Читать книгу Silent Night Stakeout - Kerry Connor - Страница 11

“I apologize for Polinsky,” Marcus said as he drove them toward the address Regina Garrett had given him. “He’s not usually so rude.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” she said mildly from the passenger seat.

His mouth twitched in acknowledgment. “I’m not saying he’s not rude. He’s just not usually that rude.”

“I understand. He’s not the first cop who didn’t like me, and I doubt he’ll be the last.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“Like most people, I’m not crazy about the idea that anyone dislikes me. But then, I wouldn’t be very good at my job if the entire Chicago PD were fans.”

“Well, cops tend to not be too crazy about people who help criminals get off,” he said before he could think better of it. As soon as the words were out, he braced himself for an angry comeback.

Instead she simply said, “Everybody deserves a defense, Detective. It’s how our justice system works.”

He didn’t bother to disagree. He was well aware how the justice system worked, or at least how it was supposed to. He also knew that some people deserved nothing but to be punished. That was justice. He almost asked her how many who deserved to be punished hadn’t been because of her, how many crimes they’d gone on to commit, how many people they’d hurt because she’d given them the opportunity. But that would make him no better than Polinsky, and he was in no mood to pick a fight.

They passed the rest of the trip in silence, his discomfort growing by the minute. He did his best not to look at her. It didn’t help. He could still see her out of the corner of his eye, still feel her presence with almost painful awareness. The faint scent of her perfume, something light and distinctly feminine, seemed to fill the close confines of the car, and every bit of his senses.

He felt a spurt of relief when they finally reached the street she’d named. It was nearly eleven o’clock. Most of the houses on this quiet residential block were aglow with holiday lights, though their darkened windows indicated that almost all of the residents were settled in for the night. He slowed as the house numbers began to reach the one he sought.

“I think that’s it,” she said a second after he spotted the house. It was a small one-story structure with a single car parked out front. Unlike those around it, this house wasn’t decorated with any lights. There also didn’t appear to be any on inside, at least none that were visible from the front.

“Was it just Decker and the sister who lived here?”

“I believe so. From what I remember, they inherited the house from their father, who died a few years ago. Their mother died when they were children.”

Filing the information away for future reference, he parked along the curb in front of the house and climbed out. He might have opened her door for her, but by the time he rounded the vehicle she was already out of the car. She started for the house as soon as he joined her, moving so automatically he almost wondered if she’d waited for him or intended to go on her own and leave him to follow.

Before he could bring up how they would handle this, she strode right up to the front door and knocked. For more than a minute, there was no answer.

“She may already be in bed,” Marcus observed.

“Maybe,” Regina agreed. “Especially if she managed to get the baby to sleep. She’d probably be trying to get as much rest as she could. I hate to wake her.” She sighed. “I hate to tell her any of this.”

To his surprise, there was genuine regret in her voice. She meant it. Frankly, he’d taken her insistence on being here as evidence of the control-freak tendencies he’d initially assumed she’d have, her claims of concern nothing more than a ploy to have her way. She was a lawyer; of course she’d be good at making an argument. Her obvious sincerity caught him off-guard, nearly made him look at her again until he managed to catch himself.

She was about to knock again when the curtains in the window shifted slightly, then the sound of locks being withdrawn met their ears. The door finally, slowly eased open. A nervous-looking face, a female version of Jeremy Decker’s, peered at them over a still-fastened chain. “Yes?”

“Hi, Lauren. Do you remember me?” Regina asked.

After a moment, Lauren nodded shakily. “You’re Jeremy’s lawyer.”

“That’s right. This is Detective Waters with the Chicago Police Department. Can we come in? We need to talk to you about something.”

“Jeremy’s not here.”

“I know. We need to talk to you.”

Lauren’s expression said she wanted to say no. Finally, as though realizing how futile it would be to turn away the police, she grimaced. “I just got the baby to sleep. You’ll have to be quiet.”

“Of course.”

The door closed long enough for her to unfasten the chain before opening it fully. She was dressed in thread-bare sweats, her hair wet as though she’d just stepped out of the shower. They hadn’t woken her, apparently catching her on her way to bed instead. As Regina had said, she was young, looking to be barely in her early twenties. Even younger than her brother. She was pretty, but tired-looking, probably to be expected for a woman with a baby. She waved them in, quickly closing and re-locking the door behind them, then turned to face them, folding her arms almost protectively over her chest.

“Is there somewhere we can sit down?” Regina asked when it looked as if Lauren Decker wasn’t going to offer.

Lauren nodded tightly and stepped past them to lead the way into a tiny living room off the entryway. She motioned vaguely at the couch, as much as an invitation as it seemed like they were going to get, falling into a chair herself.

Regina slid onto the edge of the couch closest to Lauren. Marcus remained standing, not seeing any way he could fit on it with her, not really wanting to get that close.

“Lauren, I’m afraid I have some sad news,” Regina said slowly, the kindness in her voice again catching him by surprise. “Jeremy is dead. I found him in his car outside my office tonight. He was murdered.”

He watched Lauren’s reaction to the news. She blinked several times, a lack of comprehension in her expression. It was a face he’d seen more than once in moments like this. “What are you talking about?” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“It appears someone killed him while he was sitting in his car.”

Eyes wide, Lauren began to shake her head. “Who?”

“That’s what we were hoping to ask you,” Marcus said gently, ignoring the look Regina shot him. “Do you have any idea why anyone would want to hurt your brother?”

She blinked up at him, her gaze slowly sliding from his to Regina’s, then away entirely as she lowered her head. And he knew before she said a word that she was going to lie.

“No.”

Before he could call her on it, Regina leaned forward. “Lauren, I know you must want whoever hurt Jeremy to be held responsible. If there’s anything you can tell us, anything at all, it would be helpful.”

This time the pause was barely noticeable before Lauren shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. He’d only been home a few days, and we didn’t talk much. He didn’t want to talk about jail, and he went out a lot.”

“Do you know where he went or who he went to see?” Marcus asked.

“No. Like I said, we didn’t talk much.”

He was about to press her further when Regina interjected. “Okay. I know this is a lot to take in, and we should give you some time to grieve.”

Before she even finished speaking, she started to rise. Marcus’s first instinct was to object. He hadn’t even begun to ask the many questions he had for Lauren Decker. But if he tried to press on in the face of Regina Garrett’s kindness, he would just come off like a bully, and that wouldn’t get him anywhere. As he took in the face of the young woman before him, now even more drained and pale than when they arrived, it was clear she’d closed herself off to them. He might be able to get more out of her now, or maybe he’d do even better once she’d had a chance to let the news and the implications of her brother’s death sink in.

Regina reached out and touched the arm of the young woman, who’d also risen. “Are you going to be all right here alone, or is there someone we can call to be with you?”

Lauren shook her head. “We don’t have any family left, and I have the baby. She’ll probably wake up if I have anyone over. I’ll be okay.”

Regina reached into her purse and pulled out a business card. “Here’s my number. Please call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

Marcus already had his own card in hand. “And if you think of anything you think might be helpful, feel free to call me.”

She took the card without meeting his eyes. He didn’t believe for a second she would use it, but wanted to keep his name in her memory. Because like it or not, they would be meeting again.

Lauren Decker knew something, and sooner or later—sooner if he had any say in the matter—he was going to find out what it was.

“SHE WAS LYING,” Detective Waters said as he pulled away from the house.

“I know,” Regina said without hesitation. She should have known he’d pick up on it as well as she had. There was something reassuring about that. It implied he was smart, good at his job. He might be the right man to solve Jeremy’s murder after all.

“I would have appreciated the chance to talk to her further rather than have you rush us out of there.”

“It was obvious she wasn’t going to tell us anything. I have a feeling you saw that as well as I did.”

“It couldn’t have hurt to try.”

“Couldn’t it? She was a clearly exhausted woman who barely had time to absorb her brother’s murder. If you pushed her too far she could have turned against us entirely and decided to never cooperate at all.”

“Me,” he corrected. “She could have turned against me. There is no ‘us.’”

No, there certainly wasn’t, she thought with a pang. The comment seemed best left unaddressed. “Either way, you’re better off giving her a chance to let this sink in. Once she has a chance to think about it she may decide to share what she knows. If not, then you can push her. Or does your partner usually play the bad cop? I have a feeling he’s good at it.”

“He is,” he admitted. “In the meantime, is there anything you want to tell me?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, if you were right and the killer was sending a message, that message was most likely intended for you.”

He wasn’t telling her anything she hadn’t already considered, but hearing him voice the possibility made it much harder to ignore. She swallowed the knot that rose in her throat. “I know,” she agreed.

“It would seem somebody wanted to prevent him from talking about something. If there’s even the slightest chance he told it to you, they might come after you.”

“As I reminded you, attorney-client privilege applies to anything Jeremy might have told me.”

“We’re talking about someone willing to slit your client’s throat and cut out his tongue in a car parked on the street. I have a feeling this isn’t someone who’s going to take a chance you’ll remain that dedicated to your principles.”

“Which means this also isn’t someone likely to take the chance I don’t know anything either,” Regina said on a sigh. “And believe it or not, I really don’t think I know anything anyone would be willing to kill to keep hidden. I have to believe Jeremy was going to tell me tonight and didn’t get the chance.” If only he had. If only she’d pressed him harder on the phone. He might not be dead, or if so, at least she might have some idea what she was facing.

“Of course this is all guesswork,” he said after a moment. “For all we know whatever warning the killer implied wasn’t intended for you.”

He was trying to make her feel better, she realized with surprise. She glanced at him, and for a moment, their eyes met. At the sight of that impossibly good-looking face, a nervous flutter erupted in her chest. She tried to read his expression for any hint of what he was thinking, but came away empty. It was an odd reassurance for him to offer her. She wouldn’t have thought he would bother. She wondered what it meant that he had, wondered if it meant anything at all.

Wondered why she cared. No point reading too much into a simple courtesy.

“I hope you’re right,” she said, unable to keep the doubt from her voice.

They’d reached the street where her office was located. It hardly seemed possible but the crowd of police officers and crime scene technicians was already gone, the street deserted. As they neared the space where Jeremy’s car had been parked, the place where he died, she saw there was nothing there now. The body had been removed, the car towed away. But the memory of what had been there remained vivid in her mind, and she couldn’t suppress a shudder.

He stopped next to her car and put his vehicle in Park. As she unbuckled her seat belt, he reached into his coat and pulled out a business card, offering it to her. “For when you’ve gone over your notes, or if you think of anything else.”

“Of course.” Tucking the card in her pocket, she opened the door. “Good night, Detective.”

“Take care of yourself, counselor,” he said in that low, smooth voice of his, what should have been no more than a basic parting line sounding strangely personal.

She crossed the street to her car, fully expecting him to drive away as soon as she was out of the vehicle. He didn’t, remaining where he was as she unlocked her car and started the engine. Only when she was heading down the street did she see him finally start to drive away, his lights fading from view in her rearview mirror.

The fact that he’d finally left made sense. The fact that he’d waited until she was safely on her way, while somewhat surprising, was understandable.

The fact that she felt better for his having done so, or that the warmth caused by the timbre of his voice and those closing words continued to linger long after he was gone, was much harder to explain.

WHEN HER ALARM WENT OFF the next morning, Regina was jolted out of an uneasy sleep that was anything but restful. Instantly wide awake, she stared at the glowing digits on her bedside clock. It was early. She’d forgotten to reset the alarm the night before. This was the time she’d needed to get up to catch her flight to the Caribbean.

A flight she wouldn’t be taking, she acknowledged without a second thought. Shutting off the alarm, she rose to her feet and padded to the bathroom. All that mattered was finding out who was responsible for what had happened to Jeremy Decker.

Going to bed hadn’t allowed her to escape the horror of last night’s events. Her dreams had been filled with images of Jeremy, first silently begging her for help he was voiceless to explain, then as he’d looked when she’d found him, long past asking for anything.

And almost just as disturbing, an unsmiling police detective with dark eyes that seemed to sear through her, his expression mysterious and unreadable no matter how long she tried to discern what he was thinking.

Regina didn’t let herself linger on the last image. There were much more important things to deal with. She needed to get to the office and go through Jeremy’s file. With any luck, there would be something in it that would help her figure out this mess.

She showered and dressed as quickly as possible, already deciding to stop for coffee on the way rather than take the time to make it. Within fifteen minutes she was ready to go. Making her way downstairs, she tugged on her coat and, ignoring the packed suitcases lined up by it, pulled the door open.

She was about to step outside, her gaze lowering as she fumbled through her keys, when she saw it.

There was something on her front porch.

She froze, her keys forgotten. The snow hadn’t reached the porch, so the object, stark white against the brown of the wood, was plainly visible—and immediately noticeable as out of place. She stared at it for a moment, unsure what to do. Peering closer, she tried to identify it. It was white. Some kind of paper? No, the texture was wrong. It looked like some kind of fabric. Almost like—

A handkerchief.

Dread held her in place for a moment, her mind automatically going back to the last handkerchief she’d seen, the one shoved in Jeremy Decker’s gaping mouth. The one she’d thought was red.

The handkerchief most likely didn’t start out red.

No, in order to end up that color of red, it must have started out white. As white as the handkerchief sitting on her front porch.

And it was just sitting there, slightly crumpled or folded over. It didn’t move other than the edges fluttering the slightest bit. A cold wind was blowing outside. She could feel it swirling around her ankles. Yet the handkerchief didn’t blow away. Something must be holding it in place.

And in a horrifying instant, she knew what it was.

Her mind immediately rebelled, her stomach nearly doing the same. The idea was too terrible to consider. She desperately tried to think of another explanation, and came up blank.

Still, she had to know.

Digging into her bag for a pen, she inched closer to the handkerchief. Coming only as near as necessary, she leaned in, using the pen to ease back the corner of the fabric where it was folded over.

One glance was all it took to see her instincts had been correct.

Expecting it didn’t protect her from the shock of seeing it herself. She reeled back, already wishing she hadn’t looked, already trying to block out the image.

If the killer was sending a message, that message was most likely intended for you.

Detective Waters’s words echoed faintly from the back of her mind.

Waters.

She should call him. She should call somebody. It only made sense that it should be him. Even as the thought occurred to her, she was reaching into her pocket for the business card he’d given her, then for her cell phone.

She forced herself to focus on the tiny digits on the card and dialed the number with trembling fingers.

It took only two rings for him to answer.

“Waters.”

The sound of that voice sent a rush of relief through her, the emotion fiercer than she had any business feeling.

“Detective Waters, this is Regina Garrett.”

There was the briefest of pauses before he responded. “Of course, Ms. Garrett. What can I do for you?”

“I’m at home. There was something on my front porch when I opened my door this morning.”

“What kind of something?”

“A white handkerchief. And there’s something in it. I think—” She swallowed hard, tried to force the words out when her throat just wanted to gag.

“I think I found Jeremy Decker’s tongue.”