Insinuations Page 7

  After Ellie had exchanged a few words with Kate’s sister, Kate had been able to talk to her.

  They would pick up the pieces, somehow.

  Everything still felt unreal, Kate’s despair, the people in the waiting room, the…blood. There had been blood on the floor of Jonathan Darby’s basement as well. Ellie was jolted out of her dark musings when the driver behind her honked—the light had turned green. She’d better pay attention. An accident was the last thing she needed.

  When she pulled into the driveway of Jordan’s house, Jordan’s car was already there, as well as another unmarked vehicle.

  Ellie still had a hard time understanding some of the choices Jordan had made, buying this house out of the city, keeping it after Darby’s true identity came to light. It wasn’t up to her to judge, but she did wonder.

  “You made it, good. Are you hungry?” Jordan asked after she closed the door behind Ellie. “I could offer you frozen pizza. We could order in, too, but as you can imagine, that takes a little longer around here. Oh, Ellie. I’m so sorry.”

  Ellie hadn’t meant to start crying the moment Jordan pulled her close. She couldn’t hold back the tears no matter how hard she tried, or the images. They’d hung out together pretty much from the first day at the academy, celebrated each other’s successes and got each other through embarrassing rookie mistakes. They’d shared secrets, gossip, dreams and aspirations.

  The last time Ellie had been in a squad car with Jensen, she’d brushed him off because she’d been irritated with the lack of progress regarding her relationship with Jordan. She remembered Kate and Jensen, so excited about announcing their engagement they’d thrown rounds for everyone that night.

  No more wedding.

  After the attack, Ellie had tried hard to make sense of a senseless incident. She’d decided that she’d paid her dues, and that in some way, the universe owed her, had to give back for the safety and confidence she’d lost. She’d even gone as far as deciding that the universe owed her Jordan whom she’d lusted after the moment she’d first laid eyes on her—regardless of the fact that Jordan was still in a complicated, conflicted relationship with FBI profiler Bethany Roberts.

  She wasn’t so sure anymore that there could be any order, any justice to what the universe dished out. Kate was a widow before she had the chance to be a bride. Jordan had a lot to deal with as well.

  Ellie pulled back before she’d fall asleep from the gentle touch of Jordan’s hand brushing over her hair.

  “Wow, I’m sorry. I meant to say hello first.”

  Jordan gave her a wistful smile. “It’s been a horrible day. You’re entitled.”

  Ellie accepted the tissue she handed her and wiped her face. “It’s been horrible for everyone though.”

  “What have you heard?” As expected, Jordan made some distance, busying herself with filling two glasses of wine and putting the aforementioned pizza in the oven.

  “Not much, just that they brought in…your parents this morning. I guess that’s why the lieutenant took you off the case. I’m sorry.”

  Jordan returned to the couch with two glasses of red wine, handing one to Ellie. She sat next to her. “He had no choice,” she said, resignation obvious in her tone. “I really would have loved to introduce you to Jack and Pauline before you ever heard of the Larsons—but it turns out the truth might even be worse. Kathryn Larson said she had an affair with Pratt, with consequences, obviously. She might be lying, but why would she? It’s not exactly a great demonstration of character. Oh, and apparently he threatened to kill me, but she’s not sure how serious he was about that. This is why the boss wants me off the case. I should have told you all of this before I lured you all the way here.”

  “It’s okay. There wasn’t ever a moment when you had the time. I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Maybe it wasn’t the start either one of them had hoped for, but it was a start all the same. Under the circumstances, neither of them had anything on their mind but sleep, though it would be elusive. Ellie was grateful that they had each other to hold on to.

  Chapter Eight

  Both Pratt and Hobbs continued to elude the police in spite of a widened search and a hotline that generated many tips, none of them helpful. Pratt’s witness had quickly come around in the wake of the horrific news. Dean Johnson admitted Pratt had given him money to tell his story.

  The Baker family, who had intended to come for an engagement, arrived in town for their son’s funeral instead.

  The rain was coming down in sheets, fitting, Jordan surmised. Was it selfish to think that, not so long ago, she’d come close to having her own funeral? Probably. Officer McCarthy, Kate, stood with her own family. Libby Marshall and Cordova were still in the hospital. She would be released within the next few days whereas the detective was looking at a longer stay. At least, both their statements had helped piece together the timeline of the attack. Neither of them had seen Hobbs at the scene, but the men who barged in shooting certainly knew Pratt.

  Ellie sat with Jordan in church, but joined other uniformed officers at the cemetery.

  It was also selfish, and highly inappropriate to think of Ellie sleeping in her arms the night after the shooting, a memory that was surprisingly calming. Jordan had come clean about her family, but that didn’t mean every obstacle was out of the way. She was aware that Ellie might have other questions she hadn’t dared voicing yet. She was also a police officer, able to piece the evidence together.

  Evidence for what?

  Jordan flinched at the sound of a familiar voice.

  “I wish I could have seen you again other different circumstances.” Bethany sighed. “Yet, here we are.”

  “Why are you here?” Jordan bit her lip. She had answered without thinking, taking the bait as usual. She dared a sideways look. Bethany looked very much put together among the sea of mourners sheltered by black and dark blue umbrellas. Jordan had no idea what her connection to the Baker family was, if there was any.

  “I work with the older sister,” Bethany informed her patiently. “The Bakers are a third generation law enforcement family. Such a shame,” she added, as if that made a difference to the tragedy, or the family’s grief. “I heard you took some time off. That’s good.”

  Jordan hadn’t sought out Bethany’s blessing, but given the circumstances, she held back the clarification. Her continued silence wasn’t enough of a hint for her ex-lover.

  “I also heard…other things. How are you doing?”

  “Okay,” Jordan answered curtly. She had no idea how Bethany managed to convince people she should be in the loop about these things, but it was no surprise that she did have a way of making it happen. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  “Baby. You don’t have to be that way with me.”

  It was out of respect for Jensen Baker that Jordan didn’t yell at her, though she wanted to.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, struggling to keep her voice quiet. “I don’t know any polite way to say it—I need you to stay out of my life from now on. No more going behind my back for any information or gossip that’s not job-related.”

  “I still care about you.”

  “Stop it, Bethany, please. I’m with someone else now.”

  “Harding doesn’t know you like I do.”

  “You think? I told her about my parents, and everything nasty that’s come out in the past few days.”

  Bethany gave her a long look, her eyes widening slightly when she got confirmation of the implied question.

  Yes, that too. I trust her enough to bring out all the garbage.

  “That was quick,” Bethany admitted. “Are you sure you two can handle that—you are both in a rough spot right now, so…Who knows what else you might remember? Anyway. She knows you don’t have a habit of being faithful, so maybe she actually does have an idea of what she’s in for.”

  “Really, here, at the funeral? That’s pathetic even for you.”

  “It’s not me you’r
e angry at. It was never me.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that.” Jordan turned and walked away, the only way she could ever win an argument with Bethany.

  * * * *

  The atmosphere at the department was subdued, everyone still reeling from the impact of the recent events. The 911 call came in at 1:17 p.m., gunshots fired in an area that was infamous for gangs and drug-related crime. The officers on the scene reported one dead, a woman in her late twenties. Jordan prayed there wouldn’t be another baby left behind—for the sake of the child and her wardrobe.

  Detective Waters, her temporary new partner, wasn’t much of a talker. Today, it was something that served Jordan well. She and Derek had grown close over the years, and maybe that made it easier to cross a line as well. After her confession to Ellie, she didn’t need another deep conversation that left her vulnerable. Solid police work meant solid ground under her feet, and it was exactly what she needed now. Ellie had switched to the night shift this week, but she had agreed to come by at the end of it.

  “Here we are,” Waters announced the obvious as he parked on the curb, next to one of a group of grey blocks rising about ten stories each. A uniformed officer greeted them at the entrance.

  “It’s on the eighth floor,” he said, “apartment 821. Mrs. Clayburn in 823 called the police. She heard arguing, a man’s voice, then shots and someone running away. We’ve started canvassing the neighborhood, nothing so far.”

  “Elevator?” Jordan asked, and he shook his head. “Yeah, I figured. Thanks.” She and Waters climbed the stairs in silence, story after story. She wasn’t surprised that the only open door belonged to the apartment that was now a crime scene. Waters paused at the top of the stairs, catching his breath.

  Jordan thought that all that extra time at the gym was paying off for her.

  Gun violence wasn’t uncommon in this part of town, but the similarities between the scenes were still disturbing. Another senseless death. It was getting to her. Maybe she should have taken more time off.

  “One gunshot to the chest, shooter knew what they were doing,” the medical examiner, kneeling next to the body, said.

  The apartment was modestly furnished, no family photos to be seen anywhere. A professional hit? Gang-related?

  There was a small desk in the corner of the room, unopened bills piled up, addressed to a Mara Lyman.

  A search of the apartment turned up no further ID—the shooter had taken Mara’s wallet with him. Probably not for riches inside, Jordan surmised, but something that could help identify the man Mara had been arguing with. An ex-boyfriend she wanted to leave? Sadly, that was a story that repeated itself over and over again.

  “He didn’t find this, though,” Waters said as he came out of the bedroom, holding up a package containing a white powder in his gloved hand. “Gives us an idea what they were arguing about, even though no one but eighty-year-old Mrs. Clayburn heard anything.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t hers,” Jordan said.

  “We’ll see when we run the prints on the ceiling panel she hid it behind. There’s more up there.”

  Jordan frowned. She didn’t like that Waters made his conclusion so quickly, dismissing hers before she’d even voiced it.

  “There’s a lot of domestic violence in this area too. She could have been just…caught in the middle.”

  “Let’s wait ‘til we have all the information, so we can make informed guesses, all right? I know what you’re thinking, but not all men are women-hating monsters. This looks all the way like an argument between two small-time drug dealers gone bad.”

  “A small-time drug dealer with excellent shooting skills.”

  “Exactly. Which doesn’t help your theory about the angry boyfriend, does it?”

  Aware of the medical examiner’s curious looks, Jordan decided she didn’t need to answer this question.

  “Let’s swing by Mrs. Clayburn and then see what else we can find on Mara,” she said.

  * * * *

  “She was a good girl.” Mrs. Clayburn shook her head in sorrow. “Always quiet and polite. She worked two jobs, one as a janitor in a high school. She loved those kids, told me once she would have liked to be a teacher.”

  Jordan could tell what Waters was thinking—easy access to potential buyers.

  “Do you know if she was seeing someone?”

  “No, I would have known.”

  That made her cringe a bit, and grateful to live in a home that stood at a considerable distance from neighbors, no matter how friendly and well-meaning. “Are you sure? You said it was a man arguing with her before the shooting?”

  “Yes…” Now she looked a little doubtful. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you what they said. Everything went so quickly, and I don’t hear very well…”

  Well enough to be sure Mara Lyman didn’t have a boyfriend…Jordan wasn’t willing to concede the theory of the vengeful ex yet.

  “She was always by herself,” Clayburn continued. “That’s how I knew something couldn’t be right when I heard the voices…and then the gunshot. I called the police right away.” Her eyes welled up. “I’m so sorry. Maybe I should have done more…”

  “You did everything right,” Jordan interrupted her. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Clayburn. If you remember anything else, please don’t hesitate to call.”

  “What was that about?” Waters asked when they had left the apartment and walked down the stairs. Eight flights of stairs, again. Jordan had preferred the silence.

  “We were done there, weren’t we? She doesn’t know anything else.”

  “Look,” he said, halting so abruptly they nearly collided. “Pratt fooled all of us. What happened was not your fault.”

  “I never said it was, but thanks anyway.”

  He shrugged, but fortunately let the subject go, and they were back to blessed silence.

  At the department, Jordan ran a check on Mara Lyman, who, on paper, was the good girl Clayburn had described, no parking tickets or unpaid bills. Jordan remembered the unopened letters in the apartment, mostly advertisements. Had Mara just come back from a trip? With someone as quiet and unassuming as the neighbor had described her, it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to think no one would notice if she was away for a short while—doing what?

  Jordan decided it was early enough to run by the school that had been one of Mara’s employers. Waters didn’t object. He didn’t seem to want to join her either, so she suppressed a sigh and left. She missed Derek already.

  * * * *

  To her surprise, there were a couple of squad cars already parked in front of the school. She hadn’t expected to see Casey and Ellie either.

  “You’re late to the party,” Casey observed. “Two kids caught with a locker full of heroin. We were just about to them a ride downtown.” She shook her head, her expression somber. “Sixteen, for God’s sake.”

  “They have bigger problems. We just found their janitor shot dead, with a kilo of heroin hidden in the ceiling.”

  “Yup, high school is not what it used to be,” Casey scoffed. “Can you imagine what’s next?”

  Unfortunately, Jordan could imagine all too well. When Child Services got her out of that trailer, they had saved her life in so many ways, even though at the time, she’d had a difficult time seeing it. Relief, guilt, anger, it was all part of the realization that the people who had brought you into the world weren’t fit to take care of you the way they should.

  “Not sure I want to,” she said. “I have to go find the principal now. I’ll check in with you later.”

  “Why don’t you let me know when you’re back, and we can bring you up to date?”

  That elicited a small smile from Ellie. Jordan thought it was a good idea too. “All right then. I’ll see you later.”

  Under the looks of curious students, she headed for the principal’s office where she knocked on the door and entered the room. A weary-looking woman got up from behind her desk, making a dismissive gesture when Jordan started to id
entify herself.

  “That’s fine. I’m Principal Allen, as you probably already know. Just please tell me it’s not something worse.”

  Jordan winced. “I’m afraid it might be. About Mara Lyman, your janitor…”

  Allen gave her a bleak look. “What about Mara? I thought this was about the drugs…wait, you’re not telling me she was involved? The drugs were uncovered in a random search, and we notified the police right away. Ms. Lyman has been sick for a while, we had to name a replacement.”

  “Mrs. Allen, I’m sorry to tell you, Mara Lyman was found dead earlier today.”

  The principal stared at her in shocked disbelief. “What’s going on? First the drugs, now Mara…”

  Yeah. I could use a change of setting too, Jordan thought tiredly. “You said she was sick. Can you tell me what exactly…”

  “Back problems, I think.” Allen opened a drawer and took out a folder, leafing through it. “She was going to get surgery for it, but meanwhile she was in so much pain she couldn’t work.”

  “To your knowledge, did she have a drug problem?”

  “Why would you say that?” Allen asked with indignation. “She was a hard worker, completely reliable until her health problems started.” She shook her head, wiping a hand over her face. “God, what a day. It’s all so unreal.”

  “I understand this is difficult, but do you have any idea about Ms. Lyman’s personal life?”

  “Hell if anyone does. She kept to herself, did her work, only talked if she had to. This is a terrible coincidence, Detective.”

  Jordan had a hard time believing that, but at this point, she didn’t need to make the woman’s day any worse.

  Chapter Nine

  “A secret admirer?” Casey asked, amused, when Ellie’s cell phone buzzed for the third time during the short drive.

  “Hell if I know. Guy keeps sending me texts. I should tell him he’s got the wrong girl.” She’d gotten a couple of messages before, “I miss you,” “I wish you were with me tonight,” clearly a wrong number, but she didn’t have the time or inclination to engage with the sender. Too many mixed emotions about this day, trying to keep it together because Kate couldn’t do it any longer. With her and Libby out, Ellie was, like a couple of her colleagues, working an extra shift.