Double The Risk (2 page)

He entered the building and was grateful to get a blast of cool air. He flashed his credentials to the desk sergeant, a badge so shiny new it practically blinded him. The guy, an older man whose face was probably as red as it was all year round, gave it a quick look before buzzing him through. Diego nodded in thanks, a brief smile on his lips. He wanted this to be a good transfer, smooth, a new start. He was ready for it. Whether Boston was ready for a new cop, and a Puerto Rican one at that, remained to be seen.

If you ain’t Irish, you’re nothing up there.

His former partner, Julio, had been adamant about that, although he’d been keen on Diego staying in New York, so what he said had to be taken with a grain of salt. It seemed too nineteenth century to believe the Irish had a lock on the Boston police force. On the other hand, a lot of the name badges he saw as he walked down the halls of the precinct sounded Irish enough. He’d also wrangled the name of his new partner out of the lieutenant, and damned if it wasn’t a guy named Callaghan. Ronan Callaghan. Of course he’d done an Internet search on the guy. Pure Boston cop royalty with a murdered father in the mix. He really hoped he was wrong, but his gut told him his new partner wasn’t going to be to his liking.

His mother would say he was borrowing trouble. He tried not to dwell on his concerns as he found his way to the locker room and stowed his helmet. Taking a detour to the bathroom, he relieved himself and wet down his hair. He straightened his tie as well, because he took pride in his looks. He wanted to make a good showing for his new lieutenant if not his partner. Okay, and now he was just stalling. He forced himself out of the sanctuary of tile and quiet and headed to the bull pen.

Please, Jesus, don’t let his new partner be a douche.

Lieutenant Fuller seemed like a decent guy. As they waited for Diego’s new partner to arrive, they sat in the lieutenant’s office and chatted about Boston. His boss was obviously trying to put the new man at ease and give him pointers about getting around the area. So far, Diego had noted that he had to walk the Freedom Trail, but not to be discouraged if he crapped out somewhere around the Old North Church. Everybody did. Then there was the Aquarium, the Science Museum, and the Museum of Fine Arts, all of which sounded like places he’d go if he had kids or an appreciation for serious art. Neither of which he did. Fenway Park would be a great idea, if Diego wasn’t a Yankee’s fan. Sadly, from the lieutenant’s point of view, he was.

The lieutenant was starting to branch out into Salem and Plimoth Plantation when Diego’s partner finally showed up. To be fair, the guy wasn’t late. Diego had a habit of always being early. He stood to greet Ronan Callaghan as they were introduced. As they shook hands, they sized each other up. Diego was taking Ronan’s measure and could tell by the look in the other man’s eye, he was doing the same. It rankled that the Boston man was a few inches taller, but while Puerto Rico had many things to recommend it, growing tall people was not one of them. On the other hand, Diego packed more muscle. Callaghan had that long, lean look to him, whereas Diego had played high school football.

“Have a seat, Callaghan,” the lieutenant said. “I know having your partner go out so suddenly is disconcerting, but the timing is great in that Nieves here needs one.”

Diego gave Ronan a sharp look. “What happened?” He hadn’t heard of an officer going down.

Ronan gave him a wry grin. “Twins.”

“Excuse me?”

“Vicki and her husband have been trying for a while to have a baby, and just their luck, it’s twins. She’s on bed rest.”

“Oh. Well, please tell her congratulations from me, and I’ll pray to Saint Margaret for her safe delivery.”

Ronan narrowed his eyes. “I thought Gerard was the patron saint for pregnant women.”

Diego shrugged. “Some say that, but my mother says that makes zero sense. Margaret was a woman and a virgin. She’s a better saint for the job.”

“A
virgin
is a better saint for the job?”

“Gerard was supposedly a virgin, too.”

Ronan looked like he was ready for a Catholic throw down. A loud throat-clearing from the lieutenant cut him off.

“Gentlemen, if we are done with the religious instruction…? I’m sure we all wish Detective Sergeant Villas well in her pregnancy. In the meantime, you’re going to be partnered. Do you have any active cases, Callaghan?”

“No, sir. We’d just wrapped one up when she started feeling bad.”

“Fine, go help Nieves get settled in at Villas’ desk for now and find something useful to do until you catch another case. Given the way this summer is going, that should be in about thirty seconds. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

“Oh, and Callaghan?” the lieutenant called out a second later. “Nieves is primary as he’s more senior even if he did get his experience in New York.”

Ronan hesitated a second, casting a glance at Diego. His expression was unreadable. “Yes, sir,” he finally said and walked out.

Diego let Ronan lead the way across the bull pen. He found himself looking at a messy desk. Ronan plopped down in the chair at the desk opposite his. It was equally messy. The guy picked up a large iced coffee and slurped on the bright orange straw sticking out of it.

Diego sat gingerly at his new desk and surveyed the paper and other detritus strewn over the surface. “I thought you said you’d cleared all of your cases.”

Ronan looked at him over his straw. “We did. Vicki likes to hang onto stuff that doesn’t have to go into the file. You know, background info, research, shit like that. Plus she’s a squirrel and never throws anything away.”

Eyeing what looked like stuff you’d find in Happy Meals, Diego understood exactly what his new partner was saying. “What am I supposed to do with all of this?”

Ronan shrugged. “Stuff it in a box. I’ll take it to her house, and she can sort through it. It will give her something to do while lying around. She’s already going crazy. Hates daytime television.”

“I don’t suppose as her former partner you’d like to…” He made a sweeping gesture at the desk and gave Ronan a hopeful look.

Ronan grinned back at him. “Not a chance. I have my own crap to deal with.”

That was certainly true. “How do you stand working with all that heaped up?”

Ronan only shrugged and went back to sipping his drink. There was no chance to push the issue. A uniform came up and handed Ronan a slip of paper. His partner’s laid-back demeanor didn’t change, but he stood up. “We’ve got a DB. I drive.”

Diego stood up, too, his nerves jangling at the idea of going out into the field. He ruthlessly shut down the feelings. If he couldn’t handle taking a case, then he was done being a cop. Besides, this was new territory. The whole point of moving to Boston was to take his therapist’s advice to change up his environment, to change up his thought patterns. “Fine by me, Callaghan. I didn’t think you’d want to ride bitch on my bike anyway.”

As soon as he used the crude expression, he regretted it. His mother would have slapped him up the back of his head for being so disrespectful. He was letting his worry about his partner looking down on him put him in a defensive position. That was a stupid way to start their relationship and his new job. Not wanting to compound the problem, however, he didn’t back track on his comment.

Ronan looked at him from the corner of his eye. “You have a bike? What kind?”

“Harley.” He didn’t add the “of course” although it was implied in his tone.

“Nice.”

Okay, so points for him. He’d managed to impress his partner over his choice of ride. Juvenile to be sure. He’d take them anyway.

Ronan’s car was a fairly nondescript, mid-sized standard issue coated in a fine layer of dust. The inside looked like the mobile version of Ronan’s desk. Diego gingerly slid in and buckled his belt even as he kicked a fast food bag away. Ronan did the same and started the car, all while still sipping his coffee. Of course, the cup holders between them were jammed with change and crumpled napkins, but still.

“You want me to hold that for you?” While it was the last thing he wanted to do, it beat crashing.

“Naw, I’m good.”

Ronan peeled out of the lot, working the steering wheel as if he was on a Sunday drive. The streets of Boston had earned their reputation, although as a New Yorker, Diego sneered inwardly at the idea it was the worst traffic in the country. Ronan hit the siren and maneuvered around the other vehicles with a skill Diego had to admire even putting aside the fact that it was done one-handed.

“Where are we going, exactly?” Diego asked, resisting the urge to cling to the dashboard.

“To the river, by the Hatch Shell.”

New as he was to Boston, Diego understood that the river was the Charles and the Hatch Shell was the outdoor venue for concerts, most especially by the Boston Pops Orchestra on the Fourth. He decided not to ask any more questions and let his partner concentrate on not crashing.

The crime scene was easy to spot. A couple of marked cars and an ambulance were already parked on the side of Storrow Drive, a roadway too narrow and congested for parking. Traffic had started to back up even though it wasn’t rush hour. A beleaguered uniform directed harried drivers away from the blockage. Diego got out on legs slightly shaky due to the ride over and those damn nerves of his. He took what he hoped was a subtly big breath and let it out slowly.

He could do this.

Ronan ambled up to the uniforms and the other responders, greeting most of them by name. The reaction from the others was telling. Big smiles and hand shaking told him that his partner was well-known and well-liked. He supposed that wasn’t a bad thing. As Ronan stopped to question some of them about details, or maybe just to talk about sports scores, Diego continued on to the victim. Everyone moved away as he approached, giving him his first look at the DB. Male of so far an indeterminate age. A woman leaned over him on her knees. Diego saw blonde hair in a ponytail and a shapely ass.

He walked around the prone figure, taking in the visible details. Shoes barely holding together, grease stained pants that looked like they’d come out of a dumpster topped with a hole-filled T-shirt and grimy hands and arms. All that was immediately overshadowed as he caught sight of the gaping wound from ear to ear. The woman who was examining the corpse sat back on her heels and looked up at him. Diego’s attention was immediately stolen by pale, flawless skin, high cheek bones, and vividly blue eyes.

The woman flashed him a smile. “Hi, I’m Cassidy Barnes, the new M.E.”

The nascent smell of human decay wafted up to him. Despite that little horror, his body was on high alert, the lure of Dr. Barnes’ gaze overwhelming anything else. It took a few seconds before Diego’s mind and tongue started working enough for him to answer her.

“Um, hi,” he said, squatting down on the other side of the corpse. Damn, he was usually smoother than that with women. “I’m Detective Sergeant Diego Nieves. I’m new, too,” he added with a smile that usually resulted in at least a phone number. Not that he was trolling for a date over a dead body, but Holy Mother of God, this woman was too enticing to ignore.

“I’m thinking you’re new to Boston and not just the force. Your accent is subtle, but I’d say New York?”

“Correct.”

“Well, I’m Boston born and bred, just new to the coroner’s office.”

Her accent wasn’t the thick stereotypical one he’d heard from some people in the area. She sounded more cultured, and he’d bet the diamond studs twinkling in her earlobes were genuine. She probably came from a section of Boston that was lined with trees and quiet. Classy and expensive, yet her expression was open and inviting.

Diego wrinkled his nose as he looked down at the body. “I hope this isn’t your first.” ’Cause that would suck. The man hadn’t been in the water apparently as his body was dry and didn’t look bloated. But that was a small mercy. It was an ugly corpse to view.

Cassidy sighed. “Not my first. Although I won’t know for sure until I’ve had a chance to do a thorough autopsy, my initial guess is that this man died from having his throat cut.”

The understatement and its dry delivery caught him off guard. It seemed incongruous with what he saw that she would be capable of cracking a joke while examining gruesome remains. He understood the impetus, of course. Gallows humor helped to keep the horror they dealt with every day at bay. He stifled a laugh as someone walked toward them and stopped at the head of the body. Glancing up, Diego saw Ronan. His partner had ditched his coffee, thank God, and was looking wide eyed not at the DB but at the ME.

“Hi,” Ronan said, squatting down. “I’m Ronan Callaghan, Nieves’ partner.”

Cassidy gave him the same winning smile she’d given to Diego, so maybe she was just friendly with everyone and his shot at getting her to go out was a long one.

“Callaghan, huh? That’s a name I’ve heard before.”

“Oh?” Ronan’s expression became guarded and his tone a little chilly. His body stiffened just a bit, as if he were bracing for a fight. That was odd.

“Yes, I met a Daire Callaghan on my first case.”

Just like that Ronan’s expression and body language changed again. “Oh, yeah, my older brother, emphasis on the
old,
” he said with a charming smile that probably got him not just women’s phone numbers but the women themselves.

Cassidy raised her eyebrows. “Really? He seemed younger than me.”

Before Ronan had a chance to back pedal on his age comment, Diego jumped in. He was pretty sure he was older than Ronan, and while he might not be the doctor’s age, he happened to like more mature women.

“Please excuse my partner, doctor. Given his young age, his frontal lobe just finished growing. He doesn’t appreciate the appeal of maturity.”

Cassidy grinned at the statement. Ronan’s mouth opened for a retort. Figuring they’d wasted enough time, Diego overrode him. “So, the victim?”

Both Cassidy and Ronan shifted their attention to the body.

“Middle-aged male, or close to it, between forty and forty-five, I’d say,” Cassidy began. “He’s been dead for about ten hours, putting T.O.D. at around midnight. Looks like a single stroke of a sharp blade from left to right, so you’re looking for a right-handed killer. I’ll have to do a tox screen, but the lingering smell of alcohol indicates he may have been drunk when killed.”