Читать книгу Hard Evidence - Susan Peterson - Страница 12

The front doors of the hospital slid open and a frigid wind whipped up Crouse Street, stirring up scraps of trash lining the sidewalk and spraying my face with small, gritty grains of dirt-encrusted snow. I reached up and brushed a hunk of hair out of my eyes.

A sense of disorientation hit me for a moment as I stood on the front walkway. I’d grown up in Syracuse, on the west side. A part of the city not many people visited. When I’d been sent to live with Charlie and Claire, I’d discovered a whole new Syracuse, one I hadn’t really known had existed—the world of suburbia.

Suburbia had been a place with elegant Tudor-style homes, tiny, manicured front lawns and neat wooden porches with wide, comfortable porch swings. Fussy potted plants and starched white lace curtains sat in the front windows, and antique boards painted with cute little sayings about angels and sunflowers hung on the front double doors. Claire had worked hard to keep up with the neighbors. No one had outdone Claire when it came to decorating.

I breathed in the familiar grime and reminded myself that living in a city needed some getting used to. It wasn’t suburbia and it sure wasn’t the Adirondacks.

Even though it was early evening, the temperature had already dropped down into the low teens. A frigid night in Syracuse. Now there was a big surprise.

I found myself wishing I was back on Giant Mountain, sitting under a canopy of stars, next to a roaring campfire and listening to the cold north wind rustling the pines.

It took a minute to get my bearings, but finally I turned right and headed across the street toward the parking garage. Snow crunched under my hiking boots.

My head was a little woozy, no doubt from the stuffiness of Charlie’s hospital room and then the sudden exit into carbon-monoxide-polluted air. Breathing crisp mountain air for the past few years had its advantages.

Of course, the fact that I was still recovering from sharing the same breathing space as Jack O’Brien might have something to do with my current respiratory difficulties. I’d gotten out of his breathing space just in time.

Unfortunately, I had spoken too soon. The deep rumble of an idling Harley sounded from the left and a second later, the front tire of the powerful machine nudged my left toe.

Steeling myself, I glanced over. Sure enough, Jack sat in the saddle, his legs spread wide to balance himself, his helmet sitting between his legs. The expectant expression on his face told me he’d been waiting for me.

“Most sane people know when to put their cycle away for the winter, O’Brien,” I said, stepping around the front of the bike, determined to get to the garage and my car.

He laughed agreeably. “Gets harder and harder for me to do every year.”

“Yeah, arrested development can do that to a guy.” I shot the comment over one shoulder as I tried to push past him.

“Killian, wait.” He caught my elbow and whipped me around easily.

I shrugged his hand off. “We said what we needed to say to each other inside.”

“I just wanted to try and get you to reconsider your plans to stay at Pop’s place.”

“Where I stay isn’t any of your concern.”

I started to turn away again, but he reached out again, stopping me.

I folded my arms, hopeful that it would provide protection against the flush of awareness that shot through me when those long fingers clamped on my forearm.

Damn, I hated my body and its immediate reaction to his touch. It was like a memory of him, of his hands on my body, had been scorched into every cell and nerve ending of my being.

“I’m willing to sacrifice my couch in your honor. You know the west side isn’t a place for you to be hanging out.”

I almost laughed at that. Yeah, right, I had only cut my razor-sharp baby teeth on the goings-on over on the west side. Jack knew that only too well.

I’d lived on West Belden Avenue most of my life. Until Social Services stepped in, anyway, yanking me out of my heroin-addicted, straight-vodka-swigging mother’s custody and plunking me down on the porch steps of Charlie and Claire’s rambling, historic house. For me, it had been like landing on Mars.

Thirteen years old, ornery and disagreeable, smelling like pot plant, dog slobber and dirty laundry. But Claire hadn’t blinked an eye. She’d simply opened her door wide and welcomed me into that huge, rambling house of theirs.

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Speaking of which, did you know that Shawna and the others suspect that someone has been coming into Pop’s room uninvited, possibly fooling around with his life support equipment?”

“One of the nurses mentioned that they made a complaint.”

Yeah, when you were flirting with her, no doubt. I gritted my teeth. “Well, I believe Shawna and respect her concern. I’ve hired on Dickie Petrova for added security.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Ah, jeez, Killian, Dickie Petrova? You know he can’t find his way out of a paper bag. Would you please let me take care of things?”

I moved past Jack. “You had your chance and you blew it. I’m taking care of things now.”

I crossed the street to the parking garage and Jack didn’t follow. I didn’t even bother to glance over my shoulder as I stepped onto the elevator.

Jack seemed to get the message that I didn’t want his help, and he made no attempt to follow. For that I was thankful. Thankful, that is, until I stepped off the elevator onto the third floor of the parking garage.

Damn! The lights were out on this end of the garage. A sprinkling of glass shards among a few rocks laying beneath three of the closest light poles told me that some punk, bored with having to wait around for his family, had taken a couple of pot shots at the overhead lights.

I looked around. The inside of the garage was murky and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. My training kicked in, making me instantly cautious.

I walked down two rows and found my grime-encrusted car tucked in between a silver Lexus and a black Cadillac Escalade SUV. My sturdy little electric-blue Neon looked pretty lonely among all that luxury.

I pulled my key out but before I had it in the lock, I felt, rather than heard, someone come up behind me. I stiffened.

“Don’t scream and don’t turn around,” a voice whispered in my ear.

I tightened my hand on the key. At this point, it was my only weapon. I shrugged and allowed my purse to slide off my shoulder. I shoved the purse back toward the disembodied voice. “Here,” I said. “I don’t have a lot of cash, but whatever’s there is yours. And you’re welcome to the credit cards, too.”

I didn’t mention that the cards were almost maxed out. Let the jerk find that out for himself.

A hand grabbed the purse but immediately heaved it onto the pavement. Concern shot through me. When a robber didn’t want your purse, that was not a good sign. If he wasn’t looking for cash, then there was only one other thing he’d want from a single woman in a dark parking garage. I wasn’t about to give that particular item up without a fight.

As inconspicuously as possible, I shifted my weight onto my toes. But the guy seemed to anticipate the move and he hit me hard between my shoulder blades, sending me stumbling forward against the hood of the car.

I used my hands to keep myself from hitting face-first. He pressed against me with his bulky body, pushing my head down until my cheek rested against the cool metal.

“Don’t even think about running,” he said.

“I wasn’t,” I lied.

My heart pounded against my rib cage and fear thickened in the back of my throat. The guy wasn’t going to make this easy. He was a pro, someone who had done this before. He knew what to look for.

“What do you want?” I asked, desperately trying to keep myself from panicking.

“We want what belongs to us.” His hand held me tight against the car. I couldn’t move.

“Tell me what it is and if I have it, I’ll give it to you. I’m not looking for trouble.”

“We want the key and the package.”

I shoved my key chain in his direction. “Here, take them. Take the car. Just leave me alone.”

He took my keys but I heard them hit the pavement alongside my purse. “These aren’t the key or the package we’re looking for.”

“Well, they’re the only ones I’ve got,” I said.

He snorted in exasperation and grabbed my collar, hauling me to my feet. Reaching around me, he yanked open the door of the Escalade. “Get in and push over behind the wheel.”

I locked my knees, digging my heels into the pavement. Don’t ever let an abductor take you to a new location. I’d heard that particular warning more than a few times from Charlie, Jack and every other police officer I’d ever worked or trained under.

“Just tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you,” I stalled.

He didn’t answer, but instead crowded in behind me, using his thickly muscled body to nudge me into the car. “I said to get in and get behind the wheel.” He shoved me between my shoulder blades, sending me stumbling against the open car door.

I stepped up and bumped my head on the door frame. A stinging pain shot across the top of my scalp. I swallowed against the tears that sprang to the corners of my eyes and slid across the seat.

I reached for the opposite door handle, but before I could grab it and jump out, a hand reached across the front seat and clamped down on my shoulder, anchoring me firmly to the seat.

I jumped, and my fear hit a new high. My abductor had an accomplice. My chances of escape had just taken a rather significant nosedive.

“Don’t even think about jumping out,” a voice said, the sound low and grating, like granite stones rattling in a metal cage.

How had I missed that there was someone else in the car? I was getting careless. Too many years living in the mountains and not enough time keeping my city radar switched on high.

I grabbed the wheel and peered into the rearview mirror. The shadowy figure in the backseat wore his cap low on his forehead, shading his features. His shoulders were wide and bulked up beneath the expensive leather coat. He used two fingers to flick the back of my skull, sending another flash of pain shooting through my head.

“Keep your eyes front and center,” he ordered.

“What do you want?” I tried to keep the fear out of my voice. “My boyfriend is going to be here any minute.”

Mr. Biceps laughed, and it wasn’t anything light or airy. More like the low rumble of a diesel truck. “You ditched O’Brien down below. Ain’t no one coming to your rescue, little sister.”

He knew Jack. Apparently Jack was still hanging with an interesting crowd.

The shooter slammed the passenger side door closed and shifted around to face me. He had a fleshy nose with a boatload of nasty-looking moles and other assorted blemishes spread out across his cheekbones and neck. The guy was in serious need of a dermatologist.

He wagged the gun in the direction of the ignition. “Start it up. We’ll go somewhere a little less public to conduct our business.”

He glanced over his shoulder at his buddy. “The Bay Street exit, right, boss?”

The figure in the mirror nodded and then settled back, apparently content in his belief that Mole Face had things under control. I let him think that as I leaned forward and started the engine.

“Back it out nice and slow,” Mole Face instructed, settling his own shoulder back against the passenger side door, a small smile puckering his full lips.

“Where are we going?” I put the car in reverse and backed out. The bottom of my foot itched to floor it, but something told me I needed to bide my time, pick my opportunity carefully.

My passengers had the attitude of thugs who’d done this drill before. Something told me that there wouldn’t be any second chances. It was now or never.

Up ahead, I could see the ramp leading to the top of the parking garage. Patrons of the garage had to go up to the roof to start back down again. I eased the SUV into Drive.

“Take the back exit,” Mole Face ordered, resting the butt of the revolver on his right knee. He was feeling pretty confident, sure that I was frightened enough to do what he asked.

I shifted my left leg closer to the door and carefully slid my left hand off the wheel, resting it on my thigh. I nodded my head agreeably. “Whatever it is that you two want, I’ll give it to you as long as you don’t hurt me.” I put a little extra plaintive pleading into my voice, hoping they’d concentrate on that rather than the fact that my left hand was now resting on the door handle.

“Just shut up and drive,” the backseat thug said.

I headed for the ramp, bracing my left foot against the frame of the car as I stamped my right foot down on the accelerator. The car engine roared, and the vehicle jumped as if goosed.

Both men fell back against the seats, and the gun flew out of Mole Face’s hand, hitting the dashboard. With a grunt, he scrambled to reach it. But the revolver slid to the floor, skittering across the floor and settling beneath my feet.

“Slow down!” Mole Face shouted.

“It’s stuck,” I said, pretending to pry at the bottom of the gas pedal with my foot but instead stomping on it harder.

Mole Face bumped up against me as he blindly groped along the floorboards for his gun. I ignored him and jammed the accelerator flat to the floor. The engine screamed and we hit the top of the ramp going sixty-five.

Come on! Come on! I chanted inwardly, my fingers gripping the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grasp. I willed the car to go faster.

The engine roared, building up more speed. Seventy. Eighty.

We raced across the top level of the parking garage, directly toward the opposite end and a line of cars.

I aimed for the tiny red sports car and when the SUV hit the back end, it reared up and over the little car’s trunk. In seconds, we were airborne.

I yanked open the driver’s side door, tucked my chin and threw myself out sideways. Blackness closed in around me as I twirled and spun in midair.

There was a whirlwind of flashing lights and then pain as I struck the pavement with my left shoulder. Lucky for me, my oversize down jacket provided me with some extra protection.

I rolled and then hit something hard but with a little give to it. Pain shot through my entire body and then darkness settled over me.

GROGGY, I blinked and opened my eyes. I was laying up against the rim of a tire. It had broken my fall, probably keeping me from getting seriously hurt.

Cautiously I sat up and looked around. The Escalade had gone over the side. There was nothing left except the smashed sports car with the M.D. plates. Some doc was going to be royally ticked when he came out after a hard night’s work to find his little plaything a total wreck. Guess more than just his malpractice insurance would go up this year.

I pulled myself to my feet, grimacing a bit when I moved my left shoulder. I’d taken my full weight on it when I fell. It was going to be more than a little sore.

Limping slightly, I walked over to the low wall at the end of the garage and looked over. The Cadillac lay on its side, steam rising up from the engine. After experiencing the speed that monster vehicle had mustered in such a short time, I figured I needed to consider buying one when I won the lottery someday. Nice wheels.

No one moved inside the SUV. If Mole Face and Biceps were still alive, they didn’t appear to be in any condition to climb out. Unfortunate for them, but lucky for me. Charlie would be proud. I had managed not to get myself moved to a new location.

A motorcycle’s engine echoed inside the parking garage, tearing upwards toward the top floor. I glanced around, suddenly desperate to disappear. I didn’t want to have to answer any questions, and I didn’t have any doubts as to who was riding the bike.

Sure enough, a few seconds later, Jack skidded to a stop. He yanked off his helmet, jumped off the bike and headed toward me, throwing the helmet over his shoulder. It hit the side of his bike and rolled a few feet away.

He ignored it, his face angry. “What the hell is going on?”

I shrugged. “Someone must have jumped the wall in a misguided attempt to avoid paying their parking fee.” I nodded toward the end wall. “He sailed right off the side.”

Jack walked over to view the mess below. He shot a suspicious glance in my direction. “Something tells me you’re involved. Wanna come clean?”

“The two gentlemen in the car thought they had my permission to take me for a ride. I disagreed.” I shrugged. “So, we parted company on unfriendly terms.”

“What did they want?”

“I’m not really sure. But they were under the impression that I had something they wanted. A key and a package of some sort.”

A few minutes later, the sound of a siren told us the police had arrived. They were crawling all over the SUV below in a matter of minutes.

“You’re going to have to make a statement.”

I shrugged again, ignoring the nagging pain in my shoulder. “Not my fault they took the short ride off the side of the parking garage. They shouldn’t have told me to drive while holding a gun on me.”

Jack shook his head. He wasn’t convinced I’d told him everything, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue about it right at the moment. “You’ll make your statement and then you’ll come with me. No way are you staying alone at Charlie’s.”

I bristled at his commanding, no-nonsense tone. Who the hell was he kidding? His place was not the safest place for me. Not when my traitorous body hummed like a well-oiled machine with every glance from those dark blue eyes of his. Nope, more like his apartment was the most dangerous place on the planet for me.

Before I could open my mouth to argue, he grabbed the extra helmet off the back of his bike and jammed it none too gently on my head. “Don’t be stubborn. Those men weren’t playing around. You need a safe place to stay. I’ll take you over to Pop’s place, we’ll pick up Sweetie Pie and then you can sleep at my place tonight. Tomorrow you can make whatever other arrangements you want.”

His fingers, warm and infinitely more sexy than my own, worked the straps of the helmet, brushing the soft skin at the underside of my chin.

I clenched my back teeth, my toes curling in the bottom of my boots. God, give me strength to ignore the tingle shooting up the center of my spine.

As hard as it was to admit it, I knew was right. I was tired. We could call a truce for tonight. We were both adults. No reason we couldn’t both handle staying in the same apartment for one night. We were strong. Responsible.

Ha! Who was I kidding. It wasn’t Jack I was worried about. I was the one who’d been living in Upstate New York, where every man seemed to live for his rifle, his snowmobile and Genesee Beer. A good woman was usually the last item on his list of life necessities. Right now, even O’Brien was looking too good to pass up, and that thought scared the hell out of me.

A SHORT TIME LATER, my statement having been given to the police, Jack and I were headed down Pine Street on the west side. Overflowing garbage cans lined the streets. One could only hope that the city sanitation department was headed in this direction tomorrow morning, or else the entire west side looked as though it might get buried under a mountain of Glad trash bags and empty pizza boxes.

Charlie’s apartment was in one of the old row houses that lined State Street, one of many elegant old homes that had slowly deteriorated into dilapidated ruins, propped up with plywood and cheap siding.

As financial times had gotten leaner, a lot of the original owners had divided their houses up into multiple dwellings, cramming as many people in as was humanly possible.

Charlie occupied a small one-bedroom apartment on the third floor of one such house. The owners were two elderly Polish ladies, sisters who had probably lived in the neighborhood since its creation. From the age of them, I figured they had both been born in the house.

Jack parked his bike at the curb, turned the front tire in and took off his helmet. He rested the helmet in front of him, balancing himself on two legs, his expression a bit horrified as he surveyed the garbage littered front yard.

I figured from his expression that this was his first visit to Pop’s new residence. A touch of resentment rumbled in the pit of my stomach, and that little voice in my head reminded me bitterly that it was all his fault Pop lived in such a dump.

I shut the voice off. He and I weren’t going to make it through the night if I had him roasting on a spit before midnight.

I hopped off and jammed my own helmet on the back of the bike. He followed suit and climbed the rickety steps onto the front porch. He glanced over one broad shoulder. “Are you coming? I don’t have a key, so we need yours to get in.”

I followed him into the front hall, the smell of frying sausages, sauerkraut and onions hit me hard and made my stomach rumble. Memories of dinner at the Orzinskis’ house swam into my consciousness—Claire standing over the stove, sautéing onions while Charlie read her sections of the evening paper.

I pushed the thought aside. Obviously the PowerBar earlier hadn’t been enough. Suddenly, I was starving.

A door to the right swung open and a short, squat woman with pure white hair and a bulldog face peered out. “Who are you?” she demanded.

Jack smiled that charming, one-sided dimpled grin of his. “Evenin’, ma’am. We’re here to pick up Charlie’s cat.”

The woman opened the door wider; her expression was suddenly a map of concern. “How is Charlie? Edith and I have been beside ourselves with worry about him. We were going to take a bus down to the hospital to see him, but money has been a little tight this month.”

“Who’s out there, Patty?” another voice called from inside the apartment.

“It’s some friends of Charlie’s here to pick up that insufferable beast of a cat of his. He’s still in the hospital. Gonna be there for a while longer, it seems.” She glanced at us for confirmation and Jack nodded.

There was the sound of something thumping on the floorboards of the hall and a tall, skinny woman with gray hair and a sour expression appeared. She leaned heavily on a thick cane. “You sure they’re legit? Awful lot of people claiming to be Charlie’s friends been popping out of the woodwork lately, asking to get into his apartment.”

Jack reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, flipping it open to show his badge. “I’m with the Syracuse Fire Department. Charlie’s a real good friend of mine.” He nodded in my direction. “This is Killia—”

“Oh, we’ve met Killian,” the shorter sister said, smiling sweetly in my direction. “Sorry, dear, I didn’t recognize you in the dark hallway.”

She glanced up at the dim bulb. “We keep meaning to get stronger lighting out here, what with all the riffraff hanging around the neighborhood and stumbling into entryways without an invite. But somehow we always forget to tell Charlie to do that for us.”

She sighed. “Charlie’s been very good to us. He was always willing to do a few chores. Help us out when we needed something done.”

“Sounds like he won’t be helping us again any time soon,” Edith grumbled. She turned and thumped back down the hall of her apartment, mumbling under her breath.

The shorter sister smiled apologetically. “You’ll have to excuse Edith. She really does care about what happens to Charlie. She just isn’t the type to show her true feelings.”

I nodded but had a strong feeling that if Edith had the opportunity to get anywhere near Charlie’s bedside, she’d whack the soles of his feet with her cane and tell him to get his lazy ass out of bed. No doubt Charlie would be grateful she hadn’t scrounged up the extra money to take the bus down to the hospital.

Patty shot a quick glance over one shoulder and then shuffled her swollen, slippered feet out into the hall. She pulled the door shut after her. “Sorry for all the questions, but my sister is right. Lots of people been claiming to know Charlie lately. I never knew the man to have so many friends.”

“What did these friends say they wanted?” I asked.

Patty shrugged. “A few asked if he was home. A few of the recent ones wanted me to let them into the apartment.” She reached up and scratched her powder-white ear. “Personally, I can’t figure it out. Charlie doesn’t have two nickels to rub together. He doesn’t have much and I can’t say I can believe they stopped by to feed that ugly, disagreeable cat of his.”

“Did you recognize any of them as visiting here before?” I asked.

Patty’s bulldog forehead wrinkled even more. “Can’t remember anyone specific. One fellow had a bad case of pimples—in serious need of a good scrubbing. And his breath wasn’t any prettier than his face. Charlie might be poor, but he isn’t the type of man to let his personal hygiene go.”

The hair on the back of my neck ruffled. “Did you let him into the apartment?”

Indignation crossed Patty’s face. “Of course not! What kind of rooming house do you think we run around here?” She fluttered her stubby eyelashes in Jack’s direction. “Of course, if the request comes from one of Syracuse’s firemen, heroes that they all are, then that’s an entirely different story.”

I snorted at the description of Jack as a hero, and he shot me a look of exaggerated woundedness. I merely raised an eyebrow and frowned. He might be welcomed eye candy for a little old Polish lady on the west side, but he wasn’t fooling me. He sighed and turned back to Patty.

“Mind if Killian and I take a look around?”

“You go right ahead, sir. Just lock up when you’re all done.” Patty smiled and disappeared back into her apartment.

Jack and I took the worn stairs to the third floor. I could hear muted voices behind the walls of the other apartments we passed and the smell of dinner cooking.

My stomach rumbled loud enough for Jack to shoot me a quick glance. “Hungry?”

“A little.”

“We’ll grab some King David takeout on the way home.”

My heart squeezed with pain. Our favorite meal—Middle Eastern—hummus-and-fried-veggie patties on pita bread. We used to set up a picnic in the middle of the bed and chow down like two wild beasts and then roll over and make ourselves hungry all over again.

“I’m more of a hamburger and French fries type of gal, nowadays,” I said stiffly.

Jack shrugged. “McDonald’s it is, then.”

We reached the third floor and stopped.

Charlie’s apartment door yawned open on its hinges. Apparently whomever the Stanziki sisters had last refused entrance hadn’t accepted no for an answer. They’d simply kicked the flimsy door open and walked right in.

Jack and I stepped around the hanging door into utter chaos. If I’d judged Charlie’s place to be a hellhole earlier in the day, it now looked as though even Satan had deserted the place, but not before he’d had a major temper tantrum.

Every piece of furniture was smashed, slivers of wood and metal littering the threadbare carpet. The tiny twelve-inch black-and-white TV—where Charlie had gotten a real black-and-white TV was beyond me—was now screenless, shards of the glass spread across the carpet. The lamps lay broken on the two cheap end tables among ripped magazines and scraps of newspaper.

Through the archway into the tiny bedroom off the living room, I could see clothes, mostly worn jeans and stained T-shirts, hanging out of the thin plasterboard dresser.

The mattress, stained and sagging in the middle, was ripped up the center, the rusted springs and thin padding bubbling up between the tear like the guts of an eviscerated pancake. I swallowed hard.

Jack lifted his hand, pushed me back against the wall and started to shoulder his way past me. I shoved back, reaching inside my coat and drawing my gun.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll go first,” I said, brushing past him.

“Stay here,” I mouthed silently.

He frowned, none too pleased. When I stepped inside, he pulled up close on my heels. I was annoyed that he didn’t listen, but I didn’t take the time to argue. I didn’t want to warn anyone if they were still in the apartment.

I poked my head into the small kitchen to the right of the living room. Actually, it wasn’t a kitchen, but a pathetic notch in the wall that served as a cooking nook.

The few dishes that had been sitting in the sink earlier lay smashed on the counter, every cabinet open and the contents dumped. All the drawers were open, their contents dumped onto the narrow strip of cracked linoleum.

The door on the tiny apartment refrigerator stood open; food and beverages, mostly opened bottles of beer and a pitcher of orange juice, dripped down off the racks. The putrid smell of spoiling food, probably tuna fish meant for Sweetie Pie, filled the tiny area.

“Damn!”

I jumped. The expletive had come from the bedroom. Jack had taken off on his own. I turned and ran in Jack’s direction, a burn of anger at his stupidity eating at the lining of my stomach. He didn’t have a weapon and he could have put himself in a great deal of trouble.

As I rounded the corner to Charlie’s bedroom, I realized fairly quickly that someone other than Jack was the one in deep trouble. The kind of trouble you don’t ever get out of.