Читать книгу Her Sworn Protector - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 8

Chapter 3

Detective Larry Wilkins of the New York Police Department, Homicide Division, was born worn around the edges, rumpled and suspicious. He operated each of his investigations from the standpoint that everyone was guilty until proven otherwise. At least ten pounds overweight and wearing clothes that hadn’t seen a hanger in over a decade, he had a habit of invading people’s personal space when he spoke to them. He thought of it as a useful technique during an investigation.

Right now, as he questioned her, Kady could all but taste the pizza he’d had for dinner last night. It was apparent to her that the detective was immersed in a love affair with extra garlic. It took all her strength not to turn her head away.

Detective Wilkins looked at her as if he’d already made up his mind that she had either killed Milos Plageanos herself, or masterminded the murder.

Holding on to a much-used notebook, Wilkins looked at her with small brown eyes that could have cut holes through a steel plate.

“And you were in the bathroom the entire time the murders went down?”

She’d already told him that. Twice. Wilkins made it sound as if she’d spent an eternity in the room when it had merely felt that way. In total, she’d been there maybe five minutes, maybe less.

It didn’t take long to end a man’s life, Kady thought.

Wilkins had her isolated in one corner of Milos’s bedroom. She tried desperately to block out the sounds of the forensic team as they went about their business, gathering evidence that attested to the last moments of the billionaire’s life.

“Yes,” she answered again, then couldn’t help adding, “But I don’t think it took too long to shoot two people.”

A smirk raised the corners of Wilkins’s mouth. It reminded her of a hyena waiting for lunch. “Timed it, did you?” He took a step in, cutting the space between them. “During the actual occurrence or the dry run?”

“Dry run?” she echoed, stunned. He actually thought she had something to do with it. How dare he? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The smirk deepened. “Sure you do. You and your accomplice probably did a dry run to see how long it would actually take to walk in and shoot the old guy and his bodyguard.”

She stared at him. The man was insane. Completely, utterly insane. “What possible reason would I have to kill Mr. Plageanos?”

Heavyset shoulders rose and fell beneath a houndstooth jacket that looked slept in. “Dunno yet. But I’ll find out.”

Anger came streaking in on a lightning bolt, fueled by exhaustion and powered by exasperation. Her eyes blazed as she looked at this would-be Colombo. He was forgetting one very salient point. “And did I plan his anxiety attack, too?”

It was evident that Wilkins had expected her to be intimidated, cowed, not furious. He glared at his notes. “Thought the old guy had a heart attack.”

He would have gotten that information from someone else, she thought. Kady took offense at the cavalier way he dismissed the late shipping magnate.

“Mr. Plageanos had an anxiety attack, not a heart attack,” she corrected tersely. “And the reason he had the attack was because he was a micromanager who took everything to heart.” She drew herself up to her full five-four stature, wishing it wasn’t against the law to punch out a police detective. “I had no way of knowing that I was even going to be here today. How the hell could I have planned this?” she demanded.

“You planned for the eventuality,” Wilkins countered, but it was obvious that he was losing steam. Some part of him was being won over by the idea that her only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Still, he wasn’t about to give up all at once. “Maybe disarmed the security system so that your man could come in.”

“And maybe I smuggled ‘my man’ in my medicine bag,” she retorted sarcastically. Struggling, she regained control of her temper. “Look, Detective, I’m a cardiologist, not an electronics technician. The only thing I was doing here today was responding to Mr. Plageanos’s request for medical attention.” Her voice began to rise by increments. “Now why don’t you stop making ridiculous accusations and get me together with a sketch artist so I can describe the man who killed Mr. Plageanos and Ari.”

For a moment the look on Wilkins’s face was triumphant, as if he thought he had her. “You saw the guy’s face. This guy you didn’t know.” Half a foot taller than Kady, he leaned in, bringing his face close to hers for emphasis. “I thought you said you were in the bathroom.”

She was sorely tempted to dig into her purse and hand the man breath mints. “I was,” she said in between clenched teeth.

“Then how did you see his face?”

Instead of answering, Kady let out an angry sigh and turned on her heel.

Stunned, Wilkins called after her. “Hey, we’re not through here. Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he demanded. When she didn’t turn around, he shoved the notebook into his back pocket and hurried after her.

“To show you,” Kady tossed over her shoulder. Walking into the bathroom, she deliberately left the door wide open, the way it had been before. She opened the medicine cabinet and angled the mirrored door so that it reflected the interior of the bedroom. “I saw him like this.”

Wilkins craned his neck, coming over to her side of the room. From where he stood, Milos’s bed was clearly visible. The detective chewed on the inside of his check as he continued to glare at the mirrors. Finally he exhaled rather loudly.

“Smart,” he allowed grudgingly.

It was the first decent thing she’d heard the man say since he’d pounced on her. Vindicated, Kady chose not to comment—just in case it was another verbal trap. To her way of thinking, her action hadn’t been smart so much as desperate.

Wilkins began flipping through the notes he’d jotted down during her recounting of the events. Kady couldn’t help wondering just how much he’d annotated. For the first time in her life, she understood what the term railroaded meant.

Finally Wilkins flipped the cover closed, returned the pad to his back pocket and nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll have someone take you in to the station. You can work with a sketch artist.”

“I’ll take her,” Byron volunteered quietly.

The sound of his voice coming up behind her surprised Kady. She thought he was downstairs with the other detective. The bodyguard seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

Had he been there all the time, listening?

Wilkins had blotted out everything with his close proximity, keeping her from being aware of anything else but him. She knew the detective had meant for it to be that way.

Byron had been the first to be questioned, but he had caught Wilkins’s partner instead of Wilkins. Luck of the draw, she supposed.

She saw Wilkins look at Byron for a long moment, then the older man passed a hand over his all but bald pate and snarled, “Okay. You know the way.”

Byron met Wilkins’s scrutiny without flinching. “Yeah, I know the way.”

“Why do you know the way?” Kady asked the bodyguard several minutes later as they left the penthouse.

Just before they left the building, they passed one of the maids. The young woman, not more than twenty-two, was standing off to the side, sobbing. Kady fought the urge to stop and comfort her. But her morning was quickly disappearing and she still had a practice waiting for her. Mercifully, Mondays she went to the office in the afternoon.

Byron made no answer. He led her to a well-cared-for Nissan Z. She knew little about cars, but decided it had to be old since the insignia on the back said Datsun instead of Nissan. He opened the passenger door for her.

Getting in, she looked at Byron. “Or am I not supposed to ask?”

Byron got in on his side and turned the ignition on. The car hummed to life. “You can ask.”

He picked his way through the maze of police cars and the coroner’s van crowding the exit of the underground parking structure. His voice had trailed off even before they hit the street.

“But will you answer?” she probed. And then she made an attempt to fill in the blank herself. “Did you work out of that precinct?” He looked at her sharply just before he made a turn. “You said you were a cop once,” she reminded him.

He nodded. He’d forgotten he told her. Milos’s murder had thrown everything else into the background. He hadn’t deserved to have been cut down that way. If he’d had to die in his bed, it should have been after enjoying himself with a lusty, willing partner. He should have died with a smile on his face, not staring into a gun barrel.

Kady was still waiting for an answer. With a shrug, he gave her one. “I was based in Brooklyn.”

“And they had an exchange program with the detectives in Manhattan?”

It was an absurd thing to say and she knew it, but she was trying to get him to talk, create some distraction from the thoughts of what she’d just left behind and what she’d been a witness to. Besides, she knew nothing about this stoic man beside her. She wanted a few blanks filled in.

He laughed shortly at the display of tenacity. “There was an attempted robbery at the penthouse about six months ago.” He had caught the thief before the man could get away, but he left that part unspoken. “I took Mr. Plageanos in to file a report.”

The details didn’t quite jibe but she couldn’t think of a reason why Byron would lie to her. Something was missing. “And Wilkins was working the Robbery Division at the time?”

“Our paths crossed.”

The answer told her nothing except that he wasn’t willing to talk about it. Frustrated, Kady blew out a breath. It was like trying to get into a conversation with the sphinx.

“Okay, you pick the topic.”

He spared her a glance as he stepped on the gas, making it through the amber light before it turned red. The streets were swollen with cars. “What?”

“Well, you obviously don’t want to answer any questions and I’m not in the mood to sit here beside you in silence until we get to the police station, so talk about anything you want to. Just talk,” Kady added with emphasis.

He made a right at the end of the next block. Kady couldn’t tell if he was amused, or if it was just the angle of his profile that made him look as if his lips were curving.

“It might have escaped you,” he finally said, “but I don’t talk much.”

“No, it hasn’t escaped me.” It wouldn’t have escaped her even if she’d been a single-cell amoeba. “But I thought in light of everything, today might be a good day to start.”

He didn’t follow her logic, but then, she was a woman and he found that he’d never been able to tune in to the way they thought, a by-product of being raised by just his father. “Why?”

Ordinarily she didn’t like to showcase a weakness. She prided herself on being strong. But today someone had thrown out the rule book.

“Because I don’t want to cry, and right now I’m about this far away from it.” Kady held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart almost directly in front of him.

He moved her hand aside so that he could see the road more clearly. “Didn’t sound like you were going to cry when Wilkins was questioning you.” Again, that odd little half smile took possession of his mouth. “I thought I might be called in to restrain you.”

He was amused, she thought. “You heard?”

He inclined his head in an abbreviated nod. “Got a temper on you,” he observed, then glanced at her as they came to a red light. “Wouldn’t think it to look at you.”

As far as she was concerned, she had good reason to be angry. “Wilkins was accusing me of being involved in Mr. Plageanos’s murder.”

“Wilkins accuses everyone. It’s what he does. Or did,” he added. The last part was under his breath. “It levels the playing field for him.”

She’d thought that some sort of recognition had passed between the two men. “Then you do know him.”

He wouldn’t exactly say that. He doubted that anyone really knew Wilkins. He knew that no one really knew him. He didn’t let people in. Not anymore. “I told you, our paths have crossed.”

Kady read between the lines. “Not over the burglary,” she surmised.

Annoyed, Byron blew out a breath. The woman just didn’t back off. He looked at her. “You’re like a junkyard dog, you know that?”

“No,” she contradicted with a smile, denying the comparison. “I’m Polish.”

Eyebrows as dark as night drew together over the bridge of his nose. “What the hell does that have to do with it?”

She’d learned a long time ago that beyond demeaning ethnic jokes, most people have a very limited knowledge of anything Polish. She set about educating him. “Polish women are known for their stubbornness.”

He didn’t know about Polish women being stubborn, but she damn well was. “I didn’t know.”

“Now you do.” She paused, waiting. Byron made no effort to continue. Biting back a sigh, she prodded him again. “You were about to tell me about crossing paths with Wilkins.”

For a moment Byron debated telling her to back off, then decided that it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. Not since Bobby died. “Wilkins used to be with IAB.”

“The Internal Affairs Bureau?” she cut in. Now that she thought of it, the man was perfect for it. He was relentless and intimidating and, she had no doubt, probably ruthless as well, given half a chance. He’d probably loved his job.

Byron looked at her, mildly impressed. “You know about IAB?”

“Sure.” And for the first time since she’d gone in to wash her hands after examining Milos, she grinned. “I watch TV like everyone else.” But because the subject was serious, she sobered again before asking, “What was it that Wilkins investigated?”

The moment the question was out of her mouth, she knew.

“You?” She saw his jaw harden. She didn’t think of herself as the world’s best judge of character, but she was pretty high up there, she reasoned. IAB investigated cops who were crooked. Her gut told her that Byron was as honest as they came. “Why?”

“Every time a detective discharges his weapon, there’s an investigation.” He stared straight ahead, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. He was beginning to regret his offer to bring her down here.

“And did you? Kill someone?” she prompted when silence was the only answer that greeted her.

“Yeah.” He slanted a look in her direction. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

By the way Byron asked the question, she knew he wasn’t referring to anything recent, nor was he referring to the time he’d brought his employer into the E.R. But instinct told her it had to have had something to do with the E.R. That would explain why, the first time she recalled meeting him, she’d had this nagging feeling that she’d seen him before. At the time she’d chalked it up to someone looking like him. So many faces came and went in the E.R., it was hard to remember them all.

“Not specifically,” she admitted. “Although I’ve had this feeling that I’ve seen you before you walked into the E.R. with Mr. Plageanos.”

He nodded, hardly hearing. “I came in the ambulance with this rookie cop.” His voice was completely dead, as if he was reading lines from a teleprompter. “He was off duty and he’d walked into this mom and pop deli to pick up some provolone for his brother.”

This was hard for him, Kady thought, watching as each word labored its way past his lips. She kept her peace, waiting for him to go on.

“There was a robbery going on. The rookie tried to stop it.”

His voice died away. He couldn’t just leave her dangling here. “How did you figure into it?” she finally asked quietly.

He took his time replying. She could have sworn that he was physically erecting a wall around himself. A wall between him and the pain the words caused.

“I was in the car, waiting.”

She made the natural assumption. “You were the brother?”

He nodded so slowly she thought his head hadn’t moved. “I was the brother.” And then his voice hardened. “I should have been the one who went in, not him, but there was a news bulletin on the radio and I wanted to hear the end of it. So Bobby hopped out of the car and went into the deli. The next thing I knew, there were gunshots and then this tall, skinny guy, still holding a piece, came running out. It was as if I saw the whole thing that had happened inside in slow motion. I yelled out that I was a cop, told the guy to stop. When he didn’t, I shot him.” He didn’t add that he’d looked into the store and saw Bobby on the ground in a pool of his own blood, or that the robber had turned his weapon on him and was about to fire when he killed him.

“It was a clean shoot.”

She said it with such confidence, he had to look at her. He would have said she was pandering, but there was nothing to gain. So he shrugged it off. “Wilkins didn’t see it that way.”

Wilkins, she decided, was a man that people could easily hate. “They brought you up on charges?” she asked incredulously.

“No, I was cleared.” But it had been close for a while. IAB had everyone afraid of coming forward. It was as if, to prove everyone was vigilant, a scapegoat had to be sacrificed. “And then I quit.”

If there were no charges, he should have remained to work toward his pension. To leave seemed foolish. “But why?”

He’d thought of the police force as his family. The family—except for Bobby—that he had never actually had. When Bobby died, and everyone on the force backed away while the investigation was ongoing, he felt as if he’d lost everything. His marriage, such as it was, fell apart. So, he’d shut down and backed away himself.

“Didn’t seem to be any purpose to staying on a force that turns against you just when you need support.” And then his own words played themselves back to him. His expression hardened as he turned to her. He looked formidable. “Why are you asking all these questions?”

“Because I want to know,” she replied simply.

That still didn’t tell him anything. “Why? We’re strangers.”

Her answer surprised him. “Only because you want it that way.” When he looked at her quizzically, she added, “Me, I make friends with everyone.”

She was making assumptions. “Maybe I don’t want any friends.”

“Everyone wants friends,” Kady countered quietly. “You just might not know it.”

“Same thing,” he insisted.

“No,” she replied, her voice as firm as her belief, “it’s not.”

“We’re here,” he told her, pulling up into the parking lot.

And none too soon, he added silently.