Mercy Street (8 page)

“No point in wasting any time.”

“That’s how I look at it. And he was more than willing to get a head start on it, so I figured hey, why not. I couldn’t think of one good reason not to.”

“So you’re okay with this? Us pooling our info?”

“As long as this is kept between you, me, and Wanamaker.”

“That would have been one of my stipulations.”

“Then we’re on the same wavelength. And between you and me, I can’t say it bothers me to have your fingers in this pie. You know how much I respect you. You were a damned good detective. Charlie’s coming on board with a fine reputation: They were really upset about losing him down in Philly. I have high hopes for him.”

“One thing, Joe.” Mallory turned and started back down the path toward the bench where Charlie was waiting. “I had to sign an agreement not to discuss my employment with anyone, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to anyone.”

“Magellan made you sign an agreement not to let anyone know he’s involved?”

“Yes. Of course, you know, since Father Burch had already spoken with you, but I’d appreciate it if it didn’t go beyond you and me.”

“It’s not something I need to discuss with anyone, Mal, don’t worry about it. But what did you tell Charlie? You tell him you’re a PI? Who does he think your client is?”

“It will be a few more weeks before I’ll have my license, so I’m not pretending to be something I’m not. I told Charlie I was a friend of Mary Corcoran’s.” Mallory paused. “Which after yesterday isn’t really a lie.”

“You learn anything from her?” he asked a little too quickly. “Has she heard from the grandson?”

“Nothing yet.”

“I guess that’s one of those things you’ll talk to Charlie about if it happens, right?”

When Mallory didn’t respond, Joe said, “Well, I’m just as happy to keep this arrangement we’re talking about under wraps as well. The last thing I want is for the press to get the idea that you’re working undercover on this. It could lead to a lot of shit that neither of us needs to deal with.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” she said. “Now, why don’t you discuss that part of the arrangement with Charlie…”

Mallory sat on a bench and watched Charlie pace as his soon-to-be boss reiterated what he and Mallory had discussed. She’d known Joe would jump at the proposition, and why not? He’d want to be kept in her personal loop, to know what she knew when she knew it. It was like getting an extra detective for free. His person would be in on anything she dug up—and Joe had to know she’d dig up something before too long—and his department could take the credit for it. Between her inability to discuss her employment, and the fact that she wasn’t yet licensed, Mallory couldn’t act publicly even if she wanted to. Joe had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

“It’s fine with me as long as you’re clearing it,” Charlie was saying as he walked back to Mallory. “Did you want to talk to Mallory again? Mallory, did you need…?”

Mallory shook her head and stood up and reached for the phone after he disconnected the call.

“Joe explained that this arrangement will work as long as no one—I mean, no one—in the department or anyone else knows about it, right?” she said as she dropped the phone into her pocket. “One person finds out and we’re done. Agreed? Questions?”

“You mean, as in, why would you not want anyone in the department—or anyone else—to know we’ll be sharing our thoughts on this case?” He smiled. “You and Drabyak have your reasons, I’m sure. So no, as of right now, I have no questions.”

“Good.” She nodded. “Now, tell me about the statements that you read.”

“Theory first.” He sat next to her on the bench.

“Uh-uh. Statements first.”

He took a nickel from his pocket. “Call it.”

“Heads.”

He flipped the coin onto the walk. “Tails.” He leaned over and retrieved the nickel. “You first.”

Mallory sighed, then related her theory about the killer standing behind the boys on the swings and looking up to see Courtney at the top of the slide.

“That’s why you were photographing the sight line,” he said, nodding. “Makes sense. So what do you think went down here? You think this was a crime of opportunity? You got the two guys sitting there on the swings, just talking. Someone comes through the park, sees them sitting there, randomly decides to rob them?”

Mallory shook her head. “That doesn’t feel right.”

“So how about this: Maybe someone knew about the thousand dollars, maybe heard the kid talking about it in school, how he was going to take this money out of the bank and go buy a car. Sees the boys heading for the park, decides to follow them, see if the grand is still in the kid’s pocket.”

“Better,” she said, “but I’m still not feeling it.”

“Do we know what brought the four of them here that night?” He looked around at the park. “There have to be nicer places in Conroy where kids can hang out.”

“According to Ryan’s grandmother, they often got together here to talk. Mary said that something was bothering Courtney and she wanted to get together to talk it over with the guys.”

“Could she have known about the money?” Charlie asked thoughtfully. “Maybe set the other two up to be robbed?”

“If she was setting it up for someone else to rob them, why would she have had Ryan come along with her? Wouldn’t she have told Adam and Jamey to meet her there at a specific time, and just have the robber show up instead of bringing Ryan along with her?”

Charlie thought that over for a moment, then said, “Let’s just say we don’t know if the robbery was random or premeditated, and move on.”

“Okay. So after the shooting, you have the two boys on the ground where they’d fallen after they’d been shot. Where did the other two go?”

“The police report showed a Dumpster was over there”—she pointed toward the fence—“the night of the shooting. They could have run there to hide but…”

“Too obvious, to hide in or behind the Dumpster.” Charlie shook his head. “The killer would have caught up with them, and more likely than not shot them right there. But there was no blood on the Dumpster and no blood on the ground over there.”

“You’ve seen the Dumpster?”

“Photos. No blood,” he told her. “So where did they go?”

“I think they went over the fence.”

“Over the fence?”

“As far as I can see, it’s the only thing they could have done.” She gestured with her head. “Come on, let me show you…”

Mallory led him across the parking lot.

“Here’s where the Dumpster was.” She pointed to the spot along the fence. “I think they may have made a run for it, but maybe they were being chased. So they’re cornered here, right?”

She pointed next to the fence.

“It’s tall enough to keep most people out,” she said, “but Ryan was a big boy. Six three, two hundred twenty pounds. Played on the football team, might have played in college. We’re talking a big strong boy here, right?”

“So you think he was able to jump the fence….”

Mallory nodded. “After he lifted Courtney and got her over, yes, I think he was able to go over it.”

“Sure, he could have done it, but there’s no way of knowing for sure.” Charlie approached the metal fence and studied the top links. “You look on the other side yet?”

“No. I was going to do that today.”

“Let’s walk around and take a look.”

There was heavy traffic on the main road outside the fence, but once they turned the corner onto the one-way side street, there was none. Cars were parked on either side of the narrow road, which made a sharp turn to the right. A row of old, three-story brick homes faced the street, and an alley ran along behind them. Charlie and Mallory walked along the park fence as far as the alley, then stopped to take in their surroundings. Across the alley from the houses, a heavily wooded area led down to a creek.

“If they got over the fence, they probably got away clean.” Charlie said. “They could have run down the alley and hidden behind cars, they could have hidden in the woods over there, or they could have gone across the creek and disappeared.”

“I don’t suppose those reports you’ve been privy to mention whether or not the fence has been dusted for prints.”

“None I’ve run across. I’ll check, and if not, once I have the equipment, I’ll run back out and see if there’s anything worth lifting. In the meantime, let’s see what we’ve got here.”

Mallory went right for the fence, and began to scrutinize it while Charlie walked down toward the woods.

When he came back up, she was on her knees, staring at the fence.

“Did any of the reports mention what Courtney or Ryan was wearing that night?” she asked.

“If one did, it’s one I haven’t gotten to yet.” He leaned over her shoulder to see what she was looking at.

“There’s a bit of yellow fabric caught right there.” She pointed at a fence link with her index finger.

He came in closer to get a better look.

“Oh, yeah, we want that,” he told her. “Do you have anything to put it in?”

“Not on me.” She stood up and straightened her back as she searched her bag, pulled out her camera, and began to take pictures of the fabric in situ.

“I have some bags in my car,” he told her. “I’ll be right back….”

Mallory took seven shots, then put the camera back in her bag and got out her phone. She searched her pockets for the card upon which she’d earlier written down Mary Corcoran’s home and office numbers. She dialed the office number first.

“Mary, it’s Mallory Russo. Sorry to bother you at work, but I have just one quick question. Do you happen to know what Ryan and Courtney were wearing the night they disappeared? Do you remember?”

Mallory watched Charlie as he came around the corner and walked toward her, several brown paper bags in his hand. He certainly was easy on the eyes.

“Are you sure? You’re certain?” Mallory smiled at Charlie. “Thank you, Mary. We’ll talk again soon….”

“You’re looking smug.” Charlie’s eyes narrowed as he came closer. “Why are you looking smug?”

“According to his grandmother, on the night of the shooting, when Ryan left home, he was wearing jeans and a red T-shirt.”

“Red is not yellow, so why are you looking so smug?” he repeated, but he smiled as if he knew what was coming next.

“Courtney Bauer stopped at the Corcoran house on her way to the park. Guess what she was wearing?”

“A yellow something.”

“A yellow knit shirt.” She watched Charlie coax the bit of fabric from the broken link where it had been caught. He tucked the prize into one of the bags and sealed it. “Mary remembered because she had yellow roses in a vase in the dining room and she commented on the fact that they matched Courtney’s top.”

“So we’ll see about getting this to the lab, see if there’s anything interesting they can tell us about it.”

“Don’t hold your breath till that comes back,” she told him as he tucked the folded bag into his back pocket. “This isn’t Philly. One small lab, three lab techs—that’s all you get here. It’s going to take awhile. Unless Joe wants to use the state lab, which really isn’t much faster.”

“So how do you know about Philly?” Charlie asked.

“Joe mentioned you’d come highly recommended from there,” she admitted.

“So, the deal is, I can’t ask about you but you can ask about me?” He made a face. “Doesn’t sound like a very equitable deal to me.”

“I didn’t ask about you, he told me. And you can ask me anything you want.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Go ahead. Anything.”

“Who are you really working for?”

“Anything,” she told him as she turned heel and walked toward her car, “but that.”

EIGHT

S
o that’s Mallory Russo.

Charlie watched her drive away with a wave and a smile. Interesting to put the name and the face together. Very interesting.

Even in the faint light at the park the other night, he’d recognized her as the pretty cop with the pale blond hair and the long legs who’d come to his brother’s funeral along with several others from the force. She hadn’t known Danny, she’d told him, yet she’d come to pay her respects to his mother anyway. He hadn’t spoken with her at the funeral home, but he’d seen her and remembered her face. Eighteen months ago, he hadn’t gotten close enough to see her eyes. Today he had, and he’d found them to be an odd shade of light green, a nice contrast with her hair.

He wondered why she hadn’t mentioned that she’d been to the funeral home.

And of course he’d heard the rumors: that she’d ratted out her partner for some very minor infraction and he’d been busted back to patrol, his life ruined. What that minor infraction was, he didn’t know. He’d asked, but it had been glossed over in the telling, which made Charlie pretty sure the infraction probably hadn’t been so minor. He’d listened to the telling because there had been no way to avoid it. He’d been in the conference room three days ago reading through the playground murder files when the door opened and a tall man with a marine-style buzz cut stepped in and introduced himself.

“Hey. You’re the new guy,” he’d said, offering his hand. “Frank Toricelli. I’m one of your fellow detectives. Hear you’re coming on board soon. Just wanted to stop in and say hi.”

Charlie stood and leaned across two chairs to shake the proffered hand.

“Thanks. Yes, I start next week.”

“I see the boss is getting you tuned up.” Toricelli had nodded his head in the file’s direction.

“Yeah, he thought it would be a good idea if I got up to speed quickly on this case, since you’re apparently shorthanded right now.”

“Got ourselves a sniper.” Toricelli smiled as if that was a good thing. “Bastard’s keeping us busy, lots of OT, you know? We’re at least one man down, since we got one out on maternity leave and we were already a man down before that. So we’re short at least one man on this sniper case—this bastard is all over the place, man, he’s been a bitch to try to catch—but there’s still that playground mess. So yeah, we’re in need of some help here. Old Joe sure as hell took his sweet time finding someone.” The detective had leaned closer to Charlie, lowered his voice, and added, “We think he was kind of hoping the other one would come back, but she’s too smart for that. She knows her days would be numbered, no one watching her back, know what I mean?”

“Ah, no, not really.” Charlie had shrugged. He’d never been one for gossip; had seen firsthand what careless words could do to someone’s feelings or reputation.

“A call for backup that goes unanswered, maybe a stray bullet here or there, come on, you know the drill, man.” Toricelli had smirked. “She was smart to get out on her own when she did.”

“I don’t know who she is.”

“Russo, man. Mallory Russo.” He stared at Charlie as if the name was supposed to mean something. “Ex-detective? You mean you haven’t heard about her yet?”

“I haven’t really talked to anyone,” Charlie told him. “This is only the third time I’ve been in the building for anything more than an interview or preemployment talks, so I don’t know who or what you’re talking about.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t mention her.” His head jerked in the direction of Joe Drabyak’s office. “Shit, everyone knows he has the hots for her, and she sure as hell took advantage of that, you know? Hot chick, ambitious detective, older guy who just happens to be the lead detective. He brings her in, he pushes her up through the ranks. Then the old chief retires, he gets the nod to fill that job, moves his girl up to lead. You know how it goes. Happens every day.”

Charlie debated whether or not to tell Toricelli to save his breath, he wasn’t interested in hearing the scuttlebutt on his soon-to-be boss and some woman he had a fling with, but it would have been like trying to stop a moving train. Toricelli barely took a breath.

“Yeah, this chick, Russo, is real ambitious, you know the type. There’s one guy—one detective—between her and the promotion to lead. So what does she do? She rats him out for some stupid little thing, gets Drabyak to write the guy up—did I mention the guy was her partner for Christ’s sake?—gets him bounced back down to patrol. Figured she’d skate right into the top slot.” He laughed derisively. “Like the rest of us were going to let that happen. That bitch didn’t know what hit her, trust me. Not a soul on the force—except for the old man there, of course—no one had a word to say to her.”

“You mean you shunned her?” Charlie asked.

“Yeah, we all just stopped talking to her, wouldn’t have anything to do with her. Worst thing that can happen to a cop, you know? Not knowing if anyone would respond to a call for backup. Never knowing if anyone had her back. Made her life a fucking hell. She finally quit. Good riddance. She wasn’t that good anyway. Stupid bitch.”

“What exactly had she told Drabyak?” Charlie had asked.

“What difference does it make? What kind of cop rats out her own partner? You tell me that.”

Charlie had opened his mouth to speak at the same time the door opened and Joe Drabyak stuck his head in.

“Toricelli, I need you in my office.” The chief had glanced from one man to the other. “If you’re done bending Wanamaker’s ear.”

“Yeah, I’m done.” Toricelli had nodded. “Good to meet you. Looking forward to working with you.”

“Thanks, me too,” Charlie had replied.

He hadn’t really given the incident much thought until this afternoon, when he’d realized that the woman in the park was the much-maligned former Detective Russo.

From the little he’d already observed, he’d put his money on Russo any day. Interesting that Drabyak had so readily agreed to having him share information with her. That had to be a bit off the books, even for a small city force like Conroy’s.

Charlie turned the key in the ignition of his BMW, thinking Drabyak didn’t look like the type of guy a woman like Mallory Russo would be interested in.
I could be all wrong on that, God knows I’ve been wrong in the past when it comes to reading women. But somehow…her and Drabyak…uh-uh. Don’t see it.
So if that part of the tale was wrong, what did that say about the rest of it?

He wondered if he’d ever get the chance to ask.

Then again, maybe having Mallory involved was Drabyak’s way of covering his ass should Charlie turn out to be a bad decision on his part.

Not that that could happen,
Charlie told himself. He’d been damned good in Philly, and he’d be damned good here as well.

Drabyak’s faith in Mallory didn’t seem to be misplaced, though, Charlie’d give her that. He liked the way she’d walked the crime scene and played it out in her head, piecing it together. And finding that bit of fabric on the other side of the fence, well, that was heads-up work. While he believed that, on his own, he’d have checked both sides of the fence for evidence, he had to give her credit for having thought of it first. He was impressed by her quick mind and her focus on the case. Obviously she still had it in her blood or she wouldn’t be putting so much of her time and energy into the case. A case, he reminded himself, she wasn’t even getting paid to work.

Or was she? He’d asked her who she was working for on a whim, and she’d slammed that door unexpectedly fast, surprising him. He wasn’t even sure why he’d asked; he hadn’t thought about it before the question came out of his mouth. After years on the job, you just develop a sixth sense about things, he rationalized. But once it was out there, he’d expected any answer other than the one she gave. He hadn’t consciously thought she was on someone’s payroll, but if she was, why wouldn’t she just say so?

Doesn’t matter,
he told himself. She’s good at what she did, and let’s face it, she’s damned easy on the eyes. He’d have to be blind not to notice the woman was exceptionally well put together. He’d always been a sucker for a pretty blonde, and Mallory was more than just pretty, with those pale green eyes and bow-shaped mouth. She’d be even prettier if she smiled more, he thought, and found himself wondering what it would take to make her face light up, what would make her throw her head back and laugh out loud.

He parked in front of the one-level masonry house on Fourth Street where his family had lived since 1997, when his father died and the family circumstances changed drastically. His father had lost his job just months earlier, and with his job had gone his benefits, including the only life insurance policy he’d had. The death of Charlie Senior had taken the family from their lovely brick colonial in Toby Falls to the tired little ranch in this tired neighborhood. Charlie had been three years out of college and still working off his obligation to the navy—tuition, room, and board in return for four years of service after graduation—and though he’d come home to help with the move from one house to the other, he’d never really felt the full impact of that move. Chances were he still wouldn’t have if his mother’s next-door neighbor, Lena Woods, hadn’t called him six weeks ago to tell him just how bad things had gotten and ask him when he was going to do something about it.

Charlie had never lived in this small house, which even all these years later he thought of as the “new” house. He’d grown up in their old home, and all of his childhood memories had been made there. He’d come here for occasional visits, holidays and special family event days, but he hadn’t stayed. On those visits, he’d slept on the sleeper sofa in the basement recreation room, since this house had three bedrooms, and all of them were occupied. He’d never really minded sleeping in the basement, though. It gave his visit more of a transitory flavor, and for years that was fine with him.

Not anymore, he reminded himself as he grabbed the morning paper from the lawn where it had been tossed and forgotten, and unlocked the front door.

The house was dark, as it generally was these days, and quiet—also normal—so much so that upon entering the tiny space that served as a front foyer, Charlie could hear water dripping from the spigot in the kitchen sink. He turned on the hall light and followed the sound of the drip.

“Charlie’s home! Charlie’s home! Charlie’s home!” The whirlwind that was his sister flashed into the kitchen. “I drew a picture for you! Come see! Come see! Come see!”

Ah,
he thought.
Today everything comes in threes.

“I’m coming, Jilly,” he told her as she grabbed on to his arm and tugged him along with her to her room. “Show me what you did today.”

“See see see,” she said as she dragged him to the small table in the corner of her bedroom. “A bird! A bird! A bird!”

“I do see,” he replied, studying the picture at the same time he glanced around. He could always tell what kind of a day Jilly’d had by the state of her bedroom. On a good day, the room was tidy, everything put away neatly if not compulsively. On a bad day, the room reflected the chaos that sometimes stirred in Jilly’s mind, and on those days anything could—and often did—happen. Today Jilly’s desk was neat as a pin. So far, so good.

It was one of the two reasons Charlie came back to Conroy.

“You drew a great bird, Jilly. A beautiful bird,” he told her.

“More.” She pointed to him gravely. “More more.”

“A beautiful bird,” he repeated. Then because today was a
three
day, he said it again. “A beautiful bird.”

Jilly smiled broadly, and he reached for the picture she held out to him just as his cell phone rang. His sister clapped her hands over her ears and moaned, falling to the floor in a heap, a look of intense pain on her face. He fumbled with the phone in his pocket to turn it off.

“Jesus, Charlie!” his mother called from the next room. “Damn it, how many times have I told you to turn that damned thing off before you come into the house? You know what it does to her.”

Without responding, Charlie sank to the floor next to his sister and held her, rocked her, until the pain stopped. It happened every time she heard a bell or a siren or a car horn. It was one of those things that parents of autistic kids had to learn to deal with.

Unfortunately, his mother’s way of dealing was to drink herself into a near stupor by late afternoon every day. Which meant the skills that Jilly had acquired during all those years at Riverside had fallen by the wayside. Her teachers had stressed the importance of consistency and routine, but it was apparent that there’d been precious little of either in Jilly’s life over the past several years. Now, at twenty, it seemed she had regressed. She looked like a typical pretty young woman, with her strawberry-blond ponytail and pert face, but she had the social skills of a child. Something had to change, for both his mother’s and his sister’s sakes.

Mary Jo Wanamaker stood in the doorway, her light brown hair pulled back into a bun that earlier in the day might have been neat. She wore a short-sleeved yellow sweatshirt, brown capri-length leggings, and white flip-flops. She was fifty-seven years old and dressed as if she were thirty years younger. Charlie wasn’t sure what he felt when he looked at her. Love, certainly, and equal amounts of sympathy and confusion.

“You set her off, you can calm her down,” his mother said, her words slightly slurred.

“She’s calm, Mom, she’s fine,” he said softly, Jilly’s head still resting on his shoulder.

“Fine?” His mother rolled her eyes. “Right. Fine.”

“Jilly, will you draw another bird for me?” Charlie helped his sister to her feet. “Will you draw one more with blue feathers for me?”

“Blue.” Jilly repeated the word. Blue was Jilly’s favorite color. “Blue. Blue.”

He guided her to her table and pulled out the chair for her. She sat and searched her crayon box for just the right shade.

“Blue. Blue. Blue.”

Charlie turned to his mother. “I think we need to talk, Mom.”

“Not tonight, Charlie.” His mother left the room. “I’m going down to Everett’s with Gail. They’ve got a band on Thursday night and…”