03 - Organized Grime (2 page)

I scowled. “Ha ha. Very funny. I don’t need a man, thank you very much. I’m perfectly content with my career.” Most of the time. Okay, fifty-percent, at least.

“How’s the crime scene cleaning?”

I shrugged and pictured myself alphabetizing my cleaning supplies earlier this week. “Booming.”

He did his trademark eyebrow quirk. “Strange, because we’ve been slow.”

I took a sip of my coffee. I was drinking it black, something I rarely did. Right now, I needed the extra dose of caffeine, though. “Yeah, the big-time criminals must be hibernating. That’s a good thing, right?”

He smirked. “Not for Sierra. It just means we have more time to focus on her.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Parker.” Why, oh why, did I always think of animal expressions when I talked about Sierra? “You’ll find that out as soon as she gets back.”

“Tell me—what friend was she getting together with?”

The blood drained from my face. “I don’t know. She didn’t say.” It was the truth, if you defined “truth” by its loosest definition.

He cocked an eyebrow again. He knew me better than I wanted to admit. “But you have an idea.”

“I only have guesses. Guesses don’t mean anything.”

“Give me a name.”

I narrowed my eyes at Parker as he sipped on his coffee mug like he belonged in my apartment. “Why are you acting like this? I’m on your side—the side of the law. I always have been. But I’m not going to incriminate my friend.”

He set down his coffee mug on the counter with a loud clank. “I just want a name, Gabby. Maybe the name will help prove her innocence.”

I sighed, my breath ruffling my hair. “I think his name is Henry. I don’t know his last name.”

“What do you know about him?”

I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. “Not much. He’s a freegan.”

“You mean vegan?”

“No, a freegan.” Sierra’s long, long speech on the definition of a “freegan” came back to me. “He only eats free food. They’re called freegans. They go dumpster diving and stuff.”

“Why would he do that?” Flashy Parker actually looked stupefied at the thought.

I sighed again, suddenly feeling like I was the suspect
and
a freegan. “Apparently, the U.S. wastes about half of the food it produces. Freegans don’t want to support an economy that wastes so much so they only eat food that others discard.”

Wow, I’d said it and sounded convincing. I was good.

“They sound like freaks.”

I shrugged. “Call ‘em what you want. They’re out there.”

He picked up his coffee mug again. “How long has she been hanging out with this Henry?” Long sip.

“Two, three months.”

“What’s your impression of him?”

A picture of Henry flashed in my head. I’d given him the nickname “The Smell.” Yeah, enough said. “Aside from the fact that he looks homeless?”

“Homeless?”

A picture of Henry flashed into my head. “Apparently freegans don’t shower very often or buy clothes either. Nor do they own cars because he’s always trying to hitchhike or riding his bike. He’s talked Sierra into getting a car that runs on used vegetable oil.” I shook my head at the thought. “Whatever floats your boat. Peels your wheels. Moves your hooves. Propels your—”

“Are they romantically linked?”

The thought made me forget my poetic aspirations. “I hope not.” I relaxed my shoulders as I realized how uptight I sounded. “I mean, if he makes her happy, then they should be together.” I paused. “Romantically.” As soon as the word left my mouth, I wanted to throw up. Who would want to kiss someone who ate trash and didn’t shower?

Maybe people said the same thing about me. Who would want to date someone who cleans up blood and smells like death?

I pressed my hands into the counter behind me and focused my thoughts. Sure, Henry was extreme when it came to the environment. But that didn’t mean Sierra, simply by affiliation, had burned down a new housing development. Not Sierra. But if she was associated with the wrong people—people who were involved with this crime—then she could still be in trouble…

I shuddered.

“You can’t assume she’s guilty until you have more evidence. It’s the American way.”

Parker took a long sip of coffee, his eyes never leaving mine. “We just want to ask her some questions.”

“It sounds like you already have your mind made up.”

Parker reached down and grabbed the newspaper from my kitchen counter. His eyes scanned the article there before he looked up, his eyes sparkling. He began to read aloud.

“Gabby St. Claire knows how to clean up scum. She can get blood out of carpet, pick shattered bones from plaster, and clean up other less-than-enticing fluids from nearly any surface. St. Claire also knows how to clean up another kind of scum— the scum of the earth. She’s known around town as the girl who cleans up crime. The crime isn’t always blood and guts. She’s also cleaning up the streets by helping to put the bad guys behind bars. How does she do it? By using her training in forensics at the very crime scenes she’s cleaning.” He nodded and took another sip of coffee, his eyes still fixated on the newspaper. “Nice article.”

I shrugged. “So I’ve been told.”

Yes, the article—which came out two months ago—was still on my kitchen counter, but I’m not an egomaniac. But when someone finally acknowledges that the work you do is valuable, you’ve got to hold on to it. This article had helped solidify my business in the community. It had made me a bit of a folk hero in some circles. And it had gotten the attention of the medical examiner’s office, the very place where I would love to be employed once I finally finished my degree in a matter of a few months.

Parker’s cell phone rang. He pulled it from his belt and flipped it open. His voice became softer. It must be Charlie. He wandered down the hallway, talking.

Again, I was so glad he’d made himself at home in my apartment. Just what I wanted my ex-boyfriends to do.

An ex-boyfriend who was now having a baby with his new girlfriend. Weird. Very weird.

And here I was, alone.

Okay, not really alone. I mean, Chad would date me if I said the word. And Riley, well, half the time he acted interested in me and the other half like he was having second thoughts. It doesn’t do much for a girl’s ego, but I take what I can get. Besides, I’ve sworn off dating for awhile. Thinking about Sierra kissing Henry was enough to make me swear it off for good.

Parker’s phone rang again, this time a good old reliable jangle instead of the softer chirp he had for Charlie. With the phone still to his ear, Parker charged toward my door. Uh oh. I stepped out of the way so quickly I nearly toppled my halogen lamp.

Parker held his hand over the mouth piece. “We’ve got to go. When Sierra comes home, call me. Got it?”

The three men rushed from my house like floodwaters escaping a dam. I rushed after them, swinging myself around the doorframe in time to see their figures trotting down the stairs.

“Wait! What’s wrong? What happened?” Had they found Sierra?

Parker didn’t even bother to glance back at me. “A bomb just went off downtown.”

“Oh.” A bomb was terrible, but at least that had nothing to do with Sierra.

Parker paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at me. “At the office of Harrison Developers.”

Chapter Three

I felt like a bomb had just gone off inside my head as I walked back into my apartment. Parker was way off base with this one. No way was Sierra involved in any of this craziness. She was crazy, but … I shook my head. No, she wasn’t
this
crazy.

Henry, on the other hand…

Sierra, I hope you didn’t get yourself involved with the wrong crowd.

I leaned against the door, my legs feeling like they might buckle any time. My temples suddenly started throbbing. My stomach turned in a not-so-appealing manner.

Sierra. Where are you?

My little friend had a big heart. Really she did. So what if she protested circuses and sent nasty letters to fast food restaurants and refused to eat eggs. So what if she’d been arrested for freeing crabs and coerced my friends and me into eating acorn brownies.

She was a decent human being. Graduated from Yale. She was smart enough to stay away from federal investigations. Right?

I wiped my forehead, noticed the moisture there. Darn it, Parker. He’d made me nervous enough that I was sweating.

Sierra was in trouble. I could feel it.

I propelled myself across the floor and grabbed my phone from the kitchen counter. I dialed Sierra’s number. I had to talk to her.

The phone went straight to voice mail.

Where had Sierra said she was going when she left earlier today? I closed my eyes, trying to remember the conversation. I pictured her and Henry leaving together. Where did they say they were going? If it was up to Henry, they’d probably be dumpster diving. But I couldn’t help but think that she’d said something about having a planning session…

I closed the phone and then flipped it open again. I tried Sierra’s number. Again I got her voicemail.

“Pick up the phone, Sierra!” I flipped the phone closed and slammed it on the counter. I had to get a grip, not assume the worst.

I forced myself to sit on the couch and try to relax, to pick up where I’d left off thirty minutes ago. Assuming things and speculating would get me nowhere. I needed to watch some late night TV and mind my own business.

Who was I kidding? When did I ever mind my own business?

I couldn’t just stay in my apartment by myself while my ex-boyfriend hunted down my best friend and caged her in jail like one of the poor little animals she fought so hard to save. I grabbed my keys, hurried downstairs and toward my van. I would go downtown and see what all the fuss was about.

The brittle nighttime air froze the breath in my lungs as soon as I stepped outside. I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck and ran to my van. I cranked the heat. Cold air blew through the heating vents.

“Come on!” I pulled my hands away from the vents, wishing more than anything that I’d remembered my gloves. There was nothing I could do about it now. I grabbed a towel from the back and threw it over the steering wheel, so the plastic wouldn’t feel like ice against my hands.

I started down the street like a bloodhound on the scent for quarry. As soon as I turned out of my neighborhood I spotted the plume of smoke rising between the towers of downtown. My heart went ice cold, joining in the rest of my body, as the severity of the situation fell over me. A bomb had gone off—and it had been a big one, not the chemistry class variety. In the distance, sirens wailed. A police car blurred past.

Harrison Developers. That’s where Parker said the explosion happened.

The company had been in the news a lot lately. James Harrison, the company’s CEO, had deep pockets and a huge ego. A performing arts center in neighboring Virginia Beach was named after him, as well as a minor league baseball stadium.

I’d met the man once, by accident really. I attended a benefit dinner with Riley and, in a moment of oblivion, spilled my punch right on the man’s tuxedo. The rich fifty-something had twittered around—his grey comb-over never moving once during the process, I might add. He’d stared at his stained shirt before proclaiming me a “stupid woman.” I’d tried to tell him a great solution for getting out stains, one I used all the time at crime scenes. That’s when he started muttering that he was going to call the police. Riley had politely led me away, doing his customary head shake.

Riley and I have known each other seven months, and I still don’t think he knows what to do with me. Of course, he is Mr. Straight Laced, one who gave up a prestigious job with a top law firm in order to help the less fortunate. Sometimes I wish I could just have a touch of his goodness.

Headlights glared in my rearview mirror. I readjusted it and cast aside my not-so-nice thoughts about tailgaters and what I’d like to do to them. I took side streets around traffic, following the smoke as far I could. Roadblocks stopped me at least six blocks before I reached the scene.

I circled back around and found a parking space on the street. As I pulled into the parallel spot, the car with the glaring headlights sped past. Was someone following me?
Why
would someone be following me? I had one answer: Parker. I bet he had one of his men tailing me, hoping I’d lead them to Sierra.

I slammed my car door shut and stomped away from my car, ready to give Parker a piece of my mind. But as I approached the road blocks, the reality of what had happened hit me.  I prayed no one had been inside the building when the explosion happened. Whoever was behind this had set the device to detonate at night, when everyone was at home with their families.

That sounded like… something someone with a heart would do. My throat tightened. Not Sierra, though…right?

I walked through the downtown business area. Several tall office buildings stood along the streets. Some of the structures were old, faded and chipped while others were newer, sleeker and more ornate. I knew from being down here before that none of the other buildings were as tall or eye-catching as the Harrison Developers building. The building, finished in marble and sculpted in detail in everything from the windowsills to the ritzy front entryway, had stood like a crown in the downtown area.

A crowd had already gathered to watch the tragedy unfold as if it were a TV crime drama. I couldn’t quite understand people’s fascination with the morbid. My theory was that we’d all become hardened and desensitized to it because of the gruesome crime shows on TV. We’d confused reality with fiction.

A fire truck, several police cars and some unmarked sedans were parked at various angles around the building. The smell of smoke and dust and ashes hung heavy in the air, tingling my nose and making me cough.

I craned my neck to see more and gasped at what stood—or didn’t stand, I should say—in the distance. The seven-story building in front of me looked like it had been part of a war zone. I supposed it had. Half of the structure lay crumbled at the ground. The building’s innards—where the offices used to be—were now exposed, along with metal beams, concrete and wires.