Open Wounds (5 page)

Chapter 8

Michael Lambert strode through the side entrance of Dick Coleani’s restaurant, hiding the fear consuming him. That cop scared the crap out of him. He hadn't allowed it to show, knowing Coleani had his back and soon he would join the ranks of the men Coleani trusted most. He made his way past the shelves of supplies. Coleani had made it clear, he was never to enter via the front. He understood. The five star restaurant was his main place of business and his most lucrative although there wasn’t a piece of Harbour Bay that Dick Coleani didn’t have control over.

A man he aspired to be. Even if he wasn't sure he could stomach how he was getting there.

He found the man in the office behind his mahogany desk. He stood when Michael approached. Coleani was not a young man, closing in on fifty. He’d been running Harbour Bay since his teenage years and the hard work showed on his face and in his ice cold grey eyes. His hair was peppered with grey, and his face held a few days’ growth as it always did. His lean body was strong even for a man of his age, though he delegated most of his jobs out to his men.

“Ah, Mike, you’re late,” Coleani said.

He hastened to apologise as he always did when Coleani used that tone of voice. The tone of a disappointed father, which was the role he played to all his men, having watched them grow up within his organisation.

“Sorry, Mr. Coleani. I had some legal problems.”

He nodded. “Yes, so I heard. You’re looking a little purple around the edges.”

He gingerly touched his swollen face.

“Nothing I can’t handle. They have nothing on me. No fingerprints, nothing, only that some neighbour saw my car speeding away from the scene. Sorry, Mr. Coleani, for not anticipating that. If it will help, I can remove the witness.”

He prayed for the affirmative. Anything to prove he wasn’t a screw-up, that he could do as he was asked.

Coleani shook his head. “No, that would not be wise, not with the police nearby. Tell me, what about the scene?”

“They found just a smidge of cocaine. Nothing to link the killings to you. I policed the brass and did as I was told.”

“So everything went as planned, except for the car?”

“Just an oversight, Mr. Coleani. It won’t happen again.”

“Good. I don’t like my boys to fail me.”

He flushed with embarrassment at the reprimand.

“Tell me, Mike, what about these detectives, do they pose a threat?”

Michael shook his head adamantly. “No, not at all. They have their own problems at the moment.”

Coleani appeared intrigued. “Tell me about them,” he said. A demand, not a suggestion.

He swallowed hard. Being in Coleani’s presence always made him nervous.

“Well, there was Detective Hill and a Detective Donovan
—
a chick. There was another chick, too. But she’s not a detective. She introduced herself as being Internal Affairs. She was the one who released me.”

Coleani raised an eyebrow. “The IA chick, did you happen to catch her name?” he asked.

He tried to remember. He’d mostly been terrified. “Munroe, I think. A hot blonde.”

“Donovan and Munroe,” he repeated out loud.

“What is that, like
Cagney and Lacey
?” he joked, his smart mouth covering the anxiety twisting his insides. He'd thought nothing of killing. But the reality was different from his imagination. As were the consequences.

Coleani pinned him with a look that said he didn’t appreciate his brand of humour.

“No. Donovan and Munroe both lived in my neighbourhood years ago. They were a real nuisance to me. Although…I thought I got rid of that problem. Nevertheless, if they choose to interfere again, I will have to do something permanent.”

***

Dean watched as Lambert exited the restaurant and moved toward his car. Beside him, Nick hit the oval button on the digital camera and in the silence of the car the
click, click
sounded loudly as a succession of photos were taken. Nick looked briefly at his work before grunting, telling Dean in his own way that they’d gotten what they needed.

Lambert pulled the Saab out of the parking spot and into traffic. After a beat, Dean followed, losing himself in the flow. Should the kid happen to look back in his rear-view, it was doubtful he and Nick would be spotted.

They followed him for another ten minutes until he pulled off the main road and into the tenant’s parking of a run-down, low-income housing apartment building. The building itself, the name Houston faded on the side, had seen better years. It had been built back in the seventies and allowed to rot when the owner went bust and the government took over the deed. Several windows were broken, a few taped closed with plastic bags. It was the kind of place where cockroaches the size of Chihuahuas roamed about, mould and rust just another colour scheme.

Four young men approached Lambert as he made his way toward the open front door of the building. Obviously security was not a priority for these kids. Dean heard the camera snapping away photos and knew Nick was hoping to capture the perfect shot. The gangly teenagers surrounded Lambert and from the looks of it were singing him praises, high fiving him and patting the man on the back. Apparently, they believed he’d done something pretty fantastic.

These morons were most likely the alibi he’d supplied. Their type stuck together so long as there was something in it for them.

Dean waited as the light began to fade, the sun sinking behind the building. The kids welcomed Lambert like a conquering hero. And to think, it had only taken two lives. But then life was cheap around these parts. Dean was disgusted. He’d seen enough life snuffed out during his tour overseas.

The son of scholars—both professors at Harbour Bay University, his father in mathematics, his mother in English—it had been assumed he’d follow in his parents’ footsteps and teach, or become a doctor or lawyer. But he’d had no intention of sitting down all day and knew he wasn’t cut out for a desk job. To say John and Georgia Matthews were surprised when he’d told them he’d enlisted in the army was an understatement. But they’d supported him without question through his entire career and was thankful to have such wonderful parents.

“By the looks of those guys, they’re going to be partying all night. I doubt we’ll need to stay and keep watch. I’m going to head home. You want me to drop you somewhere?” he asked.

The youths all disappeared into the building and Dean started the engine and pulled away from the kerb. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, feeling as if someone had rubbed sandpaper over his corneas. He needed about eighteen hours sleep, but he would be lucky to squeeze in four or five.

“Yeah, back at the LAC. I’ll grab my car and head home. It looks like we caught the shit end of this investigation, huh? Following Lambert.”

Dean shrugged. A job was a job and he’d taken on his fair share of shitty assignments; this one didn’t even come close. “Someone’s got to do it. It may as well be you and me. Besides, I doubt this case is going to be glamorous no matter what your task.” He smirked. “But I reckon you just want to be around Munroe, am I right?”

Nick glared at him. “You know I don’t screw around with people I work with. Kellie is a friend, nothing more.”

Dean gave him a sidelong glance. He was the type who could easily be the playboy with his good looks and no effort charm, but he wasn’t and Dean admired him for that. Especially when women did practically everything to get in his pants. Nick was a chameleon, fitting easily into any role. The charmer, the sleaze, the kidder, the stoic
—
it impressed the hell out Dean, and even though Nick pissed him off half the time with his joker attitude, there was no one else he’d rather be partnered with.

Especially since he was no prize. He knew he was a moody S-O-B. Never the prankster, always the serious one. He’d seen too much to float around life with a
glass half-full
outlook. Pessimistic, not optimistic. That was how his co-workers thought of him, an introvert who liked to keep to himself and never shared his thoughts or bared his soul.

Dean Matthews was damaged. He’d lost a part of himself on his last tour which he could never get back. His colleagues could never understand why he kept his distance, why he had to remain detached. He couldn’t care. It caused him too much pain. Caring only made a man weak and vulnerable and easy to hurt and manipulate. Just look what it had done to Tony, he reminded himself. He steered away from the horrid memories because he knew the nightmare had been a reality. Screams, blood, begging, watching someone he cared about die.

One thing was for certain. Dean would never fall in love, would never care about a woman so much he couldn’t live without her.

“How do you think the IA case is going to go down?” Nick asked, breaking the silence.

Dean shrugged. He had no idea. It was a fifty-fifty chance. Although he believed that if Donovan was kicked off the force, it would be a colossal mistake. The sassy, tough-talking, back-chatting woman didn’t know the meaning of giving up. He’d worked with her on and off for years and respected the hell out of her. Sure, she was rough around the edges but she was an asset, and he had to pity the person who couldn’t see that.

“No idea. I just hope your friend knows what she’s doing.”

“Kellie’s a professional,” Nick assured him.

He hoped so.

Ten minutes later, Dean pulled his car into the loading zone at the LAC. “See you tomorrow,” he said, and with that, Nick climbed out of the car and shut the door.

Chapter 9

Amelia worked off her suppressed anger in the gym. Her face taut with rage, her lips nothing but thin strips. Her body coiled tight, she pounded the boxing bag hard, causing it to rock precariously back and forth on the chain attached to the roof of the gym. Bottled up emotion fuelled her. She sensed Kellie’s approach and felt the familiar burn inside her. She didn’t look up or acknowledge her old friend as she hit the bag harder than before. She wasn’t mad at her; she was mad at herself, at the past, and at the situation.

Kellie stood to the side, just within her peripheral vision, and Amelia knew it was deliberate. She gave the bag a left jab followed closely by a right hook and another left. Quick puffs of breath exited her mouth as she exerted herself. She darted an annoyed look at Kellie. She stood with her hands resting on her hips, in an unflattering pair of black stretch pants and a tight pink tank top but she managed to work the ensemble, looking elegant with her hair pulled back off her face in a ponytail. Amelia knew it was nothing she tried to accomplish; it was natural and ingrained in her. She had looked that way for as long as she could remember.

Amelia could feel Kellie assessing her, probably determining just how volatile she was at the moment. She was amazed she’d even approached her. Many of the men at the LAC knew when she hit the bag she was not in a good mood and it was best to keep clear of her, but Kellie had never been one to put up with her crap and had fought her all the way. Until she hadn’t.

Not the easiest teenager, she hadn’t changed much
—
only gotten worse. Her temper had shortened with age, and her patience wore thin much quicker these days.

She’d had a habit of putting herself down and was easily discouraged. A memory skittered across her mind of Kellie refusing to let her give up. Back then they’d been inseparable, both born in a section of Harbour Bay known as Coleani’s territory.

A sadistic man, he oversaw every criminal element in town. Years ago it had only been a twelve block radius of his strip club, the
Satin Thong.
The neighbourhood was a breeding ground of druggies, prostitutes, and a healthy number of homeless. The council liked to pretend it didn’t exist and thus Coleani was free to continue ruling over the inhabitants and making their lives more miserable than they already were. Amelia had lived with her grandparents at the caravan park, whereas Kellie and her mother had resided in a tenement a few blocks south.

“I’m sorry it had to be me.” Kellie’s voice came through her self-reflection.

Amelia shrugged. If it hadn’t been her, it would have been some other IA agent with a career to make for themselves. Looking at it objectively, she was better off with Kellie. She wasn’t the type to stab someone in the back just to get ahead. She worked hard, and from what she had heard around the office, got to the truth and never made any decision without being absolutely sure.

She was certainly the Kellie she remembered. Even back then, she’d been honest and loyal. The blonde hair and blue eyes often fooled people into thinking she was either brainless or a push-over, but growing up in their neighbourhood, nobody had the luxury of being one or the other.

“Are we going to talk about it?” Kellie asked softly.

“What’s to talk about?”

Kellie caught hold of the bag as she took another swing, the impact reverberating along her arm since she was unprepared for the lack of motion in the punching bag.

“You’re obviously angry with me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I think I have a right. You’re the one who walked away and destroyed ten years of friendship.”

Mascara coated eyelashes fluttered at the charge.

“I couldn’t do it anymore. I wanted to forget and you wouldn’t let me. It was in every word and gesture. I was ashamed and embarrassed and every time I looked into your eyes I saw sympathy.”

She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “What did you expect? It didn’t just affect you. It almost killed me too, watching you suffer, knowing I couldn’t do a damn thing to help you. That I wasn’t there to protect you when you needed me.”

She slammed her fist against the bag hard, which moved only slightly with Kellie holding it still. She took a step back to compensate for the force of the blow.

They had been friends since they were children. Back then, Kellie had been the ambitious one and she had simply followed. Or rather had been dragged since Kellie refused to leave her behind. Then their world had changed overnight and Kellie had pushed her away. Not knowing what else to do, she’d allowed it. It was her biggest regret. She didn’t make friends easily, and due to her job and the hours she kept, along with her personality, she could count the number of friends she had on one hand.

She smacked the bag harder. “You just left. No explanation. Nothing. I was left wondering what the hell I did wrong, thinking you blamed me for being hurt.”

“Mia, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you felt that way.”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“Of course it does,” Kellie said as she tapped her fingers against the thick plastic coating underneath her hand. “We’re going to be working together. We need to resolve our issues.”

“Just like that, huh?” Her mouth twitched into a smile.

“It’s only you, Mia, who makes it difficult, you know.”

She shrugged and didn’t deny it. Denying it would be futile since it was the truth, but it wasn’t something she could easily get over. Hell, it had been twelve years but that night still haunted her. Kellie wasn’t the only one who had lost something. She had also lost a good friend.

“I accept my actions have caused irreparable damage but I want to make it right. Or at least near enough to. Come on, Mia, let’s go hash this out Donovan Style. Don’t look so surprised. I read your file. Plus I know you. If there was anything that you couldn’t fix, you’d fester until an opportunity came along to cut loose and let it all out.”

She moved to the boxing ring in the centre of the room before turning around. She raised an eyebrow and motioned with her hand towards the ring. Amelia frowned before following her.

“Cut the crap, Kel, you know I’ll wipe the floor with you in a matter of minutes.”

Kellie climbed through the ropes into the ring and turned back to face her.

“That confident, are we? My, you have an ego. I bet you’ve been dreaming of kicking my arse for years,” she teased. “Well here am I. Come on, take your anger out on me. Let me take away your demons.”

“Don’t push me. I might take you up on that offer,” Amelia warned, noticing they’d caught the attention of some of the officers working out. Some were even inching closer in hopes of overhearing. There was nothing more interesting than Amelia Donovan being challenged by a perky blonde. She didn’t plan on being anyone’s entertainment.

Kellie shook her head, donning on a pair of gloves.

“Are you afraid you’ll hurt me? You can’t, no one can…not anymore. You need this. Hell, I need this. Relax, it’ll be a fair fight. I’ve been practicing. What have you got to lose except maybe their respect?” She motioned to the flock of men moving towards them, eagerly exchanging bets. “Let’s work off some of that aggression of yours. It’s not healthy to keep it bottled up. Believe me, you’ll feel better once we’re done.”

“She wouldn’t be Donovan if she wasn’t aggressive, that’s what we love about her,” someone said from the crowd. It was followed by male laughter.

“You’re just pissed she wouldn’t sleep with you, Kurt,” another said.

Amelia rolled her eyes and climbed into the ring. “You always knew how to make a spectacle of yourself,” she said. “Well, there’s no backing down now. Not if you want to save face.”

Kellie appeared unconcerned. “I was never planning on backing down.”

“I’ve got twenty on Donovan,” Officer Kovak shouted to no one in particular.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to make that assessment, Kovak,” a familiar voice called out. Nick Doyle appeared ringside. “The blonde packs a punch.”

Amelia huffed out a deep breath. Could this get any worse? She was never going to hear the end of this.

“Don’t cry to me, Kel, if you break a nail.”

“So long as you don’t cry to me if you break something else.”

They faced off, the sounds of the men surrounding them dying off as she centred herself. As far as she was concerned, they were alone.

Kellie parted her stance, making it wider as she moved at an angle to improve her chances of staying on her feet. Amelia mimicked her action, having spent time in the ring and out of one herself. She knew how to fight
—
fairly and unfairly
—
and knew all the dirty tricks to use against her opponent should it come down to that. Which it usually did when she was up against a street criminal.

Amelia waited, her vision narrowed, her mind moving into survival mode. She was no longer fighting a game with an old friend; she was fighting a threat. She patiently waited for Kellie to make the first move, hoping to manoeuvre her into doing what she wanted. She didn’t have to wait long.

Kellie’s first hit was direct and hard, even blocking her attack and pushing her back a few steps. Amelia took a deep breath before going on the attack, sparring with her across the ring, back and forth. Each jab and punch was a direct hit, designed to hurt and demobilise. This was not a friendly match; the competitors fought for a championship, and they both treated it as such.

Hit, block, hit, block. Left, right, left, right. Each hit jarred her to the bone. They were both breathing heavily, their clothes damp with perspiration, clinging to their bodies. Amelia didn’t hear the encouraging shouts and cheers coming from outside the ring; she was completely absorbed with anticipating the next hit.

Kellie went low, then high, trying to knock her off balance, but she remained steady on her feet. Years of dealing with persistent crooks gave her an advantage. She could outlast and outwait her, knowing sooner or later she would make a mistake or get sloppy and that would be Amelia’s time to strike.

She had to admit, Kellie was good; she hadn’t been lying when she said she’d been practicing. Her moves were professional, quick, simple and effective. The force behind each blow was staggering and Amelia could feel her body burning, this being one of the best workouts she’d had in a while. The anger simmering just below the surface came alight, fuelling her body when she should’ve been exhausted.

She blocked another of Kellie’s blows, moving to the side simultaneously as she pushed her arm wide, landing an unguarded gloved fist into her stomach. Her body instantly bowed down as she tried to protect itself, and Amelia took the opportunity to go at her again as she immediately righted herself. She landed an indirect blow as Kellie moved at the last second, the punch hitting her in the arm rather than the chest, spinning her around.

Amelia took the advantage and jumped on her back, hooking her arm around Kellie’s neck and adding pressure. She didn’t have time to adjust to the new position as Kellie recovered, flipping Amelia easily over her shoulder and onto the mat beneath their feet. 

“You hit like a girl, Donovan,” she taunted as she drew closer. She heard the gasps coming from the crowd. No one dared tell Amelia Donovan she was a girl at anything. “You’re being soft on me. Stop protecting me Mia. I can take whatever you’ve got.”

“Are you kidding, Kel? You’re barely standing.”

Kellie jabbed at her forcefully then ducked, barely missing her return fist. She went down into a squat then pushed up from her feet, her head ramming into Amelia’s unprotected stomach, knocking her off her feet and onto her back. Kellie’s head jerked left and right as she dodged the fists flying at her head, struggling to pin Amelia’s arms. She straddled her using her knees to push her arms down into the mat.

“Okay, who has Jello?” a male voice added to the chortle of excited viewers.

Amelia turned her head slightly and saw that everyone in the gym had stopped to watch. It could’ve been the fight of the year, the way they were treating it.

“Hey, keep that shit up and we’ll go a round after. Have some respect, O’Malley,” Nick told the over-enthusiastic officer. From the look O’Malley gave him, he understood completely that Nick wasn’t joking. 

“Is that all you’ve got? You’re going to let me win?” Kellie asked as she pushed at her, shoving her into the mat. “Where’s all that anger and fury now?”

“You’re pushing me.”

“I always had to. I know you may never forgive me. Hell I’m not even sure I forgive myself. But know I’ve never blamed you. Never wished it was you. Walking away was the hardest decision of my life.”

Amelia jerked away from Kellie, her emotions raw. She knew Kellie was painting herself as a target and taking on her anger, urging her to put the past behind her.

Could she? Her closest friend turned her back on her, during a time she’d needed her the most. She’d been sixteen and her best friend had been hurt. She’d had no idea how to help her through it.

“You did nothing wrong. It was too much. I was in a dark place. The darkest,” Kellie explained, her eyes imploring her to listen, to understand. “I wanted to reach out but I was afraid you’d tip me over the edge. I almost ended it, downed my mother’s pills and booze. I didn’t want to drag you into that. I called Ed and he got me the help I needed. I asked him not to tell you because I didn’t want you to think less of me.”