“Over the last few days, we’ve narrowed down Devin’s most
likely closed investigations that could be connected to Jimmie. We’ve eliminated
those who are deceased or still in prison. Go through the files and look for a
female suspect, or any female connected to any of the men.”
Calla stared at Reid. “You want us to look through files?”
“Again?” Victoria asked in disbelief.
Devin could apparently tell relations with Reid were going
south, since he shot to his feet. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Leave the files. I’d
like a word in private before you go.”
They all gave Reid hearty goodbye and waited in silence for
Devin to return. Calla clenched her hands together to keep from pounding her
fists on the table.
“Look, Calla,” Devin began in a consoling tone. “Reid doesn’t
know the full capabilities—”
Calla stood. “Who votes we sit on the sidelines and do
paperwork?”
Devin, naturally, was the only one who raised his hand.
“It’s five to one,” Calla said smartly. “You lose.”
“I thought we’d at least get to do surveillance or something,”
Shelby said, her disappointment clear.
“We will,” Calla promised. “I have a better idea.”
“Of course you do.” Devin sighed. “I don’t think it’s a good
idea to defy the lieutenant. I seem to remember you people going around me to
bring down that investment scheme and your plan falling apart.”
Shelby scowled. “That was my plan.”
“And we all got to the same place eventually,” Calla reminded
Devin.
Trevor cleared his throat. “Not to buck your leadership or
determination, Calla, but I am a bit worried about our involvement. This isn’t
an embezzler or a jewel thief we’re after this time, it’s a killer.”
“I know, and we’re not taking unnecessary chances,” Calla
promised. “Neither are we going to defy Reid. We
are
looking through the files, and we
are
pulling out
likely suspects. Then we’re going to interview them all.”
“How?” Victoria asked, clearly skeptical. “Nobody in this room
has a badge. Sorry, Devin.”
Calla smiled. “We’ve got something better—the power of the
first amendment. We think our killer is getting revenge against Devin for
arresting her, or someone she cares about, right? So, we’ll tell all our
suspects we’re writers, doing a story on wrongly imprisoned convicts.”
Devin’s eyes widened. “I’m not sending you out in reporter-mode
to talk to potential killers.”
Calla wanted to inform him
he
didn’t
send
her anywhere, but chose to keep the
peace. For the greater good, of course. “First of all, I won’t be the only one
interviewing. We’ll need everybody in order to cover all the potentials, so
we’ll go in pairs. The couples can be together. Well, except you, Devin. Our
killer knows who you are. Howard, you can pose as my research assistant, can’t
you?”
Howard not only nodded, he looked wildly thrilled by the
prospect.
“I cook,” Shelby said. “How am I going to pull off being a
professional writer?”
Calla waved her hand. “It’s easy. Take a laptop or notebook and
ask nosy questions.”
“What if someone checks our credentials?” Jared asked.
Calla had already considered and solved that stumbling block.
“I’ll make business cards for all of you, and my editor will back up a fake
resume.”
“Aren’t we expanding this conspiracy too much?” Victoria
wondered. “The more people we tell, the more likely our mission gets
exposed.”
“My editor at
City Life
worked for
the
Washington Post
in his younger days,” Calla
explained. “He’d go to jail rather than reveal a source. Which I’ll tell him all
of you are.”
“What if no one will talk to us?” Trevor asked.
“That’s the beauty,” Calla said proudly. “If I’m right about
this woman’s motivation for getting back at Devin, she won’t be able to help
herself from talking about injustice. She might lie about why she feels the way
she does, but she’ll talk.”
“And if you’re wrong?” Victoria asked.
Calla had no idea what direction they’d turn, but there was no
use in worrying about that unless the time came. “We’ll think of something
else.”
“It’s a bold plan,” Jared said.
“And we don’t have anything else,” Shelby added.
Though Calla hadn’t gotten the rousing ovation she’d been
hoping for, she was confident her idea was the best chance they had. Although,
the closer they got to closing the case, the closer she and Devin got to a
crossroads in their relationship.
She might be the leader of a mythical gang, but she couldn’t
live in a fairy tale forever.
* * *
A
S
D
EVIN
LISTENED
IN
silent amazement to his
girlfriend and her friends cook up their undercover operation, which couldn’t
possibly succeed, he idly wondered if he could get a job in private security.
Provided Howard was as good as he claimed and he could get Devin off on the
assault charge, it might be time to polish his resume.
The money was supposedly better, but what about a pension and
health insurance? He’d be picky about the jobs he took, too. He didn’t mind
taking a bullet to protect his city, but he wasn’t taking one for some starlet
with a crazed stalker fan who wanted to prove his love by waving around a loaded
pistol.
“We can break rules the NYPD can’t,” Calla was saying, causing
him to wince. “Let’s use that to our advantage.”
Law and order had served him well for over a decade. He simply
didn’t have the heart for vigilante justice. “I hate to trample all over your
big idea, but—”
“But, let me guess,” Victoria cut in. “You’re going to,
anyway.”
Devin ignored the sarcasm, which he’d expected. “Conducting an
investigation is all about teamwork.”
“Like we don’t know that?” Calla asked, irritated. “Our
teamwork closed two cases in five months.”
He also ignored that. “In addition, every investigation has a
leader.”
“I’m—”
Devin rushed ahead before Calla could remind him about her gang
position. “Our leader is Lieutenant Reid. In order to identify a suspect and
build a case against her, we have to follow his directives.” Not to mention the
idea of Calla sitting across the table from a cold-blooded killer made his own
blood freeze. “As long as each member of the team does his or her part, the
suspect is arrested and prosecuted. That’s how the system works.”
“Do they teach you how to make scary speeches at the police
academy?” Shelby asked.
Calla planted her hands on her hips. “We’re not part of the
system. The system has, in fact, failed you to this point. That’s the whole
point of Robin Hood.” She turned her back on Devin and faced the table. “Unlike
the NYPD, we can lie about whatever we want. We can lift fingerprints off the
glass our suspect uses and have them tested against the partials the lab found.
No warrant required.”
“No, you can’t,” Devin said slowly and firmly. “You’ll taint
the chain of evidence. No judge would let that information be heard in
court.”
Calla waved her hand in dismissal. “We don’t need court. We
need a suspect. You guys can figure out how to prosecute her once we find
her.”
Devin was almost certain the top of his head was going to blow
off. “Oh, can we?”
“Calla has a point,” Trevor said. “This woman has been a shadow
so far. The usual methods aren’t getting results.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Devin argued.
Calla glared at him over her shoulder. “We’ll meet the suspects
in public places,” she said through clenched teeth. “No one’s going to get
hurt.”
“Really?” Devin faked surprise. “And that guarantee is based on
your many years of experience in being safe and nonimpulsive?”
“Trevor, do something,” Shelby pleaded.
Trevor pulled out his wife’s chair and urged her to her feet.
“I have a firm policy not to get in the middle of another couple’s argument. Why
don’t we go upstairs to the terrace?”
Victoria practically leaped out of her seat, grabbing Jared’s
hand and poking Howard’s shoulder. “Great idea.”
“There’s a full moon,” Howard said, following the others. “I
should have brought my telescope.”
The moment they were alone, Calla pushed her face within inches
of Devin’s. “Since when do I need your permission to do anything?”
“Since it’s my ass on the line.”
“I didn’t hear you complain when I hauled your drunk ass home
from that dive bar and took care of you.”
Actually, he’d told her over and over he didn’t want to drag
her into his dark and precarious life. She never listened.
“Or when I found the only two pieces of physical evidence that
gives us any remote lead on the identity of this woman,” she continued, her
azure eyes standing out starkly from her flushed face.
“Well, now that you’ve come up with a hairbrained scheme that
involves you confronting a killer, I’m objecting.”
She jabbed her finger against his chest. “Look here, buddy. I
know I said the possessiveness was sexy, but I control where I go and what I do.
I’m not some kind of chattel for you to order around.”
“Chattel?”
“From Medieval times. It means a personal possession. I was the
leader of this group long before Lieutenant Rulebook arrived, and my plan
deserves more consideration than your knee-jerk rejection because we’re not
following the chain of command. Furthermore, any time you and your NYPD pals
want to run your little operation by yourselves, be my guest.” She stormed off.
“Tell Shelby I went home. And you can find some other comfy bed to warm
tonight,” she added as she stalked down the hall.
“I’m worried about you!” he shouted after her.
She halted at the door. “Why?” she asked without turning
around.
Encouraged by her soft tone, he approached her, though he was
cautious enough not to touch. “I can’t be responsible for you getting hurt.”
Her gaze met his, searching. “Why?”
“You mean too much to me.”
“I want to help you for the same reason.”
But she couldn’t possibly realize how thoroughly her beauty and
optimism had saved him. Not that he could tell her. Not only wasn’t he the
schmaltzy hearts and flowers type, he’d never forgive himself for contaminating
her rosy light with revenge and death.
She should be writing about exotic beaches and the latest
luxury ski resort, not getting her editor to lie so they could interview
potential murderers.
He chanced soothing her fury and slid his arm around her waist.
“I couldn’t do any of this without you. Your plan is good, but risking you is
not how I want to get my badge back.”
“So help me. We can do this together.” She curled her arms
around his neck. “You know, teamwork.”
He pulled her against him. “We’re a pretty good team.”
She bumped her hip against his growing erection. “In certain
areas, we’re great.”
They were compatible in bed and nowhere else? Expected, but he
had the strange urge to argue. Shouldn’t there be more? Did he want more?
He did, but wasn’t sure how to say so, much less make it
happen. “I want to tell Reid and Anderson,” he said, realizing he needed to
focus on work, where he actually knew what to do.
“They won’t approve.”
“They will. They don’t have anything else, either.” He
saw the argument rise in her eyes. “We need backup.”
“Okay, fine.” After a brief sulk, she kissed him beneath his
chin, and his blood, so cool from fear, warmed again. “But if they’re around,
we’ll have to follow rules,” she said.
Always the vigilante. “Some, yes, but it’s not illegal for law
enforcement to mislead a suspect.”
She brightened. “So, we can lie. What about the prints?”
“Based on a suspicious statement from a suspect, we might have
probable cause for print analysis.”
“Who determines what’s suspicious?”
“I do.”
She scowled. “Don’t forget I’m Robin.”
He returned her caress, pressing his lips to her chin, then her
jaw. A touch he longed to extend and determined he would by night’s end. “So
you’ve told me many, many times.”
“And from now on, no dismissing my ideas without telling me the
real reason you’re objecting.”
No way he’d share that much. He didn’t know how. “I’ll be a
team player,” he said, since that was within his capabilities.
The rest of a healthy relationship was a complete mystery.
13
“H
OW
DO
I
LET
MYSELF
get talked into these things?” Devin
wondered, though no one else was in the surveillance van to hear him
complain.
From the case files, the gang had identified the best leads and
each pair of
writers
was interviewing two suspects a
day, mostly during their lunch hour, as everybody had their own jobs to do or
businesses to run.
As predicted, several of the women contacted didn’t want to
talk, since not only didn’t they think their spouse-boyfriend-brother-uncle had
been wrongly convicted, but were thrilled he had been. Those contacts were added
to the backburner.
Yesterday hadn’t yielded any dramatic results, but Calla’s
confidence wasn’t shaken. She’d personally interviewed the two most likely
female ex-cons Devin had arrested who might be revenge-minded. Both were only
too happy to yammer on about how they’d been railroaded. But since the
department had profiled their murder suspect as cold and remote, the two were
eliminated easily. Also, their prints were on file and hadn’t matched any aspect
of the partials.
His one stipulation to the fake journalist plan—
putting
Anderson and Reid in charge of surveillance—had eased his mind enough to let the
Shelby-Trevor and Victoria-Jared teams move forward with basic microphones to
record what they said to suspects and communicate with his colleagues, who were
monitoring from a few blocks away.
But since Calla had drawn the minuscule straw with Howard, and
Devin was extra paranoid when it came to her, he was taking further precautions.
So he’d made her wear a wire with video capabilities, which he was monitoring
from a utility van across the street from the café where she was meeting her
suspects.
“What an adorable picture,” Calla was saying, holding a
photograph of their suspect’s brother at five.
“You wouldn’t recognize him now,” Natalie Thompson sobbed.
“Shaved head, tattoos, piercings. Prison changed him. It’s horrible.”
Exasperated, Devin slumped in his seat. Yeah, poor little
Stevie Thompson. Course today, he was 6’4”, weighed 240 and had a fondness for
using a knife with a ten-inch serrated blade to threaten convenience store
clerks as he robbed them.
Devin had nearly been filleted when he’d arrested him and was
thrilled to know he was still behind bars where he belonged.
Howard handed Natalie a tissue. “Tragic.”
“Thanks.” Trembling, Natalie dabbed her eyes. “He fell in with
the wrong crowd, you know. He said the police planted that big knife on
him.”
Calla gasped. “You’re kidding. That’s not fair.”
“I know, right?” Natalie blew her nose. “Then they wouldn’t let
him out on bail because he’d supposedly tried to attack the cop who arrested
him.” Natalie was busying mopping more tears off her face and didn’t notice the
shocked expression that crossed Calla’s. “Stevie said he hadn’t realized the guy
was a cop. He’d only been defending himself.”
“Yeah,” Devin muttered. “The big, shiny badge I shoved in his
face wasn’t a definitive clue.”
“Stevie wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Natalie wailed.
“But he’s awfully...big,” Howard commented.
Calla jabbed Howard with her elbow and put on an earnest
expression for her suspect. “Of course he wouldn’t. Do you think the police are
abusing their authority?”
Natalie sniffled as she lifted her watery gaze to
Calla’s. “I did for a while. I was so prepared to hate the cop that
arrested him. I couldn’t wait to go to the trial. So, there he was, sitting in
the witness stand and looking fierce and remote, but he was also...” She trailed
off, apparently lost in a memory.
“But he was also?” Calla prompted.
Natalie’s bloodshot eyes lit up.
“Gorgeous.”
Devin nearly fell out of his chair. “You’ve
got
to be kidding.”
Howard looked disgusted, and Calla coughed, likely covering up
a laugh.
“I mean I’m loyal to my brother and all,” Natalie continued. “I
wasn’t going to ask him out or anything like that. But if the NYPD’s got guys
like that roaming the city, I’m all for law and order.”
“Are you sure you’re not more resentful?” Howard asked
pleadingly. “After all, good looks are genetic. It’s not like he’s responsible
for them. I think intelligence is a much more reliable yardstick of—”
“He could be dumb as a rock for all I care.” Natalie pulled a
compact from her purse and dabbed her flushed cheeks. “Anyway, I still don’t
think Stevie did anything wrong, but I blame his attorney, not the cops. How
that idiot got through law school, I’ll never know. Course all lawyers are
creeps, so what do ya expect?”
Howard suddenly became thoroughly engrossed in taking notes on
the pad he’d laid on the table.
“That’s where you should put the focus for your article,”
Natalie said to Calla. “No telling how many innocent people are in prison thanks
to incompetent lawyers.”
Calla cleared her throat. “I’ll certainly give that
consideration.”
They parted from their suspect with effusive thanks and a
promise to send a copy of the article when it was released.
Howard pulled out Calla’s chair, and she returned to her seat.
Their next interview wasn’t for another half an hour, so they ordered lunch.
As the waitress walked away, Calla commented in a low voice,
“So, Detective G, think that’s our killer?”
Devin moved his headset microphone in front of his mouth.
“Detect—” He stopped, realizing the significance. Gorgeous. Isn’t that terrific?
Maybe he’d be extra popular in prison. “I think we can safely eliminate Natalie
Thompson.”
“Whatever happened to brains over beauty?” Howard wondered.
Calla squeezed lemon into her water glass. “Don’t kid yourself,
Howard. Women can be just as shallow as men.”
Howard sighed. “You said it, sister.”
“Devin, you’ve got your care package, don’t you?” Calla
asked.
“Yeah.” Though he knew the Robin Hood gang would provide
something more interesting than the ham sandwich he usually wound up with during
surveillance, he realized he’d be eating while watching his girlfriend enjoy
lunch with another man.
Calla laughed at a joke Howard made about the guy at the table
next to them, who was apparently having lunch with a lover, but not his
wife.
“Maybe you should slip him your business card,” Calla suggested
quietly.
“I don’t do divorces,” Howard said, toasting her with his soda
glass. “I prefer love and devotion in a relationship.”
Devin hunched his shoulders.
Calla was devoted to him, but did he give her what she needed?
He was certain he satisfied her, and she loved helping him. Her positive spirit
certainly left her open to love, but he wasn’t sure he knew how. He couldn’t
imagine the “L” word was truly part of their relationship. Nor did he
necessarily want it to be.
Truthfully, the entire idea scared the crap out of him.
Instead, to show his appreciation for her affection, care and
patience, he’d given her a traumatized cat.
“Way to go, Antonio,” he mumbled.
“What was that, Devin?” Calla asked. “Is something wrong?”
He’d forgotten about the microphone. “No. Everything’s good
here.”
Even as he said the words, the waitress delivered their meals,
and Devin ground his teeth as Howard offered to grind pepper over Calla’s
salad.
Wasn’t suppressed anger bad for digestion?
At least when he opened his picnic basket, he found a bowl
containing several varieties of lettuce leaves with all the salad additions and
dressing packed in individual plastic containers, one of which included medium
rare, thinly sliced prime filet.
There was a note from Shelby.
If you’re
going to live on beef, you should at least have some greens.
Care and devotion. Yet he hadn’t even satisfied Shelby beyond
arresting the guy who’d stolen her parents’ retirement savings.
Oscar Wilde was obviously right on point.
After surviving lunch—barely—and reminding his chummy
investigative duo that the suspect was five minutes away, Devin double-checked
all the audio and video equipment. He briefly, and silently, acknowledged that
Howard was way better at romance than he could ever dream to be.
Devin wasn’t blind. He knew he was bigger, stronger and more
physical than Howard, but his lawyer knew the right things to say, how to engage
a woman in a conversation she enjoyed, how to make her laugh and relax, how to
show her she was valued beyond the bedroom.
Devin was clueless.
With little choice, he shook off his inadequacies and doubts as
the second interview began. The information revealed was as unlikely to lead to
anything significant as the discussions before it.
The suspect seemed more interested in her free lunch than
chatting about her ex-boyfriend, who was doing time for aggravated assault.
She blamed his mother, her mother, the government, the cops and
his hard-drinking buddies for his problems. Yet she seemed too angry. She had no
control and certainly didn’t have the sophistication to pull off the elaborate
frame-up their suspect had. And, at 5’9”, 200 pounds and sporting both a
scorpion tattoo and blue-streaked hair, she looked nothing like the sketch.
Scary, but not their killer.
“We’ve got nothing,” he said to Calla and Howard as Blue-haired
Girl left. “Let’s meet Anderson and Reid to see if they’ve got anything
better.”
* * *
S
INCE
THEY
WEREN
’
T
officially part of the gang,
Devin’s colleagues hadn’t gotten a care package, so they suggested a meeting and
late lunch at a sports bar near Times Square.
They might be surrounded by too much neon and chatty tourists,
but they couldn’t chance Paddy’s, the usual cop hangout. They’d have to explain
why a suspended detective was sharing a cozy meal with IAB and the Homicide cop
in charge of the case of the guy he’d been accused of assaulting.
Personally, Devin was already sick of the intrigue. He’d never
make it as a long-term undercover guy.
The gang, including Howard, had to go back to their respective
offices, so that left Devin, Calla, Anderson and Reid.
Anderson flipped open his menu. “So...Detective Gorgeous, the
captain’s been tryin’ to get a Men of the NYPD calendar started up. You play
your cards right, you could be Mr. October.”
Humiliated, Devin closed his eyes. “How did you—”
“It’s my op,” Anderson said, his tone matter-of-fact. “I can
listen to whatever channel I want to.”
He was absolutely never going to live that one down. Would he
also be called a coward if he took a job in private security and never had to
walk through the doors of the station again?
Calla shrugged. “Beauty aside, Detective, which is entirely
subjective, the more embarrassing fact is that it’s a bad boy thing. Some women
simply can’t resist the lure.”
No kidding?
Wait, based on her hand currently sliding across his thigh, she
was kidding.
Still, Devin considered her comment. The
bad boy
moniker seemed more apt for movie trailers or extreme
sports. But was that description why she was interested in him? Had she been
lured? Was he a curiosity? A distraction?
He found himself unhappy by all those reasonings. But what else
did he have to offer her?
“This is a murder investigation.” Reid snapped closed his menu
and laid it on the table. “Can we focus?”
“Just tryin’ to lighten the mood,” Anderson retorted,
unrepentant. “I’ll have the cheeseburger,” he added to the waitress.
Reid ordered a club sandwich, and they were left to talk about
their unproductive morning.
Reid claimed their second interview was a possibility. The
suspect was infuriated over her son’s arrest and conviction for drug possession
and intent to sell, and she wasn’t going to take it anymore. She was certain
Devin had planted evidence—apparently a common delusion among the wrongly
convicted—and the cops wanted her son in jail because he knew the attorney
general was a secret communist trying to gain control of the city.
Again, in Devin’s option, she harbored too much anger, and she
didn’t remotely fit the parameters of the sketch.
Were they putting too much emphasis on the stone-cold profile
provided by the department shrinks? Since they were usually right, Devin chose
to believe they simply hadn’t found the right suspect.
What about the sketch? Maybe the informant had deliberately
misled them.
In the past few days, Devin had had an opportunity to review
the videotaped interview and decided, like his colleagues, the informant didn’t
have the nerve to deceive the police. He actually reminded Devin of Jimmie.
So their killer picked weak accomplices with shaky reliability.
Was that because she was confident in her own talent at avoiding the law, or
because she knew she’d eventually eliminate any connection to her?
NYPD had the informant in protective custody, so she wasn’t
getting to him anytime soon. Did that frustrate her? Or was it part of her
plan?
“We’ve eliminated several people,” Calla said, always the
optimist.
“And quickly,” Reid added.
Anderson took a long swig of his soda. “So we keep at it.”
“We’re bound to hit on something useful,” Reid said.
Devin scowled. “Let’s hope we get something besides everybody
in this city thinking we’re all corrupt and out to get them.”
“Hear, hear,” Anderson agreed.
Over lunch they talked about the assignments for the following
day. Each team had two more interviews to conduct, and if those didn’t yield any
results, they’d have to dig through the less likely files.
They were waiting for the waitress to bring their check when
Reid’s phone rang. The conversation was brief, but Reid’s voice changed from
tired professional to excited cop almost immediately.