Читать книгу Bone Cold - Erica Spindler, Erica Spindler - Страница 12

Friday, January 12 Seventh District Station

Two hours later, Quentin tapped on his captain’s open office door. Captain O’Shay, a trim, sharp-eyed brunette, glanced up. She didn’t look happy to see them so early in the morning. Beside him Terry shifted nervously. This meeting could go one of two ways: bad or worse. Captain O’Shay didn’t approve of her detectives participating in drunken brawls—or of them having altercations with women who turned up dead hours later.

“Got a minute?” Quentin asked, flashing her a quick smile. If he had hoped to disarm her he saw immediately that he’d been wasting his energy. Patti O’Shay had fought her way up through the ranks of mostly male, sometimes misogynist and often chauvinist officers, earning rank of captain through brilliant police work, single-minded determination and the ability to go toe-to-toe with some of the best bullshitters around. There wasn’t a captain on the force tougher than Patti O’Shay.

“We’ve got a potential situation,” Quentin said.

She frowned and waved them into her office. Her gaze flicked to Terry, then back to Quentin. “You two look like hell.”

Not quite the opening they were hoping for. “We were at Shannon’s last night.”

“Surprise, surprise.” She folded her hands on the desk in front of her. “That’s where that girl was found.”

“Correct. In the alley behind the bar.”

“Fill me in.”

“Her name was Nancy Kent.” Terry cleared his throat. “Twenty-six years old. Recently divorced. A party girl. Had come into some serious cash with her divorce settlement. Apparently, she was flashing it around last night.”

Quentin took over. “M.E. places time of death somewhere between one-thirty and three.”

Captain O’Shay seemed to digest that piece of information. “That means Kent was killed either while the bar was still open or within an hour of closing. By that time of night the crowd should have thinned considerably.”

“Not last night, Captain,” Terry said. “At one-thirty the party was still in full swing. Shannon had to force the diehards out at two. Threatened to call the cops.”

She ignored his snicker—a third of those diehards had been cops—and turned to Quentin. “What about Shannon?” she asked.

“Questioned him,” Quentin answered. “He was pretty shaken up. Didn’t hear or see anything. Same for Suki and Paula, the two waitresses who closed with him.”

“Any chance Shannon’s our guy?”

“No way. Besides, he has an alibi. Until closing, he never got out from behind the bar. After closing, he was with Suki and Paula. They all walked out together.”

Terry chimed in. “Usually Shannon takes the trash to the Dumpster while the girls clean the bar, but last night each of the girls grabbed a bag, then they all walked out together.”

“What time was that?” she asked.

“Between 3:00 and 3:10 a.m.”

“And none of them saw anything?”

She sounded incredulous and Quentin stepped in. “The alley’s poorly lit. The three were exhausted and anxious to get home and Suki and Paula were sniping at each other over some split tips. The vic was obscured behind and in the shadow of the Dumpster.”

Captain O’Shay hesitated, then nodded. “What about cause of death?”

“Pending a complete autopsy, M.E. called it suffocation.”

The captain’s eyebrows shot up. “Suffocation? In an alley?”

“Yeah, unusual. She was definitely raped first. Signs of bruising and tearing on and around the labia. Bruises on her inner thighs as well.”

“The evidence team find anything?”

“A few hairs, some fiber. Scraped under her nails.”

Terry shifted in his seat. He looked ill.

“What about her ex?” The captain looked directly at Terry.

“An old guy,” Terry replied, voice shaky. “Broke down, blubbering like a baby when we told him. Still loved her, he said. Hoped she’d come back to him.”

“Sounds like he had motive.”

“But no opportunity.” Quentin shook his head. “When Terry said older, he meant old. An oxygen tank, wheelchair, full-time nurse. The whole deal.”

“Old but very rich,” Terry added. “Old Metairie address. New Orleans country club. The whole bit. Bet it never occurred to her that she’d go first.”

Captain O’Shay glanced sharply at him. “Any boyfriends?”

“None that her ex knew of,” he answered quickly. “We’ll keep asking around.”

“So what’s this about a potential situation?”

She looked directly at Terry once more. He shifted uncomfortably under her direct gaze. “Like we said, we were there last night. At Shannon’s. The vic was really carrying on, dancing in a real sexual way. Putting on a show, if you know what I mean?”

The captain’s eyebrows shot up once more. “No, I’m not sure I do.”

Quentin glanced at his partner. Going down the “she asked for it” avenue was not going to work with Patti O’Shay. In fact, it would do little but piss her off.

Terry realized his mistake and quickly changed tack. He cleared his throat. “All I’m trying to say is that…I came on to her. More than once.”

“And she wasn’t interested.”

“Yeah.” He flushed slightly. “I’d had a little too much to drink and…and—” He fumbled around for something that would paint him in a more sympathetic light.

When he came up blank, the captain filled the break. “And you didn’t take no for an answer.”

“Like I said, I’d had a little too much to drink.”

Captain O’Shay stood and came around the desk. She perched on its edge, looking down at her detective, forcing him to look up at her. “And you think that makes bad behavior acceptable? “

He squirmed under her withering gaze. “No, Captain.”

“I’m glad we agree on that, Detective. What happened next? “

“I pushed too hard. Me and the vic exchanged words, the guy she was with and I almost came to blows.”

The captain didn’t look happy. “Almost?”

“Malone saved my ass.”

She shifted her gaze to Quentin’s. He nodded and she crossed to the window, looked out at the cold bright day. Without turning she said. “Write it up. All of it. Both of you.”

“Yes, Captain.”

She turned then. “I know you’re having some trouble in your personal life, Detective Landry. Do you need a leave of absence until it’s straightened out?”

He shot to his feet. “No way, Captain! I’d go crazy if I couldn’t work.”

She hesitated a moment, then inclined her head. “All right. But I don’t want to see a repeat of last night’s behavior. I will not allow you to drag this department through the muck with you. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Good. One more item. I’m giving the case to Johnson and Walden.”

“Those disc jockey wanna-bes?”

“That’s bullshit, Captain.”

Detectives Johnson and Walden took never-ending ribbing about the similarity of their names to New Orleans homegrown, premier radio personalities Walton and Johnson. The deejays were creative, innovative and funny as hell. The two detectives, on the other hand, were not only distinctly unfunny, but a couple of dull bulbs.

“Landry” she continued as if they hadn’t spoken, “you’re off. Malone, you’ll assist.”

“Assist?” Quentin leaped to his feet. “Captain O’Shay, with all due respect—”

“Conflict of interest,” she said crisply, cutting him off. “Hours before Nancy Kent was raped and murdered one of my detectives had a heated argument with her. A very public argument. That makes him a suspect. Automatically.”

She looked from one man to the other. “How wise of me would it be to let that detective work the investigation? Or to let that detective’s partner serve as lead man on the case? I think you’ll agree, it wouldn’t be wise at all.”

“And once Terry is cleared of all suspicion?” Quentin asked.

“Then, hopefully, the case will be solved. If not, we’ll talk.”

But don’t get your hopes up. “Is that all?”

“Landry, you’re excused. Malone, I need to speak with you privately.” When Terry had closed the door behind him, she met Quentin’s eyes. “The way Landry said, that’s the way it went down, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“And after the incident with the woman, what happened?”

“We partied. I drove him home just after 2:00 a.m.”

“He was unable to drive?”

“He was fall-down, stinking drunk.”

“And you’re one hundred percent certain your partner is innocent of this crime?”

“Yes, dammit!” Quentin looked away, then back. “No way did Terry do this. Besides, Terry could hardly walk let alone overpower and murder a woman.”

She was quiet a moment, then she nodded. “I agree with your assessment, Malone, but I’ll be watching him. I’m not going to let one of my detectives fall apart on the job.”

“He’s okay, Captain. He—”

“He’s not okay,” she corrected, tone curt. “And you know it. Don’t let him take you down with him, Malone.”

She returned to her desk, signaling that they were through. Quentin crossed to the door, stopping and looking back at her when he reached it. “Aunt Patti?” She looked up. “Tell Uncle Sammy I said hello.”

“Tell him yourself.” A smile touched her mouth, softening her face. “And call my sister. I hear from John Jr. that you’ve been neglecting her.”

With a chuckle and a small salute, Malone agreed.