Ghost Walking (A Maggie York Paranormal Mystery Book 1) (18 page)

“We can’t find it now. Where did you put it?”

“In the locked evidence room, ready to be logged in the computer and analyzed. I swear, it was there. I left as soon as I turned it in, because I wasn’t feeling good.”

“No one’s doubting you,” Brandt said. “Someone’s just made a mistake. Don’t worry about it. We’ll find it. And take care of yourself. The lab will be eager to have you back.” He smiled. “I’m sure the backlog hasn’t improved a bit in your absence.”

“That’s probably true,” she said, leaning back against the pillows. “Makes me want a nap just thinking about it.”

By the time Brandt returned to the squad room, his three partners had gathered for the morning briefing. Although he mentioned the lack of fingerprints on the Parson case, he didn’t point out the lab glitch. For now, he’d keep his suspicions quiet until he had a chance to approach the captain. Whether sloppy or deliberate, the lab had a serious problem.

Just as the meeting broke up, vice detective Justin Wernier called and asked to meet him at a local cafe down the street.

“What’s this about?”

“I’ll explain when you get here. We may be able to help one another.” The other cop hung up.

Brandt stared at the phone. He didn’t like the cloak and dagger feel of this, but his curiosity was piqued. He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and headed out the door.

The Corner Cafe was only four blocks away. When he walked in the door, he spotted the vice cop immediately. They’d never spoken, but he’d seen Wernier around the station. Who could miss the tall, skinny blond with the shaggy hair? Brandt hadn’t known the man worked vice and almost smiled at the idea of this lanky kid confronting thugs from the city’s gangs. When Wernier lifted his gaze, Brandt knew he’d made a bad assumption. The vice detective had the best cop eyes Brandt had seen in a long time.

He slid into the booth across from the Wernier and ordered coffee from the waitress who’d followed him to his seat. The men introduced themselves, then waited while the waitress poured coffee.

“So why are we here?” Brandt asked.

“I heard you had an issue with evidence from the Pardson case.”

Brandt leaned back, instantly wary. “Oh, where’d you hear that?”

“Cory from the lab. He doesn’t have fingerprints from the crime scene, but said you thought he should.”

Interesting. Why had the lab manager gotten Wernier involved? Brandt frowned into his coffee cup, wanting to tread lightly until he knew where this was going. “What are you getting at?

“You’re not the first cop with missing evidence.”

Brandt looked up at Wernier’s serious face. “Missing? As in lost or mishandled?”

“Not exactly. Let me back up. And we’re talking on the QT…at least for now.” The vice cop stirred sugar into his coffee before taking a drink. “I’ve been working with the drug task force for three years. Naturally, Bullet Castile is on our radar, and we’ve tried to bring him down several times. We’d worked with Maggie York on a couple of overlapping cases—”

Brandt leaned forward abruptly. “Is that why she was shot?”

“I honestly don’t know. We’ve had our suspicions, but no proof, not even circumstantial. Not until now. I understand you tied Pardson to her shooting.” He waited for Brandt’s nod. “He’s worked for Castile on and off for years. Now he’s dead, and you have missing evidence. It fits a pattern. Over the past three years, we’ve had several disappearances. Nothing big, not every case, and we couldn’t be certain it wasn’t tech negligence. But coincidentally,” he added with sarcasm, “the cases always have a clear or suspected tie-in to Castile.”

Brandt swore under his breath at the implication.

Weiner said it plainly. “Someone in-house is on Castile’s payroll.” When Brandt nodded, the vice cop narrowed his eyes. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“I guess I’m not.” He reported what he’d discovered that morning and his hospital conversation with the tech.

Weiner’s face lit up. “That’s the closest I’ve heard to proving it. If we work together, maybe we can expose a rat…and get Castile at the same time.”

“I’m listening. What’s the plan?”

Wernier looked taken aback, then he laughed. “Hey, man. You got me. I don’t have one, but I thought we could share intel. Like if you get a handle on where your fingerprints went.”

“What do I get out of this?” Brandt leaned back again. He was eager to cooperate, but he wanted something only the vice detective could give him.

“I don’t suppose you’d accept my undying love.” Wernier’s grin widened, resembling a cocky kid more than a hardened cop who took down gangsters for a living. “I get the impression you have something in mind.”

“A heads-up if you get wind of a hit order coming out of Boston.”

Wernier frowned and lowered his voice. “You going to give me a name?”

“Not the target, but the creep in Boston is Mike Milligan.”

“Whoa. You’re talking about Big Mike?”

“That’s the one.”

“Your friend’s got mega trouble.” Wernier looked thoughtful. “We may be able to help each other more than I thought. If Big Mike is looking for local muscle, he’ll go to Castile.”

That evening Brandt strode into the care facility prepared to have a serious talk with his brother about exposing himself to further risk. He came to an abrupt stop in the doorway of his mother’s room, delighted with the laughter on her lips but fighting disbelief at the cause. Harry sat beside the bed and next to him was the very pretty woman he’d seen at Maggie’s apartment. Annie Moore, the reporter.

He tamped down a spurt of annoyance. Didn’t Harry realize how much trouble she could be? Not to mention that anyone around him was in danger?

“Josh! Come join us.” Harry jumped up. “Annie was telling us some of the interesting people she’s met writing her articles.”

Brandt smiled at Annie and held out a hand. Hers was small and warm. “Finally we meet. I didn’t realize it would be so soon.”

She had the grace to blush. “When Harry called and asked if I wanted to meet his mother, I couldn’t resist. He gave her rave reviews.” Annie threw a smile at Carolyn Brandt. “And she didn’t disappoint.”

“Oh, honey, you flatter me,” Carolyn said. “But I enjoy the company.”

Indeed, she looked better tonight with a little color in her cheeks. Brandt leaned over the bed, kissed her on the forehead, and smoothed back a stray lock of her graying hair. “How’s my best girl? You look very pretty. Did you get your hair done?”

She smiled up at him and patted her curls with a hand grown thin during her losing fight with cancer. “The hair stylist was here. It doesn’t make me look too old-ladyish, does it? I’m not used to these shorter curls.”

“It looks perfect. You are perfect.”

“And you’re biased,” she said, touching his cheek. “But I love every word. Sit down and talk with us.”

“I will, but I need a moment with Harry first. We’ll step out in the hall and be right back. Anything you need?”

“If she does, I can get it,” Annie volunteered. “We can talk about you while you’re gone.” Her voice was light, teasing, but she gave Brandt a wary look, as if wondering whether she’d be the topic of the brothers’ conversation.

His mother nodded. “You boys run along. I’ll be fine.”

As Brandt and Harry walked down the hallway, Harry immediately leaped into an apology. “I know I shouldn’t have called her, but I’ve never met anyone like her. Honestly, Josh, don’t you think she’s terrific?”

“She’s also in danger,” he said dryly. “If Big Mike’s goons show up while you’re together, do you think they’re going to care if she’s an innocent bystander?”

Harry’s face clouded. “I can’t put my life on hold forever.”

“No, you were supposed to start a new life. But that decision’s behind us now. With you in the open like this, the new identity won’t protect you for long.” Brandt stopped and stepped into the facility’s small library room. It was empty this late in the evening. “I still think you should leave town. Tonight. I’ll take care of Mom. She’ll understand.”

Harry shook his head before Brandt finished. “I’ve done a lot of dumb things in my life, but deserting my mother won’t be one of them.”

“You know that’s not what she or I would think.”

“Forget it, big bro. I got myself into this mess. You’ve already done way too much trying to get me out of it. I won’t leave her.”

“Even if it means you could be killed?”

“OK, Josh. What would you do?” Harry’s jaw firmed, and he stared at his brother as Brandt struggled for a response. “Yeah, don’t bother. We both know the answer. Case closed.”

“That doesn’t make it right.” Brandt let out a pent-up breath. “I spoke with vice today. They’ll let me know if they hear any action out of Boston. It’s a long shot, but it could give us some warning. Keep your phone charged and on you. Can you at least do that?”

“No problem.” Harry gripped Brandt’s shoulder. “Now can we get back to the women? If you’re going to curtail this romance, I’d like to enjoy tonight while I can. If I’d met Annie four years ago, things might be different.”

Brandt gave his brother a quick glance. Unusual remark for Harry. His brother loved the women, but he’d never acted like they had any impact on his life. Annie had made quite an impression in a short time. Too bad it was the wrong time.

They returned to his mother’s room and stayed until the night staff reminded them twice it was past their mother’s usual bedtime. She was visibly tired, but Brandt admitted Annie’s visit had been good for her. Maybe it was a relief to talk with someone whose primary thought wasn’t how soon they’d lose her. Or maybe she missed the company of another woman.

On the way out, Annie and Harry stopped to chat in the waiting room. Brandt walked on. His brother had been animated all evening, and the two seemed to have forgotten him as he exited the front door.

He checked the vehicles in the parking lot and circled the building before climbing into his car. As far as he could tell, death wasn’t lurking in the shadows…at least not tonight.

* * *

Ross, Barclay, and Brandt’s partner joined him at a back table in the Corner Cafe. He’d moved their morning meeting out of the precinct in order share Wernier’s concerns. The vice cop had reluctantly agreed, after Brandt personally vouched for them.

As he’d expected, they took the news with a mixture of anger and disgust.

“Hell, if we can’t trust our own people…” Barclay’s hand hit the table hard enough they grabbed for their coffee mugs.

“Hey, Stan, tone it down,” Ross said, glancing around the restaurant before refocusing on his companions. “But he’s right. If someone’s tampering with cases, it affects everything we do. If they’ve known about this three years, why haven’t they cleaned house?”

Brandt repeated what Wernier had said. “Nothing’s proven, and so far it’s only a handful of possible cases. No suspects, not even the same techs involved.”

“Who says it’s a tech? A secretary, a janitor, a civilian dispatcher, anyone who has access to the lab. Even a cop.” Barclay ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I know there’s a protocol to keep evidence secure, but it obviously hasn’t worked.”

“
If
vice is right. Despite the obvious irregularity on the Pardson case, we still don’t have a suspect, and the other cases remain under investigation,” Brandt cautioned.

“Yeah, well, I think it’s gone past suspicion. It explains what I found—or didn’t find—in the Otley file,” Eddie said.

Brandt’s head whipped around. “I knew something was wrong. What is it?”

“I started comparing York’s notes and the crime scene photos. I realized I was missing some photos, but I tracked them down at the lab and made new copies.” Eddie reached under his chair and retrieved a file from his battered briefcase, scuffed from nearly thirty years of police work. He opened it, spread out a couple of the photos, and picked up a sheet of paper. He lowered his bristled gray brows. “Read paragraph five of York’s report. She mentions a bullet under the trash bin.” He pointed to the photos. “But there’s no bullet or casing shown under the bin or marked on the photos. Four casings collected and clearly marked out in the open.” He tapped on each marker in the picture. “Four turned over to the lab. No bullet or even a fifth casing. I know the casings turned out to be bogus, but this discrepancy caught my eye.”

“So she was wrong,” Ross said. “We’ve all made mistakes.”

“How do you make a mistake about seeing something?” Barclay protested. “You either do or you don’t. Eddie’s right. It could be more missing evidence.” He looked at Brandt. “You want us to ask her?”

Brandt mentally reviewed his case discussion with Maggie. She’d mentioned mistaking a casing for the bullet, and he’d just assumed one of the four casings collected had come from under the bin. Had she made the same assumption? If so, where was the fifth casing…or was it the missing bullet? And who took it?

“Brandt?”

Ross’s voice prodded him into an answer. “Sorry, I was kicking myself for not catching it. Good work, Eddie. Can you make copies of the two photos and her report? I have to return a box from the lab to York. I’ll ask her about the discrepancy at the same time.”

“Meanwhile, what do we do about the lab problem?” Ross looked at Brandt. “Does the captain know?”

“He does now. Vice convinced him to keep it quiet for a few more days before Internal Affairs clamps down. We’ll be better off if we can catch the culprit and determine the extent of evidence that’s been compromised. Just keep your eyes open. Jenson is putting out a memo on sloppy case documentation of evidence and ordering stringent compliance. Hopefully that spotlight will avoid additional tampering until we find this guy…or woman.”

Ross shook his head. “I don’t like the word hopefully.”

Neither did Brandt.

He stopped at the lab and collected the box and plastic bag holding Maggie’s guns, shoes, laundry that had been searched for bloody clothes, and the clothes she’d been wearing at the crime scene. They’d all been tested and released as clear. Items still undergoing testing would be returned later, but this was the bulk of it. Ordinarily a tech would have run it out, but he didn’t trust anyone in the lab right now—and it gave him an excuse to see her.