Ghosts of Christmas Past (6 page)

Cassandra wiped a tear away with the back of her hand. “So your cop kept your secret? And now you use this as a Batcave?”

“Yeah.” My cop did a lot more than that, Lucy thought. She bet he'd noticed her pacing and never said a word.

“Your cop doesn't mind bending rules,” Cassandra said.

Lucy shrugged. “Al pays attention to the rules that matter. He gets justice.”

“I won't argue with that. Uh, but don't you think the neighbors are going to notice you coming and going?” Cassandra sat down again, sipping her drink.

“Um…well, we brought in some of the neighbors ourselves. I had a friend with money. So, Al vetted some homeless families and we helped them move into the still-usable houses across the way. They're our neighborhood watch now.”

Better not mention that the people who provided the money were from the Phoenix Institute. Beth and her bodyguard, Daz Montoya, had offered more help, but Lucy worried that came with strings, like joining their crusade. Beth wanted the Institute to lead a drive for acceptance of people with psychic abilities.

No way, not yet, not for her, Lucy decided.

“This Al is getting more interesting all the time.” Cassandra shook her head. “So you're creating your own neighborhood here, Batgirl?”

“Al's idea. He wanted to try something that would help people before, you know, they ended up dead.”

Cassandra smiled.

Lucy put her feet up on the couch. She should hate the warehouse. But Al and she had won. Dragons had been slain here. Beth had said some people did better running as far away from trauma as they could, while others did better facing it head on. Lucy knew which type she was.

“Okay, so now that you know the whole thing, we need to look at this stuff I grabbed from Salvatore's office.” From her coat, Lucy pulled out the calendar page, postcard, thumb drive and metal trinket and spread them out on the coffee table.

“That's definitely Salvatore's handwriting.” Cassandra glanced at the calendar page only briefly. She rubbed her eyes and stared at Lucy for a good, long thirty seconds. “So, you just turned invisible, walked up to his office and grabbed this stuff.”

“Yep.”

Cassandra blinked.
“How the hell do you do that?”

“It's not really turning invisible.” Lucy explained about the telepathic command and how people only just thought they couldn't see her.

“I was so scared, and I wanted to hide from Jill so bad that I thought long and hard about her coming back to my cell and not seeing me. So she didn't.”

“And Al fell in love with you before you learned how to turn this on and off? Meaning he couldn't see you at all? Not for weeks?”

Lucy nodded. “Not till I found a way to control the invisibility. Er, I mean, telepathy.”

“So Al cared about you before he knew you were, uh, you.”

“Yeah.” Cassandra was more right than she realized. Lucy's memory had been full of holes from the six years of medical torture. She'd no memory of any life before her kidnapping. Noir had been a self-creation, a desperate statement that she was still somebody.

That Al fell in love with Noir meant the world. But now that Lucy existed again…

“Al is… He understands. He gets it.”

“Clearly.” Cassandra looked around. “Especially if he even set up a refuge for you.”

“He only wanted me to be safe,” Lucy said.

“‘Only'? Lucy, a man goes through all this for you, he's all in.”

“He never said anything about… I mean, we're living together, but he buries himself in the job. I think he's annoyed we don't work on cases together as much as he wants. It feels good when we work together but…I'm not a cop, not like Al.”

“You're helping me like a cop would,” Cassandra said.

Lucy shrugged and tapped the papers. “The people in Salvatore's office had some weird things to say about why they wanted him.”

“Like what?”

Lucy related the conversation between Schneider and the man helping her.

“Schneider's a piece of work. Salvatore never talks much about his job but he's mentioned her a few times when she's pissed him off. She's a card puncher, she doesn't care about the job. Burned out, he said. I'm surprised she cared enough about a dead guy to get so angry. But what could she be talking about, accusing Salvatore of stealing city property? What the hell is there to steal, anyway? Post-its? And who was murdered?”

“That's what I couldn't figure out. Maybe Schneider and this guy are doing an accounting trick to somehow siphon off city money to themselves.”

“That's embezzling, not stealing property, and I got the impression from Salvatore that Schneider isn't that bright. But maybe she's that stupid.” Cassandra picked up the trinket. “Hey! I made this.”

“That was underneath his desk, as if it had been dropped or kicked there,” Lucy said.

Cassandra put it on the corner of the flattened calendar page. “Salvatore would never do that. He takes care of what I give him. They must have knocked it over when they searched his office. Well, it can watch over me now.”

Lucy stood. “You study the calendar and I'll see what I can do with the thumb drive. Oh, why did he have the museum postcard?”

“I told him about our exhibit. He was psyched for me.”

“Makes sense.”

Cassandra grabbed Lucy's arm.

“Lucy, you really think my guy's alive?”

She nodded. “If they're worried about him talking or hiding evidence, or creating a scheme to get you and lure Salvatore to them, that means they haven't caught him yet.”

“We have to find him first.”

“Yes. I bet he was worried about pulling you into danger and that's why he didn't come home.” Or he might be dead somewhere.

“Protecting me, that would be just like Salvatore.” Strength returned to Cassandra's voice.

Lucy walked over to the computer station and cracked her knuckles. “Now let's play cop and see what we can do to help him.”

“Playing cop. Hah. Last thing I ever thought I'd do.”

Me too, Lucy thought, and realized how much she liked doing this, fixing a problem. Not to mention having a chance to nail someone like Schneider. She and Al had to find their balance again. Somehow.

She looked around the warehouse again. All in. Yes, Al sure was. This place was a symbol not only of their being together but their working together.

Al saw them as the same thing.

“Your Al's going to help us sort this out?”

Lucy nodded. “He'll buzz soon. But we should try to figure out as much as we can in the meantime. The more info we can give him, the better.”

Chapter Five

Al felt the phone's vibration in his overcoat pocket and cursed the circumstances that prevented him from answering. That had to be Noir, and he was dying to talk this case out with her, now that it'd rolled around in his brain some, especially since she was due to be part of the
Local Artists
exhibit at the museum.

But the police commissioner's office, currently occupied by an annoyed commissioner, wasn't the place to return her text.

Truth was, Al wanted to be anywhere but here, even if the commissioner had tried to get into the spirit of the season by putting a Christmas tree in the corner. It did nothing to relax Al, especially since it reminded him of the crime scene and the stiff in the coffin.

At least the lights on the tree were steady and not blinking.

“You aren't thinking of reaching for that phone vibrating in your pocket, are you, Captain?” the commissioner asked.

“I want to be in touch if anything breaks with the case,” Al said.

“Good, that will give you something to follow up on when we're done. Murder in the museum. We'll have national press down on us like flies on a rotting corpse.”

“I'd be working on it now if I wasn't here.”

The commissioner stood and placed his hands flat on his desk. Unlike the previous occupant of the office, an old white guy who'd been on the take for years, the new guy was young, a Double C native and seemingly idealistic. Or he was putting on a good show in order to use the job as a stepping stone for a political career.

Al wanted to believe the first but he suspected the second.

“You think I'm wasting your time, Captain James?”

“There aren't any clues to the murder in your office, if that's what you mean. Sir.” There. Al had eaten too many honest responses in his time on the force. No more. And they said people mellowed when they got older.

“So that's a yes, then.”

The commissioner stalked around to the front of the desk. Al belatedly realized the guy was taller than him. Well, if he was kicked out of the office, he could answer the text sooner. He thought for a second about commenting on the commissioner's ugly tie, which featured a red-nosed Rudolph, but decided the commissioner would definitely kick him out for that.

“You don't think much of me or this office, Captain?”

“As a general rule, I don't think about this office at all. It's never been much help to me.”

“It that so?” The commissioner's voice dropped to a whisper.

“Yep.” Shit. He should have just been polite and then he'd have been out of this and back to work by now. Too late.

“My goal is to improve this department and thus help rebuild this city.”

“Good luck with that,” Al said.

“You don't trust my intentions?”

“I don't understand why you pulled me in. I don't need to be told how to do my job.”

The commissioner stared at him. Al stared back. Crap, what if he did get fired?

I could spend more time with Noir, er, Lucy.

“I understand where your attitude comes from, Captain, especially knowing how my predecessor did this job.” The commissioner crossed his arms over his chest. “I haven't earned your trust.”

Al shrugged. “The way of the world.”

“Let's play a game. If you had one wish that I could grant, what would it be?”

“I hate games.”

“One wish, Captain.”

“Okay. Then give me more resources to do my job well,” Al snapped.

“Sounds like a lot of wishes.”

“I need a lot of resources.”

“Such as?”

This was definitely a trap. Al answered honestly anyway.

“I'm putting together my own team in Major Crimes. The chief of detectives has been trying to get approval of the personnel I want through regular channels, but everyone is territorial about their people. If the approval came down from your office, I could grab the cops I need in a heartbeat.”

“And you think your judgment is so good that you deserve a blank check for your team, Detective Fixit?”

Like many who used the nickname, the commissioner said it with a sneer.

“
Captain
Fixit,” Al corrected. “And, yes, I deserve it. Ain't nobody else stepping up to the plate, which is why I'm stuck with the nickname.”

The commissioner stared for a bit longer and then nodded. “All right,
Captain
Fixit. You send me a list of who you want on your team by noon the Friday before the holiday, and I'll approve it.”

Al cleared his throat. “You're kidding.”

“No.” The commissioner smiled. “You are apparently the best I've got. I'm not going to waste your skills just because you're a pain in the ass.” He went back around and sat at his desk. “But you fuck this up, I'll make sure you get the lion's share of the blame. I'll kick your ass off the force in a heartbeat.”

“Put up or shut up, then,” Al said.

“You got that right. But there's one condition.”

“Knew it was too good to be true.”

“The condition is you solve this museum murder ASAP. Make it a victory for the department, and you'll have what you need. If not, you're screwed.”

“I can live with that.”

“We both have to live with that.” The commissioner waved him out of the room, and Al didn't know whether to cheer or groan. Was this the commissioner setting him up to fail, or was this a new start? He supposed it didn't matter either way until or unless he solved the museum murder.

Once in the hallway, he checked the phone. A text, sure enough, from Noir and sent from the burner phone too. Something was very wrong. At least she'd sent the code for “call me ASAP” instead of “I'm in serious trouble”.

There was also a text from Alvarez, asking him to come back to the museum, that they'd found something.

He needed to do two things at once. He split the difference—texted Alvarez that he was headed back to the museum and called Noir.

“That took you a while,” Noir said.

“I was in a meeting with the police commissioner.”

“Crap. Um, did I somehow get mentioned?”

Oh hell,
serious
trouble. “What did you do?”

“I beat up a couple of guards at city hall. They deserved it. But as Noir, so they didn't see me.”

“Are you okay?” Al took a deep breath and leaned back against his car. Not fair. She should only get in trouble when she was with him so they could do it together.

“I'm at our warehouse,” she said.

She was safe. Good. “I'm sure whoever you beat up deserved it. Run it through for me.”

Al listened to the whole story on the drive over to the museum. He'd always assumed most city employees were corrupt, so that part seemed par for the course. The immediate concern was that the guards had known who Cassandra was, and they probably knew where she worked.

“Noir, if Schneider has any pull, she'll send a patrol to your artists' colony. Don't go back there and tell your people to scatter.”

“Already done. Cassandra was paranoid about the ‘pigs' going after her people.”

“Good. She had reason.” One worry solved.

“Why? What's this murder that Schneider was talking about? This Johns guy?”

“That's the murder I'm working. Johns was a curator at the museum. Someone bashed his head in.”

“Oh. Wait, now what Schneider said makes sense. They must have been stealing stuff from the museum.”

“Yeah, it seems that way from what you overheard. Good catch, that'll save me some time on the investigation. Keep puzzling out that thumb drive. It's probably some sort of accountant's code about the city budget. And stay put.”

“That won't find Salvatore.”

“Salvatore Giamatti is a murder suspect now, and therefore dangerous. Stay away from him.”

“He might not be your guy. He's really good to Cassandra.”

Al parked in the museum lot and made sure no one was lurking around. “Schneider thought Giamatti was guilty and this was a crime of opportunity, so if it was your friend's guy, it might have been self-defense. My vic had a loaded gun. But even if it was self-defense, people who flee murder scenes are dangerous and desperate.”

“Al, I've done this before. I know that. But that just means we need to find Salvatore before anyone else.”

“Working on that.”

“So will we.”

“Have you considered you're dragging a civilian, namely Cassandra, into this if you go looking for Salvatore? You can watch out for yourself. What about her?”

“That's a low blow, Al.”

“But true.”

“Yeah, I guess. Okay, we'll work on this thumb drive until you're free. But if you find him, will you call me?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you're not going to assume he's guilty?”

“I never assume anyone is guilty.” Giamatti was probably guilty. But he was also a witness to government corruption, and if there was evidence of theft at the museum, Al wanted the people who did that too. “Except the guys who tried to grab you at city hall.”

Attack his woman? That wouldn't go unanswered.

Time to start making his own version of a Christmas list.

“I'm less worried about them than their bosses,” Noir said.

“All the more reason to stay put.”

She sighed. “I thought you were eager for us to be partners again?”

“Being partners sometimes means someone has to watch over witnesses.”

“All right. And be careful, okay? You get reckless sometimes.”

“I'm always careful.” He hung up and parked his car. Reckless, huh? Noir didn't realize he was far less reckless when he had her watching his back. Or maybe she did.

He stayed in the car, going over the new information in his head. How had Salvatore gotten involved with the museum stuff? He was just one of several accountants, so what had clued him in to this, whatever
this
was?

What really bugged Al was the body being displayed in death. That pointed to blinding rage, a big
fuck-you
to Johns. The killer could've been one of Johns' partners in crime, but thieves didn't make statements, they took money.

He wanted to brainstorm some ideas with Noir later.

Al went in the front door of the museum this time, rather than the back entrance he'd used earlier.

The reporter who'd been camped out on the front steps earlier was gone, probably bored out of his mind waiting for something exciting to happen. Real-life police work had no theme songs or snappy montages.

A huge sign hanging over the entrance foyer proclaimed
Winter Art Camps for the Kids!
Otherwise, the foyer was strangely empty. He turned left and went to the security room, located behind a door marked
Private
.

Alvarez and the two security guards were waiting for him.

He sized up the room. Only two chairs, indicating two guards per shift, and one of the seven monitors was a CRT, not an LCD.

“Looks like the budget is about the same here as in my precinct,” Al drawled.

The guards, a matched set of brawny men—one black, one white—nodded.

“What did you find?” he asked Alvarez. He noticed a black duffle bag was at her feet. That must be the victim's belongings. She was still keeping watch over them, as he'd ordered.

Good. She was holding up okay for pulling a double shift.

“Unfortunately, the video cameras surrounding
Holidays of the World
are inoperative. We're not sure how long they've been broken.” Alvarez glared at the guards. “But we have video of our victim arriving last night, after closing hours.”

“Let's see that, at least.” Yeah, it was too much to hope the murder was on tape.

The guards cued up the footage and Al watched a late model Ford Fiesta pull in. Not an ostentatious guy, the victim, or maybe he didn't want anyone asking questions about how he could afford a fancy car. A battered Ford Taurus pulled in next to the Fiesta.

Unfortunately, the driver of the Taurus was out of camera range. The video stopped.

“That's it?” Al asked.

“They went in a private side door that only employees can access,” Alvarez said, and the two guards nodded in unison. “No cameras around the back. But about thirty minutes later, the Taurus pulls out.”

“License plate?” Al asked.

Alvarez ripped a page from her notebook and handed it to Al. “Ran it already, Captain.”

“Good.” But inwardly he groaned when he read the name. Salvatore Giamatti, the missing city accountant. That moved Noir's friend firmly into the “possible murderer” category. He wasn't going to call her with this news. Better let this play out.

“Any idea where the victim was before this?” he asked.

“He left about two p.m. that afternoon and came back like you see here on the tape,” Alvarez said.

The guard showed him a logbook, which indeed had their victim signing out at two p.m.

According to Noir's information, that jibed with the time Salvatore had left his office. “They went to meet,” Al said. “Any guesses where?”

The matched set of guards shook their heads in unison again.

Al sighed. “Okay, Alvarez, grab that duffle and come with me.” He looked at the guards. “Thanks for the help, gentlemen.”

The black guard cleared his throat. “I didn't like him. Johns, I mean. I'm sorry he's dead but he was kind of an asshole. He treated the kid who worked for him like a servant.”

“At least one person agreed with you or he wouldn't be dead,” Al said.

He left the security room, Alvarez at his side. “Where are we going, sir?”

“The parking lot to look over Johns' car.”

She looked away. “Um, I did walk out to it, sir. But it's locked and I didn't see the keys in his duffle.”