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In a tiny apartment near Battery Park, Tyler Beckett was having a small meltdown. “Godammit, two years and I’m still not in tight enough.”
Whack. His toe struck solid oak at the bottom of the sofa. He hopped on one foot as he cursed long and hard. A bang on the wall sounded, followed by even more colorful cursing. Whoops, the neighbors had probably been sleeping. Most people were at two in the morning.
He sat on the offending sofa and propped his foot, throbbing toe and all, on the coffee table. He glared at the two cell phones willing one of them to ring.
He combed his fingers through his hair and stood again, too restless to be still. His angry strides took him to the kitchen. He pulled the fridge door open with such force the bottles rattled. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself. His hand wavered over the beer and finally settled on a bottle of water.
A clear head was in order if one of the phones did ring. Leaning a hip against the counter he took a long swallow, then screwed the cap on and put the cold bottle to his forehead. July in New York, hot and humid, and his air conditioner goes on the fritz. Startled by the sound of a cell phone, he almost dropped his water as he rushed to find out which one.
“Beckett here.” Tyler punched it to speaker.
“NYPD found Brennen Dane’s body swimming by the docks at the bottom of Battery Park.” Special Agent Gabriel Despain’s, his FBI contact, voice floated out continuing without pause until he’d delivered his message. “Next to where the boats leave for the Statue of Liberty. About thirty minutes ago. Thank God, it’s too late to have any school kids or tourists around.”
Tyler listened with a sinking fireball in the pit of his stomach. He had to swallow his emotion. Brennen wasn’t just another officer he was a distant cousin, but related none-the-less. No one knew that, because of Tyler’s cover.
Only a few feds even knew he was one of the good guys. He’d have to wait until he hung up to grieve and worry how Sally, Bren’s wife, was going to make it. Caring for two small children was a job when you had a partner, but to do it on your own would be a bitch.
“Ty, you still there?”
“Sorry man, just frustrated. I’m assuming NYPD think it’s DeLuca’s men. There was word on the street that Batt was going to make a hit. I couldn’t find out the details. And now I’m too late.” He slipped onto the couch, hung his head for a moment, then picked up the phone, clicked off the speaker to bring it to his ear. “Jesus Christ, how long does it take to gain trust? At this rate I’ll be dead and no use to the department before I find something to bring DeLuca down.”
“You mean Hancock, DeLuca’s alter ego?” Gabe gave a short laugh. “Besides, you’re forgetting the information you gave us that brought in DeLuca’s minion.”
“Small fish. Especially for DeLuca or Hancock whatever he wants to go by.”
“Small fish add up to big ones. Too bad we can’t leak to the media who that sick bastard really is.” Tyler heard the anger in Gabe’s tone.
“Can’t do that without solid proof, and Hancock’s as clean as a newborn baby. Now DeLuca, he has a history. No one can prove anything, just as there’s no way to prove Hancock and DeLuca are the same person. Unless he agreed to a DNA test. That’s not going to happen until we bring him in.”
Tyler brought the conversation to the body. “I need to know how you found the body so I can see what I can find. Why do you think you found the body so fast?”
“Had weights to pull him to the bottom. Would have been a long time in the River, but he was tangled in some debris around one of the pillars of the dock. Someone spotted something and called it in.”
“Who?”
“Anonymous.”
“There’s a lot of traffic during the day in that area, with the tourists going to the statue and Ellis Island, I think maybe they did want you to find him. Makes a statement. They can get who they want—when they want.”
“Could be,” Gabe said. “Do you know what Dane was working on?”
“Unfortunately, no. He didn’t know I was an agent,” Tyler answered.
“Ever hear his name at the pool hall?”
“I’ve been hearing some grumbling about a pesky detective sticking his nose into places it shouldn’t be.” Tyler stood again and paced. “It could have been him. Hell, it probably was. Can’t do much without a name. Dane was my cousin, I would have let you know if they’d referred to him by name.”
“He was? I didn’t know that.”
“No one did,” Tyler answered. Pushing the grief away, he had to catch Dane’s killer.
“We may be in luck this time.”
Tyler stopped pacing. “What do you mean?”
“Got a witness who says she saw a murder. Of course, no body at the scene, only blood spatters. But the pattern of the drops coincide with someone getting their throat cut.”
“What makes you think the vic was Dane?”
“His throat was sliced.”
Tyler’s stomach rolled at the thought. He swallowed hard and restlessly strode across his small living room again. “She saw that? Did she describe him?”
“No, but she got a good look at the attacker. Mostly she focused on his eyes, said they looked cold.” There was a pause on the line before Gabe continued. “The general description could be anyone, but we think it’s Battista, ‘The Batt’, Salinger. They’re going to have her come to the station and work with an artist. Once we have that we can check the database see if it matches anyone. No one has ever seen The Batt. Also I’m sure they’ll show her a picture of Dane, see if it jars her memory.”
“Good.” Tyler’s gut tightened. “The witness, is someone watching her?”
“Not that I’m aware of, why?”
“You just said it yourself, no one has ever seen the man, and Batt’s never left a witness. Her life is in danger,” Tyler ground out angrily. “I’m not upset with you Gabe, but dammit, someone should have thought of that as soon as the connection was made.”
“I’ll call the Cap and make sure the lead puts someone at her place.”
Tyler tightened his jaw as he contemplated letting Gabe in on thoughts he’d had for the last six months. Resignation ruffled over him. “I have a reputable job with Hancock Industries. It took me a good year before some of DeLuca’s goons asked me to drop by and play some pool. You know I think there’s a reason they’ve never fully accepted me.”
“Okay I give, what?”
“That’s the problem. I can’t figure one out. Why keep me around if they don’t trust me, and if they do, why not let me in?” Tyler stopped. Again he went over all the possibilities he’d already thought of. “It’s like he’s keeping me on the fringe of his dirty side. Feeding me just enough information that I know that DeLuca and Hancock are the same person. But not enough to give me the evidence I need to do anything about it. Then there’s the pool hall, the cops know it’s a known hangout for DeLuca’s gang. He’s invited me there, almost as if he wants the authorities to notice.”
The thought of why DeLuca wanted him there sent a tremor through his gut. The reason couldn’t be good.
Gabe had been silent on the other end, now he spoke up. “Ty you’re being impatient. DeLuca has too much at risk to take a chance. If he thought you were a Fed you’d have been swimming with the fishes long before now. You’ll get in.”
Tyler strode to the kitchen and pulled the beer out. He needed it more than a clear head.
He took a long pull, then said, “Maybe you’re right.” But the nagging quaver to his mid-section said otherwise. He placed the bottle against the side of his face. The cold from the glass blessedly took his temperature down a degree or so.
“Gabe, I think one of DeLuca’s men called in the body location.”
“Why?”
“Because no one has ever witnessed a hit by Batt.”
“And your reason behind the give-up of the location...” Gabe paused, just when Tyler didn’t think he was going to say more, he continued. “Why move the body?”
“I already told you, to show the precinct they can get to whomever they want.” Tyler strode to the couch to sit, laid the cell open on the table and punched speaker. “As for why move the vic? I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Batt.”
Gabe let out a loud breath. “I think you’re right.”
“Who’s the lead investigator?” Tyler took another gulp of beer, and ran restless fingers through his hair. “He better be clean.”
“David Solomon from the ninth,” Gabe said.
“Okay. I’ve heard of him. Up for medals and all that, regular boy scout. Happened before when a good detective turns out to be slime.”
“I know him. He’s solid.” Gabe sounded irritated.
“Sorry, but I’m the one on the inside, I have to be careful or my ass could find itself in a sling.” Tyler sighed. “Your word’s good for me, so I’ll trust what you say. Do you have a timeline?”
“Not yet. The medical examiner has the body. They’re testing samples of the blood from the sidewalk. Once they come from the lab and the composite’s done, we’ll put an APB out. In addition, Solomon ordered a warrant for the security tapes from the witness’ building. They’re hoping surveillance caught something. You know in that area of the Financial District, Homeland has cameras everywhere.”
“It happened across the street from her building, that’s a long way, even for a one-lane road. If anything, they probably only got the feet.” Tyler figured something was better than nothing at this point. “Okay. Meanwhile I’ll keep to my same routine.”
“Watch your back.”
“Always,” Tyler said.
“I’ll call as soon as I know something.”
“I’ll be here. Don’t forget to get someone outside the witness’ apartment.” Tyler thumbed the red ‘off’ on the cell to break the connection. Then stared at the two phones on the table.
He didn’t have a choice but to return to the same routine. His biggest worry, the other cell had been quiet for a few days. Last night, at the pool hall, where all of DeLuca’s men planned and plotted, had been strangely quiet. He’d walked in and all eyes had swung to him, but the usual greeting was subdued.
Hell, could he have blown his cover? He thought back, trying to piece together anything that might have given him away. He went to work every day at the import plant, kept his nose clean. Then he’d drop by the hall to see what was happening. Same routine.
Nothing he could do about it, he might as well try to get some shut-eye. He’d decide what to do in the morning.
*****
Keira woke with a start. For a moment, she didn’t know what woke her. Her alarm blared the morning news and finally penetrated her foggy brain. She’d barely been able to fall asleep, and that seemed like only minutes before.
As groggy as she felt, she knew she’d never fall back to sleep if she pushed the snooze. She flipped off the voices, then threw the covers back, startled to see a baseball bat. Oh that hadn’t been a dream when she snuck out of bed in the wee hours. She remembered there’d been a noise and snatched the wooden weapon from the closet.
In the light of day it seemed a little silly, though she couldn’t muster a laugh. Grabbing her outfit from the closet when she returned the club, she went to shower.
The warm summer breeze hit her as she left her building. Out of habit she turned left. Maybe there’d be something in the newspaper about the murder. She didn’t subscribe. Couldn’t afford to, and besides why pay for something she could read for free at work.
“God, what am I doing?” She stopped, still a half block short of the subway station. She’d forgotten she had her friend’s vehicle.
She did an about face and almost ran into a man behind her. She muttered a brief “excuse me,” and stepped around him. Walking into the lot, she pressed the unlock button on the key fob, hearing the horn she turned in the direction of the sound. As she unlocked the car, she glanced in the side mirror and froze. Standing at the entrance of the lot was the man she’d nearly bumped into.
Urgency spurred her on. She yanked open the door, threw her purse and briefcase in, then climbed in and pressed the lock almost in one fluid motion. Starting the motor, she turned to look behind and he was gone. Sitting for a moment she let her gaze wander around the now almost empty lot.
He’d vanished.
Ten minutes later, stopped at another jam, she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and glared at the dash clock. Another reason not to have a car. Rush hour traffic. She’d forgotten to set her alarm early to compensate, now she’d be late. And she had wanted time to situate her new table in her office. Office. That was a laugh, just a cubicle, but the table was now in the middle.
Walking onto her floor fifteen minutes late, she flung her bag on the desk, admired her table a moment, then settled in to work. Headset barely on, the tone sounded in her ear.
“Ms. Cavanaugh there’s a Detective Solomon on line three.”
Great, the receptionist was a blabbermouth, by the time she got off the phone the entire office would be abuzz with What’s little Keira done now? Then there’d be titters of laughter.
“Detective Solomon, I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”
“We’d like you to come into the station as soon as possible to do the composite, can you get here this afternoon?”
Nothing like short notice, since she only had a half hour for lunch there wouldn’t be enough time. And she was late this morning. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the marketing manager watching her from his glassed kingdom.
“You still need one? I hoped you would find something on the surveillance.”
“There were some shadows, mostly what we could make out coincided with what you’d told us. A black or dark colored car drove by slowly, we assume it stopped out of the camera’s range. After it left, nothing else could be detected.”
Sighing, “I’ll see what I can do.” She promised to get back with him and then pressed the disconnect button.
Before she dialed her first client, Mr. Bryant opened his door. “Keira, could you come in my office a moment.”
Keira’s chest tightened, she pulled off her headset, pushed her chair away and stood. Holes burrowed through her back with the burning attention from coworkers. The short distance stretched. She wouldn’t be surprised to hear someone call out Dead man walking. What had she done now?
“I see you’re on the front page.” He handed her a paper.
A frisson of dread scampered down her spine, afraid her picture was actually plastered in the newspaper. Much to her relief the story was a column on the right, not the main scoop. She laid the paper down on his desk.
“You witnessed a murder?” Curiosity dripped from his voice, body tilted forward, his gaze alert as he waited for her answer.
Not answering she asked, “They printed my name?” Tendrils of fear curled around her stomach and squeezed. Blue Eye’s would know how to find her. She remembered Detective Solomon asking her not to speak of it to anyone.
“Huh?” He gave her a puzzled frown.
“The article, you said I was in the paper and that I witnessed a murder?” Sheesh, he’d just asked her not even a minute ago.
“Oh that. No. Joey told me you’d borrowed his car to bring that ridiculous table in last night. When I saw the murder in the paper and noticed it was right across the street. I checked the security log, the time you were here coincided with the murder. I just put two and two together.”
Relief flooded through her body and weakened her knees. She barely caught the back of the chair to brace herself before they buckled.
“You okay?”
“Yes, just caught my toe.” She straightened, turned, and then paused to add, “Sorry sir, you’re wrong, I may have been around at that time, but I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. I guess I was too busy getting the table in the building.”
Keira gave one last look at the article, walked to the wall of glass. “Was that all you needed to see me for?”
“Uh, yeah.” Mr. Bryant glanced up from the paper to her.
Relieved, she pulled the door open and looked over her shoulder at her boss. “I need a little longer lunch today. I’ll work late tonight to make up for it.”
??Her hand tightened on the knob while she waited. Mr. Bryant didn’t answer for a moment, a frown marring his brow.
“What do you need to do?”
“It’s personal, sir.” She felt like she was in grade school again and called to the principal’s office. For God’s sake, she hadn’t done anything wrong.
“I looked at your stats and though your clients are satisfied, you’re still low on your call volume.”
“Yes sir, I try to make sure they’re getting exactly what they want, sometimes that takes a little TLC if you know what I mean.” She could see by the look on his face he didn’t. So much for small town values in the big city.
“As long as you stay late and make up your time you can have the time off,” he said gruffly, grabbed the paper where she had laid it.
Back at her desk, she dialed the number for the detective. Keira left a message that she’d come by on her lunch and included the time.
No matter what she did, she couldn’t seem to get into her usual work groove. Murder and intrigue weren’t part of her everyday routine. Even in New York. If she’d still been home in Nebraska, none of this would have happened.
She’d found a job in her small town straight out of the university. After several years of going nowhere fast, and being passed over for the promotion she’d wanted and was highly qualified for, it had been the last straw. Human resources had forgotten to add in the job description that one of the qualifications you needed was to be the daughter of the owner.
She packed up her bags and headed for the Big Apple. After all there was no family to miss her in her hometown of Kamas, Nebraska. She’d been orphaned in high school and gone to live with a friend until she was eighteen. Luckily, she received a full scholarship and was able to stuff away the inheritance from her parents in the bank.
Minutes ticked by like slow molasses until it was finally time for her to walk to the precinct station that fortunately turned out to be only a few blocks. By the time she got there she had worked up a sweat and wasn’t sure if it was nerves or heat.
Keira opened the door expecting a cool refreshing blast of air. She wasn’t prepared for the scent of sweaty bodies and stale smoke.
She wiped her forehead as she looked for the front desk or somewhere to check in. Spotting a man behind a desk, who had a nameplate that said Desk Sergeant, she guessed he’d be the person to see.
Keira sighed when he ignored her. “Excuse me, I’m looking for Detective David Solomon.”
“He expecting you?”
“Yes he is. My name is Keira Cavanaugh.”
“I have a note to direct you to the FBI sketch artist.” He stood and walked around the desk. “Go down this hall and turn left, if you reach the end, you’ve gone too far. Once you turn left go to the end of the next hall and there’s a conference room.”
Without another word, he walked to his chair, sat down and picked up his magazine. This was nothing like CSI. Until she followed the hall, then it looked a little more like what she’d pictured. Keira found the door, and gave a knock.
“Door’s open.”
She walked in not sure what she expected. The young girl doodling on a pad of paper wasn’t it, at least she used a pencil and not a crayon.
“How old are you?” The words burst out before her mind or mouth could stop them. “Oh, I’m sorry that was rude.”
A tinkle of a laugh floated out. “That’s all right I get it all the time. Actually I’m twenty-six.” The girl, or woman stood to stretch a hand toward Keira. “I’m Siena, have a seat.”
She walked the rest of the way into the dull tan room and took the only other chair. It wobbled and creaked but after a moment it was still and silent. Keira felt like an Amazon, but she wasn’t that big. Must be an old chair.
“Before we start, why don’t we just chat a moment.”
“What?”
“I find that it makes it easier for the witness. If you try to force the memory something important is liable to be missed.”
“Okay.” That sounded just fine with Keira, her insides knotted up like bratwurst the minute she’d made the appointment. “What made you become a police artist?”
“Hey, I live in the Village, I’m a struggling artist. I have to pay the bills somehow.” That tinkling laugh filled the air again.
The woman must have been a faerie in another life. “Are you an actual NYPD officer?”
“No, I’m Special Agent Peters with the FBI and my size and looks come in handy when they need someone underage as a decoy. But mostly this is what I do. This is what I enjoy. It’s hard to witness some of the trash I see when I’m on assignment.” She shivered and looked down at what she was scribbling.
Curious Keira leaned over to see. Her chair squeaked and wobbled so much she hastily straightened. Siena turned the picture so she could see.
“Wow, you are good.” Keira had only been in the room five minutes but the likeness was remarkable. “You’re fast too.”
“That comes in handy when people are on their lunch hour like you probably are.” She turned the pad toward her and set her pen in motion. “Last night was a bit cooler than it’s been. Was it full dark when you came out of the building?”
Keira brows gathered at the change of subject. She thought back, it had been nice out. She nodded. “I remember thinking how wonderful to have a break in the heat. Even if it was only a few degrees.”
“Remember anything else about the night in general?”
“When I first pulled up in front of my building, after I opened the hatch door I heard the strangest sound. It was coming from the alley across the street. When I didn’t see anything, I shrugged and took my table inside.”
“Table?” Siena asked.
“Silly.” Nervous, Keira ran her fingers through her unruly hair. “I had to have a table in my cubicle to make it homey.”
Siena didn’t comment. Keira didn’t know if she agreed or not.
“This noise you heard, was before you went into the building. Could you have missed seeing whatever the something was that made the sound?”
Keira stared at the top of Siena’s head, considering. Had she missed something? She replayed the scene in her mind.
“I don’t think so. I stopped and looked toward the noise, but I didn’t see anything then. I took the table into the building.”
“Okay when you came out, what made you look across the road?”
“Detective Solomon already asked all these questions.” Keira squinted in thought as she looked at the tiny woman across from her.
“I’m trying to get you in the scene, help you recreate in your mind what you actually saw.” Siena gave her a reassuring smile.
Keira relaxed a little. “Sorry, I guess I’m still a little nervous. Let me think a minute.”
“Take your time.”
Keira appreciated Siena’s patience. She was so nervous her mind seemed to be a blank for a moment. What if she gave a detail wrong? An innocent person may be charged with the horrific murder. She closed her eyes to think.
“You’ve got some heavy thoughts going on there.” Again with the tinkling laugh.
That laugh relaxed her more than anything else could have. How could a person remain stressed with that joyous sound hanging in the air? Keira smiled, tilted her head a little, the chair creaked and groaned, but she ignored the warning.
Taking a deep breath, she let her lids open and looked at Siena. “Okay I’m ready.”
“Great.” Siena posed her pencil above the paper. “What do you remember?”
“I couldn’t find my keys. My purse is so messy it’s hopeless.” Her shoulders lifted in a shrug, and she smiled a little sheepishly. “I keep everything. Anyway, I was looking for a trashcan and I saw the man across the street.
“I know you usually hear that expression in romance novels, when their eyes locked. But I don’t know how else to describe what happened.” Keira felt the shudder through her whole body, remembering... “Those cold blue eyes.”
“What shape?” Siena broke into her thoughts.
“Huh?”
“The cold blue eyes, what shape? Almond? Round?” Siena hadn’t looked up, but apparently had heard Keira whisper. She was busy scribbling on her pad.
Keira thought about it. “Not round, but not exactly almond either. I’d say squinty. Jeez. I don’t know how to describe them.”
“It’s okay, honest.” Siena nodded at her to continue.
Gulping, she tried again, “I guess they’d be oblong.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“Ice blue. Cold. Chilling.”
“I think I got the meaning,” Siena said a bit dry.
“Sorry, I just want to make sure you get the eyes right, they’ll be what people will notice. I’ll see them every time I close my eyes for the rest of my life.” Something niggled at the back of Keira’s mind, something important, she knew she needed to remember and describe to the artist.
It hovered just out of reach.
“Let’s work on the rest of the face and come back to the eyes.”
“Okay. He had brown hair pulled back.”
“I need a shape of head to put the hair on first.” Tinkling laughter escaped a bit from the working artist. “What was the face shape?”
“I guess diamond shape, a long chin, broad across the cheek bones. I remember thinking that he had creases around the mouth as if he smiled a lot. It boggled my mind that a murderer would actually smile. Gives me the shivers.”
“Killers are human, too.”
Keira laughed, the way Siena had said it so serious. As if she’d been rude to even suggest otherwise. “I guess you’re right.”
“Okay let’s go for the ears.”
“Big.”
“Big?”
“Well not Dumbo ears or anything. I guess they were man ears. Not huge but good sized, maybe it was because his hair was pulled back.”
“Okay, I think I have an idea. What about the nose?”
“Jewish.”
“Jewish?”
“You keep repeating what I say.”
“Because you just blurt it out like I should know, and it prompts you to explain.”
“Oh, sorry. It was skinny at the top and then filled out. It was a bit crooked as if he’d broken it in the past.”
“Give me a minute, I want to see how I’m doing so far.”
Keira waited, she had to admit to being curious. How would her description be perceived by the artist? How much of it would need to change? It seemed almost as if Siena would need to reach into Keira’s memory bank and pluck it out to get a good resemblance.
“Here.” Siena’s voice startled her out of her musings.
Keira leaned over the sketch when Siena laid it on the table. It didn’t look too bad, but it wasn’t the killer.
That niggle, just out of reach, came into focus while staring at the composite. Again she saw all the blood dripping down his chest, underneath there had been something.
“He had a tattoo.”
“What?” Siena gave her a startled look. She held a hand out for the sketch, then quickly bent her head. “Where?”
“On his chest, can you add that? His neck was a little on the thick side, sort of like those football players you see. Not the gross ones, just sort of wide. Anyway, on the left side of his chest below his shoulder was a black knife. Hilt on the top, blade pointed toward the ground. Blood covered most of it, so I can’t really go into detail.”
Siena pursed her lips as if in thought, then handed the sketch to Keira. “Since you can’t really tell me much about the tattoo, we’ll leave it off. Most people who see the sketch on the news won’t see him without his shirt anyway. However, I’ll write it in my report. Anything else I need to change or you can remember about his face?”
Keira studied the picture some more. “The eyes are too far apart. The chin is right. The mouth, needs a fuller bottom lip and a smaller upper lip. It was a little off center. If I’d seen him under normal circumstances I probably would have thought he was handsome, with an intriguing face.”
“The cheekbones?”
“No they weren’t prominent like that. As I said, his face was a diamond shape, so the widest part was through his cheekbones.”
“I think I get what you mean.”
“The ears are pretty good. His hair though was sort of wavy. I know it was pulled back, but you know what someone’s hair looks like after it’s been in braids?”
“Yes, my friend’s little sister wears braids all the time.”
“Picture what her hair would look like if you’d just taken the braids out then ruthlessly pulled it into a ponytail at the back of her nape.”
Siena didn’t answer, just continued to scribble, after a moment she turned the pad around. It almost looked like him, but something was missing. “The eyes, they’re not cold enough. He looks like this. You’ve done a good job. But the eyes don’t pierce into your soul.”