Convincing Alex (12 page)

“Romantic, isn't he?” she said to Judd. “Just sends shivers down my spine.”

“Keep a lid on it, McNee,” Alex told her, refusing to be amused. He pulled her through a grimy door into an airless shop.

It took her a minute to get her bearings in the dim light. There
were shelves and shelves crowded with dusty merchandise. Radios, picture frames, kitchenware. A tuba. A huge glass display counter with a diagonal crack across it dominated one wall. Security glass ran to the ceiling. Cutting through it was a window, like a bank teller's, studded with bars.

“A pawnshop,” Bess said, with such obvious delight that Alex snarled at her.

“One word about atmosphere, I'll clobber you.”

But she was already dragging out her notebook. “Go ahead, do what you have to do. You won't even know I'm here.”

Sure, he thought. How would anyone know she was there, simply because that sunshine scent of hers cut right through the grime and must? He stepped up to the counter just as a scrawny man in a loose white shirt came through the rear door.

“Stanislaski.”

“Boomer. What have you got for me?”

Grinning, Boomer passed a hand over his heavily greased black hair. “Come on, I got some good stuff, and you know I make a point of cooperating with the law. But a man's got to make a living.”

“You make one ripping off every poor slob who walks through the door.”

“Aw, now you hurt my feelings.” Boomer's pale blue eyes glittered. “Rookie?” he asked, nodding at Judd.

“He used to be.”

After an appraising look, Boomer glanced over at Bess. She was busy poking through his merchandise. “Looks like I got me a customer. Hang on.”

“She's with me.” Alex shot him a knife-edged look that forestalled any questions. “Just forget she's here.”

Boomer had already appraised the trio of rings on Bess's right hand, and the blue topaz drops at her ears. He sighed his disappointment. “You're the boss, Stanislaski. But listen, I like to be discreet.”

Alex leaned on the counter, like a man ready to shoot the bull for hours. His voice was soft, and deadly. “Jerk my chain, Boomer, and I'm going to have to come down here and take a hard look at what you keep in that back room.”

“Stock. Just stock.” But he grinned. He didn't have any illusions about Alex. Boomer knew when he was detested, but he also knew they had an agreement of sorts. And, thus far, it had been advantageous to both of them. “I got something on those hookers that got sliced up.”

Though his expression didn't change, though he didn't move a muscle, Alex went on alert. “What kind of something?”

Boomer merely smiled and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. When Alex drew out a twenty, it disappeared quickly through the bars. “Twenty more, if you like what I have to say.”

“If it's worth it, you'll get it.”

“You know I trust you.” Smelling of hair grease and sweat, Boomer leaned closer. “Word on the street is you're looking for some high roller. Guy's name's Jack.”

“So far I'm not impressed.”

“Just building up to it, pal. The first one that was wasted? She was one of Big Ed's wives. I recognized her from the newspaper picture. Now, she was fine-looking. Not that I ever used her services.”

“Turn the page, Boomer.”

“Okay, okay.” He shot a grin at Judd. “He don't like conversation. I heard both those unfortunate ladies were in possession of a certain piece of jewelry.”

“You've got good ears.”

“Man in my position hears things. It so happens I had a young lady come in just yesterday. She had a certain piece of jewelry she wanted to exchange.” Opening a drawer, Boomer pulled out a thin gold chain. Dangling from it was a heart, cracked down the center. When Alex held out a hand, Boomer shook his head. “I gave her twenty for it.”

Saying nothing, Alex pulled another bill out of his wallet.

“Seems to me I'm entitled to a certain amount of profit.”

Eyes steady, Alex pulled the twenty back an inch. “You're entitled to go in and answer a bunch of nasty questions down at the cop shop.”

With a shrug, Boomer exchanged the bill for the heart. He'd only given ten for it, in any case. “She wasn't much more than a kid,” Boomer added. “Eighteen, maybe twenty at a stretch. Still pretty. Bottle blonde, blue eyes. Little mole right here.” He tapped beside his left eyebrow.

“Got an address?”

“Well, now…”

“Twenty for the address, Boomer.” Alex's tone told the man to take it. “That's it.”

Satisfied, Boomer named a hotel a few blocks away. “Signed her name Crystal,” he added, wanting to keep the partnership intact. “Crystal LaRue. Figure she made it up.”

“Let's check it out,” he said to Judd, then tapped Bess on the shoulder. She was apparently absorbed in an ugly brass lamp in the shape of a rearing horse. “Let's go.”

“In a minute.” She turned a smile on Boomer. “How much?”

“Oh, for you—”

“Forget it.” Alex was dragging her to the door.

“I want to buy—”

“It's ugly.”

Annoyed at the loss, but pleased to have recorded the entire conversation, she sighed. “That's the point.” But she climbed meekly into the car and began to scribble her impressions in her book.

By the time she'd finished scribbling, Alex was pulling to the curb again.

“Same rules,” he said to Bess as they climbed out of the car.

“Absolutely.” Lips pursed, she studied the crumbling hotel. She recognized it as a rent-by-the-hour special. “Is this where she lives?”

“Who?”

“The girl you were talking about.” She lifted a brow. “I have ears, too, Alexi.”

He should have known. “As long as you keep your mouth shut.”

“There's no need to be rude,” she told him as they started in. “Tell you what, just to show there's no hard feelings, I'll buy you both lunch.”

“Great.” Judd gallantly opened the door for her.

“You're so easy,” Alex muttered to his partner as they entered the filthy lobby.

“Hey, we gotta eat sometime.”

He hated to bring her in here, Alex realized. Into this dirty place that smelled of garbage and moldy dreams. How could she be so un
affected by it? he wondered, then struggled to put thoughts of her aside as he approached the desk clerk.

“You got a Crystal LaRue?”

The clerk peered over his newspaper. There was an unfiltered cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth and total disinterest in his eyes. “Don't ask for names.”

Alex merely pulled out his badge, flashed it. “Blonde, about eighteen. Good-looking. A beauty mark beside her eyebrow. Working girl.”

“Don't ask what they do for a living, neither.” With a shrug, the clerk went back to his paper. “Two-twelve.”

“She in?”

“Haven't seen her go out.”

With Bess trailing behind, they started up the steps. To entertain herself, she read the various tenants' suggestions and statements that were scrawled on the walls.

There was a screaming match in progress behind one of the doors on the first floor. Someone was banging on the wall from a neighboring room and demanding—in colorful terms—that the two opponents quiet down.

A bag of garbage had spilled on the stairs between the second and first floors. It had gone very ripe.

Alex rapped on the door of 212, waited. He rapped again and called out. “Crystal. Need to talk to you.”

With a glance at Judd, Alex tried the door. The knob turned easily. “In a place like this, you'd think she'd lock it,” Judd commented.

“And wire it with explosives,” Alex added. He slipped out his gun, and Judd did the same. “Stay in the hall,” he ordered Bess without looking at her. They went through the door, guns at the ready.

She did exactly what she was told. But that didn't stop her from seeing. Crystal hadn't gone out, and she wouldn't be walking the streets again. As the door hung open, Bess stared at what was sprawled across the sagging mattress inside. The stench of blood—and worse—streamed through the open doorway.

Death. Violent death. She had written about it, discussed it, watched gleefully as it was acted out for the cameras.

But she'd never seen it face-to-face. Had never known how completely a human being could be turned into a thing.

From far away, she heard Alex swear, over and over, but she could only stare, frozen, until his body blocked her view. He had his hands on her shoulders, squeezing. God, she was cold, Bess thought. She'd never been so cold.

“I want you to go downstairs.”

She managed to lift her gaze from his chin to his eyes. The iced fury in them had her shivering. “What?”

He nearly swore again. She was white as a sheet, and her pupils had contracted until they were hardly bigger than the point of a pin. “Go downstairs, Bess.” He tried to rub the chill out of her arms, knowing he couldn't. “Are you listening to me?” he said, his voice quiet, gentle.

“Yes.” She moistened her lips, pressed them together. “I'm sorry, yes.”

“Go down, stay in the lobby. Don't say anything, don't do anything, until Judd or I come down. Okay?” He gave her a little shake, and wondered what he would do if she folded on him. “Okay?”

She took one shaky breath, then nodded. “She's…so young.” With an effort, she swallowed the sickness that kept threatening to rise in her throat. “I'm all right. Don't worry about me. I'm all right,” she repeated, then turned away to go downstairs.

“She shouldn't have seen this,” Judd said. His own stomach was quivering.

“Nobody should see this.” Banking down on every emotion, Alex closed the door at his back.

 

She stuck it out, refusing to budge when Judd came down to drive her home. After finding an old chair, she settled into a corner while the business of death went on around her. From her vantage point, she watched them come and go—forensics, the police photographer, the morgue.

Detached, she studied the people who crowded in, asking questions, making comments, being shuffled out again by blank-faced cops.

There was grief in her for a girl she hadn't known, a fury at the waste of a life. But she remained. Not because of the job. Because of Alex.

He was angry with her. She understood it, and didn't question it. When they were finished at the scene, she rode in silence in the back of the car. Back at the station, she took the same chair she'd had that morning.

Hours went by, endlessly long. At one point she slipped out and bought Alex and Judd sandwiches from a deli. After a time, he went into another room. She followed, still silent, noted a board with pictures tacked to it. Horrible pictures.

She looked away from them, took a chair and listened while Alex and other detectives discussed the latest murder and the ongoing investigation.

Later, she rode with him back to the pawnshop. Waited patiently while he questioned Boomer again. Waited longer while he and Judd returned to the motel to reinterview the clerk, the tenants.

Like them, she learned little about Crystal LaRue. Her name had been Kathy Segal, and she'd once lived in Wisconsin. It had been hard, terribly hard, for Bess to listen when Alex tracked down and notified her parents. Hard, too, to understand from Alex's end of the conversation that they didn't care. For them, their daughter had already been dead.

She'd been nobody's girl. She'd worked the streets on her own. Two months after she moved into the tiny little room with the sagging mattress, she had died there. No one had known her. No one had wanted to know her.

No one had cared.

Alex couldn't talk to Bess. It was impossible for him. Intolerable. He shared this part of his life with no one who mattered to him. It was true that his sister Rachel saw some of it as a public defender but as far as Alex was concerned that was too much. Perhaps that was why he kept all the pieces he could away from the rest of his family and loved ones.

He hated remembering the look on Bess's face as she'd stood in that doorway. There should have been a way to protect her from that, to shield her from her own stubbornness.

But he hadn't protected her, he hadn't shielded her, though that was precisely what he had sworn to do for people he'd never met from the first day he'd worn a badge. Yet for her, for the woman he was—God, yes, the woman he was in love with—he'd opened the door himself and let her in.

So he didn't talk to her, not even when it was time to turn it off and go home. And in the silence, his anger built and swelled and clawed at his guts. He found the words when he stepped into her apartment and closed the door.

“Did you get enough?”

Bess was in no mood to fight. Her emotions, always close to the surface, had been wrung dry by what she'd seen and heard that day. She would let him yell, if that was what he needed, but she was tired, she was aching, and her heart went out to him.

“Let me get you a drink,” she said quietly, but he snagged her arm and whirled her back.

“Is it all in your notes?” That cold, terribly controlled fury swiped out at her. “Can you find a way to use it to entertain those millions of daytime viewers?”

“I'm sorry.” It was all she could think of. “Alexi, I'm so sorry.” She took a deep breath. “I want a brandy. I'll get us both one.”

“Fine. A nice, civilized brandy is just what we need.”

She walked away to choose a bottle from an old lacquered cabinet. “I don't know what you want me to say.” Very carefully, very deliberately, she poured two snifters. “I'll apologize for choosing today to do this, if that helps. I'll apologize for making it more difficult for you by being there when this happened.” She brought the snifter to him, but he didn't take it. “Right now, I'd be willing to say anything you'd like to hear.”