Authors: Deirdre Savoy
Body Of Truth (16 page)
She tilted her head to one side, considering that. “But why would a bunch of gang bangers care who killed Amanda Pierce? I'd be surprised if any of them knew who she was. And how would they know who to go after? The only people who know she has anything to do with this are cops.”
He didn't have an answer for either the first or last parts of her question. He addressed the only part he did have an answer for. “She worked in the same building every day at approximately the same time. She's a fixture in the neighborhood. She might not have gotten a good look at who was in the car, but maybe the person in the car saw her through the rear view mirror. All anyone would have to do is come back the next day and see if she showed up.”
“I thought you heard that Wesley was taken out by the leader of his own crew?”
He'd told her about the information Tyree had given him. “That doesn't make it true. What's to keep the guy from claiming responsibility for the shooting rather than admitting some other crew took one of his boys out without his permission?”
Mari rolled her eyes. “That's the code of the street for you. Better to be thought of as a murderer than a punk and lose face with your peeps. So, you're thinking the men who shot Wesley aren't from Pee Wee's crew?”
He shook his head. At this point he didn't know. All the pieces didn't fit in a smooth puzzle so far, but he'd bet they would if he kept at it.
“I'm not saying anything for sure. All we know about these guys is that they were wearing colors and they had guns. Put any couple guys in a tricked out car and a couple of bandannas . . .”
He trailed off, leaving Mari time to think about what he'd said. In the meantime, his gaze wandered to the kitchen. Dana was out of his line of sight, which meant she was probably over by the sink. Although he wished he knew what she was up to, her location made it less likely she'd overheard what he and Mari said.
“Why don't you go check on her?” Mari said.
He knew their conversation wasn't over, but he was more than willing to put it on hold for now. He got up and went to the kitchen, only to find it empty. A tray stood on the counter, laden with a coffee carafe, cups, sugar bowl and milk pitcher, but no Dana. He would have noticed if she'd gone upstairs. He tried the back door. It was still locked. Where the hell was she?
Then he heard the click of a door opening. Dana emerged from a door in the wall at right angles to the refrigerator. If he hadn't seen her come out of it, he wouldn't have known another roomâa bathroomâexisted back there.
When she looked up and saw him, she made a sound of surprise and her hand went to her chest. “You scared the life out of me.”
Good. Then he hadn't been the only one who'd gotten a good scare. He leaned his back against the edge of the kitchen counter. “I didn't mean to frighten you.”
She advanced toward him. “I didn't know you cops were so impatient about your coffee.”
She tried to walk around him, but he grasped her wrist and pulled her to him. She was trembling, but he doubted the startle he'd given her was the cause of her tremors. He pulled her closer with an arm around her waist. When she exhaled he smelled the aroma of fresh mint. “What were you doing in the bathroom?”
Her hands were on his chest. She pushed against him, but not enough to suggest she wanted him to let her go. “That's a little personal don't you think?”
“Maybe. Answer me.”
Her gaze slid downward, maybe to his throat. “If you must know, I was throwing up.”
He'd figured as much. She'd had enough time alone to really contemplate the danger she'd been in tonight and continued to be in. He thought he'd been doing her a favor by allowing her time to sift through things by herself, but he doubted now that had been the wisest course of action.
Had she been any other woman, he would have offered her some platitudes about not worrying and everything turning out all right. He couldn't bring his mouth to whisper any of those things. Right now, he didn't know what was really going on or who he was up against. He only knew he would do everything in his power to find out who wanted to kill her and to keep her safe. That's all he could offer.
The doorbell rang. It was probably Moretti. Jonathan set her away from him. “I'll get it. Do you think you can handle the tray?”
“I'm fine, really. Or I ought to be.” She smiled at him wickedly. “Nothing left to throw up.”
He didn't know why he did it, but as she moved away from him, he swatted her butt. He could feel her eyes on him as he walked away to answer the door. Fine. He'd rather have her indignant or angry or pissed off at him than have her frightened or vulnerable.
When Jonathan opened the door, he found Moretti with one hand braced on the doorframe and a sneer on his faceâa posture and expression designed to intimidate. Almost instantly the man straightened and the expression fell away from his face. The fool had actually expected Dana to open the door. The man didn't know him at all if he'd honestly thought Jonathan would have allowed that to happen.
At any rate, Jonathan bit back the comment on his mind that it had certainly taken Moretti long enough to get here. “Come in.”
Moretti sauntered past him, his usual swagger. “Where is she?”
Obviously, enough time had passed for whatever better instinct Moretti had shown earlier to wear off. “In the living room.” He shut the door and followed Moretti, almost bumping into him when the man stopped short.
Jonathan thought he knew what had halted Moretti and doubted the other man had the good sense not to comment. He wasn't disappointed.
Moretti took the one step down into the living room. “Hey, Velez. Your girlfriend lets you out dressed like that?”
Mari's eyes narrowed as a look of disgust came over her face. “You think that up all by yourself, Moretti or did you get the Cliff Notes?”
Sensing Moretti wasn't quite finished with being humiliated, Jonathan said, “Now that the pleasantries are over, let's get down to it.”
Moretti's expression soured. He strode over to the loveseat across from Dana and slumped onto its cushions. Jonathan took the only remaining seat, next to Dana. Without thinking he draped his arm on the back of the sofa behind her. Any other time it would have pleased him that she instinctively moved closer to him. But he noted Moretti's leering gaze on them, on Dana in particular. As much as he disliked Moretti, his goal was to get through the next few minutes without having to deck the man.
Moretti adjusted himself in his seat and a sneer settled on his face. “So, what's the story, Stone? I hope you got me up here for something more important than getting a look at Velez's cleavage.”
In the periphery of his vision he saw Mari sit forward. Not a good sign. Jonathan was a second away from telling the son of a bitch to shut his mouth. But Moretti seemed determined to get a rise out of somebody. It would annoy him more if no one took the bait.
“As I told you on the phone, Ms. Molloy was almost hit by the same car driven in the drive-by that killed Wesley Evans.”
Moretti's gaze lingered on Dana. “How do you know this?”
“I saw the license plate this time. It's the same number I gave you yesterday.”
“Did you see the car?”
“Only from the back. It was black. A Town Car. It had those wheels that spin.”
To Jonathan's recollection, so had the other car.
“How about the driver? Passengers?”
She shook her head. “At first the headlights were in my eyes, then the windows were tinted.”
“Where did this happen?”
She gave him a precise address including cross streets. He and Mari exchanged a look while Moretti continued asking all the right questionsâwho knew she'd be leaving or how she planned on getting home? Was this her usual route or something different? Whatever. He knew they were both thinking the same thing. Since Moretti could obviously be a half decent cop if he wanted to be, why didn't he?
“Is there anything else you remember?”
“Only that the streets were deserted. I remember thinking everyone must have hurried home because it was supposed to rain. There was one car that passed. I didn't really pay it much attention, but come to think of it, it was big and dark, but I didn't look at the plates. This was right before I went down the alley.”
Which meant the driver could have doubled back after seeing her and come after her. Which also suggested they might have either been cruising around looking for her or had been waiting at her house for her and given up only to luck out by seeing her on the street. Whichever the case, or even if it was neither, she couldn't stay here. She'd be a sitting target for anyone who wanted to hurt her.
Moretti stood. “I'm going to head over to the scene. I'll let you know if I find out anything.”
Jonathan doubted he would, but decided he'd not worry about that for the moment. He'd get her out of here for now and tackle the rest in the morning.
Surprisingly, Moretti left without any more snide comments, or at least none Jonathan heard. Mari walked him to the door and came back smiling a few moments later. He wondered what that was about, but figured he'd let that slide until morning, too.
“I'm going to head out, myself,” Mari said. “Why don't you do the honors of letting me out, partner?”
He'd known his conversation with Mari wasn't over and he'd bet she had a few additional comments to make about now. He rose from the sofa and followed her to the door. Once she reached the front alcove she turned to face him.
“Getting back to what we were saying before, it looks like we've got your basic chicken-and-egg conundrum. Did she get hurt because someone wanted to whack Wesley or did Wesley get whacked because someone wanted to keep her quiet?”
“That about covers it.”
“This is a fine mess we've gotten ourselves into, Ollie.”
“Tell me about it.”
“When he wasn't too busy staring down my dress, Moretti told me he already checked out the plate. It belongs to one Oscar Grant, a gangsta wannabe. The car was stolen from one of the meters outside the Bronx courthouse. The poor sap went in to fight getting jury duty. Not only did he not get out of it, when he got back his car was gone. This happened the afternoon Pierce disappeared.”
How exactly that tidbit of information fit in with everything else didn't appear to him immediately. “Anything else?”
“You know she can't stay here, right?”
“I know.” There would be a squad car outside tonight, but tomorrow was another story.
She stared at him a long moment and he wondered if she suspected how he planned to resolve that. Finally, she winked at him. “Take care of yourself, Stone. If I end up having to work with one of those other yahoos at the station I'm going to be very disappointed.”
He snorted. “Does that mean I'm a yahoo, too?”
“Pretty much. But you're my kind of yahoo.” He opened the door for her and she stepped over the threshold onto the porch. “Don't forget we have the funeral in the morning,” she added as she walked away.
How could he forget? Pierce's brother had called just before he'd left that evening to see what progress they'd made in his sister's case and let them know about the arrangements.
It would be interesting to see the mix of people who showed up at St. Pat's the next day. But for now, Dana was his focus. When he went back he found her at the kitchen sink, standing with her back to him, her head down, her hands braced on the counter. Next to her sat the coffee tray that no one but Mari had touched. As far as he could tell, Dana hadn't touched it either, only left it on the counter. But he sensed a shift in her mood, and not for the better.
He leaned his shoulder against the archway to the kitchen. “How are you holding up?”
She sighed and her shoulders drooped. “How am I supposed to feel knowing that someone else was killed because of me?”
Although he thought he knew, he asked anyway, “What are you talking about?”
She turned around to face him, crossing her arms and leaning her back against the sink. Her distress was laid bare in her eyes. “Don't play coy, Jonathan. You and I both know what all this really means. I wasn't hurt because someone wanted to kill Wesley. He was killed because someone was after me.”
He should have known that possibility wouldn't have escaped her notice. He remembered feeling as if she were waiting for him to say something and being disappointed that he remained silent. Was that what she'd expected him to say?
He hadn't voiced his supposition, because at this point, that's all it was. Tomorrow he'd work at getting the truth. He hadn't seen any point in discussing it tonight. He hadn't wanted to upset her further, but he saw now that was probably a mistake.
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