Chapter Seventeen
Ranks closed around Cruz as he was led to the small patient room. They wanted a urine sample. They gave him a cup; Cruz took five cups and filled every damn one of them. Now all he wanted to do was stop moving. Stop thinking. He climbed onto the ER bed, working to stay aware. “My car’s not still on the side of the road, is it?”
“Nah,” Yablonski said. “Called it in and had it towed. We’ve got you covered, Cruzie.”
A nurse stepped into the room, pausing as her gaze swept the congregation. “Detective De La Cruz. I’m going to take a sample of your blood for analysis.”
“Why?” Yablonski snapped. “You have the drink. You have his piss. Why poke him with needles?”
“I don’t make the orders, I just fill them. If you will all step out.”
“Commander Montoya, homicide. This is my detective. I’m staying.” Arms crossed over his chest, it would take a forklift to move the man. After figuring out he’d been drugged, Cruz’s first call had been to his commander. He didn’t remember exactly what he said, but Montoya met the patrol car at the hospital, prepared to decimate anyone who got in his way.
“Dr. James Bollier. The detective is my patient.” The fact he wasn’t leaving went without saying. Cruz knew his head was fucked up, so after Montoya, he called Bollier. He needed an opinion he could trust when he couldn’t trust his own.
Yablonski shook his head. “Not happening.” There was no shutting Yablonski out of anything. Thank god.
Aurora moved a chair next to the head of the bed, sat in it, and took Cruz’s hand. “Like they said.” Cruz squeezed her hand, trying to prove to himself she was really here, with him.
The nurse looked to her patient. Cruz let his head fall onto the pillow. “I’m good,” he said, stretching his right arm out for her.
If there was a silver lining to being drugged, it was that he couldn’t get excited about having a pissed off woman about to fish for a vein with harpoon needle. He wasn’t a fan of needles. Too many of them after he’d been hurt. He turned away from the medieval instrument of torture and directly into Aurora’s eyes. Instantly, he was trapped. “I can’t live with you hating me.”
She stroked his puncture- free arm. “I don’t hate you, Zeus. We can talk about this at home.”
“I’m ugly, Aurora. You don’t seem to care, which is just one of the reasons I love you, but I am. I used to be handsome and then I got messed up. Yablonski, get the pictures out of my coat pocket.”
“Really, honey, we’ll talk about this at home.” She looked at everyone but him.
He didn’t like her turning away. It was a bad sign. “Just look. See? That one.”
She took the wallet-sized picture from Yablonski, not recognizing the young man in it. “Who’s this?”
“Me. College graduation.”
“You? But…”
“The eyes are still mine. I almost lost the right one. The nose is new. They had to rebuild my cheek and then make the other one match.”
Aurora’s eyes were wide as she searched his face. “I had no idea.”
“I was fucked up, baby. Ask them.” He waved a hand across their audience. “All of them were there. Yablonski pulled me out. Bollier and Montoya, they met me when I still looked like dog food.”
“You were a bloody mess,” Yablonski said, handing her the second photo. His hand shook. “Found him laying on a filthy floor in a pool of his own blood.”
“When was this one taken? That’s Rhia, right?”
“Her third birthday. I looked like fucking Frankenstein. She never cared. Gabi was afraid of me for a while. I didn’t blame her. I couldn’t look at me, either.” He raised his hand to catch a tear rolling down Aurora’s cheek. “When you’re ugly, women don’t flirt, they pull out baseball bats. D’Arcy gave me a present. I thought it was cool. It made me feel…not like me. I screwed up with the present, but I never cheated on you.”
Aurora dropped her gaze to the pictures she held. “Remember our first date? I tricked you into it. I surprised you, just like she did, didn’t I? You never suspected it was anything other than professional, did you?”
“No. You have been the best surprise…ever. I should have told you before about all this, but, truth? I didn’t want to remember. I told myself it didn’t matter. That was in the past.
“I didn’t think D’Arcy was being anything more than friendly. And the friendly? It made me feel good, like a man women noticed. It almost made me good enough for you.”
Aurora glanced at the men gathered protectively around the bed. “I understand what you’re saying, honey, and you have to stop thinking that way. It’s not a matter of being good enough or not good enough for each other. For me, it’s a matter of choosing each other over everyone.” She took a deep breath. “You need to know something about me. God, I can’t believe I’m going to tell my most humiliating moment in front of everyone.” She looked at the crowd. They weren’t leaving. “About a year before I met you, I was dating a man named John. He was a manager in manufacturing and split his time between a factory up here and one in Dayton, where he was from. It didn’t take long before he was spending the night with me. We practically lived together two nights a week. The week of spring break, he was going to take the week off and we were going to have a staycation. You know, do the tourist thing right here in Cleveland. I had a great week planned. Last minute, he cancelled, said something had come up in Dayton and he couldn’t leave. I decided to surprise him.” She curled her shoulders in as though making herself smaller. “I drove to Dayton, getting to his house around dinner time. I had his address, not that he’d given it to me, but I had it and showed up wearing a sexy scrap of lace under a trench coat. Luckily, I had buttoned it, so his wife didn’t see it when she answered the door.”
“The fucker,” Yablonski said. “Slime,” Montoya threw in. “Ass,” Bollier spat. “Scum,” added the nurse switching the vials.
Aurora chuckled, almost smiled. “I got in the car and drove, not paying any attention to where I was going. I pulled over somewhere in Kentucky. I called Selena. I didn’t know what to do, or where I was. She found a hotel, got me to it, and then she and Tamara drove down. That’s why Selena reacted so strongly, Zeus. She thought it was John all over again.”
Cruz awkwardly raised his free arm, patting her head. “Stop. You don’t need to do this.”
“Thank you for sharing these pictures. It helps me understand how that woman made you feel good and why that’s important for you. But, something in me broke when I was standing on John’s porch, his wife asking me if she could help me.” Aurora captured his hand, shifted until their gazes were locked. “Zeus? I don’t just want you to shut it down when other women make a play for you, I need you to. More than anything, I need you to choose me. You asked me why I didn’t fight for you. The answer is, a lot of the time, I don’t think I’m worth winning.”
“Oh baby, no. Never.” He turned to pull her into his arms.
The nurse retained his right arm, working faster now. “Just a minute, Detective.”
“You can’t think that way, Aurora,” Yablonski said. “It’s bullshit.”
“Gotta agree,” Montoya added. “You can’t let assholes like that get to you.”
Aurora chuckled, her cheeks blushing. “Thank you. I, uh, I know you’re right.”
“Okay, Detective. I’m finished. You can hug your lady now, just watch the IV line.” She collected her tubes, rubber hoses, and other instruments of terror as Cruz pulled Aurora onto the bed.
The world never felt so right as sitting on the crappy mattress, Aurora tucked under his shoulder, his head resting on hers. “We understand each other, baby.” He rubbed his jaw in her silky hair. New voices entered the room. He didn’t care who they were or what they wanted. Everything was good in his world.
“Zeus? Honey? You’re heavy.”
“Hmm?”
“What’s happening to him?” Aurora asked, her voice strained.
Hands were on him, then, pulling him away from his woman. He fought, tried to fight, but his arms weighted so damn much. And sleep was just so…
Awareness was a firecracker under his ass. He looked at the faces staring his way, at the one face crushed under him. He sat up, pulling Aurora with him. “What the fuck happened?”
Yablonski laughed. “You got drugged and nearly arrested for driving under the influence. On the upside, looks like you got the girl back and we got the asshole who drugged you in holding.”
Montoya looked to the stranger in the room. “Doctor, did someone try to kill my detective?”
“Unlikely, given his height and weight, the fentanyl and heroine wouldn’t have been deadly without an underlying condition. My guess is someone wanted him incapacitated. We’ll know more once the samples are analyzed. The meds will have him back on his feet in a few hours.” He handed the report to Montoya. “I’ll come back and check on you.”
“There’s a note here,” Montoya said when they were alone again. “The lab detected vanilla.”
“Wait. I remember. My Brass Ball tasted like vanilla. I thought the bartender was getting fancy on me.”
“Am I hearing you right?” Yablonski said. “Fentanyl, heroine, and vanilla? Same as with Sasha Carter and Sophie DeMusa?”
“We get an ID on our suspect?” Montoya asked.
Yablonski shook his head. “Won’t say anything besides ‘lawyer.’”
“How did you get him?”
“Was headed into Becky’s when I got a call from Angela Johnson, she was concerned about ‘my partner.’ I was talking with her when you stumbled out the door, then this guy follows you out. I couldn’t get to you, I was too far away, but I followed. I hear dispatch sending a car for a suspected DUI on the innerbelt. Soon as the patrol car shows, your tail peeled around. I went after him. Hated leaving you, but we got him.”
Montoya tucked the report under his arm, zipped his coat. “Now that you’re stable, I’m heading in to have a conversation with the suspect. Yablonski, you’re with me.”
“Me, too,” Cruz said, readying to pull the IV from his arm.
“Stay, Detective. You’re off for the next twelve hours. I see you anywhere near our house and I’ll bust you so low, you’ll be saluting ants. Aurora, you’re in charge of him.”
“No, she’s not.”
“Yes, I am.” She knocked his hand away from the IV. “Lay back and let the IV do its thing. He needs it, right Oscar?”
“He does,” Bollier said. “And we need to discuss what to expect next. Addiction doesn’t care that this wasn’t your choice.”
Cruz subsided only because he had no choice. “Kurt, thanks for coming. I hate that Posey outplayed me, don’t know what I would have done if you believed I’d been drinking and driving.”
“Don’t beat yourself up too hard. We expected him to come after you and you recognized what was going down. Getting to the hospital was the right thing to do. If anyone’s ass needs to be hung it’s Yablonski’s for not providing back up.” One side of the commander’s mouth curled into a smile, teasing in the tense situation. “Get some rest tonight. I expect you back at it first thing in the morning.”
Friday came on with a craving he would have army crawled across a nasty alley to satisfy. Bollier had warned him that addiction was never beaten. It was like a Jurassic seed, patiently wanting for the right conditions to spring back to life. Cruz stared at his ceiling, focusing on Aurora’s soft, steady breathing. She was warm against him, soft in his arms. He’d buy her a ring. Today. Fuck Yablonski’s stupid rules about spreading dates out. After everything that happened, he wanted to give them both something to celebrate.
And then he remembered…he never told her about the suspension.
Last night had been all about him. First at the hospital, then once they were home. He was so damn happy to have her, it clouded out everything else.
With a deep inhalation, she woke. “Hmmm, morning.” She snuggled in closer. “What time is it?”
“Around six-thirty.” He curled around her, his arms holding her tightly. “Baby, there were a few things we didn’t get a chance to talk about last night.”
“About that woman?”
“No. This is about Andrew Posey. You got that we—Montoya, Yablonski, and me—we know that Posey was behind the attack on Sophie in the hospital, Yablonski’s snitch overdosing, and, now Hannigan’s death. The weapon may not have been in his hand, but he was the force behind it.”
“I understood that, yes, and that you all think Posey is behind this man drugging you last night.”
“Right. The thing is, drugging me wasn’t Posey’s first attempt to get me to back off.” He told her about Tony’s contract being cancelled and the implied solution.
“You aren’t going to do it, right? You can’t let someone blackmail you into letting criminal behavior go unchecked.”
“I’m not giving in. We’re not giving in, but Aurora, Tony isn’t the only one being used against me.” He tightened his arms, not letting her turn to face him.
She struggled, trying to roll over. Then just stopped. “Me? How?”
“Mrs. Kaylor received a call from the superintendent. It’s bullshit, baby, everyone who knows you knows it.”
“Just tell me.”
He did. When he finished, she didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what to do. He expected tears and cries of injustice, not this quiet. He rolled her to her back, looked down into green eyes glowing with fury. “Aurora?”
“What exactly does the suspension mean?”
“I, uh, don’t really know.”
“I’ll have to talk to Mrs. Kaylor. And my mother. After she finishes saving Matt’s butt, I guess she’ll have to save mine. Do you think I’ll get paid?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“If not, I’ll need a job.”
“We can live off my salary. You don’t need to rush into anything.”
Her warm hand cupped his cheek. “I love you for saying that but I’m not living off you, especially when I have so many bills. Plus, I can’t just be here all day, waiting for you to come home. I’ll go crazy and take you with me.”
He studied her face, looking for the thin fissures that said eruption was imminent. He couldn’t find them. “You’re good?”
“Good is not the word I’d use. I’m…determined. Nobody is going to use me to get to you. Get dressed, Detective. You have an asshole to lock up.”
He barked out in laughter before kissing those resolute lips. “I love it when you talk dirty.”
The morning got him nowhere. Montoya was out, Yablonski wasn’t answering. Even the gossip around the coffee pot had dried up. No one knew anything about the arrest made last night. All the system said was male, Caucasian, fifty-to-fifty-five years old. It did have the mug shot. The asshole had a nasty bruise on the side of his face. Cruz brought up the files for McCracken and verified the match. William McCracken. Sergeant, Cleveland police, currently assigned to evidence.
“Cruz! My office.” Montoya shouted the order as he passed Sonja’s desk. Cruz sprinted across the floor. “I got warrants for Posey’s home and office. Time to mobilize. Get your team assembled ASAP. More lake effect is predicted for today. I want Posey’s ass warming a cell before we get buried again.”
“The suspect from last night, was it Sergeant McCracken?”
“Straight from evidence. Brought in a trio of high-dollar lawyers who all claimed it is a mistaken identity. In short, he didn’t roll.”
“What about the Feds? Bishop know we’re bringing his boy in?”
“I briefed him. He’ll be present at the interview.” Montoya wasn’t an asshole. Because he listened, used his brain, some people thought he was soft. When he needed to be, Montoya was a bulldozer. From his tone of voice, he’d been that this morning.
“I got no problem with Bishop,” Cruz said, showing he wasn’t a complete asshole either. “He’s a good guy. Moves like a fucking snail, but a good guy.” Cruz needed a team he trusted with zero time to recruit. He tapped Campbell and Buell, borrowed Yablonski, Smitty, and Czerski. He was one short when he noticed Montoya standing at Sonja’s desk. “Commander, need one more. You in?”
A wide grin replaced his paperwork grimace. “You bet your ass.”
They entered the city hall outer office of the chief of staff en mass prepared for the hellfire Posey would rain. His deal making days were over, he just—Angie Johnson, on the phone, raised one finger to the black clad team. No surprise on her face, no wide eyes, or coming to her feet. It was if having the Cleveland police storm the office was as common as having a florist show up on her doorstep.
The door to Posey’s office was open, the interior as dark and ominous as the approaching storm.
“Wrap it up,” Cruz said with the authority he’d previously concealed. “Now.”
Her eyes widened. “I have to run. Add the account numbers and send me the report. I’ll make sure Drew sees it as soon as he lands.” Angie returned the receiver to the cradle. “Is there a problem, Detective?”
“Andrew Posey. Where is he?”
“At the airport. His flight to Germany leaves in,” she glanced at her computer screen, “twenty minutes.”
Cruz served the search warrant and handed the scene off to Campbell and Buell. He handed the next warrant to Smitty and Czerski. “Take the residence. Everything is there to connect Posey and McCracken to Hannigan. Yablonski, get the car. We have a flight to catch.”
Yablonski was parked in the no stopping zone, lights on. Cruz and Montoya ran down the marble steps of city hall as the wind whipped the naked trees into a frenzy. The leading edge of the smoke gray clouds had arrived.
Yablonski hit the siren, then the gas. He coasted around Public Square, the wide roads busy with people, buses, and tourists looking at the GPS instead of the road. In those few minutes, the weather went from dry to white out.
“This storm will work for us,” Montoya said. “No way his flight won’t be delayed.” He worked the phone, using his rank to pave the way.
The few miles to Cleveland Hopkins International Airport were done at a pace a three-legged trotter could have beat. “It’s fucking February,” Yablonski shouted. “How do people not know how to drive in this by now?” The traffic on I-71 slowed to a crawl, clumping the off-peak traffic into herds of lemmings following their fearful leader. Yablonski pressed the high-speed lane, getting on the dumb ass’s bumper who did not get the concept that lights on meant get the fuck out of the way.
A seam opened. They surged forward only to run into the same shit a half mile ahead. By the time they parked, Cruz was ready to dismantle the plane to get Posey’s ass out. The authority of the Cleveland police and cooperation of TSA put them in the concourse within sight of Posey’s gate.
And the plane was gone.
“Where the fuck is it!” Cruz sprinted to the empty gate, searching for the plane scheduled to depart now.
“It’s still there,” Yablonski said, pointing to the plane backing away from the gate.
The uniformed attendant had no pity on her face. “We completed boarding for an on-time departure ahead of the arriving storm.” She indicated the digital clock and a time that was one minute after the posted departure time. “The terms of your ticket included arriving at the gate one hour before boarding.” It wasn’t the first time she’d recited the announcement.
“We’re not passengers.” He strode to the desk, his badge in front. “I’m a cop here to arrest a passenger. Turn the fucking plane around. Now.”
She snapped to attention and spoke into a radio handset, her gaze on Cruz. A grainy voice responded. “Flight four-eighteen has pushed away from the gate.”
“I can’t bring it back,” she said. They both turned to the orders being barked into a radio by the TSA accompanying official, making it clear the plane would return to the gate. “But it sounds like he can.”
In the time it takes to run the Kentucky Derby, the plane returned the thirty feet to the gate. The airline steward opened the door to the jetway. Cruz and Yablonski led the way down the cold, narrow corridor, stopping where directed, clear of the opening airplane doors.
The head flight attendant and a murmuring of disgruntled complaints met him. The captain stepped out of the cockpit, professional and in charge. “Captain Anton Michelli, Atlanta, Georgia. Can I see the warrant?”
Cruz passed the documents granting authority and did the introductions. He’d wanted to skip pleasantries, but successful police work required cooperation of many people in many capacities. Asshole was a weapon he used judiciously. “Where is he seated?”
“Six-C,” the lead attendant said.
The captain held up his hand, preventing them boarding. “I’m going to ask you to let me verify his identify. I don’t want to be the next internet sensation by letting you pull the wrong man off in cuffs.”
Cruz looked over his shoulder to Montoya and TSA. Both nodded.
“Don’t make it obvious we’re coming for him,” Cruz advised. “He could become hostile.”
“Fair enough.” The captain stepped to the front of the aisle where his passengers waited. “Sorry for the sudden change in plans, folks. Seems some paperwork needs to be cleared up. Rows four, five, and six, if you can provide your ID, we will get this bird back on her way.”
The murmur of the crowd was accented with the shuffling of people and things.
“Thank you, Mr. Robinson. Great, Mrs. Robinson.” Name after name rattled off in the captain’s lilting accent. “Mrs. Posey, thank you. Mr. Posey.”
The name was a starter’s pistol. Cruz pushed past the lead attendant to the aisle, his gaze snapping to his quarry. Yablonski was the wall behind him.
Recognition was instant, as was the outrage. “Not you two! Again! Harassment is illegal, whether you carry a badge or not.”
Cruz took his upper arm, assisting him to stand. “Andrew Posey, you are under arrest for the murder of Percival Hannigan. Additional—”
“Are you out of your ever-loving mind?” Posey surged into the aisle, shouting in the suddenly silent cabin. “Do you know who I am! I will eat your badge for dinner.”
A swarm of cell phones rose from the seats, aimed toward the drama. Cruz handled Posey professionally, demonstrating immense restraint as he pressed his suspect’s front to the side of the seat. The first cuff clicked in place, then the second, leaning in close to keep the conversation private. “I know exactly who you are. This time, there’s no one here to clean up after you.” With a hand around his arm, Cruz marched Posey toward the exit.
“Drew!” Emma Posey reached for her husband.
“Stay where you are, Mrs. Posey.” Cruz handed her husband off to Yablonski. “Do not interfere.”
“I am not interfering, Detective. I am standing by my husband.” Phone to her ear, she hastily pulled her bag from under the seat and followed off the plane.
“Call Jimmy,” Posey yelled to his wife. “Tell him to bring every attorney in the office with him.”
“Peter, it’s Emma. You will not believe what is happening.”
Marching Posey down the concourse was like waving a red flag to a herd of bulls. Heads turned, cell phones lifted. Like the rest of the Cleveland police and TSA professionals, Cruz held his head high, kept his expression neutral. Just another day at the office. Posey, on the other hand, ran his mouth nonstop. The topics changed faster than a Twitter feed. Innocence! Abuse of power! Conspiracy!
Mrs. Posey was the mockingbird behind the delegation simulcasting the play-by-play to, presumably, a lawyer. At a secure checkpoint, the TSA abruptly stopped her. “I’ll take care of everything, Drew. Jimmy will meet you downtown!”
The snow blanketed the city north to south, east to west, slowing the pace of society to glacial. Yablonski drove, Cruz rode shotgun with Posey cuffed and caged.
“Someone needs to invent a mouth cuff,” Yablonski said, tiring of the monologue.
“Someone did. It’s called a gag.” Cruz checked his watch. “You have to appreciate his stamina. He’s closing in on an hour. Most guys would have lost their voice by now. Damn, is the snow ever going to stop?”
“Tomorrow. We could get two feet downtown, double that in the snow belt. Looks like rush hour already, smart people getting out now.”
Even going against traffic, it took close to another hour to deliver and process the chief of staff. They would let Posey stew, talk someone else’s ear off, eventually let his lawyers in and then they would get to the interview. It was going to be a long second half of the day.
“You might as well head back to narcotics,” Cruz told Yablonski. “Get some work done while the waiting game plays out.”
“Right but call me after. I want to hear how he tries to push this off. You did good work, Cruzie. Damn, good work.”
“Couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Sure, you could have. It would have taken twice as long and lack the style I bring to a case,” Yablonski backed away, arms wide, grin cocky, “but you’da got there eventually.”
Cruz worked with Bishop and Montoya, investing hours in preparation. They were ready and anxious to get going. But the snow didn’t let up, stopping lawyers in their tracks. Mid-afternoon, he was dismissed. Once he stepped into his house, he focused on Aurora and enjoyed the same from her. Posey didn’t enter his mind again until the next morning when Cruz pulled his bedroom drape aside to reveal a sea of white. His road was down there, somewhere. Snowplows hadn’t yet gotten to his small corner of the city, so it was only the parked cars and trees that hinted at where the asphalt was hidden. He hoped the interview wouldn’t be postponed again. Posey had a lot to answer for.
“What do you think of a blue ombre?”
Cruz glanced to the woman in his bed, propped up on her elbow and expecting an answer to the bizarre question. He turned back to the window, trying to measure the snow depth based on the trees. “Most hombres I know are brown.”
“Brown? You want to paint your office brown?”
“What? No.” He went to the closet and dressed. “Why would I want brown? Or an hombre, for that matter.”
“Ombre, you know, when one color fades into another. Since I’m off indefinitely, I might as well get a few things done. I’m thinking we do your office in blue and mine in a rose, like sunrise and sunset. Instead of carpet, we can put in the engineered hardwood and rugs. Maybe matching desks.”
His pants on, he shrugged into a crisp, white button-down and crossed to her. “Sounds great, but not one dime goes on your credit card. I’m headed to the office. I want to put a little more time in before the interview with Posey.” He took the cat’s eye from the nightstand, fastened it around his neck before buttoning the shirt. Returning to the closet, he selected a tie.
“No, not that one.”
It took three more before she nodded. “When will you be back?”
“Don’t know.” He hesitated before leaving their bedroom. “I’ll call. Don’t go out unless you really need to. Roads don’t look great.”
“Alright.” She stretched like a cat, pulling the cover down enough to expose her breast. “I’ll just lie here, basking in the glow of makeup sex.”
“You’re a cruel woman. God, I love you.”
“Happy hunting, Detective.”
Driving wasn’t as bad as he expected. The plows and their tenacious drivers had beat the snow into submission on the main streets. In the nearly twenty-four hours since Posey’s arrest, the searches of his office and home were completed. The suspected murder weapon tested clean for blood at the scene but there were still the metallurgical tests to connect the flecks found on Hannigan. McCracken, after all, would have coached Posey on how to clean it. The gold fibers matched the drapery upon visual inspection. Analytics would confirm it beyond a doubt. The walk-off homerun was the blood stain under the oddly positioned couch.
The interview had changed from one of the standard rooms to a conference room to accommodate all the players. The good guys sat with their backs to the door. Cruz sat on the end, next to Kurt Montoya. Agent Bishop and an attorney from the Justice Department sat in the middle with D’Arcy Whitsome on the opposite end.
The bad guys looked like they peeled themselves out of a GQ magazine. Posey sat front and center, three lawyers to either side. He had the countenance of a king served undercooked meat. His fingertips drummed on the steel tabletop, boredom and annoyance projected in the gesture.
Montoya started the record, calling off who was present. “Mr. Posey, do you understand your rights as they were read to you?”
Posey rolled his eyes before looking to the lawyer seated to his right. Lawyer #1 took the cue. “Mr. Posey understands his rights. I am Jimmy Santora, principal with Sullivan, Santora, and Liebowitz, representing Mr. Posey. We want it stated for the record—”
“You’ll get your turn,” Montoya said, squashing any question of who was running the show. “Let’s start with why we are all here.” He read a list of charges featuring the verbs assault and murder.
Bishop and the DOJ were silent, two sharks circling the unaware surfer, their own list of verbs growing.
Lawyer #1 made a statement along the lines of “blah blah blah didn’t do it, blah blah blah no motive, blah blah blah harassment.”
Posey stared at Cruz, the lion wanting to go for the throat. Cruz understood the feeling; he returned it. After all those hours listening to Val Hannigan, Cruz knew the kid. A young man who would never get the chance to be an old man because of games Posey played to be master reigning over the city. Sophie DeMusa never had a chance, not when a seasoned criminal like McCracken got handed his ass. How many more were there, Cruz wondered.
Montoya served up questions, Lawyer #1 batted them back. It was like watching a rocking chair race, no one was getting anywhere.
Posey yawned, boredom and distain in his posture. It was a front. Cruz read Posey as a thin, taught wire, ready to break.
“You got off on it.” Cruz spoke to Posey under his attorney’s running monologue. “Bashing the kid’s head in with the iron was a rush. Andrew Posey, the runner-up to his brother-in-law. If it wasn’t for Peter Mulgrew, you’d be living in one of the twelve-hundred-square-foot homes you’re busy tearing down. But for one moment, you were the difference between life and death.”
“Don’t say anything,” Lawyer #3 ordered.
Cruz charged on, speaking only to Posey, remembering the audacity in the voice that killed. “You like playing the big man. You sweet talk women like DeMusa, bully kids like Hannigan, all to get what you want. They’re nothing but a means to an end.”
“You know nothing.” Posey enunciated each word with distaste. “Typical. The problem with set asides like you is good cops are the ones set aside.”
“We’re done here,” Lawyer #4, or maybe it was #5, said. The suits stood.
Cruz smiled, entertained by the insult. The harder Posey worked to needle him, the closer Cruz was to breaking that last string. “You got cocky, thinking yourself untouchable. Hiring a cop to kill. He’s going to turn on you. He’s been in the game so long, he’s forgotten more than you will ever know.”
“I asked McCracken to do nothing.” Posey planted the flat of his hands on the table, his head crossing into Cruz’s personal space. “He came to me, tired of being overlooked by the Cleveland police, wanting to get out of that hole you all locked him in. Hannigan wanted his mother’s precious house. DeMusa wanted the service award and scholarship that went with it. They all came to me because they want what I can give them. You look shocked, Detective. Did you really think I’d take advantage of innocents?”
Cruz knew he did; Hannigan had recorded it. “You ordered McCracken to take care of DeMusa. You didn’t care how as long as she was gone from your life. You ordered him to keep Yablonski busy, also gone from your life.”
Posey’s mask slipped, just for a moment, but it was telling. Lawyers hovered, unsure what to say.
“Yes,” Cruz said, “we know you were behind the death of a confidential informant.”
Posey was on his feet. “I did not kill that junkie. Whatever McCracken did, he did of his own design.”
“Just like Hannigan was working on his own when he drugged DeMusa. Or McCracken again, doctoring my drink, getting me high and busted to discredit me. Funny how these good Samaritans keep cleaning up your problems all on their own.”
Posey nodded, his posture confident in his denial. “It’s their business, not mine.”
“You run a tight ship. Angie Johnson, your admin, said you were one of the best to run the office. You know what you want and how to get it. This city is better today not because of Mulgrew but because of you.”
He snorted. “Damn right,” he hissed. “I’m good at what I do. Peter Mulgrew would be nothing without me. Nothing. I run city hall. I keep the council voting with him. I have investors coming to our shores. The projects I brokered brought two thousand new jobs, good-paying jobs, to this city last year. This year, we’ll double that.”
“But success has a price.”
His defiant chin rose. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, De La Cruz.”
A smile flickered—the fucker finally got his name right. “You knew exactly what Val Hannigan did to Sophie DeMusa. You didn’t just know, you were proud of him, impressed enough you cut through a mountain of red tape to put him in the intern pool the next day. What did Val do to piss you off?”
Lawyer #1 put a hand on Posey’s shoulder, backing him into the chair. Posey shook him off. “Val pissed McCracken off. It was all McCracken. Said the kid needed to be taught a lesson. I tried to stop him, but he overpowered me.”
Cruz fell back in his chair, pulling from Hannigan’s recordings. “That’s not the story McCracken is telling. His story is you lost your cool because Val talked to me. You questioned his loyalty and when he couldn’t prove it, you beat Val to death with the fireplace poker. Nearly did the same to McCracken until he agreed to dump the body wrapped in your drapes.” He tucked his tongue into his cheek, measured the quality of Posey’s suit. “Bet you’re going to look good in orange.”
Posey’s face blanched at the details no one but McCracken knew. “You goddamn bastard!” He leapt across the table; five pairs of hands restrained him. “You spew that shit in public and I’ll do more than take your badge, I’ll ruin your life! I own your girlfriend. I owe that spic landscaper. Don’t you get it? No one works in this city without me.” Spit flew from his mouth, shouting tore the voice hoarse, but still it roared over his unheeded attorneys. “One word from me and you’ll be on the street, disgraced, unemployed, homeless. Your own mother won’t recognize you.”
Lawyer #1 pressed his client to the wall behind. “We’re done here. Turn that off.”
Montoya closed the interview and ordered Posey’s accommodations for another night. Cruz left the room with the others, content to leave Posey frothing beneath a half ton of lawyer.
“Nice work,” Montoya said, then he pointed with his chin to the observation room. The chief and the mayor were huddled in conversation. The chief beckoned Montoya in. “This ought to be good.”
The door was closed, leaving Cruz on the outside.
“He hates you,” D’Arcy said.
Cruz turned to her, making sure there was an arm’s length between them. “Montoya? Nah, I’m his favorite detective.”
“Posey. Obviously. He’s not walking away from this. The Department of Justice requested all my files. They’re digging deep.” Cue awkward silence. “Cruz, I just want to say I’m sorry. I was out of line the other day. I,” she shifted her weight uncomfortably, “I misread the situation. I thought you were interested, and I crossed a line. I am sorry.”
“I try to keep work and home separate. From now on, I’ll be more direct. I have a girlfriend. I’m not interested in anyone else. No offense,” he tacked on, not wanting to insult her.
She shoved her hands in her pockets, gaze going to the floor. “I hear you. I hope this won’t affect our working relationship.”
“No. We’re good. See you around, Eagle Eye?”
She laughed. “Definitely.”
Happy, he thought. They had reasons to be happy. He called Aurora. “I’m going to pick you up, take you to meet a friend.”
Sometime between the beginning and the end, the snow stopped, and the plows caught up. The city had resumed its normal pace as he and Aurora worked their way across town. Grinning, he knocked against the industrial door frame. “Good time for company?”
“Detective! Come in.” Sophie’s welcome, bright as the sun, was exactly what he needed. “Look at me, sitting in a chair. And I walked today. Okay, I had a lot of help, but still, I was on these two feet.”
“She did most of the work,” Ronnie Taylor said, a casual hand on her shoulder.
“Nice work. Soon you’ll be giving Ronnie a run for his money. Sophie, Ronnie, this is my amazing girlfriend, Aurora.”
Aurora blushed, rolled her eyes. “Nice to finally meet you. This is for you and the baby. Just a few little things I thought you might like.”
“Oh,” Sophie cooed, “you packed Cruz’s overnight bag! I’ve been using the coloring book still. I’m so curious.” The present Aurora had pieced together from random stores along the route to the hospital was better than any medicine. Amidst the laughter, Bollier and Jonathan Fisher joined in. The sterile environment fell away in the wake of toys and books, music, games, and treats.
In the lull after the thank yous, Cruz turned serious. “Sophie, I want to share recent developments.”
She took a deep breath, reaching over her shoulder for Ronnie’s hand. “Okay.”
Cruz pulled the chair on wheels over and lowered himself onto it. “We have arrested Andrew Posey for the murder of Val Hannigan, who you know as P.J. Mayfield.” He shared information soon to be public. “The important thing to understand is the threat to you is gone.”
“I knew that man was a scoundrel!” Jonathan spun on Oscar. “I told you and you defended him!”
Bollier held his hands up. “I merely said the facts weren’t all in.” Under his partner’s glare, Bollier acquiesced. “Now the facts are in and Posey is, as you said, a scoundrel. You were right.”
“Ha!” Jonathan turned back, pointing at everyone in the room. “I have witnesses! He said I was right!”
Oscar pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jonathan, you’re speaking in exclamation points again.”
Sophie giggled. “I like when he talks that way.”
Bollier rolled his eyes, then winked at her. “That’s good, seeing as you’re going to be living with him.”
At Cruz’s inquiring look, Jonathan put a supportive arm around Sophie. “She is moving into one of my many spare rooms to finish school and have the baby. I have a lot of work to do to babyproof my bachelor pad, but I’ll get it done.”
“We’ll get it done,” Sophie said, then looked up adoringly at the man behind her.
“Together,” Ronnie said, pressing a kiss to her head. “Our baby is going to have the best of everything.”
“Of course she is, but don’t get ahead of yourselves,” Bollier said, looking like a stick was shoved halfway up his ass. Then he broke into a broad grin. “Nothing is going to happen until we pick out the furniture. My present to baby August. Nonnegotiable.”
A heated discussion erupted on the topic of teddy bears versus Noah’s ark as a motif. Jonathan spun around, gasping and pointing at Aurora. “We need a mural, like the one in your dining room. Look Sophie, isn’t it perfect?” He brought up the images he’d taken at the birthday dinner. “Will you do it, Aurora? I’ll pay you! If I can’t afford you, Oscar can!”
“Well, we can talk about it,” Aurora said, being magnanimous and obviously intending to turn away from the offer of payment. Oscar went full Bollier, blindsiding her, pushing her into the proverbial corner, dismissing contrary ideas. “I still don’t know how it happened,” she said as they reached the truck, still a little discombobulated. “I was going to do it as a gift but somehow ended up with a commission that will pay off a credit card. Oscar wouldn’t listen to a word I said. He just barreled right over me.”
Cruz opened her door, holding it while she climbed in. “He does that. You were lucky, he was being nice. What do you think about going with your hombre to pick out paint for your ombre? Maybe look at some flooring or those matching desks.”
“Hmm, I do have a soft spot for home improvement projects, but I think it will have to wait.” A sly smile grew across her lips. “Let’s go home and have a celebration of our own. You closed the case. Nice work, Detective.”