Justifiable (8 page)

Not that Kirsten wanted to turn Stanton’s murder into anything it wasn’t, but neither did she want City Hall forcing her to close the case prematurely.

“Is that all,
ma’am
?” 

She really hated to be called ma’am in that tone when she was only twenty-seven. Turner couldn’t be much older and probably considered his address professional, but every time Kirsten heard
ma’am
she got a vision of her mother in clothes by the same designers who outfitted Queen Elizabeth.

Kirsten didn’t overdress. In fact, she wore clothes with a little attitude. Screw the Massey name and image.

But she needed to make allies in Philadelphia not enemies, especially with the police department.

“Yes, that helps a lot, Detective Turner. Thank you for waiting. I know you’re busy and appreciate your time.”  Kirsten had bent over backwards to show the local PD she was not Cecelia who thought playing hardass around law enforcement was part of her job description. The DA didn’t seem to care that she rubbed people on the government’s side of a case raw as lye soap. “I’ll find out if we have any funds available to send this out to a private lab and cut that time.” 

“Good luck with that.”

Kirsten had her doubts, too, about getting any help on this case in particular when the evidence was pointing toward a domestic crime. There was no strong tie between this and the drug-related killing of a young man from Philomena House ten days ago except the bullet hole in his forehead and bodies being moved, but something kept pecking at her conscience.

Coincidental or a connection?

Damn Cecelia and her get-this-behind-us attitude.

Kirsten had a duty to all citizens, no matter where they fell on the socio-economic totem pole. “I won’t know about funds until I ask.”

“Fat chance of getting an extra nickel for lab work.”  Turner’s wry smile turned the sarcasm into a friendly taunt. He tapped his closed notebook against the palm of his hand in a silent rhythm.

She didn’t blame him. “I know you and your men do miracles with a shoestring budget. I’m not making promises, but I’ll do what I can.”  She’d have to go through Cecelia, but anything was possible. Was this the time to pick a battle? “I’d like your honest opinion on something.”

“Okay.”

“I’m more than willing to go to bat for the money, but I don’t want to do it unless you agree that we should investigate further on this case.”

He didn’t answer at first, allowing his gaze to travel past her shoulder before it returned to her. “What’s
your
honest opinion?”

Her answer could be the difference between gaining his respect or being dismissed as clueless, but she would only give him the truth. “First of all, I think everyone deserves our best on solving a crime, but I know there are so many you have to prioritize. Second, I can see how a welfare mother’s death wouldn’t rank high on most people’s lists.”

He stopped tapping his notebook, but didn’t comment.

“To be perfectly honest with you, Detective, I don’t think Sally Stanton was a victim of domestic violence though I don’t have anything solid to offer as evidence. And I can’t in good conscience let this get brushed off as DV when it feels like more.”

Turner studied her a minute. His tough shell cracked a bit when his mouth softened further. “To tell you the truth, I have the same feeling. Moving the body to another location doesn’t fit with DV.”

She enjoyed a charge of encouragement. “I’m glad to hear that. Okay, I’ll get moving to see if we can pull some funds and please let me know if you hear about anything else.”

“Will do.”  He slipped his notebook inside his coat. “By the way, nothing’s turned up yet on that hooker with the chewed up ear.”

“Hooker? Oh, right, Lucy. Thanks for keeping her in mind.”  Kirsten suffered a moment of guilt over having told Turner a friend of hers was searching for a woman called Lucy whose right ear had been bitten half off by some man. The dangers of being a prostitute. That’s how Elicia and Lucy had met eight years ago, before Kirsten and Elicia became friends. Kirsten first met the brassy Elicia in the police headquarters near college where Kirsten had been working part-time to gain law enforcement experience while finishing her degree.

Elicia later told her they
both
had degrees, but Elicia’s was from the school of  hard knocks.

There couldn’t have been two more unlikely women to become friends than Elicia and Kirsten, but Elicia never met a stranger. She had more backbone and grit than any woman Kirsten had met before, and none of the advantages of the women Kirsten had grown up around. Elicia soon became a fount of information on how to spot illegal activities
and
how to cook great spaghetti sauce.

Elicia’s friend Lucy said she’d always stay near her baby girl who lived with relatives in Philadelphia.

All Kirsten had to go on to find Lucy was a chewed-off ear. 

Turner tipped his head in goodbye. “Got to run.”

“Of course. Thanks again for meeting me.”  Kirsten remembered one more question about the dead welfare mother as Turner sauntered off two steps. “Do we know who called in the 9-1-1 on Stanton?”

When he turned around, she could swear he sighed from the lift of his shoulders. “Yes. A television station received an anonymous call just after midnight with the body location and instructions to contact the authorities. It’s all in my report, Ms. Massey.”

“What television station? Who took that call?”

“WNUZ.”  He hesitated. “Riley Walker took the call.” 

For the love of...

Walker hadn’t said a word to her at the press conference. Kirsten ran back over their brief conversation in her mind. Not a word. That sorry scumbag had hidden this detail and toyed with her the whole time. But wasn’t that the way her father’s reporters were trained?

Give up nothing. Use any means to get the story.

The world of media revolved around who won the race for the story or came up with an exclusive. Her father had once joked, “I’m thinking about offering a new Mercedes to any reporter who gets a killing on film.” 

Wouldn’t dear old Dad have loved someone like Walker in his stable? A reporter who could sleep at night after that live interview with the Kindergarten Killer? She shuddered at the sick memory. Her heart ached for the family.

Riley Walker was about to find out she had no sense of humor when it came to a dead welfare mother.

Turner’s phone chimed while he waited in solemn silence. He answered it, nodded a couple of times, then his mouth flattened into a grim line. He hung up and lifted eyes that had lost all warmth. “That was about Sally’s little boy. He’s missing.”

The fist gripping Kirsten’s heart squeezed. “I thought he was admitted to the hospital last night.”

“No. My report stated that Sally took her son to the hospital then left with him before the police had a chance to question her.”

Kirsten wanted to strangle Cecelia. The press release had neglected to mention
that
detail. Or that someone had called the tip in to Walker. If Kirsten had read the police report this morning she’d have known that Walker had taken the call. Had he shared everything?

Would a reporter
ever
share everything willingly?

Based on what Kirsten’s assistant had said when she called on Kirsten’s drive here, Walker’s station intended to suspend him, pending investigation of that little debacle at City Hall. If he did end up suspended, he’d have plenty of time to come in and review the phone call he took one more time. 

And if anything happened to that little boy because Walker withheld information about the phone call to get a jump on a story, she’d bounce his balls back to Detroit.

Chapter 9

Within minutes of leaving Lehman’s office, Riley found Biddy leaning against the wall in an alcove near the break area of the executive level of WNUZ. Biddy held a cup of coffee that had to be gourmet up here in “carpet land” as the reporters called it. The eighth floor of the Liberty Building was a world apart from where the newsies hung out three floors down.

Quieter than the news pit on the fifth floor where police monitors chattering in the background made shouting a necessity. 

The only yelling on the eighth floor came from George Lehman. But even he was quiet now.

Riley strode forward, grinding mentally on a way to turn this fiasco around.

His cameraman stood alone, his casual dress and dangerous stance out of place among fragile pieces of glass art and a wall with a smattering of Emmy statues.

Biddy lifted his head when Riley reached him. The look of despair hovering in his eyes punched Riley in the solar plexus. He wouldn’t expect a former SEAL to fear much in life, but Biddy was clearly worried about losing his job.

Lehman wanted to dump the blame on Biddy for the Henry incident at City Hall, but to be honest the cameraman hadn’t done anything Riley wouldn’t have done himself at one time.

And wanted to do badly this morning.

And Biddy wouldn’t be in near as bad a jam if not for being caught in the crosshairs of Lehman’s attitude against Riley.

“They getting rid of me?”  Biddy stood away from the wall, thick forearms crossed, ready to accept the decision.

“Not yet.”

“Yet? What does that mean?”

“He wanted to dish out separate penalties until I reminded him our unions would kick a fuss.”  Riley watched as understanding settled in Biddy’s face that Lehman
had
wanted to fire him. “We’re both suspended for a week.” 

“Guess it’s not as bad as it could be. Still got health insurance.”

Riley studied him for a minute, but didn’t push for details. Since Biddy had grumbled once that he didn’t like his wife working so hard, Riley assumed she had insurance, too.

Biddy’s gruff exterior folded briefly under the weight of his gloom. “The wife’s had a couple problems already, needs to stay off her feet. We’ve maxed out our credit cards.”  He shook his head. “She quit work as a temp and is doing what she can by computer from home, but even
with
insurance it’s already going to be tight to have the baby we’re expecting.”

Riley nodded. He doubted he could say anything that would lighten Biddy’s load.

“We can make a week on money we got stashed, but it’s a high-risk pregnancy. If I lose this job, insurance won’t cover a lot of extras she needs and Lehman’s gonna hold my insurance hostage during a suspension. We lost two babies already. I’m more concerned the stress will cause her to miscarry.” 

Well, damn. No wonder things were tense at home for Biddy.

Biddy stared off for a minute. “It was a helluva lot easier facing down terrorists than dealing with assholes and corporate bullshit.”

More bad shit would twist the knife in his gut right now, but a man like Biddy would want to know exactly what he faced.

“That was the good news.”  Riley considered how much to share about the terms of his 90-day contract for a nanosecond. The terms didn’t matter. If he failed to pull a story out of his bag of tricks he and Biddy would both be gone.

“What’s the bad news?”  Biddy scratched his chin, eyeing Riley closely.

“I’ve got eight days to hand the board a third ratings point jump. If not, they’ll have the ammunition to get rid of me...and you.”

Two suits strolled past the alcove, chatting, just as Biddy released a lethal curse.

The men went dead silent and turned stern faces to the cameraman who glared them into submission. When they continued on, Riley cocked his head toward the elevators. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Biddy followed him, neither one speaking until they reached the bottom level where the elevator doors opened to the parking deck. A wicked breeze howled around the concrete pillars and slammed Riley in the chest with every step to where he’d parked his Tundra pickup truck. No one hung around long with temperatures in the low thirties.

He hated this weather. “God, feel that wind. One thing I hadn’t missed about Philly.” 

“Cold as a witch’s tit in a brass bra face down in the snow.”  Biddy didn’t so much as rub his arms in spite of wearing no jacket.

“Wish I could convince Jasper to move somewhere warm like Florida.”  But Jasper wouldn’t leave Philly, which weighed heavily in WNUZ’s favor when the station made Riley what amounted to a pity offer. Jasper needed Riley’s help whether he’d admit it or not.

“Philly has personality.”  Biddy stopped next to the Tundra and turned on Riley. “What’re you not telling me about this deal?” 

Riley would have been surprised if Biddy had let it go with a superficial explanation. “Lehman will do damage control, but the board is running scared about the advertisers. I think he doubts the board will renew my contract, but if I can land a big story this week the station
will
pick up that third ratings point. All the board cares about is what translates into profit. No advertiser will walk away from that.”

Biddy hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans. “You did a favor for me with Lehman and the board so I’m in this with you. We need a hot story. How do we get it?”