brandt made it a joke, but he might have meant it, Annie. His brother has been in serious legal difficulties if the feds were protecting him. Someone’s looking for him, and now he’s out in the open. If you could find him, so can anyone else.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “Thanks for discounting my awesome investigative skills.”

“You know what I meant. He can be found if someone really digs. If they come after him, I don’t want you caught in the middle. It’s too risky.”

Annie frowned. “You seriously think he’s in danger? Can’t you protect him?”

“Don’t kid yourself.” Maggie warned. “The feds don’t protect anyone without a very good reason. I understand why Harry wants to be near his mother right now, but it makes him a walking target…no matter how careful he is or how much Brandt watches his back.”

Annie straightened. “You’re scaring me. Who’s after him?”

“I don’t know. Brandt didn’t tell me. But I know it’s serious.”

Picking up one of the tall glasses of sweet tea, Annie took a thoughtful sip. “I suppose it would be foolish to see him again. But he’s sure cute.”

Maggie narrowed her eyes. It wasn’t like her friend to capitulate so easily. “So you’ll stay away from him? At least until we understand the situation a bit better?”

“What choice do I have?”

Not many. By unspoken agreement, they changed the subject. It wasn’t until Annie left an hour later and Maggie thought about their conversation that she realized her friend had answered a question with a question. A time-tested evasive tactic. Annie hadn’t actually said she’d stay away from Harry Brandt.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Brandt arrived at District 13 around seven the next morning. A message already waited from Cory stating the Pardson evidence had been gathered and was waiting. Brandt grabbed a mug of coffee, checked out the sealed lab box, and went through the contents. Just as Cory had said, there was no fingerprint report or log of print collection from the scene. Brandt picked up the personnel sheet and began calling the techs involved.

The first two knew nothing, and the third was on sick leave. Brandt’s suspicion meter spiked…until he tracked the woman down at a local hospital where she’d undergone an emergency appendectomy the night of Pardson’s death. Couldn’t fake that. But had her absence made it easy for someone to tamper with the fingerprints?

Fifteen minutes later he stood beside her hospital bed, explaining his concern. The brunette frowned at him. “I don’t understand, detective. I handled everything like normal. I found at least a dozen latent prints on the door, but only a few were sufficient for ID. I preserved everything, labeled and recorded.”