Authors: Deirdre Savoy
Body Of Truth (7 page)
“It's not like that, Dana.”
That was exactly what she hated about copsâthey thought their ends justified any means. She didn't know how the police had figured out she had called in, and it didn't really matter. It would never occur to them to leave someone alone if they thought it would help their case.
She huffed out a breath. He was here already and he was her best friend's brother. She might as well answer his questions and be done with it. It could be worse. She could have Moretti questioning her, but this time she'd bet the case would get more than a cursory investigation.
“Come on in,” she said, “but I doubt I can tell you anything more than what I told them over the phone.” She turned and headed toward the living room, trusting him to close the door behind him. She took a seat at the edge of the sofa facing the door to the room. She gestured for him to take the love seat on the opposite wall, but he remained standing, looking around.
“Nice place.”
Yes, she agreed with him silently, but it hadn't always been a nice place. She'd bought it as a fixer-upper since she couldn't afford many places that didn't require fixing. In the last three years, she'd retiled the downstairs bathroom and completely gutted the upstairs one. She'd retiled the kitchen floor and enclosed the back porch. This room had been the worst, requiring new hardwood floors, new dry-wall and a new ceiling. She'd painted the room a soft apricot to match her caramel-colored leather furniture. The room now exuded a warm, homey feeling that she enjoyed.
But she doubted Jonathan Stone really cared one way or another about her décor. She recognized his words as his opening gambit, the infamous lead-in question or comment designed to relax the interviewee and she didn't appreciate it.
“Don't handle me, Jonathan. Ask what you want to ask.”
“All right.” He unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat across from her. “How sure are you that it was Amanda Pierce you saw coming out of the building on Highland Avenue?”
“About ninety-nine percent. But I didn't see her coming out of the building. She was already outside when I got out.”
“You never saw her inside the building?”
“No. I told that to the officer I spoke to.” Since he didn't seem pleased with that answer, she asked, “Why?”
“What was she wearing?”
Just like a cop to ignore your questions and stick to his own agenda. She relayed everything she remembered from the pumps on the woman's feet to the scarf tied on her handbag.
He wrote on his pad as she spoke. After a moment he looked up. “What kind of scarf?”
Dana shrugged. “I don't know. It had a pattern of piano keys on it.”
“You say she got into a car with a man. Did you get a look at him?”
“To be honest, I'm not sure it was a man. It could have been a beefy woman. I only saw an arm, but my impression was that it belonged to a man.”
“What kind of car?”
“Big, black. Beyond that I don't know. If it had the model on the back, I didn't notice.”
“Did you get a look at the license plate?”
“I'm sure I did.” Since she'd found out about Pierce's murder she'd tried to recall whatever numbers or letters might have been on it and had come up blank. “I didn't know there was going to be a quiz later.”
“Is there anything else you can remember that might be helpful?”
She scanned her memory, wishing she could tell him. “There was an old homeless man urinating on the building. He was outside when I got there, too.” Knowing he'd ask for it, she gave a description of him, adding that she'd never seen him in the neighborhood before.
He closed his notebook and slipped it into his breast pocket. “Thank you.” He nodded toward her with his chin. “What happened to your arm?”
For a moment, she wondered if this was another police interrogation tactic or he truly wanted to know. “It's my shoulder, actually. I got shot in a drive-by yesterday morning.”
“Who's working the case?”
“Detective Moretti out of the 44th precinct. Do you know him?”
He nodded rather than spoke. “How did he treat you?”
“Like I was the one who shot somebody.” It occurred to her that Joanna had been there at the time, outside the room. Not only had Dana told Joanna how the interview had gone, she'd probably listened to the whole exchange herself. She couldn't imagine that Joanna hadn't gone straight to Jonathan to complain, knowing that he'd worked in the 44 and probably knew Moretti. “I'm sure Joanna told you all this already.”
“I like to check things out for myself.”
“You don't trust your own sister?”
“Joanna's been more stressed than usual lately.”
Dana snorted. “You mean hormonal.”
For the first time, a hint of a smile tilted his lips. “You said it, I didn't.”
For the first time, she really looked at him. He was a handsome man in a rugged sort of way, his face a study of hard lines and stark planes. She'd always acknowledged that, the same way she knew the suit he wore camouflaged the kind of muscular body most women lost their heads over. Too bad crazy didn't cancel out sexy as hell.
But today he looked tired, not fatigued but strained. She could imagine the pressure on him to find Amanda Pierce's killer. The fact that he resorted to seeking her out told her that he hadn't much to go on.
“Does this mean you're going to, what is it you people say? Reach out to him?”
“If you want me to.”
She nodded, unable to bring herself to actually ask any cop for help. “The young man who was killed was one of my patients' grandson. I'd like to know who did this to him.”
Jonathan stood. “I'd better be going.” He pulled a card from his pocket and extended it to her. “If you think of anything else, please call me.”
She rose to her feet and took the card. She scanned it briefly, noting it had numbers for both the precinct and his cell phone, then stuck it in the back pocket of her jeans.
She showed him to the front door and let him out. He walked to a black car parked across the street, got in and pulled away from the curb.
Dana shut the door and leaned her back against it. If nothing else, Jonathan's visit had killed another hour in her day. She still had nothing to do and more than enough time to do it in. She only knew she was ready to give up on the pity party for one she'd indulged in that day. She was whole, save for a bullet wound that had mostly healed already. She was safe, she was healthy, Tim was all right. Two people had lost their lives in two days. What the hell did she have to complain about?
The stairs leading to her bedroom were in front of her. She ascended them and went to her bedroom. She played back her tape of messages, all of which were from Joanna. Picking up the phone, she dialed her friend's number.
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For the second time in three days, Jonathan found himself sitting out on his fire escape, but tonight he had a purpose.
Snowball, an all white Persian cat who sometimes joined him, sidled up to him looking for food. He'd brought two sandwiches out with him tonight. He took the ham from one of them and gave it to the cat. He didn't mind Snowball's company, but it was the other stray he was hoping to see tonight.
He'd already heard about the shooting on Highland Avenue, even before Joanna had a chance to call him to complain about Moretti. He'd known that a civilian had been wounded in the process, but not that it was Dana. Hearing that Moretti had been assigned to the case signaled its lack of priority in the scheme of things, since Moretti had earned himself the nickname Lessetti by expending only enough effort on a case to keep his shield.
When Joanna first called he'd been hesitant to do anything about it. First, he resisted the idea of looking over another cop's shoulder. Cops had enough folks scrutinizing what they did, how they did it and how quickly it was accomplished. Plus, he knew how Moretti would take itânot as one cop reaching out to another but as an attempt to make trouble for him, which it wasn't.
Seeing Dana had changed his mind. He appreciated her no-nonsense attitude and her candor. Most of all, he admired her desire to find the killer, not for her own peace of mind but on behalf of a young man she barely knew.
He heard the creaking of the fire escape above him and knew his vigil hadn't been for nothing. Fourteen-year-old Tyree Owens descended from two floors above and sat on the stairs facing him. “Hey, Jon.”
“Hey, T. What's up?” As usual, Jonathan was careful to play it casual around the kid. Tyree spent most nights making himself scarce while his mother brought home men who paid her for her favors. He spent most nights alone in his room or out running the streets. Tyree only sat out with him when he wanted something. But Jonathan knew he couldn't push him, or the kid would bolt. He'd say what he had to when he wanted to.
“You eating that sandwich?”
“Nah, man. You can have it.”
He passed the plate to Tyree. Like the cat, the kid gulped down his meal as if he thought someone might take it from him. When he was finished he wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “Thanks, man.”
“How's your moms?” Jonathan asked, a question he always asked to which the boy usually answered, “She's all right.” Tyree would have to be a fool not to know how his mother earned a dollar, but he never said anything bad about her.
Tonight the question was met by silence. Tyree looked heavenward, breathing heavily. The kid was a moment from crying, which surprised him. “What happened?”
“Her boyfriend beat her up. She's in the hospital.”
Her boyfriend being the latest trick she'd brought home, he assumed. He wondered how much of this beating Tyree had seen. “Were you home?”
“Nah.” He hung his head. “I found her when I got home from school.”
Then Jonathan understood. Tyree felt guilty for not being around to protect his mother. It was on the tip of his tongue to remind Tyree that life wasn't supposed to work that way. His mother was supposed to look out for him. Jonathan supposed she did in her own way. One of the neighbors had called Social Services on her, but when they came the apartment was neat and there was food in the place. She didn't have a man with her at the time. So that was that.
Tyree wiped his eyes. “You came out here looking for me tonight.”
He wondered how the kid had picked up on that. Maybe cops and shrinks weren't the only ones who made a habit of studying people. “Yeah, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Well, go ahead, man. I'm here.”
For a moment he debated the wisdom of bringing Tyree into this, especially in his present mood. But all he wanted was information the boy already had, so what was the harm? “You know a kid named Wesley Evans, who lives on Highland?”
“I heard of him. He go to the same school I do. They call him Double U. That dude got smoked the other day right in front of his building. Pow. I hear they got some lady, too. The nurse.”
“Any word on who did it?”
Tyree shrugged. “Man, I don't know. Probably he stiffed somebody he shouldn't have, or over some shorty. You want me to find out?”
“Nah. Let it slide.” He'd only wanted to know what was common knowledge about Wesley's death, not deputize a teenager.
“All right. This heat is killer.” Tyree stood, gesturing toward his apartment above. “I'm gonna go and lay up under the fan.”
“How long until your mother gets out of the hospital?”
“At least a couple of days.”
Jonathan didn't doubt that the boy could take care of himself, but he didn't feel right about allowing a teenager to fend for himself for that length of time. If the kid had anyone else to stay with, he'd have been there already. “If you want, you can camp out on my sofa until she gets back.”
Tyree waved his hands. “Nah, I'll be all right.”
He should have known better. Any adult approaching a kid with a place to stay most likely had some fun and games planned that had nothing to do with Nintendo.
“You have any money?”
Tyree's expression hardened. His eyes reflected both anger and disappointment. At that moment, the boy probably saw him as nothing more than another man looking to take advantage of him or his mother. Besides, he knew Tyree liked the illusion that they were just two buds hanging out on the fire escape shooting the breeze, which was why Jonathan had always been careful not to push him. In two minutes he'd ruined all the headway he'd made.
He opened his mouth to try to smooth things over, but before he got a word out, Tyree said. “I don't need nothing from you, man.” He turned and raced up the fire escape steps. A few seconds later, Jonathan heard the sound of Tyree shutting the window behind him.
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