Deadly Dreams (2 page)

“Yes.”

“Detective Nate McGuire, Philadelphia Police Department.” He slipped his shield inside his jacket. “I’m on my way to a possible crime scene. My captain passed along a request from the chief inspector of the detective bureau that I extend you an invite to ride along. In an unofficial capacity, of course.”

A chill broke out over her skin, chasing away the remnants of heat that still lingered from the nightmare. “Why would he do that?”

McGuire lifted a dark brow. “I figured you’d know.”

She shoved her heavy mass of hair from her face and shook her head. Risa hadn’t looked up any old friends from the force since coming home four months ago. Had avoided news like the plague. That hadn’t been difficult given her mother’s penchant for watching only game shows and inspirational broadcasting.

“Apparently your employer, Adam Raiker, spoke to Chief Inspector Wessels about it.” His midnight gaze did a fast once-over, clearly wondering what it was about the woman in faded yoga pants and an ancient Penn State T-shirt that would catch the attention of the head of the detectives. “So I was told to stop and ask if you’re interested. I’m asking.”

She swallowed, just managed to avoid shrinking away from the door. “No.”

He nodded, clearly not disappointed. “Sorry to wake you.” Turning, he began down the stairs, leaving her to stare after him, fingers clutching the doorjamb.

Raiker. Damn him, her boss wouldn’t leave her in peace. Wouldn’t accept what she’d already accepted herself. Guilt, well earned, had rendered her useless. To him. To his forensics consulting company. And certainly to this detective.

The small house didn’t have a driveway or garage. McGuire was halfway to the street where he’d left his ride, a discreet black Crown Vic. He moved like an athlete, his stride quick and effortless. She had the impression she’d already been forgotten as he mentally shifted gears to his first priority, his response to the call out.

“What’s the crime?” For a moment she was frozen, hardly believing the question had come from her. This part of her life was over. Had been for months.

But still she waited, breath held, until he hesitated, half turned to call over his shoulder, “Possible homicide. A burned corpse was found about fifteen minutes ago.”

The air clogged in her lungs. Blood stopped chugging through her veins. Organs froze in suspended animation. The figure in the dream danced in her mind again, the engulfing flames spearing skyward.

But those dreams had become meaningless. Hadn’t they?

Oxygen returned in a rush. “Wait!”

McGuire had reached the car now. And he made no attempt to mask his irritation. “For what?”

“Give me five minutes.”

His response followed her as she turned away to dash toward the bathroom. “You’ve already used three.” So she paused only to brush her teeth, drag a comb through her hair, and shove her bare feet into sneakers. Then she headed out again, snatching her coat and purse in one practiced move as she passed the closet. Risa took a moment to lock the door behind her before jogging down the steps toward his vehicle, already regretting her decision.

She didn’t do this anymore.
Couldn’t
do it anymore.

Which didn’t explain why her legs kept moving in the direction of the car.

She’d barely slid inside the vehicle before he was pulling away from the curb. Shooting the detective a quick look, she pulled the door shut and reached for the seat belt. “What’s the location?”

“Body was found in a wooded area in the northern part of the city,” he said in a clipped tone.

“So you’re from the Northeast Detective Division? Or the homicide unit?” She busied herself buttoning her navy jacket. It had occurred to her that the day was likely to be long and chilly. The temps had been unseasonably cool for May.

“Homicide.”

It was what he didn’t say that caught her attention. “If you’re homicide, the call must have sounded fairly certain that there was foul play involved. Or else the crime bears some resemblance to one you’re already working. Which is it?”

Dawn was spilling soft pastels across the horizon, but the interior of the car was still shadowy. Even so, she would have to be blind to miss the mutinous jut to his jaw. “What’s your story, anyway?”

His attitude managed to slice through her self-doubt and land her squarely in familiar territory. She was well acquainted with suspicious cops. They would be the one element of her job she wouldn’t miss if she left it for good.
When
she left it.

“I assume Inspector Wessels told you whatever he wanted you to know.”

The sound he made was suspiciously close to a snort. “The chief doesn’t talk to me. And Captain Morales wasn’t in the mood for details when we spoke.”

She was sidetracked by his words. “Captain Morales? Eduardo Morales?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Surprised delight filled her. “When’d he get his bars? I hadn’t heard about his promotion.” If she’d gotten in touch with friends since she’d been back, maybe she’d have caught up on department gossip. But first she’d been focused on recovery and rehab for the physical wounds and then . . . The thought skittered across her mind before she had a chance to slam that mental door shut.

Then she’d been licking her emotional wounds.

“How do you know Morales?” He did a quick right on red in an effort, she suspected, to avoid waiting for the light.

“I was eight years on the force here before joining Raiker Forensics five years ago. Worked out of the Major Crimes Unit—Robbery and Burglary.” Amazing that the words would be accompanied by a tug of nostalgia. “Morales and I were tapped for special duty on a Violent Offenders task force for several months. He’s a good cop. How long have you worked with him?”

“Just a couple months.” And it was clear that he was nowhere close yet to deciding if he shared her opinion of the captain. He shot her another sidelong glance. “You don’t look like a cop.”

“Chances are if I’d been knocking at your door at the crack of dawn, you wouldn’t roll out of bed looking much like one either.” She gave him a bland smile. “Unless you sleep with your shield pinned to your . . . chest.”

Amazingly, his teeth flashed, although he didn’t shift his attention away from his driving. “So you were on the job. But not homicide. Makes me wonder why Wessels wants you tagging along for this.”

“My experience has broadened since leaving the force.” And now it was her turn to go silent and brooding. Nothing could be gained from this outing, unless it was ammunition for her ongoing argument with Raiker. She was done with this work. The only question was why her boss remained unconvinced.

Risa recognized the area of town McGuire drove to as one that used to be the haven of young drug users who wanted a remote place to get high. But it was deserted now, save for the police presence. The crime scene unit van was parked next to an unmarked car, and there were four other black-and-whites nearby. They got out of the car and made their way through a heavily wooded area before entering a clearing. It looked like the scene was secured and taped off, but those details were noted with a distant part of her brain.

Her focus was fixed on the blackened corpse lying inside the police tape.

A CSU tech was snapping photographs, and another man was kneeling next to the body, fiddling with a machine she couldn’t make out from here. But those observations registered only dimly. It was the victim who consumed her attention.

Because her palms had gone suddenly, inexplicably damp, she wiped them on her pants. And wished once more that she were anywhere but here.

“Which one of you took the call?” McGuire stopped outside the tape and scanned the half-dozen uniforms in the vicinity.

“That’d be us.” Two men stepped forward, both of them casting Risa a questioning gaze. One was tall and beefy, a good six inches taller than McGuire. The speaker was several inches shy of Risa’s five-ten height. With his thick neck, skinny limbs, and sturdy torso, he bore an unfortunate resemblance to SpongeBob, of cartoon fame. “Officer’s Tready and Lutz.” A jerk of his thumb indicated his partner as the former.

“Detective Nate McGuire. Homicide.”

The flash of Nate’s shield seemed to only partially pacify the man. He was still eyeing Risa quizzically.

“So run it down for me.” McGuire’s tone held enough of an edge that it captured Lutz’s total focus.

“The lady who found it—Heather Bixby’s her name—was out walking her dog. Wasn’t sure what it was, but the body was still smoking when she came upon it. She called nine-one-one. Tready took her statement. She’s waiting over in the car there.”

“Walking her dog in this area? Alone, while it was still dark?” Doubt dripped from McGuire’s tone as he shot a look at the car the officer had indicated. Risa seconded his disbelief. Philadelphia had dozens of parks, many of them updated with miles of paved trails. There was one within walking distance of here. While this spot, if anything, had grown seedier since her time on the force. The trees and bushes were overgrown, and it didn’t appear as if public dollars were going to be spent anytime soon on creating recreation paths for joggers.

Lutz lifted his shoulders. “That’s what she claimed, and she’s sticking with the story. Making noises about needing to get to work, so if you want to talk to her, might need to make it quick.”

“Did you see anything else? Anyone else in the area?”

This time it was Tready who answered. His low rumbling voice matched his craggy features. “No one. But the usual freaks who hang out here would have taken off first sign of a uniform.”

Nate nodded and dug in his pocket for a card. Handed it to Lutz. “Take the other officers and canvass the nearest neighbors. Write it up and send it to me at the homicide unit.” He headed in the direction of the witness, who was sitting on the edge of the backseat in one of the squad cars, feet on the ground, with a huge brindle mastiff planted squarely between them.

Risa hesitated. No matter how much she regretted coming, she was stuck for the moment. And following the detective took her farther away from the blackened figured in the scorched grass. The distance would be welcome. She trailed after McGuire, who was already speaking to the witness.

“Missus,” she was correcting him, one hand on the dog’s neck. “Like I told them officers, I brought Buster out for a run. I just live over on Kellogg.”

If Risa remembered correctly, Kellogg was a street of tired row houses, in a neighborhood still clinging to a fraying aura of respectability. Of course, that had been five years ago. Things changed fast in urban centers, and north Philly had long been one of the roughest areas of the city.

“You live there alone?”

Impatience settled on the woman’s face. “I’ve been through this once already. I live with my husband. He drives a semi. I work a split shift at Stacy’s Diner, on Seventeenth and Spruce, and I’m way late. Hal—that’s my boss—is going to be a total prick about it, too. So if you could write me something, maybe on police letterhead, telling him I was helping you, it would go a long way.”

“We can work something out. So you were heading to work earlier?”

Letting out a stream of breath, Bixby leaned forward to give the dog an affectionate pat. “I came to run Buster like I do every morning. My shift starts at eight, so we left the house at five or so.”

“And you always come here?”

The woman’s hesitation was infinitesimal. “In winter we stick to the sidewalks. But yeah, when it’s nice we come here sometimes.”

“Reason I ask, it’s not the best area.” McGuire seemed impervious to the morning chill in the air, although it had Marisa turning up the collar of her spring coat. “This is a known spot for drugs.”

The woman lifted a shoulder. “Users, not dealers. And not this time of day, anyway. Doesn’t matter. No one bothers me when I have Buster with me.” She gave the animal a vigorous ear rub, which had it closing its eyes in canine ecstasy.

The woman was lying. McGuire had to realize it. But his voice was easy when he asked, “Did you see anyone else around this morning?” When she shook her head vigorously, he pressed, “Even in the distance? Someone running off, maybe?”

“No, it was just me and Buster. He was straining at the leash, dragging me toward . . . that.” Marisa resisted the impulse to turn her head in the direction the woman pointed. The longer she could put off looking at the victim, the longer she could dodge recalling elements from the dream. “I got close enough to realize it was something dead. Burned. Didn’t know if it was human but I called nine-one-one anyway.” Her heavily made up eyes gleamed avidly. “It is, though, isn’t it? Human. You all wouldn’t be so interested otherwise.”

The detective reached in his pocket and withdrew a business card to give to her. “If your boss gives you any trouble, let me know and I’ll call him.” He accurately read the doubt flickering on the woman’s face. “The cell is department issued. It’ll show up on his ID screen.”

Shrugging, she slipped it into her pocket. “So I can leave?”

“Has a tech taken a sample of the dog’s hair yet?”

McGuire slid Risa a narrowed look. Clearly she was supposed to be seen and not heard on this outing. When the woman shook her head, the detective said only, “Wait here. I’ll send someone over right away.”

Bixby’s voice was plaintive as Nate walked away. “But why? I really gotta get to work.”

Following a hunch she didn’t question, Risa stayed behind. “It’s in case they find hair on the scene. They need a sample from your dog, so they can eliminate it in the identification process.”

“I didn’t let Buster get close enough for there to be any of his hair on that . . . thing.” If Bixby didn’t seemed resigned to waiting, the dog did. It flopped down on its belly, drooling copiously.

Risa shoved her hands in the pockets of her coat and gave the woman a knowing smile. “So what time were you supposed to meet him?”