Deadly Dreams (31 page)

Next would come the more delicate job of approaching banks to ask whether the victims held lockboxes there. Tull at least had had a key in his desk drawer at home that looked like it would fit one. If the men were involved in something illegal, something that made them enough money to enable Nora Parker to pay a cool million for a house, they had to keep records of it somewhere. Even if they were savvy enough to stash it overseas, there had to be bankbooks like Parker’s widow had found. Statements. Records of some type.

And those were exactly the type of questions he’d be asking Mark Randolph’s estranged wife.

Cheryl Randolph was dry-eyed and full of questions when Nate and Risa walked into the interview room. She was dressed in a pale pink summer suit that might have been considered appropriate office wear if it hadn’t been for the plunging neckline on the white blouse beneath it, which showed her impressive cleavage off to advantage. Her artful blond curls looked like they’d been aided by a bottle, and there wasn’t a flicker of sorrow on her face for the man she was not yet divorced from.

“So I heard Mark was burned to death.” She looked queasy at the prospect. “Like those other cops. Is that true?”

“We believe he was a victim of the same killer, yes.” Risa tried to keep the irony from her next words. “We’re sorry for your loss.”

The woman blinked. “Oh. Thank you. Mark and I . . . Our divorce is almost final.”

And you moved on long ago, Risa thought. That was clear enough. She remained silent as Nate asked the woman questions about her relationship with her husband, her last communication with him, and the nature of that communication. For the first time, Cheryl Randolph showed a flicker of emotion.

“Actually we argued on the phone just last week. This divorce is dragging out because Mark won’t agree to the financial split. He could be an as—He could be stubborn,” she amended. “And he was as cheap as the day was long. I had to explain every nickel I ever spent, even though I brought home a paycheck, too. I think that’s what got to me in the end. I just got tired of fighting about money all the time.”

“Was your husband having financial problems?” Risa put in.

The other woman grimaced. “The only problem Mark had with money is when he couldn’t hang on to his pennies long enough. He hated spending on anything. Unless it was something he wanted, of course.”

“Do you know if he worked a second job?”

She looked puzzled at Nate’s question. “A second job? How would he have managed that with the crazy hours you guys work?”

“So he didn’t mention putting in some time working security or protection or helping out a friend with their second job?”

Cheryl screwed up her brow, looked from Nate to Risa and back again. “He didn’t say a word about any of that. He wasn’t home a lot. He pulled overtime whenever he could, so we usually met each other coming and going. Once in a while he’d meet up with some friends for drinks or something. But to tell you the truth, I was busy with my own work, and we weren’t getting along for a while before we split. I just can’t be sure what he’d been up to recently. Can I ask you a question?” The words were addressed to Nate. Risa assumed when the woman leaned in confidingly, the gape in her blouse was for his benefit, as well.

“Of course.”

“I don’t want to be indelicate, but I don’t know when I’ll be able to talk to someone about this.” She moistened her lips and then curved them slowly. “Since we weren’t divorced yet . . . do you know if that means I’ll get Mark’s pension?”

“Ni-ice,” Risa drawled as they headed back to Nate’s office. “Seems doubly a shame that he was murdered. Being married to her should have qualified as suffering enough.”

“Hell of it is, unless he changed his will and the beneficiary on his pension, she’ll probably get everything. I’ll have Alberts and Finnegan search his house again, this time concentrating on any financial information he might have around. One thing is certain, he wasn’t regularly working overtime for extra money. The city pulled out all the stops for this task force, but we’re usually in a budget crunch. They discourage overtime, and she made it sound like he worked extra shifts, which is impossible.”

“So we have four victims who were doing ‘something’ in their spare time. We know that something equaled a big payoff for at least Parker.” She and Nate reached out for the doorknob for his office in tandem. Her jacket gaped open. When she saw his gaze fix on her weapon, she let her hand drop to her side. Just the act of loading and strapping on her weapon had had her shaking the entire ride to work this morning. Probably would have had her jittery all day if she hadn’t had far worse to concentrate on.

The memory of the blackened form in the crumbling cellar spilled across her mind like a dark stain. There was nothing quite as torturous as “knowing” something and still being unable to prevent it. Because it was knowledge she shouldn’t have and couldn’t explain.

And in Mark Randolph’s case, it had come much too late.

“It’s been a long day after staying late last night.”

She sat down at her computer as Nate was talking. When he didn’t finish, she turned to look at him inquiringly.

He looked oddly ill at ease. “I’m just saying, if you want to call it a day, I don’t expect you to keep pace with the hours I’m putting in here.”

“Trying to get rid of me?”

He gave a purely masculine shrug and rounded his desk. “Just offering you an out. You seemed . . . on edge today.”

She stilled. Of course he would notice. Which meant that she wasn’t nearly as good at hiding her nerves as she would like to believe. She wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised when she offered him a shred of truth. “Raiker insists on his investigators being armed at all times.” Just talking about it had her palms dampening. “He cleared it with the commissioner when he offered him my services. I haven’t touched my weapon since my last case. In Minneapolis.”

His dark gaze met hers. She thought she couldn’t bear the question in his eyes. Found the understanding there somehow worse. “The one where you were wounded?”

“It ended badly,” she said bleakly. Badly. An innocuous word for a scene that had ended with several SWAT operatives wounded, two of them fatally. A five-year-old boy dead. And left Risa doubting she’d ever be able to bring herself to face another case again.

“Yet here you are,” he murmured.

“Here I am.” Because she needed to look away, needed something, anything else to focus on, she powered up her computer. “I won’t take you up on your offer to cut out early, but I wouldn’t say no to a pizza. Meat lovers with extra cheese.”

“A woman after my own heart.”

The pizza had been devoured, and despite Nate’s convenient memory, it was he who’d eaten two-thirds of it. He’d been in and out of the office, on the phone and then poring over reports at his desk. She’d overheard the tail end of one phone conversation that had sounded as if it was personal. His low tones had made it impossible to make out all of the words, but it had sounded like an argument. She wondered if he was talking to the sister he’d mentioned having problems with.

She clicked out of a site for old archived newspapers and clicked on another. Of course, she thought wryly, it was just as likely that he was talking to a woman he was involved with. Maybe one who wasn’t happy about the hours he kept and was feeling neglected. It went without saying that a man who looked like Nate McGuire wouldn’t want for female attention.

Risa narrowed her search to Philadelphia newspapers and then typed in her search command. She was half surprised to find a handful of stories that looked promising. Jotting down notes, she switched from one story to the next. And then moved on to another site and started over. Finally she looked up, barely concealed excitement in her voice. “It says here that the fire at Tory’s back in ’86 was suspected arson.”

Nate looked up. “What made them think that?”

Risa read from her notes. “The investigators could find no electrical reason for the fire. It also mentions the owner didn’t carry insurance. According to Baltes, her boyfriend was asleep upstairs while she was waiting on customers in the bar. A fire broke out when she was cleaning up and she tried to get it under control herself. When that failed, she ran outside to a neighbor’s and had them call the fire department.”

She looked up to meet his gaze. “The article intimates that the fire department’s response time was slower than usual because of the neighborhood the call came from. By the time they arrived, it was too late to do much for the building. And efforts to save the man in the upstairs apartment were in vain.” She couldn’t suppress the excitement from her voice any longer. “And get this . . . the victim named in the article is a Lamont Frederickson. Has a lot of immediate surviving family listed, including a younger brother by the name of Javon Emmons.”

Nate looked as stunned as she’d felt upon reading the article. “What are the chances he’s the same Javon Emmons . . . Juicy?”

“I’m guessing damn near one hundred percent.”

A door pushed open on the passenger side of the gleaming black town car idling at Risa’s curb. She’d barely parked before Adam Raiker emerged from it and waited impatiently for her to join him.

“Adam.”

His tone was wry. “Please. Rein in your excitement. The constant adulation gets wearing.”

Her mouth quirked. “I’ll take your word for it.” She let him lead the way up to the front door before she stepped in to unlock it and allow him entry. When he ensconced himself once more on the sagging flowered couch, she had a flash of déjà vu.

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Any news on the assassin ?”

His hand tightened on the polished knob of his cane. “As a matter of fact. Got the call today. The FBI has him under surveillance. They were supposed to move on him tonight. I’ve been invited to sit in on some of the interviews once he’s in custody.”

She smiled at his disgruntled tone. It wouldn’t suit her boss to allow another organization to lead when it had been his life at risk. “I’m glad. Hopefully you’ll get some answers about who hired him.”

“We will if I’m doing the interview.” He stared at her long enough then to make her uncomfortable. Then, in his usual abrupt manner, he said, “Paulie thinks I misjudged you. That I pushed too hard.”

Oddly touched, she found it difficult to speak for a moment. If Adam Raiker harbored self-doubts, she’d never seen evidence of them. And the thought that Paulie’s words would have had him second-guessing himself on her behalf meant more than it should have. In answer, she opened her jacket a bit.

His face creased into a self-satisfied smile. “You’re wearing your weapon.”

She was suddenly glad he would never know how long it had taken her just to force herself to touch it. How she’d shaken like a leaf in a hurricane loading it this morning. The effort it’d taken to bring herself to strap it on.

“It’s just geography. It’s not in the drawer anymore, but what good is it if it’s only window dressing? I don’t know that I can draw it. Fire it.”