The Thrill of the Chase (Mystery & Adventure) (13 page)

She nodded, making a sympathetic face.

"I uh…" I cleared my throat. "I guess I kind of complicated things too. I kind of blew up at the kid we caught. He was being an ass, and I… Well... I
threatened
him into giving us information when it was his right to get a lawyer first."

I didn't meet her eyes when I made the admission, afraid of what I might see there.

Surprisingly, Jill didn't seem upset at all when she replied. "Well, you said it yourself – this is something horrible and you haven't dealt with this kind of thing for a long time. I can understand you being upset."

I chuckled weakly. "This was a little more than upset, Jill." I looked full in her eyes and said bluntly, "I pointed my gun in his face."

She looked back just as firmly. "But you didn't shoot him."

It was the truth, and her response stunned me for a moment. The end certainly didn't justify the means, and that wasn't what she was suggesting. She wasn't dismissing the act either: she was simply drawing the line straight for me to see, leaving the judgment for me to pass for myself.

She thinks no less of me than she did five minutes ago. And I shouldn't think any less of myself just because I screwed up once.

We watched each other for a long moment as I struggled to find just where I stood on the instance. It made sense what she was implying, of course – I'd certainly crossed the line between fair and right, but I hadn't necessarily
destroyed
the line. And a single violation doesn't necessarily mean a complete wanton abandonment of principle.

I drew in a breath and let it out heavily. "Okay. I see what you mean. It still doesn't make what I did right, but it doesn't condemn me either."

"
And
it doesn't justify you to do it again." She shrugged dismissively. "Now you know for next time."

I nodded in agreement. "Let's hope there
isn't
a next time." Unfortunately, with the rest of the criminals still at large, there could potentially be a "next time" right around the corner. But "next time", I'd have better self–control.

Fingers crossed.

"So where does this leave you in the case?" Jill asked, unintentionally rerouting my line of thinking. "Are you
any
further?"

For a moment, I wanted to further pursue the issue of my failure – for the sake of my prima donna conscience – but forced myself to let it go. "Well, just having one of the perps in custody means they're short one man, and we have potential leverage now on the other guys in his group. Also he could still be good for additional information in the future when we find more questions to ask. He'll plead guilty, certainly, so we won't have to worry about an elongated trial."

I licked my lips to wet them. "Are we close to finding this 'boss' character? It wouldn't seem that way, but the investigation is still young, and maybe we just have to start looking in the right places. Plus, we're bound to get some forensics off of the murder victim, so that should point us in the right direction."

There was a moment where we were both silent. The coffee pot had finished dripping several minutes ago, but neither of us made any move to finish the process. Below our feet, the central heating unit thrummed loudly, accomplishing little more than noise pollution.

"I don't know," I said finally. "We'll just have to see where the trail takes us. I'm just worried about what Sheldon's lawyer's going to do. I don't know what alternative Dempsey's going to have aside from canning me."

Without warning, Jill reached out and put a hand on my knee, gently. Her touch was electrifying, sending a jolt through my stomach. "Don't sound so discouraged, Detective. It'll all work out. You know it,
I
know it. I just wish I could help."

"You
do.
" I laughed, patting her hand awkwardly – just before she removed it. "You constantly provide me with caffeinated beverages that help me think and you listen to all my constant rambling. I'd say that helps quite a bit. On the other hand, if you're offering
more
aid, it's not like I couldn't use a good back massage right about now..."

Jill rolled her eyes, and a smile broke through the previous gloom that had besieged her face. "Don't push your luck."

"Wouldn't dare." I stood, wincing at the ache in my backside – gained from sitting on the edge of the desk. "Alrighty. Well, I'm gonna go make a few phone calls."

"Okay, Chance," she said, unintentionally sweet. That was just her.

I walked out the door into the hallway. I had only taken half a dozen steps before I found myself hesitating, and then I wheeled around and reentered her office.

"Jill?" I said, leaning on the doorframe.

She turned partially, abandoning her typing once more to look over her shoulder at me. For a moment, I wasn't sure what it was that I wanted to say, but it had something to do with the removed weight from my shoulders, the expanding optimism in my chest, and the new spring in my step.

"Thanks," I said finally, because that was all that needed to be said. "Thanks for listening."

She smiled and gave me a firm nod. "I'm always here," she said, in earnest.

A strange emotion filled my chest, a rush of strong affection toward her that was in no way romantic or sexual. It was a feeling of comradely adoration, and at that moment I adored Jill Fereday as a brother might his favorite sister – more than I ever had before.

She's got my back, and at the moment, there's no one I'd rather have there.

I grinned at her sloppily, then ducked back into the hallway before I could say anything stupid that would ruin the moment.

Resisting the urge to do something impulsively immature (like singing), I returned to my office. Washing my face had done me good, and that conversation had really cleared my thoughts. I felt awake, fully alert. I still could have used a shower, but I wasn't about to drive all the way home and back again unless Jill started complaining about my BO.

My troubles weren't gone, but at the moment they were manageable.

I almost hit the light switch as I entered the office, but retracted my hand as I remembered the bulb was shot.
I've
got
to get a replacement,
I thought to myself, but at the moment, it was a minor concern. It was time to get to work, since my thoughts were in order and I was actually ready to go – a feat I would have thought impossible running on barely an hour and a half of sleep.

I began by gathering together all the scattered information I had on the case – names, times, dates, and facts – and sorted it all back into the appropriate folders: Miles' and Mendoza's. I didn't have anything hard on the previous night's murder, but Slyder had assured me before I'd left the crime scene that he would have his people fax me all photographs and information tomorrow.

Today, now.

The fax machine was in Jill's office, so she would start a new folder when everything came through – just to keep me organized.

I tossed the on–the–job–notebook onto the coffee table where I had just stacked the case files and scooped up the old phone, wondering whom I should call first. Coming to a conclusion, I consulted my phone list and dialed Rick Miles' house, then turned to look out the window while I waited for him to pick up. Call me old–fashioned, but the courtesy call was a dying breed.

He answered after the fourth ring. "McGraw residence."

For a moment, I was confused. Then I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. "Miles, it's Detective Stikup."

"Oh. Sorry." Suddenly he was sheepish, and rightfully so. "My wife said it made her feel safer if I didn't use our names over the phone."

"Say no more. But do us all a favor and try something other than 'McGraw', okay? I never made it clear to you before how much I hate country music?" I cleared my throat, trying to reroute my train of thought. Miles had successfully derailed it before the station. "Anyway, I was calling to give you an update on the case."

He suddenly sounded overly eager and I almost told him to relax: "Have you found anything new?"

Tucking the phone between my head and shoulder, I sat on the edge of my desk and winced as I prepared to grind his hope into nothing. "Not really, no. At least, nothing that will help me
end
this thing. We caught one of the thieves last night, but he couldn't really give me much else than a few names. Chief Slyder is going to look them up in the cop database, but other than that, there's nothing really to report. Just thought I should let you know."

I considered just letting my other information go, but then figured he was going to read about it in the paper anyway. "Oh, and the thieves hit a second house last night – in Richwood."

A pause. "
What
?"

"Yeah," I said, nodding mechanically. "They're on a crime spree – that's all I can figure."

Well, that wasn't entirely true: it was undoubtedly an
organized
crime spree headed by a coordinating mastermind. There really wasn't any other alternative. However, I hadn't really put much thought into motive yet, so that was why I kept the details to myself. Plus, Miles didn't need to know any more than he could handle.

"Thing is," I continued, "they raped and killed a woman, so I'm guessing that they're not just after money anymore."

Miles swallowed audibly. "Makes a guy feel unsafe at night."

I sighed heavily. "Rick, I've learned that whenever you feel the safest, that's when you're the most vulnerable. Just a little grab–bag goodie for you."

"Interesting," he replied absently, as though he wasn't really listening. "Thank you for informing me of this, Mr. Stikup. My wife put your first check in the mail yesterday, so it should be there this afternoon, by the way."

"I appreciate it. I'll talk to you soon when I have more info." I hung up without waiting for Miles to say good–bye and crossed my arms over my chest, thinking.

Okay. Now I should head over to the Daniels house, and then go to the morgue to get
that
over with.

It was unlikely that I would find anything interesting at the former location, but I wouldn't know until I went. And I was doing this by the book, so there was no escaping the chore. However, there was one more thing that I needed to do first.

I picked up the phone again, hesitated, and then punched in the SPD station number. A woman receptionist picked up, and after identifying myself, I requested to be put through to CSI. After a short wait, another woman whose voice was familiar picked up the line.

"Crime lab, SPD."

I cleared my throat nervously. "Yes, Lieutenant Madley?"

Slyder had given me her name. She was twenty-eight, married happily, and had just been transferred to the Swedesboro CSI from Albany three months ago. Last night had been her first big crime scene investigation with SPD.

And I was there to make that experience hell.

"Speaking." Brigid Madley was clearly forcing politeness, as though she had just been interrupted from something important and wanted to get back to it quickly. Well, that was fine by me: I was planning on being brief.

"Lieutenant, this is Detective Stikup. Uh, I assume you remember me."

She was silent for a moment, and when she spoke again her tone had become fixed. "Sure. We met last night."

I winced at the way she said it.
Ouch.

"Yeah." Clearing my throat again, I realized that I was completely unsure of what I wanted to say. So, going by instinct, I just blurted it out for her. "Listen, I wanted to… apologize for losing it back there. It was unprofessional of me, and I have no excuse to be honest. I'm sorry you had to see that side of me, but I was… hoping it wouldn't hinder us from being able to work together in the future."

"Oh." She sounded surprised, as though a confession and apology was the last thing she had expected to come out of my mouth. "
Oh
. Uh, no – I'd…" Her voice hardened again. "Well, you're right. You
don't
have an excuse. It was stupid of you, but I'm glad you're not stupid enough not to
realize
that."

"Right." I sighed. "Slyder hit the nail on the head – this
is
my first time spearheading an investigation of this caliber. In the past, it's never been my responsibility to get answers, so I guess that's why I blew it last night. Doesn't make it right, but –"

"Stikup, just leave it alone. Look, I understand where you're coming from. Slyder told me you were a cop for a few years, but doing detective duty is completely different and strains you in completely different ways." Although she didn't seem annoyed anymore, there was still an abruptness to her speaking. Maybe that was just her mannerism. "I appreciate your calling. It shows me you're somewhat responsible and not a complete asshole. Believe it or not, I actually like the way you think, Stikup. You're not traditional, and you get work done."

"I try," I said lightly. "So, you'll keep me abreast of anything your team finds at the house, correct? I'll be heading over there myself shortly, so I might run into you."

She cleared her throat, perhaps uncomfortable. "Probably not – my team did our detailed investigation last night after you left, so there's not much more for us to do. But, yes, we'll send you all the important stuff, and if you come in to look at the body, you'll probably end up working with Dr. Simms. He's on my team too, so he shouldn't give you a hard time."