Justifiable Risk (13 page)

When she arrived at the office, she stood beside the double glass doors and looked in. A middle-aged attendant nodded behind the desk. The man started as a bell over the door announced her entrance.

“Help you?” The clerk stood and wiped a hand across his oily face.

She flashed her badge and ID. “The manager still around?”

“No such luck. He skips before dark. But I’ll give it a shot. What’d you need?”

Greer looked over the tall desk and examined the phone system. Her hope vanished. “Any chance you keep a log or computer record of incoming calls to the rooms?”

“Snowball’s chance. Haven’t replaced our phone system yet, and we don’t keep hard copies of anything except registration information.”

“Any suspicious persons hanging around recently, say the last week?”

“Officer, half our clientele is suspicious, but we don’t ask questions.”

Greer was wasting her time and breath. “Got it. Thanks.”

She stepped outside and started back by a different route. Greer didn’t consider herself a skittish person, but the night sounds seemed too close and unfriendly as she made her way through the darkness. The sharp smell of urine reminded her that she wasn’t on a main street. She tucked her right elbow, and the service weapon against her side comforted her. She surveyed the open patch of ground ahead and moved away from the building. Cold air trickled down her back like a draft. She froze.

The light breeze carried the stench of foul body odor. She sniffed the air for a directional clue, but too late. A twig snapped and she whirled just in time to see a large object coming toward her head. She ducked and heard what sounded like a rock hit the wall behind her. Greer looked at her assailant, nothing but dark arms, legs, face, and clothing. She considered her options. Without confirmation that he was armed she couldn’t shoot him. She had to fight.

Greer swatted the shadows as the man anticipated her strikes and avoided them easily. The lack of contact threw her off balance. She dodged another round of blows but inadvertently backed into a building. He punched her, solid and powerful. A fist to the gut knocked the wind out of her. She doubled over gasping for breath. Then a boulder seemed to crash on top of her. Her attacker drove her into the ground with his locked hands. She hit the dirt, dazed but conscious, certain that at any moment he would finish her.

But the kill strike didn’t come, only the sound of pounding footfalls. After a few seconds, she regained her senses enough to stand. The area was completely deserted. Her stomach and head ached, and a scratch on her cheek burned. What the hell was that all about? If it was meant as a message, it was vague. If it was a robbery, they forgot to take anything. The only scenario that made sense was a thrill-seeker mugging, but this guy seemed too skilled and quick to be a druggie or street thug. She walked slowly back to her bike.

Greer considered reporting the attack but decided against it. The guys would laugh at her inability to defend herself, then be pissed about another unsolvable assault. Greer’s instincts about the incident, like so many other things lately, led back to the Saldana case.

The guys were upset. Someone was threatening Eva and had attacked her. Maybe it had nothing to do with the case, but she didn’t believe in coincidences. Perhaps Eva was right and someone had killed her brother. That would account for the murderer trying to scare them off the case. But they’d messed with the wrong detective. If anything, she was more determined to find out what was going on.

She straddled Icarus and stared at Eva Saldana’s motel-room door. The thought of leaving Eva alone after what happened didn’t sit well. And if her attacker was in any way involved with Paul’s death, Eva could also be in danger. She brushed at the stinging scrape on her cheek, dismounted, and tapped on Eva’s door again.

“Yes, who is it?” Eva asked from the other side. At least she was being cautious.

“Greer.” The door opened and Eva’s gaze swept over her before settling on her injured cheek.

“What happened to you?”

“Never mind that. Pack a bag and come with me. You’re going to my house for the night. It’s not safe here.”

Eva pulled her inside. “What do you mean, not safe?”

“Somebody jumped me over by the office. I don’t know if it’s connected to this case or you, but I don’t want to take any unnecessary chances.”

“I’m not going.”

Greer shook her head. “Could you not argue with me? You might be in danger here. I don’t want that on my conscience.”

“I don’t feel threatened and I’m not about to run from shadows. If somebody wants to get at me, they’ll have to come straight on.” Eva edged closer to Greer and her tone softened. “But you could stay here if you feel that strongly about it.”

Maybe Eva was in danger, but if she didn’t take the threats seriously, Greer couldn’t force her to take precautions. Greer was tempted to stay and wasn’t sure if her motivation was concern for Eva’s safety or her own selfish desires. She looked at her wedding ring. Sometimes even satisfying an itch felt like she was betraying Clare’s love. “I’d better go, but I’ll call the Hurley police and have them check by during the night. If you hear anything, call them and then me.”

“Whatever you say, Detective.” Eva’s tone held more than a hint of disappointment.

Greer closed the door without looking back, cranked her bike, and sped back to New Hope. But her day wasn’t over. She had snitches from her narcotics days that survived on a few dollars for information. And news of overdoses spread quickly through the junkie population. Maybe someone had heard something and was willing to talk four months after the fact.

Greer cruised the drug-infested warehouse district and looked for her most trustworthy informant, Bo. She thought it unusual that a detective had to “prove an informant reliable” before he could use him. How reliable could a junkie or thief be, especially when he was being paid? But this one had proved himself in the past.

She spotted Bo dressed in his long army green trench coat, camouflage pants, and toboggan and pulled up beside him. “What’s new, Bo?”

“I knew it was you. Ain’t nobody else got a damn bike that freaking loud. Put some mufflers on that sucker. It gives me a headache.”

Bo was a dark-skinned African American, maybe forty but looked sixty. He’d been on drugs most of his adult life, and his wrinkled face and bony frame showed it. “You heard anything about a hotel suicide or overdose about four months ago, out-of-town guy?”

Bo stopped walking and Greer killed the ignition. “A little late with the investigating, ain’t you, Detective?”

“Give me a break, Bo. Have you heard anything or not?”

He pulled the stocking cap off and scratched his bald head. “Nope, and that’s a shame too, ’cause I could use some cash. Times is hard on the street right now.”

“I’m open for anything else you got.” Greer wanted to help the man even though any money she gave him would probably go into drugs or alcohol.

Bo stepped a little closer and lowered his voice. “I don’t like stuff like this, but I heard we got a bad cop. He rips dealers off and takes their drugs to resell. That’s why you keep chasing your tails.”

After twelve years on the force Greer couldn’t recall a time when that rumor wasn’t rampant. “Yeah, well, I need more than that if you want to get paid.”

“Word is the new drug boss, Baron Wallace, is nobody to play with. He’s psycho, but you don’t pay for rumors.” He pulled his cap back down and walked off. “When I have something, you’ll be the first to know.”

Greer rolled Icarus along side Bo. “Here.” She dug into her jeans pocket and pulled out two twenties. “Get yourself a room and a hot meal.” At least maybe he’d have one night’s sleep in a room instead of a cardboard box under the overpass. If Bo got anything more concrete, she’d pass it along to DEA. For now, she filed it for future reference.

As she cruised along the backstreets the local street urchins slid into the shadows, taking any chance of further intel with them, so she went home.

*

Greer rubbed the small goose egg on the back of her head and her headache worsened. She took a couple of aspirins, threw herself on the bed, and pulled Clare’s throw across her while she finished reading the autopsy report on Paul Saldana.

The medical examiner noted no external injuries to Paul’s body, no obvious signs of forced drug usage, and no defensive wounds. Either Paul took the drugs willingly or someone forced him with a weapon. The lack of damage to internal organs supported the theory that he wasn’t a consistent or extensive drug user. But the coroner couldn’t determine if this had been his first time using, only his last. Greer needed more than an inconclusive autopsy report and a threatening phone call.

Next, she turned her attention to the witnesses JJ had interviewed, if they could even be called true witnesses. The hotel manager stated he’d checked Paul in earlier the same day and had no other contact with him. A housekeeper found the body the next morning and notified her boss, who called the police. Occupants of the rooms around Paul’s had been out for the evening and offered nothing of substance. Greer flipped through the file for the hotel register of occupants to make sure the investigators had contacted everyone.

But she didn’t find a guest register. JJ wouldn’t make a mistake like that. He would have obtained a register of possible witnesses or contacts immediately. She double-checked but still didn’t find a guest list. Maybe some of the paperwork had fallen out of the file accidentally. Greer checked the time. She dreaded going back out, but she wanted answers. No one would be in the office at this hour, and she could check without the guys giving her grief.

In fifteen minutes she walked into the darkened homicide office and left the lights off until she reached the sergeant’s office. When she closed the door behind her, she flipped the switch and moved toward the cabinet where Sergeant Fluharty kept the closed cases. The space where Paul’s folder should be was empty. She looked in front and behind to make sure nothing had been misfiled and even checked the gap between the cabinets. If she believed in coincidences, they were beginning to pile up. Greer was disappointed that JJ had probably missed something. She turned off the light and stepped outside Fluharty’s office.

As she started toward the exit, somebody grabbed her from behind and stuck a gun in her ribs. “Freeze.”

“Move and I’ll blow your fucking brains out.” Her captor shuffled them toward the office door and flipped on the light. “Greer?” He pushed her away.

“Breeze, what the hell are you doing pulling a gun on me, man?”

“Why are
you
sneaking around in the dark like a burglar?”

“I wasn’t sneaking.”

“Could’ve fooled me. What were you doing in the sergeant’s office?”

Anybody in Breeze’s place would think the same thing. She understood his position and decided on the truth. “The guest register from the hotel is missing from the Saldana file. I didn’t want to upset JJ by asking him about it. I thought it might’ve fallen out so I came to look.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Less questions and snippy comments from the rest of you. Breeze, I didn’t ask for the job. I want to prove JJ right as much as anything.”

Breeze propped against the door jamb, his gaze never leaving her. “I believe that, but it feels too Internal Affairs–ish. We expect them, but not one of our own, to second-guess us.”

Dressed in black jeans and pullover, Breeze looked like a special-ops soldier. A fanatic about anything sports related, he prided himself on his body and physical abilities. Then she noticed an abrasion on his knuckles. “What happened to your hand?”

He laughed. “A little roughhousing with the kids earlier got too rough. They’re getting big enough to whup my ass.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Sorry about the gun. You and JJ need to talk about this shit before it gets entirely out of control. You’re friends.”

“I know.” As Breeze opened the door to leave Greer said, “Could I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“When you worked on the drug task force with DEA, did you hear anything about a dirty cop working with Johnny Young’s outfit?”

“A few rumors, but we didn’t find anything substantial. Why?”

“Something an informant said tonight. By the way, what are you doing here so late?”

“Killing time. Couldn’t sleep and thought I’d check the court docket for tomorrow. They hadn’t put it out when I left earlier.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty slow with that. See you later.” When Breeze left, Greer turned her attention back to the case. Something wasn’t right and she was missing it. Even though it was late, she decided to take another ride out to Hurley. If Eva wasn’t asleep, she’d let her in on the investigation. Perhaps another set of eyes would help.

Greer’s ride back to the motel went even faster than the one two hours earlier. Was she kidding herself that this was about the case? Normally an outing this time of night featured a quick romp with the evening waitress at the diner. Maybe she needed an excuse to see Eva without feeling guilty. As she pulled to a stop in front of the room, she’d convinced herself this was only about work.

The light was still on in Eva’s room, so Greer unstrapped the small leather case from the seat and tapped lightly on the door.