Shot Girl (18 page)

"No shit."

"We’re not supposed to be in there."

"What makes you think they were going there? This isn’t a great neighborhood; they could’ve been going to a domestic or something like that."

"Let’s just say I’ve got an inside track, and I knew they’d show up again. Just didn’t realize it would be this soon," Jack said.

Chapter 23

I stared at him. "What exactly were you getting at Ralph’s?" I was repeating myself, but determined to do so until I got an answer. "And why don’t you think the cops already have it? They’ve been all over that place. Ralph’s death was untimely, and I’ve got it from the detective in charge that they felt it was necessary to search the apartment."

"He died of a heart attack," Jack said flatly.

"He died of a Viagra overdose," I said, without thinking. A bad habit of mine.

Jack’s face showed his incredulity. "Viagra?" he asked, spitting out the word before he doubled over in laughter. "Ralphie?" He shook his head. "No, no, no."

"How can you be so sure he didn’t get any help from those little blue pills?" I asked. "I can’t imagine that a guy would tell another guy he would need them."

Jack stroked his chin for a second, the laughter subsiding but leaving a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You’re right about that, I guess. But let’s just say I know."

"How?" I couldn’t let it alone.

The smile turned into a grin. "Three isn’t always a crowd."

I was finding out way too much about Ralph and Jack. I wanted to hit the rewind button and go back to three days ago when my biggest worry was how to get my landlord to fix my air conditioner.

Now all I wanted to do was get my car and go home.

Easier said than done.

Jack and I had walked down the street and turned back toward Arch Street. We were only a couple of blocks away, but we could see all the flashing lights now. We tentatively peered around the house on the corner and looked down at Ralph’s. I spotted a tall guy in a Windbreaker with the big telltale FBI on the back. Headlights illuminated his figure, and I recognized Jeff Parker, head of New Haven’s FBI office. He was standing next to my car. Another guy came over to him, but this one had the letters ATF on the back of his T-shirt.

I’d never get out of here. But on the upside, I felt safer with the cops there.

"I can give you a ride," Jack Hammer said, startling me out of my thoughts.

I frowned. "No thanks."

"You didn’t think this one through," Jack said.

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, when I’m going to break into a house that’s been secured by the cops, I make sure I don’t park in front."

All right, I was a moron for doing that. But who knew the FBI and ATF would show up? What was left in there? I stole a glance at Jack, who was watching the whole thing like we were in the goddamn movie theater. Were the feds there to get what Jack had left behind?

"My mother said you were a witness in Ralph’s grand jury investigation," I said, a little white lie that might get me the truth.

He jerked back, staring at me, startled. "Your mother?"

"She was Ralph’s lawyer."

He pondered that a few seconds. "Jesus. She’s a fireball." And I could tell by the way he said it that it was definitely a compliment.

"She’s my mother, so I don’t want to hear about it, okay?" It was disconcerting hearing that from a male stripper. "So, did you know where Ralph kept the guns? Is that why they’re there? Is that what you went after tonight?"

"I have no idea what you’re talking about." His eyes were wide with what he probably thought looked like innocence, but to me it looked like he was lying through his teeth. "Do you want a ride or not?"

A car slowed down just past us, slamming to a stop. I took two steps to the side and watched Dick Whitfield jump out, his notebook in his hand.

If I’d never been happy to see Dick Whitfield before, I was happy to see him now.

"That’s Dick," I said, my voice hoarse. I cleared my throat. "I’ll be okay."

"See you around, then."

He turned to go, but I grabbed his arm. "Wait." I paused, then, "Why did you meet with Shaw at West Rock? Is he involved?"

Jack shrugged. "I was going hiking. I thought I told you that."

"Listen, I might want to talk to you again. How can I reach you?"

He shook his head. "I told you. I’ll be around." He winked. "When you least expect it."

That was what I was afraid of. But he walked away, and I stood there for a second. I was just about to follow him when—"Annie! What are you doing here?"

Dick had come back to his car. I sauntered over to him, like I was covering the damn thing, just like him. I held the flashlight behind me, hoping he wouldn’t notice it.

"Heard about it," I said vaguely. "What about you? You’re not working tonight, either." I had to turn the tables on him so he wouldn’t question me any further.

"I got a call from a source. They’re looking for guns and drugs. This was—well, you know who lived here, right?"

I nodded. "The city cops were all over this place yesterday. Do the feds really think they missed something?"

Before he could answer, two figures came down the steps. To my surprise, however, they were coming out of the apartment next door to Ralph’s. Who lived
there
?

The men were carrying black duffel bags, not unlike the one I’d seen Jack Hammer carrying just yesterday at West Rock. I glanced behind me, but he had vanished like the ghost he was.

"What the hell are you two doing here?"

Dick and I turned to see Tom coming toward us, his eyebrows knit with anger.

"Can’t keep shit quiet in this city," I said. "Figured we’d see what was up." I cocked my head at the house. "Who lived next door to Ralph?"

Tom looked at Dick for a long second before turning his eyes on me. He stared at me for what seemed like minutes before saying, "I’m not at liberty to say."

"Shit, Tom, it has to be connected to Ralph. I mean, hell, he lived here, too. So who lived there?"

"Even if you don’t tell us, we can find out anyway," Dick said without realizing how stupid it was to threaten that.

"Then go ahead," Tom said, confirming my suspicions that he’d call Dick’s bluff. He turned to me. "Someone broke into Ralph’s apartment." He said it like he knew it was me. But he couldn’t prove it.

"How do you know that?" My voice actually sounded normal. Like I really was here covering this.

"We put up a seal, and it was broken." Half his face was hidden in the shadow, the other half illuminated by the streetlamp. I couldn’t completely see his expression.

"Why would someone break in?" I asked, trying to act nonchalant.

"I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?" Tom said.

"How the hell am I supposed to know?"

We glared at each other for a few seconds. Dick, to his credit, didn’t say anything until, "Can you give us anything about what’s being confiscated from the apartment?"

Tom shook his head. "This is the feds’ game here," he said. "You can ask them, but I bet they won’t say anything."

"If it’s the feds’ game, why are you here?" I asked.

He didn’t like that, narrowing his eyes at me, studying my face until I was happy it was dark because then he couldn’t see me flush.

I was still holding the flashlight behind me, and I shifted a little. I had left my bag in the car on the floor of the passenger side, but my keys were in my pocket. I didn’t have a notebook out, like Dick. Tom noticed, but instead of saying something about it, he just tossed a "Stay back until we’re through" before walking away.

Dick looked at me, his eyebrows all furrowed together like a fuzzy caterpillar. "You shouldn’t be here," he said, as if he’d finally figured that out. He was so slow on the uptake.

"Don’t worry, I won’t write about it," I said. "You’ve got the whole thing." I made it sound like I was handing him everything on a fucking platter, like he was completely competent.

Sad thing was he believed me and grinned. "So you’re just here to check it out?"

"Don’t tell anyone, okay?" I asked conspiratorially.

"Mum’s the word," he whispered.

It was way too easy. But no one ever confused Dick with the sharpest knife in the drawer.

My car was parked just behind the first cruiser. I said good-bye to Dick and pulled my keys out of my pocket, shifting the flashlight and tossing it in when I opened the door. It rolled under the seat just in time.

"What was that?"

Tom was behind me. I didn’t turn around, just twisted my neck so I could look at him. "What was what?"

"What did you put in your car?"

I pointed at my bag on the floor in the front. "My bag."

"Someone saw a light in the house. Like a flashlight. When we got the call, I recognized the address and decided to check it out." He was trying to trip me up.

I forced myself not to move, to keep my expression neutral.

"Why are you really here?" His breath was hot; I could feel the whisper of his day-old growth of beard just underneath my ear.

I shivered.

"Cold?" he asked softly, moving closer, his fingers circling my wrist so I couldn’t move.

"No."

"How did you get in?"

"In where?"

"In the house."

My eyes moved up toward Ralph’s place of residence. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Will I find your fingerprints inside this time?"

"No." I wasn’t lying. I’d been careful.

"If anyone finds out you were in there, I won’t be able to help you."

I was trying to figure out a response when another car pulled up just behind mine. It was a long, sleek Jaguar, one of those cars I always thought about, but even if I could afford one, I knew I couldn’t ever take it to a crime scene.

Apparently, the Reverend Shaw wasn’t as practical as I was.

Chapter 24

Shaw stepped out of the car, pressing a button on his key fob, and all the doors locked. Like that would keep anyone out in this neighborhood.

"Thank you for calling me, Detective," Shaw said, his hand outstretched and taking Tom’s. He saw me and smiled. "And the lovely Ms. Seymour."

Tom’s eyebrows shot up into his forehead, but he shook Shaw’s hand firmly and didn’t say anything.

"I’ll give you any information you might need about my tenant," Shaw said.

"Your tenant?" I butted in. Tom gave me a look, but he should know by now that I don’t stand on ceremony at crime scenes.

He couldn’t stop Shaw from saying, "I own this property."

He did? I began to wonder about land records. I was a bit rusty with hunting them down, but back in the day, when I was covering towns, one of the things I had to do on a daily basis was check land records at town hall to see who was buying what and if anything was worth writing about. When a reporter is covering a town of only about ten thousand people, she’ll go anywhere for a story, and land records proved to be a gold mine when it came to learning about new developments and shit like that.

If Shaw owned this house, what else did he own? A quick visit to city hall might tell me. Or maybe just a call to Kevin Prisley, who covered the mayor’s office and spent time in the city clerk’s office, too.

Tom was leading Shaw away from me, toward Jeff Parker. I knew better than to follow them. Shaw had forgotten me as he was introduced. More hand shaking was going on. I watched for a few seconds, then looked back at my car. Shaw’s Jag was close, but I thought I could get out. I was the goddamn Queen of Parallel Parking. I climbed into my Civic and maneuvered the wheel so I just squeaked by the cop car in front of me and without even getting close to Shaw’s Jag.

My head was a jumble of thoughts as I made my way back down Fitch to Whalley Avenue toward downtown. The conversation with my mother intruded somewhere between Jack Hammer and the black duffel bags carried out of the apartment.

Shaw had asked Ira Hoffman to represent Ralph in the grand jury investigation. Shaw owed Ralph one, my mother had said. What did he owe him?

I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Ralph was living in Shaw’s house. That still seemed more like Ralph owed Shaw.

When I reached the end of Whalley where it merged into Elm Street in the midst of the old Gothic buildings that are Yale University, I realized I might have dodged a bullet tonight. I didn’t trust Jack Hammer, but if he was the danger he’d warned me about, he hadn’t acted on it when he could’ve. Granted, there were cops everywhere, and all I’d had to do was scream. Now going home alone scared me more than being at Ralph’s.

That was fucked-up.

I thought about going to Vinny’s. Even if he wasn’t home yet, I had a key; he probably wouldn’t mind if I let myself in, and then I wouldn’t have to deal with any middle-of-the-night creepy calls.

Without stopping in front of my brownstone, I turned left around Wooster Square and pulled up across from Vinny’s building, which was similar to my brownstone. It had more perks, however: Besides the central air, there were two washing machines and a dryer in the basement.

Before I got out of my car, I glanced in the rearview mirror but didn’t see any headlights anywhere around the square. The clock on my dash told me it was ten thirty—had I been over at Ralph’s that long? It seemed like only minutes—and the lights in Vinny’s third-floor apartment were off, so he still wasn’t home.

I sat in the car for a few more seconds with all the doors locked. I had no clue whether anyone was still following me. The only person who kept showing up unexpectedly was Jack Hammer. It seemed my presence at the house tonight surprised him, too, and he’d expected the police to show up. His warning to be careful made its way through my head. He knew more than he was saying.