Ruthless Game (A Captivating Suspense Novel) (19 page)

"Whoever killed Loeffler is doing a damn good job making it look like you're involved."

She sucked in a deep breath and nodded.

"To catch this guy, we need to hear every single thing that happens from here on out. If you didn't kill Loeffler, whoever's screwing with you most likely did. And he's a dangerous fuck. Got it?"

She studied his steady gaze, wondering if he really thought she killed him. Palowski kept a straight face, but she hoped he was on her side. "Got it."

Doty broke in again. "You need to come in tomorrow morning and write up, in detail, everything that's happened. You'll work with Internal Affairs." He motioned to James. "Once you've done that, you'll need to leave your badge and gun with me until we've cleared this up." He paused and looked at his hands. "I'm sorry for this."

She nodded. "I'm sorry, too."

"You should go home now," Doty added. "We all should—get some rest."

The men all stood. Despite the tension in her muscles, Alex forced herself to stand.

"I'll call you and keep you apprised of the investigation," Captain Lyke said. "You call if you need anything."

She nodded. They were going to conduct an investigation. She didn't allow herself to consider what they would inevitably find.

Captain Palowski walked by and nodded at her, the closest he would come to offering support. It was the first time she had seen him look anyone in the eye.

She realized she preferred it when he didn't look at her. His eyes were chilling and commanded more attention than she wanted to give.

James marched past without stopping "See you tomorrow morning. Not too late," he added as he headed for the stairs.

"That's an ambitious one, your brother," the deputy chief commented.

She nodded.

The deputy chief walked out, and she heard Captain Lyke mumble, "Nothing like drawing a little blood from family to really move up the ranks."

Alex gave him a thin smile. It was true. Between James and the killer, Alex was the proverbial sacrificial lamb.

Chapter 15

Alex couldn't sleep. She couldn't even get her eyes to stay closed for more than five minutes. Instead, she spent the remaining hours of the night tossing in her bed, pacing circles around her room, and trying to drum up theories about Loeffler's death. The wife seemed to be an obvious lead. She knew Lombardi would follow that one. He would also follow up on the case files. Alex remembered the file, she'd called up from Palo Alto on the so-called "Sesame Street Murders" and thought it would probably arrive today and get buried in the pile of papers on Lombardi's desk. The Palo Alto Police Department. PAPD. For some reason, it stuck in her head.

By the time she got up at six-thirty, she was worse off than ever. Saying she looked haggard would've been a compliment.

As she entered the station the next morning, her head pounding, she passed a man banging on the desk. "Hello? Is there anybody here? This is supposed to be a fucking police station. Am I supposed to find a pay phone and dial 911?"

From her angle, Alex saw only a thick fist matted with dark hair.

"They let the apes out of the zoo again," Reesa hissed from the front desk. Reesa had been manning the front desk for more than a decade. She was an older woman, plump but firm, with a fierceness that helped her deal with the strange crowd that showed up at the station.

"You need any help with that one?" Alex asked, missing her beat already.

"Nope." Reesa started back for the desk, her thick brow set down over her eyes in a glare. "Hell, knocking these jerks in line's my favorite part of the job."

Mine, too,
Alex thought as she headed toward her brother's office to report for work.

James wasn't in his office, but one of the other officers showed her to a vacated office with a small, taupe government-issue metal desk and chair. Except for two chairs, the desk, and a rusted light that dated back to the early seventies, the room was empty.

Alex flipped the light on and searched for a place to hang her coat. No wonder Lombardi had brought his own coat rack. She found a nail on one wall and balanced her coat on it, hoping the weight wouldn't bring down the wall.

On top of the desk sat an old IBM PC, a clipboard with a crime report template, and a note from her brother.

Al—

The template is on the computer. It'll get you started. Please be as clear as possible. Don't worry about space. Use the additional blank pages at the end of the file if you need them. It'll be important to your case that we have all the information.

Be back soon.

—
J

"Important to your case" kept running through her head. Suddenly she felt like she was on trial for murder. And maybe she wasn't so far from it.

Concentrating on getting the report written, Alex moved question by question, answering with as much detail as she could. She knew the things she'd left out could easily get her fired or worse, but she saw no way around lying. She wanted to clear herself, not crucify herself.

James didn't resurface until just past one, as she finished up. "How's it going?" he asked, leaning against the door frame, one leg crossed over the other.

She straightened the stuff on the desk and put the top back on her pen. "Great."

Unfolding himself, he moved toward her, his gaze skeptical. "Finished?"

"Yep." Standing, she pointed to the computer. "I was just about to get it off the printer. It's also saved under 'Kincaid.' "

"Let's go take a look." James turned and headed out the door. Off to get his report, he looked positively thrilled.

Alex couldn't wait to get out of the station.

They passed the entrance to the detective division and turned into a small room that housed the printers and fax machines. James picked the stack off the printer and nodded.

"I guess I'll be going now," Alex said.

"Sure. I'll call you if I need anything else."

She gave him a thin smile and shook her head. "Thanks. I appreciate the concern, too, James," she added sarcastically.

"What? I'm doing my job."

"I know. You're a real up-and-coming star." Alex turned and started for the door. She'd already turned in her badge and gun, and now she just wanted to go home.

"I know you," came a saucy young voice from behind her.

Alex halted and looked back.

A ratty teenage kid stood in the doorway to the detective division, Lombardi beside him. His dirty blond hair had been buzz-cut except for a few spots that seemed to have been missed completely. These he wore in three-inch braids. His skateboard poised under one arm, he wore shabby black shorts and sneakers in desperate need of replacement. His shirt was even worse, holes exposing his hairless, concave chest.

"Everything okay here?" James asked Lombardi.

Lombardi grunted and started to lead the kid back to the detective division.

The kid wrenched his arm free. "Don't you care that I know her?" With a step forward, he towered above Alex, eyeing her down his nose. "I've seen pictures of you. He had lots of them."

Alex felt like she couldn't breathe, but she wasn't about to be bossed around by a punk. She took a step forward, startling the kid into giving her space. Angry, she jabbed her finger in his face. "Who had pictures of me?"

The kid didn't answer.

Lombardi jerked him around by the arm. "The officer asked you a question."

"Bill," he muttered.

Alex listened carefully to his voice, but it wasn't at all familiar.

James stepped forward until the three of them effectively pushed the kid against the wall. "What did you say?"

The kid cleared his throat. "Bill."

"Bill Loeffler?" Alex asked.

His eyes locked on his shoes, he gave a slight nod.

Lombardi shook him slightly, causing him to jolt. "Speak up."

The kid looked up at him and glared, then pointed to Alex. "Yeah, Bill Loeffler. He had all sorts of pictures of her. His wife found them. No wonder she left him."

His voice definitely wasn't familiar. Her caller had a more threatening voice—deeper, more forceful and definitely more adult. She watched him, realizing he was the kid she and Lombardi had considered might be the killer. But he definitely wasn't the caller.

"They were having an affair," the kid added.

All eyes were on her. "What?"

"An affair?" Lombardi said, his beady eyes searching.

Now furious, she shook her head. "No way. I never even met Loeffler."

James started to speak.

"Okay, I saw him once, but never spoke to him," she clarified.

Lombardi pulled his gaze off Alex and looked at the kid. "Where are these pictures?"

The kid shrugged, shuffling his feet on the floor and making an irritating squeaking sound.

"Did you see the pictures?" Lombardi continued.

With a scoff, the kid looked up. "Yeah, I saw them. I been through all her stuff."

"Whose stuff?" Alex asked.

"Sandy's," he answered, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"Sandy Loeffler?" James asked.

The kid glanced over their heads at the filing cabinets that housed the mug shots. "Yeah."

"The pictures were in Sandy Loeffler's things?"

His expression hesitant as he looked back at the detective, the kid nodded.

"Then she didn't show you the pictures?" James asked.

The kid suddenly became more interested in his shoe.

James took his shoulder. "You went into Sandy Loeffler's things without her permission. Now, we can forget about that if you help us out with the pictures."

Alex watched her brother, ready to forgive the punk kid in exchange for more incriminating evidence on her. She didn't stop him. She wanted to know what the kid knew almost as badly as James did.

She knew Loeffler. That's what it all came down to. Or he knew her. But she couldn't think of how.

The kid pulled himself from James's grasp, a deep scowl on his face. "I went through her stuff. So what? She moved into my house without my permission. It's not like I took anything." He pointed to Alex. "She's the one you should be asking questions to. He's got stacks of pictures of her—at her house, wearing her cop outfit, running."

Lombardi eyed Alex and then James. "I'm going to need to chase down those photos." With a quick motion to the kid, he added, "Will you get him set up in Room A?"

James nodded. "What's your name, kid?"

"Tim," he muttered.

Lombardi gave Alex a crooked frown and walked away.

Great,
Alex thought.
Now Lombardi thinks I had an affair with the murder victim.
She could already see a motive for murder building in their heads. How much longer could this go on?

James started to walk toward the holding room. "Okay, Tim, why don't you come with me? You want something to drink?"

Tim looked at James, a flicker of interest in his eyes. "What you got?"

"Coke? Sound good?"

Tim nodded, trying to look casual.

Alex followed them a step behind. How would she find out more about the pictures if she wasn't here? She tried not to panic. Greg would help where he could. The detectives would talk to other officers about the case, even if they weren't supposed to. It was the nature of being a cop—they needed to talk about the job with other cops.

James led Tim into the interrogation room and told him he'd be right back. He shut the door. "You can't go in there, Alex."

"I just want to ask him a couple questions. Don't I deserve to know how this pervert Loeffler got pictures of me?"

Her brother shook his head. "Not right now you don't. You're in deep shit. If I were you, I'd head out of here immediately. Save someone the effort of putting you behind bars before it's necessary."

"Behind bars? Is that some kind of joke?" Alex felt herself shake with anger. "You're about the shittiest excuse for a brother anyone could ask for."