Lycan Packs 1: Lycan Instinct (17 page)

No, not Cooper.

Maybe not Cooper.

She settled on a different truth, thinking that might appease his sensibilities.

“If Stone wanted to, he could have a string of lawyers out to block our every move, pull in political favors, and who knows what else. You said it yourself. He’s a powerful man. This way, we avoid that.”

“We play along, keep him from using the media to drum up sympathetic support, and hope it plays on his ego?”

“Something like that.”

“And what happens if we’re right, and we have to arrest him. Don’t you think he’ll use what you just said against us?”

“Maybe.”

“More than maybe.”

“Okay. But we can deal with that if it happens, but what if we’re wrong about him?”

“We’re not. Didn’t you see that wolf in action?”
Except for a nod, Mackenzie had no response.

“That still doesn’t explain what’s going on between you two.”

She let her head fall against the headrest. “Fuller ordered me to stay close to him.”

“The sergeant? What the hell was he thinking?”

That pissed her off. She hated knowing Rafe was right about Cooper thinking of her more as a woman. She was a cop, damn it. “That I’m a cop, capable of doing the job, which is more than I can say for my partner at the moment.”

His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “Well, maybe that’s because my partner hasn’t exactly been open and frank about the assignment.”

Mackenzie winced. “Okay, fine. Look, I’m to gain his confidence, if possible, while the team turns up the heat, hoping that he’ll make a mistake.”

She didn’t add that the closer she got, the more doubt she had about Rafe’s guilt. She felt like a puppet, dancing to the music someone else played. The trouble was determining who pulled the strings. She did want to start looking at other possibilities.

“Well, he damn sure made one tonight, letting us see that wolf in action.”

That hadn’t been Rafe’s doings, but she couldn’t deny that the stunt with the reporter hadn’t looked good. So why had she felt the urge to jump to his defense when questioned about the warrant? Mackenzie faced the blackened passenger window and yawned. Her mind was too muddled to deal with that question. The heat from the vents blasted her into a lethargic state.

She’d have to tell Cooper about the bet, but that could wait until tomorrow. The day’s tension drained from her muscles and sapped her energies. As her eyes drifted closed, she asked, “What do you think of the gambling angle?”

“I didn’t think much of it at first. The senator ran on a strong antigambling platform, and Shumaker was a gambling addict. But Stone has ties to Vegas. You heard him. That makes three. It may be worth checking out...when you wake up.”

Test results: No match
.

Mackenzie stared at the ballistics report and gave herself a mental
I told you so
.

Rafe’s handgun was not the murder weapon in the first homicide. Her instincts about him handing over the gun had been right. He wouldn’t have been so willing unless he knew it wasn’t the right gun.

“Hey, Mac. Sleep well?” Cooper propped his tight jeans-clad hip on the corner of her desk and tossed her a bag of M&Ms.

“All right, thanks.” She’d been so exhausted she’d slept like the dead. “A peace offering, Coop?”

He shrugged and bit into a honey bun. “What’s that?”

“Ballistics report on Stone’s HK Mark 23.”

He leaned forward, took another bite, and dropped a pastry crumb on the desk. “Negative. Hmm, you called that one right.”

“Yeah. And I’ve got a feeling the DNA results on the wolves will be the same.”

“I might decide to bet on that.”

“I’ve had enough of wagering, thanks.”

Cooper somehow managed a smile while still chewing. Mackenzie dropped her bag of M&Ms in the back of a desk drawer for later.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Meanwhile, I got good news and bad news.”

“What’s the bad?”

“Did you catch the morning news?”

She shook her head. “Why?” Her question sounded wary, even to her own ears.

“Drake promoted that exposé on Stone.”

“Any mention of the case?”

“Yes. She scooped the other stations on the warrant. No mention of Stone as a suspect, but she paraphrased his response as to the reason for the warrant.” He frowned. “They used video of him hugging the widow at the funeral.”

“And that bothers you.”

“Damn report made him appear like Daddy Warbucks trying to find the killer of one of his employees.”

“Maybe he is.”

“What he is, is a suspect, but instead of telling ‘em like it is, you let him play the part of hero, while reporters question why the police have no named suspects, and no arrests.”

“We already went over this. I don’t intend to try the case on the evening news.”

“We look incompetent, Mac.”

“You jump the gun on naming a suspect, especially one as famous and powerful as Stone, and the case turns into a media circus, never mind what happens if you’re wrong.”

“It’s already a media circus, and you may not have a choice soon. I heard Hahn has another meeting planned with Fuller.”

Mackenzie cursed. “I could really use that good news now.”

Cooper popped the last bite of pastry in his mouth. “You know I put feelers out with several snitches to see if anything would turn up.”

“Yeah?”

“Got a tip today from that hooker you roughed up at the first crime scene.”

The chair squeaked as Mackenzie leaned back with a smile. “Miss Self-employed?”

“Yep. Seems she overheard some street chatter about Shumaker’s bookie. He’s a regular with one of the other girls. You know how girls love to gossip.”

“Yeah, and all men’s brains really are located between their legs.”

Cooper chuckled. “It seems our bookie likes sex, sleep, and chitchat...in that order. Apparently, he was real nervous the last time he stopped by for a little bang between the sheets. He tossed and turned and talked in his sleep more than usual. She wrote it off as effects of the bottle, until she heard the news reports on our jogger.”

“Got my attention.”

“Thought it might. According to my source, the guy kept mumbling something about a backdoor and a dumb computer geek getting them all killed.”

“Backdoor?”

“Got me.”

“That’s slim. Shumaker’s bookie could’ve had any number of ‘geeks’ in mind.”

“Maybe so, but the hooker also said he talked about a shoemaker. That’s why the news report caught her eye.”

“Are we sure it’s the right guy? Did your snitch give a name?”

He nodded. “Jimmy Harden. I checked with a couple of beat cops I know who work that area. They told me the guy is a small fry, but he often brags about working for...get this...Ernesto Caprini.”

“The modern-day Al Capone?”

Cooper tisked. “You know, I heard he hates that comparison. He’s a legitimate businessman, with strong union support.”

“And I’m Mother Theresa.”

Cooper grinned. “Who are we to judge him just because he enjoys casinos and living lavishly?”

Mackenzie rolled her eyes. The lead was a long shot. The reliability of the source was unproven. A lot of the information was hearsay. The bookie could be name-dropping and not have any ties to Caprini at all, but the gambling connection made it worth a closer look. “What do you say we pay Mr. Caprini a visit?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Sculpted lawns fronted the white mansion, an expression of a meticulous gardener’s touch. Towering marble columns supported the portico and gave the place an old-world Italian feel.

“Racketeering is profitable these days,” Cooper whispered.

“Yeah, some people think the syndicate went away with the Tommy gun.”

Cooper chuckled. “Hopeful idiots.”

Mackenzie reached to push the doorbell, but the door swung open. A hulk in a three-piece suit blocked the opening. He either gorged on spinach or popped steroids like candy.

“No soliciting.” His voice was as deep as he was big.

“Damn, there goes free enterprise.” Mackenzie glanced at Cooper. “Good thing we’re not salesmen.” She flashed a badge. “Mr. Caprini, please.”

“Got a warrant?”

“What would we need that for?” she asked.

Cooper answered, “We don’t since we just want to talk to him, ask a few questions. You know conversation? Free speech? Sentences longer than three words.”

The hulk’s face shifted to form three slits of eyes and mouth. “No cops.” He moved to shut the door, but Mackenzie slapped her hand on it and stuck her foot in the way, hoping she wouldn’t lose it in the process.

“Look, forgive my partner here. He’s a bit irritable.” She leaned in further as if sharing a secret of some import. “He hasn’t had his coffee yet. Caffeine addict. Isn’t a pretty sight. So, why don’t you tell Mr. Caprini that Detectives Lyons and Cooper are here to see him? Let him decide whether he wants to talk to us here, or take a trip downtown and talk to us there.”

After a brief pause, he nodded. “Wait here.” The door closed.

Cooper leaned against the door as they heard the bolt slide home with a telltale click. “Man of few words.”

“The quiet ones are the ones that worry me most. Try not to piss off ‘Bruno’ too bad, okay? His hands are larger than your head, Humpty Dumpty.”

“Oh, now that hurts my ego, Lyons. Really, it does.” He ran fingers over a thick buzz cut that never required styling.

She laughed. “You may not be bald or round, but you are breakable, wiseass, and I don’t feel like walking around eggshells right now. So cool it.”

A click warned them before the door opened again to unveil ‘Bruno’ with a decidedly sour expression.

“Come in.” When he waved them in, Mac caught a glimpse of a holster.

The interior was a visual kaleidoscope of wealth. Marble floors. Antique furniture. Elaborate sculptures in stone and bronze. Fine art hung in garish frames on silk-covered walls. She wondered whether the paintings were real or replicas. All of it testified to prosperity, but unlike the subtle elegance of Rafe’s home, the display was overpowering.

Cooper whistled and made his own show of gawking at the furnishings. “No way could I afford one painting in this place on my detective’s salary.”

“Would you want it if you could?”

“Uh no. My girlfriend might get ideas about diamonds then, and who needs that headache?”

“What’s her name this week?”

He grinned and winked. “Babe.”

“That’s not really her name, is it?”

“No, but it’s safe.”

Mackenzie laughed but sobered quickly. Why the hell couldn’t he have acted like his normal babe-magnet self at Rafe’s place yesterday instead of a guard dog? Maybe then, she would’ve won the damn bet.

With a round face and receding hairline, Caprini could’ve passed for an Al Capone look-alike, if it were not for the pencil-thin mustache. Maybe that’s why he grew it.

He rose when ‘Bruno’ escorted them in, arms spread as if greeting old friends. “Come in. Come in. What a delightful surprise. Please, won’t you join me? Get them drinks. Whatever they like, Bernardo.”
Bernardo...Bruno...Close enough.

“Coffee, thanks,” Cooper said, giving Mackenzie a grin. “Black.”

“Nothing for me, thank you.” She shook Caprini’s hand after he’d released Cooper’s.

He waited until Cooper had his coffee and both detectives sat across from him. “What did you want to speak about? I must say I had to interrupt important business, but you have me curious.”

“I’m sure you know we’ve been rather busy in Homicide lately.”

“Oh, yes. You’re that detective handling the case for the senator. I saw you on the news. A tragic event, that...the murder, I mean, not you being on the news. Quite lovely, you are.” He held up a cigarette. “You don’t mind, do you?” Without waiting for a response, he lit it, took a drag, and released a slow stream of smoke into the air. “Robertson’s murder. That was what you meant by busy, wasn’t it?”

“His and the other one.”

He pointed at them with the two fingers holding the cigarette. “That’s right. The man in the park, what was his name?” He glanced at his bodyguard. The man responded in his typical few-word fashion. He shrugged.

“Shumaker,” Mackenzie said.

“Ah, yes. That was it. The media says they’re connected. Is that true?”

She shrugged, unwilling to share specifics.

“So what brings you to my door?”

“Did you know either of the victims? Have any business dealings with them.”

He laughed. “Bernardo, did you hear that?” The guard didn’t answer. “It almost sounds as if I’m a suspect. Am I? Please tell me our illustrious police force is not pinning their hopes for solving a murder on little ol’ me.”

“Please answer the question, Mr. Caprini.”

He peered at them, puffed his cigarette, and said, “Why would you ask whether I knew them? Of course, I didn’t know them. I travel in more liberal circles than did our dear departed senator. I may have met him once or twice, but that hardly qualifies us as acquaintances.”

Mackenzie could handle his abrupt coolness, but the sudden sensation of being watched made the hairs on her nape stand up.

“What about Carl Shumaker?” Cooper asked.

“Don’t know him.”

“Do you own an HK Mark 23 handgun?” Mackenzie asked.

His smile was sly, patronizing. “No. I’m a businessman. I have armed security. Why would I need my own?”

She ignored his question and asked another. “What about gambling? You like to gamble, Mr. Caprini?”

“Of course. Gambling’s a lucrative business venture of mine. It’s risky, but then taking risks stirs the blood, gets the adrenalin pumping. You should try it some time.” He lifted a glass from the coffee table and sipped.

Cooper leaned forward. “Any of that business come through a bookie by the name of Jimmy Harden?”

The shift was subtle, but Mackenzie saw how Caprini’s body tensed, his senses on alert, in response to Cooper’s question. His smile slid into a grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes, which remained shadowed by heavy brows.

“Can’t say that I know him.”

“Where were you the night of the sixth?” Mackenzie asked. “That was a Saturday.”