He gave her a knowing look, but let it drop.
Thank goodness. She was terrified to think what might come out of her mouth if she wasn’t careful.
…
Instead of heading downtown, Dev drove in the opposite direction.
“Where are we going?” Reghan asked.
“Nicky’s apartment. Maybe he went back there after all the police and crime scene techs left.” She could see his worry for Nicky in his white knuckles on the steering wheel, his furrowed brow, and the hard line of his jaw. “I’m surprised he didn’t come by for breakfast. He usually does. He’s got a thing for Tracy.”
“I hope he’s all right.”
“I don’t think he knows she’s gone, so it’s weird he hasn’t been around.”
“Maybe not, after you had him hauled down to the station and stuck him with a police babysitter,” she suggested.
He grunted. “Maybe.”
“Dev, about Tracy. Where does she come from?”
“No idea. Why?”
“She doesn’t have a room at the center, right?”
“Actually, we offered her a bed in the pink room. She declined.”
“So where does she live?”
He shrugged. “For all I know she may be staying with Nicky.”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
She glanced at him. “It just seems odd.”
Dev cocked an eyebrow. “What does?”
“It’s probably nothing,” she said slowly. There was something…she just couldn’t put her finger on it. “But—her clothes, her hair, even her makeup…”
“What about them?”
“The things she wears—they look like what the other kids wear, but they’re not cheap. Her hair is too perfect. So’s her makeup.”
“Her hair is stringy and greasy, and—she wears makeup? She’s got that goth eye thing going on, but…what are you driving at?”
“I can’t explain it, Dev. I just don’t think she’s like the other kids you take in.” She tried to figure out how best to explain what she meant. “She spends money on those clothes. And her eyes are so dark and her hair is so blond—she either colors her hair or wears colored contacts. My money is on the contacts.”
“Wait a minute,” he said. “You’re right. Tracy got something in her eye one day. I saw her take out a contact and put it back in. The lens
was
dark. Good catch, Connor.”
“I knew it. She’s obviously got money to be able to afford those lenses and those clothes. Do you think she’s a prostitute?”
He laughed. “I doubt it.” After a second he added, “But she could be a slummer, I guess.”
“Like Elliott?”
“Yeah. But I’ve never known a slummer who worked as hard as Tracy does.”
He drove out St. Charles to Carrolton Avenue, then took a side street and stopped at a shabby apartment building.
“Come in with me,” he said when he opened her door. “I don’t like the idea of you sitting in the car by yourself in this neighborhood.”
…
Dev took the worn, wooden stairs two at a time, feeling Connor keeping up behind him. At the third-floor stairwell he stopped, peering over at Nicky’s apartment door. The crime scene tape had been torn away from the frame, and the door was sitting open a crack.
Ah, hell
. The humming started in the back of his mind, that sense of wary expectation he got when a case was about to break—or take a really bad turn.
Connor walked up beside him. “Stay behind me,” he told her in a low voice. He moved quietly toward the door, and heard Connor’s light steps. After examining the corridor to be sure there was no one lurking at an open door or in a dark corner, he aimed the gun at the floor. “Stay here.”
To his surprise, she nodded. He moved cautiously toward Nicky’s door, a dark sense of foreboding blanketing him like a thundercloud. Clenching his jaw, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone and tossed it to Connor. She snagged it out of the air. “Speed dial 1,” he mouthed.
She poised her thumb over the top left button.
He moved to the far side of the door, leveling his weapon at the doorknob. Her eyes followed his gesture. A tiny frown appeared on her face, and her throat worked as she swallowed. Silently, she backed up two steps toward the stairwell. He sent her an approving look. She understood. An odd feeling spread through him at how well they worked together. She had good instincts.
Not a bad partner.
He glanced at her once more, gave her a silent signal, and nudged the door with the barrel of his gun. It swung inward with a squeak. He waited, balanced on the balls of his feet, ready for anything. The door creaked to a halt only partially ajar. Inside, the room looked essentially as it had last night. The drawers were still open. Biaggi’s blood had turned to brown specks on the floor.
If he leaned in, he’d be able to see the rest of the room. Debating how best to make his entrance—a burst or a sneak—Dev stood perfectly still, listening intently. Behind him, he felt Connor’s presence. To her credit, she hadn’t moved a muscle.
He heard nothing, which probably meant the room was empty. But he wasn’t taking any chances. He tightened his grip on his weapon and slipped through the door. The metallic smell of blood hit his nostrils before his eyes adjusted to the dimness.
Ah, Nicky, no.
His stomach churned with apprehension. He reached behind him for the light switch and flipped it, his gun balanced in his right hand, ready for anything—he thought. Blinking in the sudden light, he saw what he’d hoped, prayed, he wouldn’t see.
Nicky lay dead in his bed, his throat slit.
…
Reghan waited, her finger over the button on Dev’s cell phone that would trigger speed dial 1. Dev had disappeared into the room. Her scalp itched, and everything inside her wanted to scream,
“Come back!”
For an endless moment, nothing happened. No movement, no sound. Nothing. Instinctively, she knew that was a very bad sign. She entered cautiously. The smell nearly knocked her off her feet. Her knees went weak as her stomach turned upside down. She tried not to breathe. There was no mistaking that smell.
Blood
. Blood and death.
Dev sent her a quick glance and she saw the naked anguish in his gaze. Beyond him, lying on the single bed as if he were asleep, was Nicky. But he wasn’t asleep. His face was gray and pasty and the bedclothes were stained with blood. More blood than she’d ever seen.
“Oh, no,” she whispered. The metallic smell burned her nostrils and caused acid bile to rise in her throat, but she pushed it all away. She had to help Dev.
He hadn’t moved since she’d stepped into the room. She turned to him. His gaze met hers again, assaulting her with his grief and pain. She gave him a small nod. He didn’t acknowledge it, but she saw him close his eyes briefly. After a few seconds, he straightened his back, holstered his gun and crossed to the bed. His fingers were unsteady as he touched Nicky’s thin, bloody neck for a pulse. She knew it was just a formality. His shoulders bowed as he brushed his knuckles against the boy’s pale cheek.
“I’m sorry, Nicky,” he whispered raggedly.
Then he reached in his jacket pocket, groping blindly. She put his cell phone in his hand. Without looking at her or the phone, he called in and reported the homicide. After hanging up, he turned toward the dingy window. As much as she wanted to go to him, she knew he’d turned away because he didn’t want her seeing his private grief.
Battling nausea, she pressed her lips together and studied Nicky, the bed, and the room. She forced herself to view it dispassionately, like a cop. As Dev would have, if he weren’t so devastated.
The teenager lay on his back, the pillow under his head soaked in blood. His throat had been slashed. A gash that looked no more than two inches long started just to the right of his Adam’s apple, ending under his ear. Just like the other victims.
She touched the bandage on her neck.
Just like her
.
Walking around the bed, she clung to her detachment with all her strength and studied the scene before her. The sheet was draped neatly over the boy’s middle, its top turned down as on a carefully made bed. His hands were folded across his abdomen, and something was entwined in his bandaged fingers. She moved in for a closer look, careful not to touch anything. It was a rosary.
“Dev?” She looked at Nicky’s head. His short, spiky hair had been combed. In fact, it looked damp. “Dev.”
He turned from the window. “Don’t touch anything, Connor,” he said automatically, his voice toneless. “Why don’t you go out into the hall? You shouldn’t be in here.”
“Dev, look.” She went around the bed and caught his arm, sliding her hand down until her fingers touched his. He clutched her hand tightly. “Come here,” she said. “Take a look at this.”
“Wait for CSU,” he muttered, making a halfhearted effort to pull away. On cue, sirens wailed in the distance.
“No, Dev. Please, listen to me for a minute. It’s how he’s laid out—like a funeral. And he’s holding a rosary.” She felt his muscles tense beneath her touch. “See how the bedclothes are turned down? See how neat everything is?” The sirens were getting closer. “And his hair. It’s been combed.” She tugged on Dev’s hand, making him turn toward her. “Whoever killed him cared about him.”
Dev finally roused. “They combed his hair and laid him out,” he murmured bleakly. “After they cut his damn throat.”
“And Dev…”
His gaze rose to hers, his sadness so profound, so obvious in his naked gaze that her heart wanted to break.
“H-his hair is still damp,” she said.
Hard footsteps on the stairs announced the arrival of the police. She looked up and saw Givens cautiously enter, followed by the Crime Scene Unit. Givens was pulling on exam gloves as he walked. He came over to Dev, and the two of them spoke together in low tones.
Someone laid a hand on Reghan’s arm. She jumped.
“Ma’am? Who are you?”
She turned around to confront a middle-aged man in a jacket that proclaimed NOPD CSU. He frowned at her, deepening the creases in his lined face. “I—”
“Hey, aren’t you—?” he started.
“She’s with me,” Dev interrupted from behind her.
At his declaration, something warm and delightful spread through her. Was it pride, that he’d acknowledged her? She suppressed a smile.
The man glanced at Givens, who nodded his okay.
“Come on, Connor,” Dev said, catching her arm. “We better get you out of here.”
She resisted.
“Don’t worry,” he said gently. “They know what they’re doing.” His grip on her arm brooked no argument. At the bottom of the stairway, she realized that Dev was no longer following her. She started toward the exit door to the street.
Suddenly, a roar of rage split the air, and a loud crash behind her sent wood splinters flying. She ducked, throwing her arms up to protect her head. When nothing touched her, something instinctive told her she wasn’t in danger.
“Dev?”
She straightened and turned just in time to see him rear back and aim his fist at the wall again. Without stopping to think, she dove toward him, getting between him and the wall. “Dev!” she cried. “Stop!”
He froze, his muscles bunched and straining. His unfocused gaze met hers, but she didn’t think he saw her. She grabbed his wrist with both hands and held on tight, barely noticing the pain in her injured palm. After a couple of seconds, he visibly uncoiled. She touched his cheek, wiping away dampness with her thumb.
He bowed his head. “Oh, God,” he muttered against her hair, a prayer, not a curse. She rubbed his back.
“It’s not your fault,” she whispered.
“Then whose is it?” He pulled away and looked at her with fury in his eyes. “Whoever this bastard is, I
will
stop him. If it’s the last damn thing ever I do.”
Chapter Twelve
Dev’s anguished expression turned to fierce determination as he marched Reghan over to the curb where several uniformed cops stood. “This is Officer…?”
“Mintz, sir,” the officer supplied.
Dev didn’t take his eyes off her. “Officer Mintz is going to take you to the station and get your statement about what you saw here.”
He looked at Mintz. “Don’t let her out of your sight. Not for a second. Once you’ve filed her statement, call me.”
She started to speak, but he took her by the shoulders. “You will stay at the police station until I get there. Do you understand me?”
“Dev—”
“Do you understand?” He pronounced each word distinctly. “Officer Mintz will lock you up in a holding cell if you refuse to cooperate.”
“I understand,” she said, awed and a little afraid of the stolid resolve in his dark gaze.
He barely waited for her answer, but gave final instructions to the officer, then sent her one last warning glance and headed back to the crime scene.
Officer Mintz approached. “Ma’am. If you’re ready?”
Reghan assessed him, but his face held a stubborn focus. Dev had obviously warned him about her. She opened her mouth, thinking it wouldn’t hurt to try anyway, but the officer just stared at her steadily.
“Fine,” she said, resigned. “Let’s go.”
Mintz drove her to the Royal Street station, where he painstakingly took down everything she’d seen, smelled, touched, or even thought about at Nicky’s apartment.
By the time they finished, she was shaking with a delayed reaction to the trauma. She signed her name to the printed report with a hand that quivered. “Officer, I’m feeling ill. Is there somewhere I can lie down?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I can check.”
He started to leave the room when his phone rang. He answered it and listened. After a few seconds, he frowned. “Where is he? Did he say how to get in? I better call him and verify this,” he said, listened some more, and hung up.
Reghan was pretty sure she knew what the conversation was about. “Was that about me?” “Give me a second,” Officer Mintz said as he reached for the radio that was attached to his shoulder. “This is Officer Mintz. Patch me through to Detective Gautier, please.” He waited for half a minute. The dispatcher informed him, “No response from Detective Gautier’s vehicle. Shall I patch you through to someone on scene?”
“Yes, please.”
After another moment there was a staticky response, which Mintz apparently understood. “I’m trying to reach Detective Gautier.”