Ghosts of Christmas Past (12 page)

Rose took his hand. “Scott, they have to know to find out who did this.”

He waved her hand away. “I don't know!”

“Withholding information from the police can be obstruction,” Alvarez said.

Matthews groaned and put his head on the table. “I don't know anything. Go away.”

Rose rubbed his back. “I told you he wasn't in good shape, Officers. Maybe come back tomorrow?”

Not fucking likely, Al thought. “I understand. Do you mind taking Officer Alvarez to get your fiancé's clothes from yesterday? He discovered the body. There might be some evidence on it.”

Matthews groaned again.

“That evidence might help us solve the murder,” Al finished. “I should have asked yesterday.”

“Sure, I haven't washed them yet. Let me get them.” Out of sight of the other two, Al tapped Alvarez on the arm. Alvarez took the hint and followed Rose.

Once alone, Al walked over to Matthews, who still had his head down. Al leaned over to whisper in Matthews' ear.

“She's going to figure out what you did eventually,” Al said.

Matthews jerked his head up. “Did what?”

Al was sure he had the right guy now.

“Took out your boss.”

Matthews finished the rest of his coffee. “No way.”

Al leaned on the island, crowding Matthews. “I doubt she's going to want to end up married to a murderer.”

Matthews stood up so fast that he knocked over the stool. “Get out of my house.”

“Maybe you're not a murderer. Maybe you were protecting yourself.”

Matthews took a long, slow swing that Al saw coming a mile away. Al ducked, Matthews continued his swing and nearly fell over. Al grabbed and steadied him. “C'mon, Matthews. If Johns' partners in crime find out what you did, they'll come after you. Probably Rose too.”

Matthews straightened. “What do you mean?”

Rose walked back into the room with Alvarez. Dammit, Al had been this close to a confession.

“Did you hit him?” Rose looked down at the stool and put her hands on her hips.

“No, he stumbled and I helped steady him.” Al looked sidelong at Matthews. “Seems he's a bit worried about you.”

“I'm fine.” Rose put her arm around Matthews. “But you need to go.”

“In a minute.” Al picked up the stool and Matthews sat again, his head in his hands.

“I can protect you and her, kid,” Al said.

“What do you mean by that?” Rose snapped.

“We should never have come here, Rose. The whole place is corrupt,” Matthews said.

“Not all of it.” Rose rubbed Scott's back again. “Please go, both of you. Can't you see he's in no shape for this?”

“See how much she loves you, Matthews? But she's in danger. I can protect her,” Al said.

“What are you talking about?” Rose asked.

“What makes you think we need protection?” Matthews raised his head.

“Because the people your boss was working with decided that Salvatore Giamatti had killed Johns and sent a SWAT team after him today.”

“What? Who's Salvatore Giamatti?” This time, Rose looked at her fiancé for the answer.

Matthews straightened and stood on his own, though he kept one hand on the island for balance. “You're bluffing. That's not true.”

“Sure is,” Alvarez said. “Captain James had to pull rank on the SWAT team leader to get them to stop. SWAT put over twenty civilians in harm's way to get to Giamatti. I'm sure they wouldn't mind going through just one.”

Rose grabbed Matthews' arm. “Scott? What's going on?”

“Your choice, Scott. Officer Alvarez and I can leave right now and you can take your chances or you can give me the whole story.”

Matthews shook his head. “How do I know you can protect her?”

“I'm not called Captain Fixit for nothing.” Al stepped closer to Matthews and put his hand on the kid's shoulders. “You said the city is completely corrupt. I'm not. I'm tired of the bad guys winning. You give this to me straight, and I'll help you sort it out.”

Silence.

Rose stepped away from Matthews. “Did you really…” She shook her head. “Never mind, don't say anything in front of them. I'll call your father. He'll find a lawyer.”

“I'm not sure a lawyer can help with this, Rose.” Matthews stared at Rose. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

“Oh God,” Rose said.

So now the fiancée knew. More important, Matthews would now want to make this look right to her. Maybe Al would get his confession after all.

“What happened between you and Johns the night before last?” Al asked.

Matthews backed up, almost hitting the kitchen counter. “Nothing that bastard didn't deserve.”

Rose's eyes widened. “Oh, babe, no.”

“Yes!” Matthews chopped the air in front of him with his hand. “I knew he was ripping the museum off, damn straight I did.”

He began pacing the kitchen. Too unstable, Al thought, and he stepped between Matthews and Rose. He spotted knives in a block near the stove.

Too many sharp objects in this room.

“You confronted your boss about what was missing, yes?” Al said.

“Hell yes. I heard Johns arguing with the accountant, Giamatti. All that precious work, just sold off to private collectors. What kind of man does that?” Matthews gestured wildly around him. “I confronted him. He told me to shut up and let it go.”

“You didn't let it go,” Al said.

Matthews pounded the kitchen island. “I told him he could go fuck himself, I was going to the cops, that this wasn't right.”

Rose winced.

“What happened after you told him you'd go to the cops?” Al asked.

“He pulled out a gun and shot at me!”

“Once? Twice?” Al asked.

“I'm not sure. He missed though.” Matthews took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Asshole.”

“What next?”

“I ran into the Dickens exhibit for cover. I grabbed…I grabbed…” Matthews mimed reaching out for something.

“You took Tiny Tim's crutch,” Al supplied.

“Johns came closer, taunting me. All I wanted to do was get away and call the cops. I jumped out of the exhibit and swung the crutch at his head hard as I could…” He looked up at Rose. “I just wanted to get away.”

Rose only nodded, blinking back tears.

“But the sound when the crutch hit Johns' head was awful. He went down hard. He even dropped his gun.” Matthews' breaths grew shorter along with his sentences. “When he didn't move, I checked his pulse.” Matthews rubbed sweat away with the back of his hand. “No pulse, no heartbeat.”

“I get why you did that,” Al said. “But what I don't get is why you stuffed him into that glass box or why you didn't just call 911 and say you were attacked.”

“All I can remember thinking is that he deserved it, that everyone should know he betrayed the museum. So I made him part of the Dickens exhibit. Sorta. God, I was so stupid.” Matthews collapsed on the stool, his head in his hands.

“How did Johns' gun get into his pocket?”

“I put it there. I didn't know what else to do with it,” Matthews said.

Rose sat next to her fiancé and held his hand. “What happens now?”

“If I can confirm his story, perhaps by finding the bullets Johns fired, the district attorney might not press charges.”

“Might not?” Rose asked. “Meaning he might?”

“If Scott cooperates with my other investigation, into the stolen museum items, and if he's telling the truth, I can make him come out all right in this and protect both of you.”

“How?” Matthews asked, his voice hoarse.

“I'm bringing in the FBI. They'll arrest who was working with Johns and charge them in federal court. They won't be able to buy their way out of that.”

“You have evidence to convict them?” Rose asked.

“Some, but not enough, not yet.” Al put his hand on Matthews' shoulder again. “I need your help set up a sting operation to reel them in. Right now, they think Salvatore Giamatti did this, so if you contact them and ask to be cut in and take over Johns' place, they'll listen and not be overly suspicious. You need to set up a meet so we can get them confessing to the scheme on tape.”

“That's so dangerous,” Rose whispered.

“Yeah, it is. But not as dangerous as it would be if they realize Matthews killed their buddy.” Al leaned back against the kitchen counter.

“I should get Scott a lawyer,” Rose said.

“You could. I bet his chances of getting off are good but…” Al paused for dramatic effect.

“But?” Rose asked.

“Scott's defense is that he uncovered corruption and was attacked for it,” Alvarez answered. “The people who Johns worked with aren't going to want that evidence to come out at trial.”

“They'll try to kill me then too,” Matthews said, his voice steadier.

“Yep,” Al agreed.

“You're not giving him a choice at all!” Rose said.

Al shrugged. “I'm not the one who stuffed my boss into a glass coffin.” Al's phone vibrated, and he fished it out of his pocket, still keeping his gaze on Matthews. He glanced down at the number. FBI.

Al held the phone display up for Matthews. “This is it, kid. That's the people who can help you carve your way out of the mess, make something good out of something bad. I need an answer for them. Decide.”

Matthews clenched his fists. “You're not giving me any time!”

“About as much time as you gave your boss before you stuffed him in the coffin,” Al said.

Matthews moaned. His shoulders slumped. “What did you want me to do?”

Chapter Twelve

When Al talked to them, the Feds were so eager they agreed to head to Matthews' condo immediately. Who wouldn't be, with a high-profile arrest dropped in their lap?

Well and good for the plan, but first Al had Matthews make a phone call to Schneider, to set up the meeting.

Sure, he was pushing the kid, but this had to be done fast. Matthews held up surprisingly well, with coaching from Rose. The biggest problem was that Schneider wanted to set the location of the meet. No way, that meant Al couldn't get the op ready. Matthews finally got Schneider to agree to a meeting after hours at the museum, in the
Holiday of the World
exhibit.

Al winced after Matthews hung up.

“What's wrong? She's coming. That's what you wanted.” Matthews' sullenness remained.

“That area is an active crime scene. But never mind, it's okay. We can work with it. You did good.” The meet was set, that was the important part. And the kid needed his ego stroked so he'd hold up. “We'll make it work.”

He stepped into the condo's bathroom to call Noir with the news.

“Sorry to wake you,” he said.

“I told you, I love working together.”

She was still a little pissed at him. He couldn't blame her. “Okay then, here's what's what.”

Then it was time to wait for the Feds and work out details of the op.

Al walked into the
Holidays of the World
exhibit late that afternoon and came to a dead stop.

What the
hell
was going on?

He recognized Cassandra on the ladder and Salvatore who was feeding a thin wire up to her, but not the fifty zillion other people in the room. Likely they were from Noir's artists' colony, given their mismatched clothes, but there was no reason for them to be here. Hell, Salvatore and Cassandra should still be hiding out at the Batcave.

Finally, Al spotted Jacobs in conversation with a tall, thin man with a goatee.

“Jacobs!” Al barked.

Jacobs rushed over to him, avoiding the various ladders and boxes of decorations with a balance at odds with his large frame.

“Yes, Captain?”

“What are all these people doing here?”

“You don't know?”

Al ran a hand over his face to compose himself. “If I knew what they were doing here, I wouldn't be asking you.”

“Your girl called and said you asked to have this set up.”

“My girl called?”

“Uh, yeah.” Jacobs absently tapped his moustache.

“And you took my girlfriend's order about a police operation?”

Jacobs settled. “You know and I know that your girl isn't
just
a girlfriend. And what she wanted to do here makes perfect sense.”

“Bringing a crowd to string Christmas lights and hang all sorts of holiday shit over the crime scene that we are going to use as a meeting place for a sting makes sense?”

Someone tapped Al on the shoulder. He turned and saw Death or, at least, someone dressed like Death in a long, hooded black robe that put their face in shadow.

“Hey.” Noir pushed back the hood of the costume.

“What are you doing? What is all this?”

“If you'll calm down and let me explain, I could tell you.” She touched Jacobs' elbow. “I got this, Detective.”

Jacobs looked to Al for acknowledgment. Jacobs was right. More than once, Noir had unofficially helped them. Jacobs hadn't asked questions then, for which Al had been grateful. If Al had a beef, it was with Noir.

“Okay. Jacobs, according to Matthews, our victim fired his handgun before he was killed. Those bullets should be lodged somewhere in the Dickens exhibit, possibly above that fireplace. Find them. If ballistics matches them to the gun in Johns' pocket, then Matthews' story is solid.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Al looked up at the lights and shook his head. “I'll deal with the rest.”

Jacobs pulled out his flashlight. “Right.”

Al took Noir by the arm and drew her away from the center of the room. “What is all this?”

He wanted to keep the frustration out of his words but he doubted he did.

“Can we talk somewhere privately?” she asked.

Yes, it was probably not good to pitch a fit in front of Jacobs or the fifty zillion artists.

“Over there.” Al pointed to the doors to a side exhibit room. She nodded and followed in his wake. They drew some stares, but Al ignored them.

The side room happened to be full of glass structures. He stood in front of the centerpiece in the middle of the room, the one with glass knives hanging over a miniature village. That was certainly a metaphor for what he was feeling, as if he were just waiting for the knives to fall and had no protection against them.

He'd thought, again, that Noir was on his side against those metaphorical knives. He leaned against the railing surrounding the little village and glanced around the room. One smoky sculpture near the back looked suspiciously like a vagina. Another contraption seemed to be a plane but it was hard to tell because the glass was so clear it was nearly invisible.

“So tell me what's going on,” he said.

“When you called this morning, you said the plan for the sting tonight was rushed and you were worried about Matthews holding up his end, especially if he had to wear a wire.”

“And…?”

“Salvatore, Cassandra and I decided to do something about that.”

“By creating chaos? By bringing in more people to the investigation without asking me?”

“I tried to reach you. Your line was busy. I assume you were dealing with the FBI.”

He nodded. Yes, he'd not been taking calls.

“The chaos, as you call it, is a crew installing new holiday decorations that will hide audio and visual equipment designed to pick up every movement and every sound in this wing. Whatever goes down tonight, there will be a clear record. You won't need to make Matthews wear a wire and you'll have a video feed that covers the entire room, not just one small part.”

Al blinked. “How do artists have access to that kind of expensive audio and video equipment?”

“A few people produce web series and music videos. Why do you think half the people sleep at the warehouse? They're protecting their stuff.”

He turned around to stare at the glass knives. Damn, she was right. He was cranky and overreacting, just like last night. What was wrong with him? “That's all good, but why would your artists agree to help? How much do they know about what's going on? Noir, we can't afford for the sting to leak out.”

“They're
artists
, Al. They're pissed at what Johns did. They want to get these guys as much as you do.”

“That doesn't mean they won't talk about it.”

“Maybe they would if I'd told them what was really going on, but all I told them was we needed to set up all the equipment as part of a special performance.”

“Maybe you could have said that right away?”

“Maybe I didn't like getting yelled at. Dammit, Al, I thought you trusted me. I wanted this to be a good surprise.”

The last vestiges of anger vanished to be replaced by the sour feeling in his stomach. “It should have been. It's just…tonight isn't only about catching Schneider and solving a murder. My whole career is at stake.”

“Your whole career?” She grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn around and face her. “What does that mean?”

“It means that the new commissioner called me on the carpet yesterday and told me if this crime wasn't solved, I'd be the fall guy.” He paused, letting that sink in. “But if I solve it, then I get free rein to create my own team and autonomy in the department.”

“You didn't mention this last night.”

“There wasn't time.”

“If there was time enough for us to make love, there was time enough for you to tell me. Why didn't you?”

Mistake on mistake. “My job isn't your problem. You've made that clear.”

She stared at him for a bit, looking very much like Death with the dark makeup around her eyes and the heavy robe draped around her body. “So you're shutting me out?”

“You're the one who's made the choice to put your art over police work.”

“You want me to become a cop? Is that what you really want?”

“It would make things easier.”

“For you. It would make things easier for you.” She stared at the floor.

“You said you wanted me to take more time off work to spend with you. If you were part of my work, we wouldn't have to do that.”

“You don't get it, do you? Your job is never a problem for me. That's not what I was saying yesterday. I meant the job doesn't have to be everything for you.”

“Might be nothing soon.”

“You're not in this alone, you know.”

“It feels like it.”

“Yes, that's why I arranged this whole surprise for you. Because I wanted to walk away and leave you alone. Al, there's room in the middle, between my helping you with cases and my being an artist. I can do both things.”

Oh hell. She was right. He was making this black-and-white when it wasn't. “I'm not saying this right.”

“Obviously,” she snapped.

“Can we start this conversation over?”

“That's up to you.”

He stared at her. This costume reminded him strongly of his first glimpse of her, all wrapped in black, complete with cape. “What's with the new Noir costume?”

“It's pretty close to Noir, isn't it? But, no, I'm the Ghost of Christmas Future.”

That could mean only one thing. “You plan to make yourself part of the exhibit during the op.”

“You said it yourself: this is a last-minute plan. Something could go wrong. I can get closer to what's going on than anyone else.”

“And you'll be in more danger than anyone else, save Matthews.” He drew her close. “You'd risk your life for me?”

“I'd risk my life because catching these guys is important. What you do is important to me, Al. I never said it wasn't.”

“I know.”

She tapped the arm that he'd broken in the confrontation with her kidnappers. “Who made sure that wasn't a worse injury?”

He flexed his fingers and held his arm close to his chest. “I didn't think we were going to make it out of there that day.”

“Yeah, it was close.”

“Tonight might get just as bad.” He reached for her, and she clasped his hand. “You know, Noir, some shrinks would claim that staying involved in police work, especially work that involves violence, isn't good for you, that you should move on to normalcy.”

“Are you kidding me? Do you know how much of a head rush I get from taking down bad guys?”

He drew her closer. “I can guess.”

“Because you get it too.” She wrapped her hands around his neck.

“Yes. But it's mixed now with being terrified for you.”

She pressed against him. “I get worried for you too.”

He sighed. She was still here. He hadn't screwed this up completely. Yet. “I guess you just got a glimpse at why my relationships never last longer than a few months.”

“I don't want to leave. Get that through your thick skull. The one making the problem here is you.”

He slid a hand up the open sleeve of the robe, letting his fingers roam all the way up to her shoulders. “What are you wearing under this?” he whispered in her ear.

“Sadly, I'm not naked. The robe fabric's too itchy.”

He kissed her, not caring for this moment about Matthews or the murder or his damned career. He could survive failure. But he couldn't survive losing her.

Her hands found their way under his overcoat. “Where's an industrial-size fridge when you need it?” she said.

That brought him somewhat back to reality, even if he was now as ready as he'd been last night to make love to her. Good thing he had the overcoat to hide the evidence when he went back out there.

“Before I let you wander around my sting tonight, there's one thing you need to do for me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

That expression often preceded… Best not to go there, not if he wanted to keep focused on work. He cleared his throat. “Not that.”

“What then?”