Safeword (8 page)

“House was demolished, victim was a cop restrained with his own handcuffs.”

“Any differences?” I asked rigidly.

“Not sure yet. The patrol officers responded to a noise complaint from a neighbor and found the front door cracked, loud music playing.”

“Music?” My brow furrowed in confusion. “Was there music at Stevenson’s place?”

“We got there too late, and it wasn’t in patrol’s report. We’ll have to follow up.”

“What was the song?”

“‘Black Velvet’ by Alannah Myles.”

“Think it means something?”

“Could,” she answered, grabbing the oh-shit bar above her window as I swung off the interstate and barreled around a corner.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

“Can you do this? Work with Trent?”

Could I? Trent flew so far under my radar anymore, I hadn’t even registered him as a possibility when Myah called him my favorite person. He was a non-entity. “Yeah, I think so. Long as he doesn’t fuck with me, I won’t fuck with him.”

“Kittridge specifically said if Trent puts a finger out of bounds to let him know. He’s leashed.” She didn’t sound convinced, though. She’d heard enough through inter-departmental gossip to know Trent had friends who would back up his claims of innocence even if he did get in my face.

“Whatever. We have another dead officer, Myah. I’m more interested in what the fuck is up with that.” We’d reached our destination and I threw the car in park with a surety I hadn’t felt in a long time. Determination, that old friend, had cloaked itself over my shoulders. Despite my innards shaking with fear that we had a repeater on our hands, I knew this would be the case I could burrow in to find myself again.

“Well, I see the brass thought we needed a woman’s touch on this,” Trent drawled when we entered the bedroom where Doug Halloran’s body had been found. “And they assigned Myah Hayes, too. My lucky day.”

I moved to the side of the bed, picking through the strewn belongings on the floor, totally ignoring my former partner. Myah, however, wasn’t about to let the barb go.

“Brass needed someone smart on it, so of course they assigned Gavin and me.”

I pulled on a pair of gloves before touching anything, noting an empty mp3 player docking station on the bedside table.

“Anyone see his iPod?”

“In this mess? You’re kidding right?” Trent asked.

“So how was there music playing when patrol arrived?”

“CD,” Trent sneered. “A little gung-ho aren’t you? We haven’t even begun to inventory the scene. Your brother thought he should start in the kitchen, but I don’t fucking know why. Jencopale will be here soon and doesn’t have time to wait around for the nerds to catalogue evidence before he can take the body to the freezer.” A couple of said nerds snapping photos of the body
in situ
took a moment to glare at Trent.

“Are you always this heartless a bastard when one of your own has been murdered?” Already, the periodic elements paraded through my brain, not in an effort to stave off panic, but to keep my temper in check. Calming techniques were calming techniques, regardless of why they were necessary.

His face shuttered, the jock attitude falling away and his eyes flickered uncomfortably to the body.
Ah, so that’s it
. The bravado was a coping mechanism. Find someone else to point the discomfort at and it can be managed. I was Trent’s punching bag. Fabulous.

“Found the murder weapon,” Cole announced, stepping into the room and holding a clear plastic bag with blood smears on it. My memory flashed to the screwdriver at Arnold’s, but this one was different. “Chef’s knife? Ouch.”

Cole nodded. “Perp put it back in the block on the counter, easy as you please. Most people would have walked right by it.”

“You’re not most people,” Myah smiled affectionately.

“Oh Jesus,” Trent grumbled, rolling his eyes.

I bent over the body, examining the stab wounds peppered around his chest and neck. There weren’t many. One penetrated very close to his heart, and had delivered what I assumed was the fatal puncture.

“So we have a handy weapon from the victim’s residence, potential missing electronics, an officer restrained with his own handcuffs, and a ransacked house. Looks similar so far, wouldn’t you say, Myah?” I asked, ignoring Trent completely.

“Yes. Maybe there’s DNA evidence here, too.”

As surreptitiously as I could, I studied the victim for obvious semen stains or signs of anal penetration. Without moving him, I couldn’t tell.

“Similar to what?” Trent demanded. His partner, who had yet to introduce himself was crouched, sifting through the detritus on the floor. The mention of another case made his head snap up.

“Similar to the murder of Arnold Stevenson,” Myah answered, steely gaze daring Trent to challenge her in any way. She was spoiling for a reason to knock him down a peg.

“Stevenson, the detective who broke the Strange case?” Trent’s partner finally spoke, his voice containing respect as well as regret at the mention of our fallen colleague.

“Yes. What’s your name?” She was blunt, my partner.

“Sorry.” The man stepped forward, holding out a gloved hand for her to shake. “John Ditmar.” I noticed he didn’t offer to shake my hand, his glance in my direction losing some pleasantness.

“How’d the perp get in?”

“Bump key,” Trent replied. “Tumblers in the lock were broken but the outside wasn’t damaged. Perp took the key with him.”

“Could have taken Arnold’s,” I mused. Myah nodded, watching Cole step around the bed, camera in hand. “Not very experienced if he broke the lock pins.”

A bump key was a modified house key that, when used in conjunction with a tap of the handle of a screwdriver to the end of the key, could open almost any deadbolt. Police and locksmiths carried them for safety reasons, and the scariest thing about them was, with the right know-how, they could be made for the cost of a hand-held metal file. Most intruders wouldn’t look out of place diddling with the lock either, because a bump key took seconds to use. Someone practiced didn’t even leave visible evidence. But hit it too hard, the pins inside broke, rendering the lock useless, as our perp apparently had done. There were specially manufactured locks that claimed to circumvent bump keys, but they were wildly expensive and the average homeowner didn’t bother.

The best intruder deterrent? A fully armed alarm system with tamper-proof connection to fire, police, and a monitoring agency. Or a really big dog with guard training.

Doug Halloran had neither.

“We’re all sitting ducks, aren’t we?” Myah said, her voice tinged with sadness as she gazed at the young officer whose glazed focus was out of this plane of existence. “It can happen to any one of us.”

“If you ask me, it didn’t happen far enough to one of us,” Trent murmured. I recoiled as if slapped.

Despite the mess on the floor, Myah moved cat-quick, and the next thing I knew, she had Trent slammed against the wall, her forearm across his windpipe, her beautiful face snarling an inch from his.

“What did you say?” she asked menacingly.

Trent smirked at her, making no attempt to dislodge himself. However, his face turned red and his breathing whistled through his restricted windpipe. She was a strong girl, my partner, and she’d gotten herself set, her center of gravity low and difficult to unbalance, just like our training taught us. If he wanted to get free, he’d need leverage he probably couldn’t find without hurting her. Even though he was an asshole, I doubted he’d do that, especially to a woman as beautiful as Myah. Trent was so predictable.

“Let him go, Hayes,” I said wearily. The man had betrayed
me,
yet thought I should have died? Because I was gay? I didn’t want to admit how much that got to me, so I did my best to close off my expression and sound bored. I probably didn’t pull it off. “Not worth the paperwork, even if it would make everyone here feel better.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ditmar glowered. But he looked unsure of himself. The balance of support in the room was definitely in Myah’s favor, with the CSI techs looking on wearing twin smiles of amusement.

“Do it, Trent,” she goaded, eyes flashing. “I dare you to give me a reason.”

Trent opened his mouth, but couldn’t speak, his eyes locked on hers.

“You keep your slimy, home-wrecking ass in line on this case, and I mean
pristine
, or brass will know everything. And so will Victoria.”

My head snapped up at that.
What’s she talking about? Victoria, my Victoria?
Despite the mottle to his skin from oxygen deprivation, I thought Trent’s face paled.
Huh, guess they stayed together.
But what could Myah tell Victoria about Trent that had him suddenly rigid with tension, all cockiness gone from his demeanor?

“Clear?” she demanded.

Trent nodded immediately. When she released him, his hands went to his throat to massage his abused pipes, and he cleared it a few times, hoarse and raspy.

“What the hell was all that about?” Ditmar asked. The more contact we had with him, the dimmer I thought he was, even if he’d asked a question I wanted answered as well. “Home wrecker?”

I sighed wearily. “What difference does it make, kid?”

Ditmar scowled at me. “I’m not a kid.”

“You married, John?” Myah asked.

“Yes. Two years now.” Yep, still a kid.

“Keep an eye on your wife when Trent’s around.”

I looked at Trent, who said nothing, pretending to be absorbed in evidence collection while the rest of us stood watching the show. Whatever she had on him, it was rock solid to make him obey that quickly.

“This is pleasant and all, but we have a murdered officer of the law who deserves more attention than Trent’s history of fucking his partners’ wives,” I reminded them. Ditmar looked at his partner in surprise, then with narrowed suspicion. I clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, apparently he’s still with my ex, and she’ll have his balls for breakfast if he cheats on her. Your wife is safe. Probably.” Ditmar brushed my hand off, but said nothing more as the rest of us got to work.

§§§

“WHAT GIVES, Myah?” I asked as soon as we were clear of the scene. “What do you have on Trent to make him sit and stay like that?”

We’d seen the body off in the ME’s van and had just wrapped up the initial walk through with the CSI techs. Jencopale put time of death close to dawn, another similarity to Stevenson’s case.

“Is this going to be too hard for you, Gavin?” Myah asked, clearly deflecting.

“Don’t patronize me. Talk.”

“No, I’m serious. It’s bad enough having to deal with these cases that are similar to.... But to have your asshole ex-partner involved, hovering and insulting you, that’s just pressure you don’t need. I can ask him to be reassigned. This is our case, our jurisdiction, after all.”

I stopped, scrutinizing her. She looked genuinely concerned for me, and an internal barometer check had my heart rate upping the ante. My palms were sweating, and the familiar uncomfortable skin tingle signaling an impending panic attack was definitely present. I thought I’d done okay in there, focusing on dealing with Trent and not the implication we might be dealing with a serial killer, targeting cops no less. We had yet to confirm that, though it didn’t look good. I let my chin fall forward to keep from seeing the suddenly overwhelming surrounding vehicles, onlookers, and police tape, concentrating instead on my breathing, the periodic table beginning a chant in my head. Her hand gripped my shoulder, not rubbing annoyingly or overly tight, just solid. There for me. Like she always was.

“Tell me about Trent so I stop thinking.”

She sighed as we got in the car, leaving the remainder of evidence collection to the experts.

“My neighbor is a single mom with a seventeen year old daughter. Goes to Webster Groves High, honor student, interested in going for a criminal justice degree. She goes with her mom a lot to the local teen center where they volunteer. So back when Fourth Precinct sent a Vice detective to their school to speak at a pep assembly for the D.A.R.E program, she was really interested in talking to him. Wanted to know what could help her with the teen center kids, but also, what she should think about studying to help her get into a good criminal justice program. She was transfixed by the badge, the swagger, the smile....”

I groaned. “Oh shit. Tell me he didn’t.”

“Your lovely ex-partner talked himself into her pants. Left her a little gift.”

I looked at her sharply. “Nothing untreatable, I hope.”

“Oh, it’s treatable,” Myah said sardonically. “In about another month, she’ll be just fine.”

Glad for having sat a minute to let the car warm up, I closed my eyes and rested my forehead on the steering wheel. I knew it wasn’t my problem; I had nothing to do with Trent’s decisions anymore, but I still felt bad for the girl. And, surprisingly, Victoria. Even if she deserved him cheating on her the way she’d cheated on me, I still knew it would carve her up to know she wasn’t the center of his universe, same way she hadn’t been the center of mine.

“Natalie, the girl, was beside herself, trying to get in touch with him, but after she told him about the baby, he quit taking her calls, told her it was best she handle it herself, that he’d be fine with whatever choice she made.”

“Jesus, what an asshole,” I grumbled, finally putting the car in gear and pulling away from the curb.

“So I told her I’d pay him a visit, straighten him out. She only wanted him to know she’s giving the baby up for adoption, but she’ll need his signature on the papers. She refuses to leave the father blank on the birth certificate. Girl has some pride, what little he hasn’t stomped all over.”

“Good for her.”

A grin spread over Myah’s face. “I went to see Trent at his house, made it clear his mistake could come back to haunt him if he didn’t make himself available for all the paperwork and pay for any out-of-pocket costs relating to the pregnancy. Victoria doesn’t know, and his boss would be fascinated to learn how he treated the young minds he was supposed to be educating. After what he did to you, the brass aren’t as keen to look the other way as they apparently used to. He has a lot to lose. For some reason, he wants to stay with Victoria, so he told me he’d do what Natalie needs as long as I don’t tell Victoria. Handy leverage, since it looks like we’ll be forced to deal with him on this case.”