Читать книгу Killer Takes All - Erica Spindler, Erica Spindler - Страница 9

Monday, February 28, 2005 9:20 a.m.

Spencer and Tony entered police headquarters. Located in City Hall, at 1300 Perdido Street, the mirrored glass building housed not only the NOPD but the mayor’s office, the New Orleans Fire Department and city council, among others. The Public Integrity Division, the NOPD’s version of Internal Affairs, was housed outside headquarters, as was the crime lab.

They signed in and took the elevator to ISD. When the doors whooshed open, Tony headed for the box of breakfast pastries, Spencer for his messages.

“Hey, Dora,” he said to the receptionist. Though a civilian employed by the city, she wore a uniform. Her extra-large, top-heavy frame strained at the confines of the blue fabric, revealing glimpses of hot pink lace. “Any messages?”

The woman handed Spencer the yellow message slips, sliding her gaze over him appraisingly. He ignored the look. “Captain in?” “Ready and waiting, stud.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her and she cackled. “You white boys have no sense of humor.”

“No sense of style, either,” offered Rupert, another detective, sidling past them.

“That’s right,” Dora said. “Rupert here knows fine threads.”

Spencer glanced at the other man, taking in his sleek Italian suit, colorful tie and bright white shirt, then down at himself. Jeans, chambray shirt and tweedy jacket. “What?”

She groaned. “You’re working ISD now, top of the heap, baby. You need to be dressin’ the part.”

“Yo, Slick. Ready?”

Spencer turned and grinned at his partner. “Can’t. In the middle of a free fashion consultation.”

Tony returned the grin. “Lecture, you mean.” “Don’t even go there.” Dora wagged her finger at the older man. “You’re hopeless. A fashion disaster.”

“What? Me?” He held his hands out. His gut protruded over the waist of his Sansabelt trousers, the fabric shiny from age, and strained the buttons of his short-sleeved plaid shirt.

The woman made a sound of disgust as she handed Tony his messages. Turning to Spencer, she said, “You just come see Miss Dora, baby. I’ll fix you right up.” “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You do that, sugar pie,” she called after him. “Ladies go for a man with style.”

“She’s right, sugar pie,” Tony teased. “Take it from me.”

Spencer laughed. “You’d know this how? The way the ladies stay away in droves?”

“Exactly.” They turned the corner, heading for the open door of their captain’s office.

Spencer tapped on the casing. “Captain O’Shay? Got a minute?”

Captain Patti O’Shay looked up, waved them in. “‘Morning, Detectives. It’s been a busy one already, I hear.”

“We got a double,” Tony said, lowering himself into one of the chairs across from her.

Patti O’Shay, a trim, no-nonsense woman, was one of only three female captains in the NOPD. She was smart, tough but fair. She’d worked her ass off to get where she was, twice as hard as any man, overcoming doubt, chauvinism and the good old boy network. She’d been bumped up to ISD this past year and some predicted she’d make deputy chief one day.

She also happened to be Spencer’s mother’s sister.

It was hard for Spencer to reconcile this woman with the one who had called him “Boo” growing up. The one who’d slipped him cookies when his mother hadn’t been looking. She was his godmother, a special relationship for Catholics. And one she took seriously.

However, she had made it clear his first day under her command that here she was his boss. Period.

She turned her miss-nothing gaze on him. “Think DIU jumped the gun by calling us in?”

He straightened, cleared his throat. “No way, Captain. This was no rubber stamp.”

She shifted her gaze to Tony. “Detective Sciame?”

“I agree. Better to get it now, before the trail’s cold.”

Spencer took over. “Both vics were shot.”

“Names?”

“Cassie Finch and Beth Wagner. UNO students.”

“Wagner just moved in a week ago,” Tony offered. “Poor kid, talk about some bad fuckin’ luck.”

The woman didn’t seem to notice the language, but Spencer winced.

“Robbery doesn’t appear to have been the motive,” Spencer offered, “although her laptop is missing. Neither does rape.”

“What, then?”

Tony stretched his legs out in front of him. “Crystal ball’s not working this morning, Captain.”

“Clever,” she said, her tone leaving no doubt she found it to be anything but. “How about a theory, then? Or is that asking a bit much after only a couple doughnuts?”

Spencer jumped in. “Looks like Finch was killed first. We figure she knew her killer, let him in. Probably killed Wagner because she was there. Of course, it’s speculation so far.”

“Leads?”

“A few. We’re going to pay a visit to the university, the places both women hung out. Talk to their friends, professors. Boyfriends, if any.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“Canvas of the neighborhood’s complete,” Spencer continued. “With the exception of the woman who phoned it in, nobody heard a thing.”

“Her story checks out?”

“Seems legit. She’s a former cop. Dallas PD Homicide.”

She frowned slightly. “That so?”

“I’m going to run her through the computer. Call the Dallas PD.” “Do that.”

“Coroner notified the next of kin?” “Done.”

She reached for her phone, signaling their meeting was over. “I don’t like double homicides in my jurisdiction. I like them even less when they’re unsolved. Understood?”

They agreed they did, stood and started toward the door. The captain stopped Spencer before he reached it. “Detective Malone?”

He looked back.

“Watch that temper of yours.”

He flashed her a smile. “Under control, Aunt Patti. Altar boy’s honor.”

As he walked away, he heard her laugh. Probably because she remembered what a total failure he had been as an altar boy.