Body Of Truth (15 page)
Authors: Deirdre Savoy
Finally, when the car was almost upon her, she made it, darting left to vault over the high ledge of the loading dock to relative safety. The car veered after her, careened into a huge dumpster that spewed garbage onto the front of the car as it bounced off the metal surface. The car lumbered forward, continuing toward the end of the alleyway, nearly crashing into a car passing on the street.
Breathing heavily, with the blast of the car's horn echoing in her ears, Dana started to shiver. Whoever had been driving that car had intended to kill her. There was no other explanation for it, not that she could see.
But this time, as the car hesitated under the bright light of the loading dock, she'd managed to notice the license plate number.
And she realized something else that scared her right down to her toes.
Twelve
Jonathan I need to see you.
Those words echoed in Jonathan's ears as he drove from his apartment to Dana's house. Not only hadn't he expected to hear from her after last night, she hadn't elaborated on the reason she wanted him to come over. True, he hadn't exactly pressed her for one either. The only thing he did know was that it wasn't to pick up where they'd left off last night.
He'd planned on spending the evening reinterviewing the patrons of the bar where Jackson got stabbed. He'd claimed the other man had pulled a knife on him first, supposedly because Jackson was messing around with his woman. Jackson claimed not to know the woman in question, but neither Jonathan nor Mari completely believed him. That didn't necessarily negate the man's claim of simply wanting to keep his ya-yas from getting cut off, but it made him less credible. Jonathan was hoping someone at the bar had seen something that would make the case either way.
He pulled up in front of Dana's place, luckily finding a spot right out front. Even from the street he could see her, sitting in one of her rocking chairs, her legs drawn up, her cheek resting on her knees. He walked up to the house and let himself onto the porch, dread rising in him. She had to know he was there, but she didn't acknowledge him in any way.
“Dana?”
She lifted her head and looked at him. Her hair was tumbled, not in the seductive way it had been last night. Her jeans were ripped at the knee and the blouse she wore was torn at the shoulder and dirty. Her face looked tear-stained and her eyes were rimmed in red. What on earth could have happened to actually make this woman cry?
“Thanks for coming,” she said, as if he'd made her social event by showing up. “I probably shouldn't have called you like that.”
Maybe not, but judging from her appearance, something serious had motivated her. “Why did you?”
“I was upset. I'm calmer now.”
Maybe too calm. He got the rocker from the opposite side of the porch and pulled it perpendicular to hers. “Tell me what happened.”
“I was coming home from the hospital. It was stupid. I cut through this alley because it would save time and I thought it was going to rain.”
Jonathan's stomach clenched. He'd heard this story before, too many times, maybe. He didn't like how it turned out. “Go on.”
“All of sudden there was this car behind me. It was speeding and there was nowhere to get out of the way. I just kept running until the alley opened up and I could get on top of this loading platform. If that hadn't been there, they would have hit me.”
He could imagine how terrifying that experience must have been for her, though his first thought was that in this part of town, she'd gotten in the path of some teenagers drunk on their own hormones who thought it was a great idea to terrorize pedestrians with the family automobile. “Did you see who was driving the car?”
She shook her head. “I couldn't see anything beyond the headlights. Not until the car crashed into this dumpster next to me.”
Now that didn't sound like teenagers, unless they really were high on something. Why risk getting grounded by wrecking their parents' cars? “They came after you after you tried to get out of the way?”
“They, he, whoever was trying to hit me.”
“How do you know that?” It wasn't that he didn't believe her. He wanted to be as clear as possible on what happened.
She ignored his question. “I saw the license plate on the car. BM2 478.”
“You memorized the number?”
“It was easy. It's the same number I gave Moretti yesterday.”
Alarm whooshed up through Jonathan with the speed of a tidal wave. The same car that carried the men who killed Wesley had also tried to mow her down? Or the same plates, anyway. She couldn't verify if it was the same car. But it was really the same thing, anyway. Whoever had possession of those plates had succeeded in hurting her once and trying to kill her a second time, which begged the question: Why?
The simple answer to that was that someone had noticed her snooping in the neighborhood and decided to take her out before she discovered anything that could incriminate them. But Jonathan didn't trust simple. Especially since that would mean that whoever had tried to run her down had ventured out of their own comfort zone to come after her. Why not wait to see if she showed up again, or hit her when she came back to work, since whatever she knew she had had time to tell the police already?
It didn't make sense, which frustrated him. He might not trust simple, but he preferred it to the niggling suspicion that nothing, neither this case nor his own, was what it appeared to be.
But for now, his only concern was Dana. She'd remained silent after dropping that bombshell on him, her gaze fixed on him as if she waited for him to say something in particular. After a moment she looked away, and he sensed her disappointment in him. That was okay. She didn't need to hear what was rolling around in his brain.
It was in his mind to pull her onto his lap to hold her, soothe her. He'd like to tell himself that impulse stemmed from some innate drive to comfort and protect, but he knew that desire came from a deeper source, one he didn't want to examine too closely at the moment.
Instead, he grasped the arm of her chair and part of the seat and turned her around to face him. “I need you to tell Moretti what you told me. Do you feel up to that?” He knew what her answer would be before he asked the question, but once again, he admired her resiliency.
“Sure. Why not? I'll make some snacks. Don't eat the one with the arsenic in it.”
He chuckled. “Maybe you want to clean up a little before he gets here.” His suggestion accomplished two purposes. One, he didn't want Moretti seeing her like thisâvulnerable and shaken. Two, he wanted her out of the room. Aside from Moretti, he needed to call Mari and the Mount Vernon PD, though he suspected whoever had done this to her was long gone.
She nodded. He backed his chair up so that she could stand. After she'd gone inside leaving the door open, he got the number for the Mount Vernon PD from information and told the desk sergeant what happened in the alley and that the suspected driver was the subject of an ongoing NYPD investigation.
He called Mari next. He had two reasons for asking her to join them. One, he wanted her opinion of what had happened so far and, two, in the event Moretti pulled his usual bullshit, he wanted someone there with at least the slightest chance of pulling him off the man.
“Are you planning on filling your friend in?” Mari asked.
He supposed that was her way of asking why he really wanted her there. “Yeah.” In the morning, he intended to make sure the Evans case was transferred to him, but for now he didn't want the s.o.b. to be able to claim he pulled a fast one.
He hung up with Mari and dialed Moretti's number. He answered the phone, “Yeah.”
“I have some information for you on the Evans case. I'm at Dana Molloy's house. I need you to come.”
“Why would I want to do that? Your girlfriend playing Nancy Drew again?”
“She was nearly run down by the same car used in the Evans shooting.”
“Holy shit. Give me a few minutes. I'll be there.”
The line went dead. Moretti sounded genuinely alarmed, which was in itself surprising. He'd expected another flip response from Moretti and didn't know what to make of the fact that he didn't get one. Maybe Moretti was growing a conscience, but he doubted it.
Mari arrived before Dana made it downstairs from the bathroom. She lived about ten minutes away on the Bronx/Westchester border, in a two-family house she shared with her grandmother. He did a double take when he saw her walking up the front steps. Her hair was out of its usual ponytail and down around her shoulders. Gone were the ubiquitous pantsuit and serviceable shoes, replaced by a short, sleeveless black dress and heels. Obviously she'd been out somewhere or on her way out when he called her. She didn't look too happy about not being there now.
He held the door open for her to step onto the porch. She passed him, took a couple of steps and turned to face him. “Not one word, Stone, not one word.”
He couldn't tell whether that comment stemmed from his obvious shock at seeing her dressed that way or whether it bothered her for him to see her dressed like a girl instead of a cop. “You mean you didn't do all that for me?” he teased.
She shot him a droll look. “Stone, you wouldn't know what to do with me if you had me.”
“Hell, I didn't even know you had legs.”
She laughed. “Cute. Where's your friend?”
“I'm right here.”
Both he and Mari turned at the sound of Dana's voice. She stood in the open doorway. She'd changed into another pair of jeans and an oversize football jersey. With her face clean and devoid of make-up, he could see a bruise on her right cheek starting to darken. He doubted even she knew how she'd gotten it.
For the first time since he'd known her, she looked tense, on edge. It didn't surprise him. In the last week she'd been through a lot, more than most people would have withstood easily.
He closed the gap between them. “Dana, this is my partner, Mari Velez.”
For a moment, neither woman said anything, obviously sizing each other up. Dana spoke first. “Killer dress.”
“Thanks. Sorry we have to meet under these circumstances.”
Dana shrugged. “Why don't you guys come inside? You're letting all the air conditioning out.”
She turned and headed back toward the kitchen. He gestured for Mari to precede him. Bringing up the rear, he shut the front door behind him before following.
Dana stopped at the entranceway to the kitchen. “Why don't you two sit in the living room? I'm going to make some coffee. Sorry I don't have any donuts to go with it.”
Mari chuckled. “Not all of us cops are donut hounds.”
“Need any help?” he asked.
She shot him a droll look. “To make coffee? Please, sit. I'll be done in a moment.”
Reluctantly, he did what she asked. Although she'd seemed to regain some of her composure, she still looked shaky to him. Maybe that's why she wanted them out of the way; she still needed a few minutes to get herself together. Besides, it gave him a few minutes to talk with Mari. He followed Mari into the living room and sat in the corner of her sofa that allowed him a partial view of the kitchen.
Mari took the chair at a right angle to the couch. “So why did you really drag me out here, Stone?” Mari said in a hushed tone. “What's going on?”
He couldn't account for the annoyance he heard in her voice, but answered anyway. “Like I told you on the phone, Dana was on her way home from visiting my sister when the same car from the drive-by tried to run her over.”
“I got that part, but this isn't our case.”
“Not yet.”
Mari sat back. “Moretti's going to love you.”
“Fuck Moretti,” he said, but instantly regretted it. Not only did he usually leave the vitriol to Mari, he also didn't want her to know how deeply annoyed he felt.
“I'd rather not, if you don't mind. Just tell me what this has to do with us, other than whatever it is you've got going on with the woman making us coffee.”
Now he understood the reason for Mari's irritation. She thought he'd stuck his nose where it didn't belong because of his relationship with Dana and was trying to drag her in too. “This isn't anything personal.”
“No?”
“I'll admit I can't stand Moretti. He's a lazy cop, and probably a dirty one, too. I'll admit, too, that I don't want him anywhere near her. But, something about all this doesn't make sense.”
“What do you mean?”
In the back of his mind, he'd been looking for something to link together the two occurrences in the span of two days, even though every step he took in investigating Pierce's murder took him farther away from that location. Hearing from Tyree that the word was Wesley's dealer had taken him out, had put a minor crimp in his speculation, but hadn't ended it.
“Let's look at the timeline, first of all. Friday morning, Amanda Pierce goes missing. Dana is the last person to see her alive. The next morning Dana is shot in a supposed drive-by shooting in front of the same building. Does that suggest something to you?”
“Other than to stay the hell away from 4093 Highland Avenue? No. Given the neighborhood, it's not unusual to have two investigations in the same building at the same time.”
“Involving the same person?”
Mari lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “You've got me there. So what are you suggesting?”
“Maybe the drive-by wasn't a real drive-by in the sense that a civilian, not a player, was the target.”
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