Buried (Detective Ellie MacIntosh) (16 page)

*   *   *

Jason was sitting on the balcony, sipping a beer, when he saw the BMW pull in. Maybe he would get some answers. He needed them. He needed to know about the details, though at the end of it, Danni would still be dead, and dammit, he was really pissed …

… and sad. He wasn’t quite willing to admit it yet, but he was sad. This needed to be resolved and she was a very interesting casualty to this informal war.

Whoever started it might just be sorry as hell.

No. Correction. As he rose, he vowed that whoever started it
would
be sorry as hell. He might have not known Fielding very well, but he’d lost two friends in Chad and Danni, and the truth was, he didn’t have that many to begin with anyway.

He opened the door, stepping back with an exaggerated flourish. “Another visit? I’m starting to feel pretty important here.”

MacIntosh was with Grasso, dressed casually, her hair caught back in a careless ponytail, but he was still guilty of a flashback to his erotic image of her from that middle-of-the-night phone call, and he grinned, though it wasn’t all that funny.

“I would put out the duck liver pâté but it turns out I’m out, wouldn’t you know. Same with the champagne and caviar. Can’t ever keep enough on hand with my social schedule. I hope chips and a light beer is okay.”

“Um, usually it’s goose liver, and no, I think we’re good,” Ellie said, her expression clearly saying she didn’t think he was funny at all. “You know why we’re here. Let’s talk about Danni Crawford. We just left the scene.”

“Seems to me I called and tried to talk to you about her and you were kind of pissy about the whole thing.”

“It was three in the morning.” Exasperation edged her voice. “And you hung up on me.”

“But my heart was in the right place.” He raised his brows, but then sobered and shook his head. “I’ve been sitting here thinking about it. I sure as hell hope having dinner with a homicide detective didn’t play a part in what happened to her. Want to have a seat and tell me what went down?”

MacIntosh chose his couch again and Grasso pulled out one of the bar stools from the counter.

“You tell us, since you were first on the scene.”

“I followed perfect protocol and called it in right away.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

No, it hadn’t been. Jason sighed and ran his hand through already rumpled hair. “I was asleep when I got the call. It is bugging me that she might have been alive when I answered, but just couldn’t talk. She didn’t say anything. I decided to go to her house because it was strange, and let’s face it, some strange shit is going down. I wish I could offer more, but I can’t. Now, it’s your turn.”

Grasso said, “Six shots. We don’t think she fired her weapon but she’d pulled it. They came in through a window and went out the back door in a hurry, leaving it open. No one heard anything. We think there were two because it looked to the ME like there were two different caliber weapons.”

“Wham bam, huh?” Jason pictured Danni’s good-natured face, the careful amount of dressing on her salad, and his throat tightened a little. Her last night on earth … she should have had the blue cheese. Worth every damn calorie. “The front door was also open, but probably because she sensed something was up. Those bastards. So we have a team of killers again it sounds like. The real question is: are they acting on their own, or are they sent by someone? Taking one hell of a chance, killing cops. Not everyone does that.”

“What did she tell you last night when you had dinner?” Ellie leaned forward, her hazel eyes intent. “I want to know exactly what she had to say about Fielding and Brown.”

Chapter 15

The sex was hot, sweaty, almost ferocious, pleasure crossing a line toward violence almost but not quite. The bed creaked and then stilled when it was over, and suddenly there was nothing but the sound of the insects in the trees through the open window.

They didn’t talk anymore.

Afterward he stared at the ceiling, unspeaking, his face shuttered, almost cold.

In her opinion, he went away at these moments. Exited the intimacy in the aftermath of what should be tender and shared and just emotionally removed himself.

Was she afraid? No, but she wasn’t unafraid either. The difference? She wasn’t sure.

“Can I do something?” She set her hand on his bare chest.

“No.”

She hesitated, not sure how to start the conversation, how to continue, especially when he was so visibly distant.

She loved the shape of his chin, of all things. It was very square and male, and suited the somewhat melancholy lines of his face. Her Brontë hero, she thought sometimes, but she was a little fanciful now and again, especially on a night like this, when they were together and he’d come to her …

Softly, she began, “If you want to talk about it—”

“I don’t,” he interrupted curtly. “I just don’t. Leave it.”

*   *   *

Carl sat there
at his desk, picked up the phone, set it back down, reminded himself it wasn’t his first canoe trip, and picked it back up to return the call.

“Lindsey?”

“Yes.” She sounded quiet and hushed, like she might be buried in a library somewhere and couldn’t speak any louder, which could be true. “I don’t recognize this number, who is calling?”

Why did he get the feeling she was lying?

“The lieutenant. How was the party?”

It took a second but then she said with evident warmth, “The cheese guy?”

That brought back a picture of her sparkling brown eyes. “I’m not sure if I love the nickname, but all right, yes, the cheese guy.”

“It was boring,” she told him, still keeping her voice low. “We could get together and I’d tell you about what you missed, but you’d fall asleep in five seconds. Or we could get together and have a big fat margarita and talk about something else.”

This was entirely not him. He didn’t call college students, but graduate school wasn’t quite the same as being a wide-eyed freshman and …

Carl felt like he needed to step away for an hour or two. It worked sometimes if he thought about something else and then a case would come back into focus with more clarity.

He found himself saying, “That sounds fine to me.”

“Address or meet?”

“I’m a little old-fashioned. I can pick you up. Are you at the library?”

Silence. “I’m going to have to get used to this detective thing.”

It was his turn to laugh. After the day he’d had, that was a miracle. “You’re whispering. You are a student. It isn’t actually a brilliant deduction.”

“Okay … I’ll give you that one. How about we just walk over to the local place, okay? That way you can still drink.”

“You think of everything.”

Her response was playful. “What an understatement.”

“When?”

“How about now? I’ve studied torts until my eyes have started to bleed.”

He groaned theatrically. “You’re a law student?”

“That a problem, Lieutenant?”

No, but he found it interesting. “Be there in just a few minutes.”

“I’m ready.”

*   *   *

Lindsey was true
to her word, standing just inside the glassed doors of the law library, her smile genuine as she walked out when he pulled up, getting into the car. Her hair looked liquid in the lamplight when she leaned back to fasten her seat belt. This evening she wore a sweater over a T-shirt and sandals with her jeans. Her toenails were painted a pretty light pink and she had a backpack.

“Best margaritas in town just around the corner. You might want to just park here and we can walk.”

Once upon a time, he’d gone to Harvard. It felt like it all had happened to someone else: the Ivy League school, not the interest in law enforcement … he’d known
that
from the beginning. But being the student, the one with the backpack, the urgent campus walk that signaled class was going to start and it was getting late …

He missed that young man sometimes. Wondered who he might have been if everything was different.

“Fine with me. Nice night.”

“Great.” She gave him a sidelong approving look as he pulled out of the parking lot. “Despite this really expensive car, you aren’t so fancy you can’t walk a little. You look like you’re in pretty good shape, so you must work out. What do I
not
know about Lieutenant Grasso?”

“I’m too old for you.”

“No, I know that already. I need new information.” Her laugh was light and mischievous. “We don’t agree on that, by the way. The young, hungry types drive me nuts.”

“Young hungry types?”

She didn’t directly respond to the inquiry in his question. “Shall we go rub elbows with the future of America’s judicial system? It’s kind of a popular place for law students, but like I said, they make a killer margarita there. You are entirely overdressed, by the way, but I don’t care if you don’t.”

“How about if I lose the tie?” He smiled and tugged at it.

“And the jacket maybe.”

She gazed at him with open approval when he tossed his jacket over the top of his seat and held the door for her. “I might have competition. Hadn’t thought about that. Some of the professors go there occasionally. You are pretty noticeable.”

Flirtation was a lost art to him. Actually, he was never sure he’d possessed any skill at it in the first place. He tended to be too analytical. Some women liked it, and some didn’t like it at all. He hoped he wasn’t too old to learn.

There was no doubt he over thought things, but it had saved his life once or twice.

She was right about the margaritas, he discovered once they’d walked the few blocks and seated themselves in a place that screamed college bar. His was suspiciously brown in color and one sip told him driving was not going to be an option for a few hours if he drank the whole thing. Lindsey laughed at his expression and the spontaneous sound cut through the music and general hum of the crowded place. “I told you. Killer.”

The televisions mostly were tuned to sports channels, but the news flashed on, and just his luck, Danni Crawford’s murder was a headliner on a set above the bar. Killer took on a different meaning and he watched the broadcast, his fingers idly smoothing the condensation on his glass, his attention so focused that Lindsey turned to see what he was watching.

“Sorry. My case,” he said in response to her inquiring look, his smile humorless. “It helps to know what the press is saying. Not that they know more than we do, but so that they don’t make sure whoever did it is in the loop. Leaking information needs to be done carefully.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” She settled her elbows on the tabletop and looked at him in challenge. “Be careful, you are talking to an almost-lawyer, Detective. Have you ever done that?”

“Talked to an almost-lawyer? Sure.” He took another sip. “I’m talking to one now, right?”

“Funny. I meant carefully leaked to the press.”

He had in the Burner case, but he usually kept his secrets pretty close, and though Lindsey was undeniably attractive, articulate, and bright, he didn’t know her. “It can be a useful strategy if used properly. I try to follow the rules of protocol. Why do you ask?”

“I’m definitely trying to get the hang of how all this works, and not just from dry professors who tell you about it.
Try?
Hmm, interesting choice of words. What case are you working now?”

“Someone is murdering cops, remember?”

“I do. Any progress?” She took a sip from her drink and gazed at him with inquiring eyes.

“Nothing I can talk about. But I’m pretty curious. Is that why you said yes to the invitation?”

She shook her head convincingly. “No, just a perk. Do you like guacamole?”

“I do.”

“A man after my own heart. Let’s order some, shall we?”

“Good redirect, almost-counselor.” Then he said without inflection, “Tell me, Lindsey, why did you call me about Chad Brown and Danni Crawford, and more important, why are they both dead?”

“Oh shit,” she answered, licking salt off the rim of her glass. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

*   *   *

Ellie typed in
two words and hit the search button just as Metzger walked up to her desk. He looked tired, drawn even, which was hard to imagine since his rugged features were designed to hide emotion as far as she could tell.

“Do you know how happy I am Jason Santiago is alive?”

Her fingers stilled on the keyboard. “I have to admit, sir, as a conversation opener, that one gets my attention.”

“I am referring to the recent rash of homicides involving this particular branch of civil service. At least he survived the shooting back in July. I have lost far too many officers.” He pulled out a chair and straddled it, looking pointedly at the half-eaten sandwich sitting on a wrapper by her keyboard. “I expected Grasso to still be at his desk this time of evening because I could swear he lives here, but not you. It’s been a long day. Why don’t you go home?”

“Just wrapping up the report from this morning.”

“The scene at Crawford’s house was a wash, I hear. No real evidence.”

“Used gloves, came in through a window, left out the back door, no one saw anything. She must have heard something since she never really shut the front door, but her neighbors weren’t helpful. Not because they are scared, more because they are bewildered.”

“Is there anything? One single lead?”

“One lead.” Cautiously, she said, “Santiago had dinner with her last night.”

The chief of the metropolitan police department of Milwaukee registered that with due equanimity. After a second, he said, “If this is a club, I decline the invitation. I suppose that explains why he found her. Why the hell would he do that? I’ve been told she was dating Brown.”

“Good friends with both her and Brown, sir.” Her screen flashed the answer she’d been looking for but she concentrated on the conversation instead. “You know Santiago is going crazy being trapped at home. Why else was he riding along with Crawford that night? I’m going to venture to say that it is his idea of entertainment.”