Crash and Burn (5 page)

“McMillan would tell me,” she muttered.

“Do you know the victim?”

“No,” she said. She wished she’d gotten a look at the kid’s face, but it had been buried in the sand. But the jerk who’d verbally gone after Isaac had been wearing a red polo shirt and board shorts; the victim was in a white T-shirt with a surfer emblem on the back.

“Will you go home?”

She glanced at him, assessing the situation. “Do I have to?”

Before Maddox answered the question, he listened to his shoulder radio. The dispatcher was generally background noise, but Scarlet picked up on what interested Maddox.

“Possible gun shot victim, one-six-two-one-one West Oceanfront. Caller is female, says her name is Valerie Powell. She’s unable to calm down. Identified the victim as a white male, age twenty-two, named Richie. No last name given.”

Maddox responded with his badge number and that he would investigate. Three of the other patrols pulled out.

He said to Scarlet, “Don’t ask.”

She knew exactly what he meant. This wasn’t a ride-along and Bishop would be angry if she were there. “I won’t.”

That section of West Oceanfront was two blocks from the bar—in the opposite direction. Two victims of a shooting, four blocks apart, one gunshot.

Except, the ocean may have masked the sound of a bullet. The angle of the sloping beach, the wind, the ocean—she might not have heard the first gunshot, even though she was outside on her deck only a couple blocks away.

One of the officers was talking to Bishop. He then strode toward the bike path. He glanced over to where she was standing, surprised to see her still here. He walked over to her, antsy. “I told one of the patrols to take you home.”

“I’m going,” she said, itching to join Bishop at the crime scene.

He hesitated, then said, “I still need to talk to you. What’s your address?”

She told him and said, “I’ll have coffee ready. Hope you like it strong.”

Scarlet went back to Diego’s, scaled her wall, went down to the bar to start a pot of coffee, then back up to her deck with a set of high-powered military-grade binoculars. She could see the flashing lights over on West Oceanfront. Unfortunately, she wasn’t high enough to see over the houses. She pulled a table over to her roof ledge, then pulled herself up onto the flat roof and hoped it was up to code and she wouldn’t crash all the way down to the bar. From here, she could definitely see the street. The house where the gunshot had been reported was the third from the corner. She saw Maddox standing in the front, keeping nosy neighbors from breeching the barrier. Bishop was at the door talking to a brunette girl who looked to be about twenty or twenty-one. She was wrapped in a blanket and obviously hysterical.

Scarlet’s chest fell. That was the girl from the bar. The one who Isaac said had been drugged.

~ ~ ~

“What the
hell
are you doing here, Moreno?”

Alex Bishop was livid. His blue eyes darkened and he looked like he wanted to hit her as he approached.

She’d had no choice but to explain.

“That girl, Valerie, she was possibly drugged earlier tonight. You have to get her tested for Rohypnol, ketamine, all the designer date rape drugs. And she should also have a rape kit done.”

“She said nothing about being raped.” But he glanced over to where a female patrol officer was standing with Valerie. He could see exactly what Scarlet saw—the glassy look in her eyes, her inability to focus. “Don’t move a muscle,” Bishop ordered, then walked over to the cop.

Scarlet stepped forward, mostly out of spite. She hated being ordered around by anyone.

Bishop briefly spoke to the patrol officer in private, then the cop went back to Valerie and escorted her to the paramedics who had been working on the victim. When Scarlet first got here, she’d learned that the gunshot victim wasn’t dead, but he was unconscious. She couldn’t see what he was wearing, but it looked like a red polo shirt. Was he the jerk who’d confronted Isaac? The same bastard Heather saw drugging Valerie’s drink?

Bishop returned with his jaw locked, angry. “What’s going on?”

“I live in the apartment above Diego’s Pub. Earlier tonight, the bartender ejected a group of college students after he learned they’d spiked the drinks.”

“How do you know that?”

“Last spring, before you got to Newport, there was a rash of date rapes by guys drugging unsuspecting girls at bars all up and down the peninsula. They’d spike their drinks. The bars started giving away the coasters to any girl who asked. Ask Hank Riley about it—he put together the task force that took them down.” With her help, but she didn’t add that. She needed Bishop on her side, not in competition.

Bishop closed his eyes, slowly shook his head and muttered under his breath, “You know the lieutenant.”

She also decided against telling him about the job offer, or about how Hank was a friend who often hung out at Diego’s. “Anyway,” she continued without answering his question directly, “I told Heather, Diego’s waitress, to keep the coasters handy and use them if needed. She suspected one of the college boys had drugged the girls’ drinks, checked the glass when she cleared the mugs, and told the bartender it tested positive.”

“And the bartender didn’t call the cops?” Bishop wasn’t an idiot.

“And what would we be able to do?” She realized she’d slipped. She wasn’t a cop anymore, she reminded herself. There was no
we.
“I told him, next time call the cops and maybe they could find probable cause to search for illicit drugs. But you know as well as I do how hard it is to prove.”

He conceded the point with a slight nod of his head. “And the boys went willingly?”

“More or less.”

“You’d better tell me the truth or I’ll arrest you for obstruction of justice.”

She stared at him wide-eyed. “I’m the one who came here and gave you information there was no way you’d get on your own.”

“I’d have tracked them to Diego’s.”

“How quickly?”

“And how did you know? I told you to stay home.”

“I saw from my roof.”

“Good eyesight.”

“The best.” She was getting tired of the games. “Look, it’s late. Isaac told the two girls—Valerie and a blonde—that the boys had drugged their drinks. The girls left. A couple of the guys stayed behind and got in Isaac’s face. I came downstairs and made sure the situation didn’t get out of hand. The kid left with his friends, and there were no other problems. Until the gunshot woke me up.”

“And you only heard one.”

She nodded. “I think the shot I heard was this one. In hindsight, if the other victim was shot at the lifeguard tower, it might not have been loud enough to wake me up.”

He tensed. “How do you know he was shot at the tower?”

Bingo. She’d been fishing for information, but based on where the forensics team was looking for evidence and the trail in the sand, she’d suspected Mr. White Shirt had been shot at the tower and dragged himself up until he collapsed and died. She resisted the urge to mark the air with her victory. “An educated guess.”

“Stay out of this, Moreno.”

“I can’t.”

“It’s an order.”

“If this has anything to do with what happened at the bar tonight, I’m going to be involved one way or the other. You need me.”

“I don’t need a disgraced cop as back-up.”

Scarlet froze. Rage, embarrassment and deep, numbing pain bubbled inside. How dare he! What did he think he knew?

“You know nothing about me,” she said through clenched teeth. Then she left before she did something she’d regret.

Chapter Five

Scarlet crashed from five in the morning until eight. She was getting too old to survive on three hours of sleep.

She started a pot of coffee, then took a quick shower. She towel-dried and finger-combed her mousy hair, slipped on her favorite jeans and a tank top, and took a large cup of black coffee out to her deck. It was already getting hot.

She called Mac, the part-time computer genius Krista had found last year when their other part-time computer genius had graduated from Fullerton and found himself a six-figure job with benefits. She expected that when Mac graduated he, too, would leave them and they’d have to train yet another college student. Because they certainly couldn’t pay enough to keep someone on staff full-time.

“Yep,” he answered.

“I need some background checks. Can you do it? Today?”

“It’s Saturday. I might not be able to do a full file until Monday.”

“Just whatever you can.”

“Who?”

She gave him Jim Douglas’s name and contact information, and Wendy Anderson. She only had her license plate number and age, but that should be enough to get Mac started.

“That it?”

“One more—there’s a new detective here in Newport. Alex Bishop. Started four months ago. Just whatever you can find on him without raising any flags.”

“You want me to investigate a cop?”

“I said no flags.” What was with people lately? Wasn’t she clear? “We had a murder on the beach last night, and Bishop is the lead investigator. I want to know what to expect from him.”

“Okay. I’ll call you later.” He hung up.

Scarlet leaned back in the chair and counted while watching the surf. She’d reached thirty-seven when her cell phone rang.

“Hello, Krista,” she said without looking at caller ID.

“Someone was murdered on the beach?” Krista said immediately.

Scarlet loved when she was right. Mac lived in the apartment over Krista’s garage and told her everything.

She filled her in on the details—as much as she knew, anyway. The phone line was so quiet, Scarlet thought she’d lost the call.

“Krista?”

“I’m here.”

Again, silence.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I know you, Scarlet. You won’t be able to help yourself. Just play nice with the new detective, okay?”

“Always.”

Krista laughed heartily. “I have to go meet Diane Stark, then I have my self-defense class.” Once a month, Krista taught women self-defense at the local recreation center. Scarlet admired Krista’s drive to give back to her community, and a free self-defense class taught by a black belt in Tae Kwon Do was something everyone should take advantage of. “If you need help, holler. I have no other plans this weekend.”

“Weren’t you going to finish retiling your bathroom?”

“You’re just being cruel. Later.”

Scarlet grinned as she hung up. She loved teasing Krista.

She poured herself a second cup of coffee and considered that maybe she hadn’t been pulling her weight at the firm. She’d promised Krista after she quit the force that she was one hundred percent committed to making Moreno & Hart a success. But if she were honest with herself, her heart was still blue and she yearned to have a badge. That was clear last night when she itched to take over Bishop’s investigation when she had no authority to do so. Krista was the one who pushed the defense lawyers to hire them. They hadn’t gotten a lot from her effort, a few bones here and there, but it was still mostly Krista pounding the pavement.

She frowned. Krista also handled all the accounting, went into the office every day, and paid their bills. Scarlet didn’t even know how much business she brought in versus Krista, but she suspected that she was on the very short side.

She was going to have to remedy that. Maybe, in hindsight, she should’ve let Jim Douglas hire her. Instead, she’d pushed him away—practically ran him off. She’d even paid for the beer he drank.

“You’re an idiot,” she muttered out loud.

Scarlet stood on her deck and watched the ocean as she finished her coffee. She considered last night, and what she should have done—and shouldn’t have done. Maybe she shouldn’t have antagonized Detective Bishop. But then he’d gone and brought up her past, and she couldn’t just take it.

“Arrogant jerk,” she muttered under her breath.

She considered going for a morning run, which always put her in a good mood, but when her cell phone rang with an unfamiliar number, she grabbed it.

“Moreno,” she answered.

“Is this Scarlet Moreno?” a woman’s voice said.

Hadn’t she just answered the phone with her name? Scarlet rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“I’m Wendy Anderson. We met yesterday when my ex-boyfriend rear-ended me.”

Please, God, let this be a joke.

“I remember,” she said flatly.

“I want to hire you.”

“For what?”

“To get my stuff back from Jimmy.”

No no no.
Scarlet didn’t want to touch this with a ten-foot pole.

Wendy continued. “I have a list. I have a restraining order on him. It’s not like I can just go over to his house.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

She hesitated. “No.” The pout was evident in her voice. “And he won’t bring my things to my parents’ house. I asked. Repeatedly. And then he just up and moved.”

“It’s the weekend,” she began, trying to think of a way to get out of this.

“I’ll pay double your rates. What do you make? My dad pays his lawyer two hundred fifty dollars an hour. Is that enough?”

She would have spewed coffee if she’d been drinking. “Yes, but—”

“I have a condo in Huntington.” She rattled off an address that Scarlet knew cost a minimum of a million per unit, more if there was a view. “Please, Scarlet, I want my stuff and Jimmy is being an ass.”

Hadn’t she just been lamenting that she hadn’t been bringing in business? That Krista was really the only one looking for work? This job just landed in her lap. How could she say no?

“We require a one-day minimum, plus expenses.”

“Great!” She sounded overjoyed. “I’ll have a check for you when you get here.” She hung up.

Two thousand dollars for a day’s work. How could she turn it down?

~ ~ ~

Wendy Anderson’s top-floor condo had a view. Two of Scarlet’s studios could fit in the bright, white living room. She also had an espresso machine, and fresh coffee greeted Scarlet as well as Wendy’s overly bright smile.

“I’m so glad you came,” she said.

“I said I would,” Scarlet mumbled.