Chapter Four

 

“You shouldn’t sulk. You’ll get wrinkles.” Gemma delivered her pronouncement as she flipped through the radio channels until settling on a news station.

“I’m not sulking,” Jack said. He reached over and switched the radio off. “My car, if you don’t mind.”

“Touchy, aren’t we?”

“Yes, we are. Now why won’t you go into a safe house? It makes sense.”

Gemma shifted in her seat, luxuriating against the comfortable cushion. Her beater had a broken spring she’d been meaning to fix, but that list was so long, she’d have a new car long before she got a new car seat.

“Earth to Gemma. Stop making love to my car and answer the question.”

“I am not making love to your car.”

He shot her a quick glance, his eyebrow quirked. “You were practically moaning.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” She wasn’t going to address his silly accusation at all. The man needed lessons on exactly what constituted making love. She eyed him for a moment. Educating him was tempting, but bad timing.

“And your answer? Do you think you can answer before the next century?”

“I already told you. I’ll take precautions, but I need to do my job.” And Dana didn’t need to be uprooted from the one place she was beginning to feel comfortable. Her niece was slowly coming out of her shell. Taking her to a strange house and expecting her to deal with it was more than Gemma was willing to ask.

“It’s always about the job, isn’t it?” His disgusted look was really starting to tick her off. He really had a bugaboo about it. Every time he said the word reporter, he looked like he was sucking on the biggest sourball to come out of a gumball machine.

“We’ll have to agree to disagree.” She crossed her arms over her chest. The man knew nothing about her, and it rankled that he judged her so easily. She didn’t intend to explain. It was her choice, after all. Her stomach chose that moment to rumble, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “I’m hungry. How about some food?” After leaving the station, Jack had brought her back to the newspaper to talk to Tammy, the intern, reception and anyone who might’ve seen who had dropped off the package. They’d gotten zero for their efforts. Her stomach growled again, emphasizing zero contents. She needed food.

Jack grunted, which she took for acknowledgement.

Gemma sniffed and stared out the passenger window. She liked her job and she wasn’t going to let his calcified attitude chip away at hers.

“You like Mexican? There’s a great Mexican restaurant up ahead that serves the best tacos and burritos.”

“La Azteca? They have a beef burrito that’s to die for.” Already her mouth watered as she recalled the last time she’d been there with some co-workers. “And while we’re eating we can go over the case.”

“For the last time—oh, hell, why am I even bothering.” Jack’s exasperation rang loud in the SUV’s interior. Gemma settled back comfortably in her seat and smiled.

***

The food arrived on the table piping hot and in a man-sized portion. Jack inhaled with pleasure.

Gemma picked up her burrito and dug in with gusto. Every now and then she made a sound of pleasure, reminding him of how she’d luxuriated in his car seat. He didn’t think he’d ever met a woman who expressed her feelings so honestly.

Though he continued to observe the other patrons, he couldn’t help sneaking quick glances at his companion.

That she intrigued him irked him. Yet, like the tides and the moon, he couldn’t resist the pull.

Even now, he watched as she popped the last bite into her mouth, her eyes closed in pleasure. Would she show that same enthusiasm and pleasure in bed? Somehow he thought so.

Oh, man, he needed to stop it. He reached for his cola and took a healthy swallow.

Jack polished off the last bite, his hunger appeased. Surprisingly, his companion had not chattered her way through the entire meal like he’d expected. He’d been prepared for a barrage of questions that he’d have to fend off with a proverbial “No comment.” Not that he believed that would hold her back long.

Curious. Persistent. Determined and stubborn. All described Ms. Gemma Fitzgibbons, girl reporter, to a T.

Gemma wiped her mouth with her napkin, sipped her diet cola and then pulled out a notebook and pen from her bag.

He’d spoken too soon. Apparently the inquisition was about to start.

“You know I’m not going to share details of an investigation with you.” He’d built his reputation by walking the straight and narrow and having the highest case closure rate in the department. For all that, he knew his reputation could fall apart like the straw house in the Three Little Pigs. One puff would be all it took to have it crumble at his feet.

He’d seen it firsthand. He’d had a front row seat when his father’s reputation fell to pieces.

Gemma blew a curl off her cheek and waved her pen at him. “We’re speculating. I’m not going to quote you or anything, and you don’t have to share anything you don’t want to. Let me tell you what I know.”

She flipped through a few pages. Clearly finding what she needed, she began speaking. “Alicia Johnson worked as a dental hygienist on Oakwood Avenue. Three weeks ago, on a Friday, she left work at 5:30. Her co-workers said she had a date, but wouldn’t give up much info other than hinting that he had money.” She paused and looked up from her notes. “You know, Candy had the same impression about the guy that picked up Kelly Lawson, that the guy had money. What do you think?”

What he thought is that she’d make a hell of a detective, but no way was he telling her that. “I think you should keep going. What else you got?”

“I bet you took your toys and went home rather than share with the other boys.” She had a gleam in her eye, though her lips gave nothing away.

“Sure. And then I cut off their heads and buried the bodies.” Two could play at this game.

Her gaze narrowed as if she were trying to dissect him. “Did you just try to make a joke, Detective? A rather poor one, but a joke, nevertheless. There might be hope for you yet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hope for what? Was he certain he wanted to know?

“Forget it. Have it your way. Alicia didn’t show up to work on Monday and didn’t call in. On Tuesday, when she again didn’t show, her boss filed a police report. On Thursday, a man walking his dog found her naked body in Draper Park.”

Gemma picked up her soda and finished the last sip before continuing. “The police—as in you and your colleagues,” she pointed at him, “believe she’d been held for several days, sexually assaulted during that time until she was strangled. A wedding veil had been placed on her head.”

The woman had clearly done her homework. “Want another?” he asked, motioning toward her empty glass.

“Thanks.”

Jack signaled the waitress and asked for a refill for the both of them. It gave him time to think about her timeline. Everything she said had been reported in the news. There’d been no way to hide the wedding veil. The man who’d discovered the body had enjoyed his five minutes of fame, telling each and every detail he could dredge up to any print or TV reporter that gave him a podium. Speculation over the killer and the meaning of the veil had led to the media coining the name the ‘Wedding Veil Killer.’

Then the bastard had struck again.

The waitress brought over their sodas. Gemma thanked her and took another healthy drink before continuing.

“Kelly Lawson worked as a barrista four days a week, and as a waitress at the Stardust Club on the weekends. She liked pretty things and generally maxed out her credit cards. Like Alicia, Kelly hinted at a new man in her life, but didn’t share details with her friends. The last time anyone saw her was leaving the Stardust Club after her shift, with a well-dressed man.” Gemma tapped her paper as she said the last. “Four days later her body was discovered on the edge of a new development completely on the other side of Carville from where Alicia’s body was found. It appeared that Kelly had also been held captive, sexually assaulted numerous times and then strangled. A wedding veil was found on her head, too. How am I doing so far?”

Jack leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Pretty good, but you haven’t told me anything new.” And she didn’t know the one piece of evidence the police had held behind.

Her smile came slowly and her eyes sparkled with mischief. She must’ve been a handful as a child. An image of a little girl with freckles, brimming with attitude, took shape in his mind. A kid like that would keep a guy on his toes.

Jack blinked and dragged his drink to his mouth to clear the cobwebs in his brain. Since when did he give much of a thought to kids?

Okay, his mother gave him a lecture every week about how he wasn’t getting any younger and how much she’d like some grandkids. He usually let her drone on while he watched baseball. A cop’s life took a special kind of woman, one who could put up with the odd hours, the constant risk, and the violence that colored a cop’s world. He’d yet to meet her and he doubted she existed. Most of the women he dated weren’t interested in anything permanent, and that suited him fine.

Funnily enough, Gemma, with her relentless determination to get to the truth and to stand up for the underdog, struck him as a woman who’d stick by her man. She wouldn’t bail at the first sign of danger or walk out over another missed dinner.

Reporter.

The word slithered in his brain. He’d had no use for reporters since they’d surrounded his dad, attacking like sharks in bloody water.

Gemma might be cute on the eyes, but she traveled with a pack that left a trail of victims.

Gemma shoved her notebook and pen back in her bag. She pulled out her wallet and left a ten-dollar bill on the table. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” Jack pulled out his wallet and added enough to cover the rest of the tab and leave a decent tip. He then followed her out of the restaurant.

Jack unlocked the SUV and climbed behind the wheel, buckling himself in. “So where to?” he asked as he watched Gemma lower her bag to the floor between her feet. She then did that little jiggle she did to get in the right spot before she latched her own seatbelt.

He was watching the woman too much. He faced forward and stared out the windshield at the brown siding of the restaurant. His hands lay loosely on top of the steering wheel. “You haven’t told me where we’re going,” he repeated

“You want to be impressed. I’m taking you to be impressed.”

***

Gemma snuggled in the seat and doled out directions to Jack. She refused to tell him their final destination.

Make him sweat with curiosity.

Jack Donahue woke up everything feminine inside her, which was too bad. Sure, he was easy on the eye. What woman wouldn’t fall for rugged looks, laser-blue eyes and shoulders that rivaled Atlas’?

But he had a poker up his butt, especially about her profession. The man needed to learn to bend. He probably saw the world in black and white. Good guys and bad guys. To Gemma, the world was swathes of gray amidst splashes of color.

“Which way?” Jack asked, breaking into her thoughts.

Gemma peered through the windshield and pointed straight ahead. “At the stoplight turn right and go half a block down.”

Jack grunted, but his thumbs beat a rhythm against the steering wheel. Everything she knew about the guy said he was patient, painstaking and thorough. Those qualities had earned him the reputation as the best closer in the department.

Being with her apparently threw his temperament off.

An evil woman could have fun with that.

Or a redhead.

Gemma hid a grin and directed him to pull up in front of a famous donut chain store. “Drive around the block and I’ll be back before you know it.” She unhooked her seatbelt, slung her bag over her shoulder and prepared to exit the car.

“Are you serious?” Jack’s look of disbelief almost made her laugh.

“Yes. Very. See you in a few.” She closed the car door and hurried up to the sidewalk and straight for the donut shop. She needed a bribe for Old Joe if she wanted to get him talking. She’d met Old Joe while researching the piece she was doing on the homeless. She’d interviewed him twice already, and it hadn’t taken long to discover he had a serious sweet tooth. She hoped a couple of donuts would loosen his tongue, because she had suddenly realized the importance of something he’d said the last time they’d talked.

Are you worthy?

She couldn’t seem to let those words go and she shook her head as if to dislodge them from her mind.

Inside, she placed her order and on impulse, added two extra coffees and another strawberry-filled donut. She paid for her order and left the shop to see Jack driving towards her. He pulled up to the curb. Perfect timing.

Back in the vehicle, Gemma arranged the coffee cups in the SUV’s holders. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted milk or sugar. Do you?”

Jack tossed her a quick glance. “You stopped for donuts and coffee? Is this your version of a bribe?”

“Would it work?” She asked as she added cream to her own coffee.

He gave her a flat look and a distinct chill filled the interior. “No. I don’t take bribes.”

Clearly, she’d touched a nerve. She knew his history, the taint that had stained his father’s career, so she should have expected his reaction. Wanting to restore the atmosphere, she said lightly, “Good thing. I’d already figured that out about you. Consider it a gift for putting up with me.”

Quiet filled the inside of the vehicle and she let it settle around them. He kept both hands on the wheel and stared out the front windshield.

Finally, he broke the silence. “Did you happen to pick up anything jelly-filled?”

“Strawberry jelly donut. It’s yours.” It wasn’t much of a peace offering, but it was all she had.

“Thanks.”

It took her a moment to move. Then she reached into the box on her lap and picked out a jelly-filled donut, which she handed him. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Jack took the donut from her and bit down. In a couple of quick bites, it disappeared. She didn’t know where he found the room, given the lunch they’d just eaten. A little bit of strawberry jam clung to the corner of his mouth.

“Um, you have…” She didn’t bother finishing her sentence. She reached up and touched the edge of his mouth with her finger to rub away the blot. As soon as her finger touched his skin, she knew she’d made a mistake. He stilled immediately and the atmosphere in the car charged.

She found herself staring at his lips, recalling the kiss they’d shared.

It seemed eons before either of them moved. Her cheeks heated and she settled back in her seat.

He didn’t quite look at her as he picked up his coffee cup and took a quick sip. “So, now where?”

She kept her own glance fixed on the front hood of the SUV as she debated telling him everything. In the end, she held back. She had a hunch and, if it paid off, she rather thought he’d be impressed. If it turned out to be wrong well, then, she supposed she’d be only slightly worse in his view.

“Go three blocks down and anywhere around Donatelli’s you can park, grab it.” She took a tiny sip of her coffee, savoring the taste. Old Joe should be behind the Italian restaurant at this time of day.

Less than ten minutes later they had found a parking spot close to Donatelli’s, which sat on the edge of downtown Carville. The area hadn’t quite gone downhill, but it showed signs of a neighborhood struggling to stay alive. Donatelli’s sat between a Laundromat and an insurance office. A red, white and green awning hung over the entrance.

Jack parked and they both exited the vehicle. Gemma tilted her head. “Follow me.”

She didn’t bother entering the restaurant, knowing Old Joe would be found outside the back entrance. A small alley separated the restaurant from the Laundromat and Gemma moved in that direction, the bag of donuts and another coffee in her hand.

“Where are you going?” She looked over her shoulder to find that Jack had planted his feet in the middle of the sidewalk, his hands on his hips.

He really made it too easy for her. “You can trust the reporter or you can go. Your choice.”

She didn’t wait to see what he did. She continued down the alley towards the back. Every afternoon like clockwork, Old Joe parked his shopping cart behind Donatelli’s and feasted on whatever leftovers the owners kindly passed to him.

Gemma rounded the corner and spied the elderly homeless man sitting on an overturned crate, a paper plate with food on his lap. With hands encased in fingerless gloves, he poked a piece of meat with a plastic fork.

She looked back to see Jack right behind her. Putting both hands out, she gestured for him to stop. He raised an eyebrow in question, but she merely put a finger to her lips.

“Hi, Old Joe.” Gemma called out from a few feet away, not wanting to startle the old man. She knew he had issues and fear of strangers.

He jerked and looked up. She could read the panic in his eyes, and so kept her voice low, smooth and soft.

“It’s me, Gemma. Remember me?” She held up the bag of donuts and coffee. “I brought you some donuts and a hot coffee. It’ll go nice after your meal.”

Though Old Joe resumed eating, he kept a wary eye on her.

Gemma moved closer. “We talked a few days ago, by the green dumpster. Do you remember?”

Old Joe grunted and shoveled another forkful of green vegetables into his mouth. She took the grunt as permission to approach.

“Old Joe, I’m going to put the donut and coffee right there by your feet. ‘kay?”

The last time she’d spoken with him he’d been skittish. It’d taken persistence and the bribe of donuts and coffee to get him to talk. Gently, she placed the bag on the ground. Another crate leaned against the wall. Gemma snagged it, flipped it over and sat down.

“Old Joe, when we talked you said something I didn’t understand at the time. You said ‘Are you worthy?’”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Jack jerk in response, but he remained quiet. She focused her attention on Old Joe.

Bleary eyes met hers for a moment before the elderly man scooped up more food, the fork trembling in his fist. His red-rimmed eyes once more dropped to the plate.

Gemma spoke up for Jack’s benefit. “Old Joe has a routine. He travels a route that covers about five square blocks. On Mondays and Tuesdays, he visits the dumpsters behind the strip malls on the edge of Jefferson Heights. On Wednesday and Thursday, he goes behind the offices on Willmette Street. Fridays he hangs at the Sacred Heart Shelter because he’s made a deal with Father Cafferty to stop by once a week. On Saturdays and Sundays, he sleeps on a bench in Draper Park.”

Jack’s eyes widened and he took another step in Old Joe’s direction. Yeah, she’d thought that would get his attention. Gemma put a hand up to halt him. Old Joe hadn’t outwardly reacted, but she knew that he was listening and it wouldn’t take much to spook him.

“Old Joe, why did you ask me if I was worthy? Does it have anything to do with Draper Park?”

She didn’t want to prompt him too much or it would look like she was putting words in his mouth.

“Park’s quiet. Don’t get bothered in the park.” Old Joe’s voice sounded rusty, like a gate that hadn’t been oiled in a very long time.

“Yes,” Gemma agreed, “but it’s beginning to get cold at night. You really should let Father Cafferty find you a permanent place in the shelter.”

Old Joe merely grunted. “Had me a daughter once.” He stared over her shoulder, and she wondered if he was following one of the paths in his mind that led back to the past. But then he tipped his head towards Jack and surprised her with a question. “He a cop?”

“Yes, he’s a cop, but he’s also a friend. His name is Jack Donahue. We want to find out what happened to the woman who was killed in the park.”

“Got no time for cops.” His hand shook further and his cheeks reddened. He scrunched his shoulders down and he held his plate closer to his chest.

Gemma reached out a hand, but stopped short of touching him. “Old Joe, you said you had a daughter. What happened to her?”

“Donahue,” Old Joe muttered. “Knew a Donahue once. Was a cop. Stopped some punks trying to beat me up. They wanted to steal my stash. Donahue ran ‘em off. Punks.”

Gemma glanced over her shoulder at Jack and saw him nod. “That must’ve been my father. He’s retired now,” he said, keeping his voice low and easy.

Some of the tension seemed to seep out of Old Joe’s shoulders. He wasn’t holding his plate quite so tightly and he managed to look up once or twice. “Don’t know what happened to my daughter. Better off without me. Wife, too.”

Old Joe stood up slowly, his body practically creaking as it straightened out. Layers of clothes, ragged and torn, hung from his frame. A ratty knit cap perched on his head with tufts of white hair springing out from underneath. Though he was somewhat overdressed for the current weather, in a couple of months those rags would offer little protection against the cold of a New York winter. Somehow she’d find a way to get Old Joe to accept Father Cafferty’s offer of a bed.

She glanced over at Jack, aware that his entire focus centered on the elderly homeless man. It hadn’t escaped her notice that Jack had positioned himself in a way that would make it difficult for Old Joe to get away from them.

Old Joe shuffled over to the dumpster located against the restaurant’s back wall and threw his plate in over the lip. He rubbed his mouth with the back of his gloved hand and then slapped his hands against his thighs. With slow steps, he returned to his seat on the crate.

He picked up the coffee she’d left for him. She doubted it was very hot, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Old Joe cleared his throat and stared down at the cup he cradled in both hands. “Thought she was a doll. Lay all still like that with her eyes open. Wrong what he did.”

Gemma’s breath caught in her throat. She felt Jack step up beside her, his body brushing hers, his frame tense with suppressed energy. Automatically, she reached out and grasped his arm. Whether it was to prevent him from saying something prematurely or to establish a connection, she wasn’t sure, but the contact steadied her. “Yes, it was wrong. Can you tell us what you saw?”

“Didn’t see much. Got me a place to hunker down when the wind’s real cold. Heard him first.” With his index finger, Old Joe scratched alongside his nose. “Couldn’t hear clearly. Wind was howling and my ears don’t work so well, but I was curious. So, I left my spot and went to see. That area’s mine and I didn’t need no one moving in.” He fell silent.

Gemma realized she still clutched Jack’s arm. She didn’t want to let go. Somehow hanging on to Jack made it real, rather than some bizarre nightmare she’d walked into by accident.

Old Joe scuffed the ground with his right foot. “He walked young. Wore leather gloves. Jeans. And he had a cap on his head. Didn’t see her till I almost stepped on her. Gave me a fright. Knew she was dead, but I kept my head and held my tongue.” Old Joe raised his head to look defiantly at Jack. “Can’t move like I used to. Figured I’d better stay quiet. No need to borrow trouble.”

“Did you see his face at all?” Jack asked, his voice even and soft, making no attempt to criticize Old Joe’s choice to stay silent.

Old Joe seemed to recognize that because Gemma detected a slight easing in his posture.

“He did something to her feet. Couldn’t see what. He stood up and said ‘Bye, Alicia. You weren’t worthy. Maybe the next one will be.’ Then he walked away.” Old Joe gulped from the coffee cup.

Are you worthy, Gemma?

The words slipped in and out of her mind and Gemma shivered.

A handful of Jack’s jacket still caught in her grasp, she used it to pull herself up from the crate, and faced him full on. “He’s not done yet, is he?” A slight tremor shook her voice.

Jack stared down at her, a wrinkle line across his brow, his expression grim. “I’d say he’s just getting started.”