Fallen (8 page)

It was Wednesday
night, and the bar inside McCrosky’s was packed. A few officers remained in their dress blues despite the time that had passed since the late-afternoon funeral. Nate had received a full honors police burial, including fifty squad cars that had escorted the hearse to the cemetery outside the downtown. His heart heavy, Ryan had offered condolences to Kristen afterward. She’d appeared drawn and pale, surrounded by family.

Ryan no longer wore his police dress coat, which he had removed in the tight crowd. Around him, everyone was talking about Nate, relaying war stories and speculating about his murder.

Appearing beside Ryan, Adam nodded toward Mike Perry, who sat with several other detectives, including Darnell Richardson. A bottle was being passed around the table. “How’s Mike doing?”

“He and Nate were close.” Ryan watched as Mike drunkenly knocked over his shot glass. “He’s going to need help getting home.”

With a nod of agreement, Adam took a sip of his beer. “You know the saying about these things. The only one who won’t have a hangover tomorrow is the deceased.”

Nate’s family had been invited but hadn’t come. Ryan figured their absence was for the best, as the gathering following a police burial often devolved into rowdiness as mourners hid their sorrow in laughter and drink.

“What’s the latest?” Adam asked. Two days had passed since ballistics had concluded the same gun had been used in both homicides, information being kept from the media but already circulating inside the APD.

“I reviewed Watterson’s arrest records to see if any of his collars were a match to Nate’s. They weren’t.” Nor had Watterson busted any of the street gang since its turf was outside his beat. Still, that wasn’t keeping Narcotics from trying to get a warrant together for the Purvis Street property.

“What about Nate’s cell?”

“No one in his personal contacts or call log stood out.” Tiredly, Ryan massaged the back of his neck. It had been a long day, beginning with more fruitless visits to Nate’s prior arrests. He’d also made a court appearance for another case before driving to the cemetery. Nate had been buried on a verdant hillside, the tranquil resting place a contradiction to his brutal death. Ryan hoped he was at peace.

Finishing his beer, Adam indicated the lukewarm one Ryan held. “I’ve got a dead soldier here. I’m going for another. Want one?”

“No, thanks.” He didn’t feel much like drinking. As Adam worked his way toward the bar, Ryan scanned the crowded room. Mateo had departed a short time earlier, but most of the other detectives from their precinct were still here.

Lydia hadn’t come by.

He tamped down his disappointment and moved to an alcove to check his voice mail. As he finished listening to several messages, including one he chose to ignore from a reporter, a gruff male drawl reached him over the barroom noise. It was impossible not to overhear.

“C’mon, babe. You too good for me or something?”

A young, blunt-faced cop from Ryan’s precinct, Seth Kimmel had been sitting at one of the more unruly tables near the restrooms. Molly had been waiting on them, and although Ryan didn’t know what had transpired, Seth had apparently gotten up and followed her from the table.

He gripped her arm, stopping her.

“I’m just foolin’ around with you. Lighten up—”

Wringing free, Molly retreated into the corridor that led to the kitchen. Seth went after her, encouraged by the hoots and catcalls coming from the cops at his table. With an inward sigh, Ryan placed his bottle on a nearby display case that held framed police photos and mementos. He’d never liked Seth, who was a walking cliché of the over-muscled cop with an attitude, and the rough way he’d grabbed the waitress bothered him. He felt duty-bound to follow.

Shouldering his way through a group cloistered in front of one of the bar’s flat-screen televisions, he turned into the exposed-brick hallway. Seth had Molly cornered, his arm braced against the wall at her shoulder. He moved each time she did, blocking her escape.

“Leave me alone, Seth—”

“Just give me a chance, Mol.” He leaned closer, sliding a hand onto her waist.

“
I mean it
.” She pushed at him.

“You heard her,” Ryan said, making his presence known.

Seth slid him an annoyed glance. “Relax, Detective. We’re just having a private chat.” Undeterred, he returned his attention to Molly.

Ryan approached and laid a firm hand on his shoulder. “Give it a rest, Kimmel, all right? She said to back off—”

Seth’s temper exploded. Knocking away Ryan’s hand, he shoved him back a step. Ryan shoved in return. The cop took a wild swing at him, barely missing his jaw, but Ryan grabbed the man’s extended arm and with a sudden, hard twist, pinned it behind him, putting pressure on his elbow and hoisting him face-first to the wall. Seth struggled and spewed curses. He was a big guy—larger than Ryan—but the uncomfortable position his arm was in and Ryan’s body weight bearing down on it restricted his movement.

“Go back to your table or leave. I don’t give a damn which,” Ryan ordered, irritated. He let go and took a step back.

Seth wheeled, his face beet-red under his bristled crew cut, ready to fight. But the arrival of others who had heard the commotion—Adam and Darnell included—kept the confrontation from getting more physical. Breathing hard, Seth pointed a finger. “Watch your goddamn back, Winter.”

“Bitch,” he spat at Molly before pushing through the men and stalking away.

Darnell gave a low whistle as he stared after him. “Damn. Is Kimmel drunk?”

“I’m going with just stupid.” Ryan couldn’t believe he’d actually thrown a punch at him. He was glad he had kept up with the APD’s hand-to-hand combat courses, which weren’t mandatory for detectives. But Seth was an oversized, well-trained brute, and Ryan also knew he had gotten lucky. Ryan wondered if the rumors about his steroid use were true.
Roid rage
. It would explain the aggression.

He turned to Molly. “You okay?”

She nodded, appearing a little shaken as she pushed her long, flaxen hair behind her. She wore jeans and a low-cut McCrosky’s T-shirt. “Thank you, Ryan.”

“I’ll ask Frank to put a different server on his table.”
Hopefully an ugly male one
, he thought. Molly retreated to the kitchen as Ryan walked with the others back into the bar. Seth glared at him from his reclaimed seat. He made a mental note to discuss his behavior with Captain Thompson, who appeared to have already departed for the night.

A short time later, Ryan watched as Darnell took Mike outside to get him into a cab. He figured he’d get going soon, too.

“On the house.” He turned to find Molly next to him. She grinned and held out a beer. “It’s your brand, right?”

“Thanks.” Ryan accepted it, although he hadn’t been planning to have another.

“I really appreciate what you did tonight.”

His curiosity winning out, he bent his head closer to hers and lowered his voice. “So what was that all about?”

She sighed. “Seth’s been asking me out. I like cops or else I wouldn’t work here, but I don’t like knuckle-dragging assholes.”

Ryan couldn’t help but smile at her bluntness.

“He won’t take no for an answer. He was showing off in front of his buddies, saying crude things, putting his hands on me and telling them I liked it.” Her eyebrows pinched together as she spoke. “I took him down a few notches so he followed me, trying to prove a point to them, I guess.”

Ryan had heard some of the others talking about Molly in the way that men do. Tall and long-limbed like a model, she had the sun-kissed look of a California girl, where she’d lived before moving to Atlanta, if he recalled correctly. She was young but definitely attractive, as Adam had already pointed out. He glanced around the bar. Seth was still here, although he’d moved to the pool tables in the far corner. He leaned against the wall while one of his buddies racked balls for a game. His flat eyes remained on Ryan, however. Molly talking to him now was probably only adding fuel to the fire. “Do me a favor?”

“Absolutely.”

“Don’t leave by yourself tonight. I don’t want Kimmel following you out to pick up where he left off. Someone can make sure you get to your car.”

He had rolled up the sleeves of his blue dress shirt, and Molly laid her fingers on his forearm.

“I take MARTA, actually, but I could still use a walk to the station,” she suggested almost shyly. Her green eyes were vivid under long lashes. “We’ve never had a chance to get to know each other, and you really
were
my hero tonight.”

Ryan realized he was being flirted with—not the first time since his divorce, although he’d never quite gotten used to it. He tried to form a suitable response, but his thoughts fragmented as Lydia emerged from the crowd. He hadn’t seen her come in, and he gave a hoarse greeting, surprised.

“I know it’s late,” she said uncertainly. “But I … wanted to stop by.”

Her gaze shifted to Molly, who still stood close although at some point her fingers had slipped from his arm. Ryan cleared his throat and made the introduction.

“You’re the ex-wife.” Molly extended her hand and smiled. “I’ve heard some of the guys mention you. So you must’ve known Nate?”

Lydia replied that she had. The three engaged in small talk until Ryan indicated the bottle he held. “Thanks again for the beer.”

“Sure …” Molly took a step back. “Well, I should get back to work. Ryan, I’ll let you know when my shift’s over.”

He gave a small nod. Once she had departed, he returned his attention to Lydia. He guessed she had seen Molly’s hand on his arm. If she had, she didn’t mention it.

“It’s been awhile,” she said as she looked around the space. “But everything looks pretty much the same.”

Ryan thought of the countless times he’d met up with Lydia here after work—when they were dating and later, after they moved in together and got married. “You know Frank. He’s not a big fan of change.”

As if on cue, Frank called to her from behind the bar, then came around to envelop her in a warm hug. A few others strolled over to say hello. Ryan stood nearby as Lydia talked with his peers. She wore a summer cardigan over a pretty sundress, as well as heeled sandals instead of the flats she normally sported after a long ER shift. Her newly shortened hair appeared sleek and glossy under the tavern’s recessed lighting. He wondered, a little painfully, if she’d been out on a date.

“I’m glad you came. It means a lot,” he said sincerely, once it was the two of them again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the service.” She glanced at Molly, who was a dozen feet away clearing a vacated table. “And I don’t want to keep you from anything—”

“Stay for a while?” he asked on impulse. Although some of the force had begun to disperse, the ones who remained were getting more boisterous. Someone—Pearson, a detective from zone three—had begun a pretty decent acapella rendition of
Danny Boy
. But instead of it having a lulling effect, several in the crowd were lifting drinks and toasting to Nate’s memory. “I mean, you came all the way down here, right? We can go out on the patio.”

She hesitated, her soft-brown eyes looking into his, then gave a nod of agreement.

The terrace had been crowded earlier. But as the evening waned, Frank had apparently stopped the outside service to cut down on wait staff. The tabletop hurricane lamps had been extinguished, although the scent of candle wax still hung in the sultry night air. They were the only two taking advantage of the twinkling downtown lights. Lydia had requested a glass of wine, while Ryan had left his beer inside, instead opting for coffee.

“You’re still drinking caffeine at night.”

He smiled faintly as he sipped from his mug. “It’s a cop thing. We build up a tolerance. Ask Mateo.”

Lydia sighed in memory. “He still keeps a coffee IV hooked to his arm?”

“In your occupation I think it’s what they call a central line.”

Their lighthearted conversation eventually faded off into silence. Placing his mug on a table, Ryan allowed himself to study her profile as she stared up at the tall CNN Center building that loomed at the edge of the park’s commons, the cable news logo a familiar object in the downtown sky. Beyond it, the twenty-story SkyView Atlanta Ferris wheel—the latest tourist attraction—made a slow revolution, a lit disk against the night.

“It’s been a tough day,” he confided.

“I’m sure,” she said seriously, her eyes meeting his again. “Is there anything new?”

He told her in confidence about the ballistics report tying Nate’s and Watterson’s murders together. She looked concerned. “So someone could just be going around shooting cops?”

“Internal Affairs is conducting its own investigation. The GBI’s involved, too. Unless they can find something improper both men were involved in, it’s a possibility.”

“
Be careful
, Ryan.”

It was the same request she’d made at the bungalow that past weekend, something she had also said to him each morning when they had been together. His heart squeezed at the realization of how much he missed hearing her say that. Other cops had their St. Michael medallion, but his talisman had always been Lydia’s appeal that he return home safely to her and Tyler. A recollection of the three of them here on the patio having dinner—Tyler, still a chubby-cheeked infant at the time, happily chewing on animal crackers—tightened his throat. For several moments, they simply stared at one another, until she bowed her head.

“I found someone to take my shift this afternoon,” she confessed. “I went home and I got dressed, but I …” She shook her head, her voice fraying. “I just couldn’t go … I’m sorry.”

Ryan felt the sluggish beat of his heart. He was suddenly grateful she had spared herself from another funeral. For him it had been painful, but for Lydia he could see that even with seventeen months since Tyler’s death, it was still far too soon. Being there would have only reawakened agonizing memories—the similar setting, many of the same people in attendance. He took a step closer.

“Maybe it’s better you didn’t,” he offered gently.