Busted (40 page)

Give Toby a hug for me. Maybe I'll see you around some day.

Joe

Steve watched Chris’ face fall as he read the note. He grabbed the thing out of Chris’ hands and gave it a quick read. "Oh, Jesus Christ, you two are a pair of fucking idiots," Steve muttered. He looked up, but Chris had already left. He had a good idea where he was going.

Joe's apartment was only a few minutes away, and Chris had beaten him there. The door was open. Steve heard Chris swearing when he walked in, the noise coming from the bedroom.

"He's left," Chris said. That was pretty clear. The closet doors were open and the dresser drawers were pulled out. There weren't any clothes in them.

"Son of a bitch!" Chris shouted. He punched the mirror that hung over the dresser, shattering the glass.

"You don't do it small, do you, Gagnon?" Steve said. He was pissed at both Chris and Joe at this point.

"This isn't my goddamn fault," Chris snarled. Except it was, and he knew it. He had something good right in front of him and he’d been too scared, too stupid to fight Alex for it, and now it was too late.

"Whatever," Steve said. "I have shit to do. I'm heading back to the station."

Chris just followed. His anger and his shame were fighting each other. He knew he'd done wrong Monday. He'd gone over that conversation in the car again and again. He'd been a coward, too afraid to admit what he felt, too afraid to stand up for himself and what he wanted when things went badly. But Joe had just cut and run. No call, no explanation, no chance for Chris to explain, or make amends. He just picked up and left.

He stormed out of the apartment, running straight into the man loitering in the hall. His baseball hat was knocked off his head and he stumbled against the wall.

"Sorry," Chris said gruffly. The impact seemed to unsettle his stomach, and an uncomfortable ache had started behind his eyes.

"No problem, man," he said.

Chris automatically gave him a quick going over. Medium tanned skin, straight black hair parted on the left and partly covering a band-aid, blue shirt that looked like it might've been a uniform before it had gone off to the Salvation Army or a vintage clothing store. Nose a bit beakier than Chris's, with signs it had been broken. Young, maybe early twenties, with a few knife scars on each cheek. The accent was generic, with an odd cadence that tickled his memory. There was a bulge under his neck, probably from bulky jewelry. The kid was latino with a healthy mixing of Native American.

"You got a reason to be here?" snapped Chris. The kid felt like trouble.

"I've got somewhere else to be," he said with a wide grin.

"Good. Go there," Chris said as he left.

"Oh, I will," the man said softly. "I think I will…"

* * *

When Chris got back to the station he found the place in a buzz. Half the detectives were in the conference room with a bunch of guys in suits. Captain Davidson was in there, red faced and shouting something, randomly jabbing his soggy cigar at people.

"What's going on?" he asked Steve.

Steve gave him a cold glare. Chris flinched, but not much. He'd been beating himself up the whole drive back to the station, and there wasn't much Steve could do to make him feel any worse.

"Yes, fine, I fucked up," Chris snapped. "Thank you. What's going on?"

"The kid ran the video he brought back from Joe's apartment complex. We got a few good stills off it."

Steve pushed a few black and white pictures over to Chris. He picked them up and looked at them.

"Damn," he said.

"You recognize him?"

"Yeah," Chris said. "I ran into him in the hall outside Joe's apartment. We should get a uniform back over there."

"No point," Steve said. "He's probably gone by now."

"I know, but we may get lucky. Think the kid's up to it?"

"I think so. He and Petersen can go. Maybe they can get an ID on a car, if they've got cameras outside the buildings." Steve picked up the phone and started to dial.

"Fine," Chris said. He pulled out his glasses and started scanning through the statement Joe had made. It was all he could do to stay professional when he read it. The statement was clear enough that he could picture what happened. He started making notes as he read through, frowning.

"Have you read this?" he asked Steve after he was done.

"No, why?"

"Read it," he said, handing it over. He waited, tapping his pen impatiently as Steve scanned it. He was making notes as he read.

"Notice anything unusual?" Chris asked.

"The descriptions don't match," Steve said. "We've got video of that young guy going in and coming out. The times match up pretty well with the 911 call. Nobody old."

"That's one."

Steve read the statement again, and then a third time. "I've got nothing," he finally admitted. He hated it when Chris stumped him on these.

"Joe tripped over the teddy bear."

"Yeah, so? It was on the floor."

"It's mine. It was on my bed yesterday," Chris said.

"You got a teddy bear, Gagnon? Should have figured."

Chris stiffened. "Captain," he said through gritted teeth.

"This the guy that put your boyfriend in the hospital?"

"He's not my godd…" Chris caught himself and took a deep breath. He turned and looked Davidson straight in the eye.

"Yes," he said. It might have been too late to save what he had with Joe, but he deserved at least a little respect. "You have a problem with that?"

"He in a jail cell?"

"Joe?" Chris asked in surprise.

"No, asswipe. Him," he said, pointing at the picture.

"Not yet," Chris said.

"Then yeah, I have a problem.What are you two girls doing sitting here?" This was Davidson's constant mantra. It always rankled Chris. He didn't like doing without thinking first.

"You want us to run around, or you want him caught?” Chris snapped

"What I want, Gagnon, is to show those pricks from the state police where they can stick their goddamn
task force
,” he spat. “So what the fuck are you going to do about it?"

Chris looked at Steve. "Think you can get the lab to put a rush on some blood work?"

"Think so. One of the techs plays bridge with Mary, I can get us the report before the state guys get it."

"I'll get a rundown on this guy, then. He might come from the same place Hernandez came from. He looks the part."

"I think we should get a plainclothes at Powell. Our guy might be back, if he's following Joe around."

"What do you mean following him around?" Chris demanded. "This wasn't the first time?"

Steve shrugged. Joe hadn't wanted to make a big deal about it. Steve had thought it was stupid, but it was what Joe had wanted so he hadn't said anything.

"He got his tires slashed last week. All four."

"Fuck," Chris spat. It pissed him off that Steve knew about it and he didn't. The fact that he and Joe weren't exactly talking at that point didn't really matter. He should've known, and if Joe hadn't told him then Steve should have.

"Yeah, well, this guy seems to like overkill."

"You sure it's the same guy?" Captain Davidson asked.

Chris shrugged. "Probably. Eyewitness accounts match, we have video, even if we get no physical evidence from the other crime scenes we can at least pull attempted on him. If the blood work ties him in, he's ours."

"Good." Davidson stalked off.

Steve waited until Davidson left, then turned to Chris. He clearly wasn't happy.

"This guy wasn't following the pattern. And the eyewitnesses match, but they don't match the video. This isn't solid, Chris."

Chris shook his head. "It is, I can feel it. That guy," he said, stabbing at the top picture with his finger, "is the one we want. He did it."

Steve wasn't convinced, but Chris had rarely been wrong in the past.

"Fine," he said with a sigh. "I'll get the labwork started. You want to call Albuquerque? See if they can ID our perp?"

"Yeah. And tag Sergeant Felton to visit Powell. Joe was taking the week off, but he should be back Monday."

"
If
he's coming back, Chris," Steve said. The reminder was pointed.

"He's coming back," Chris said with far more conviction than he felt. "He's gotta come back," he muttered.

"No," Steve said as he got up to leave. "He doesn't."

* * *

Chris took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. He'd spent the whole day either on the phone or digging into police databases. He hadn't anything to show for it but a headache and some vague offers for people to call him back. It wasn't enough – he wanted the name of their perp.

Damn Joe anyway. Chris hadn't managed more than a few hours of sleep last night. He'd tossed and turned, constantly reaching for someone who wasn't there. He'd finally resorted to curling up with Snuffles. The morning inquisition from Toby hadn't helped. Chris had even tried making toast glasses, but it hadn't been the same.

He pitched his pen on the desk in disgust. He'd done it two dozen times already, and it was pissing Steve off.

"Would you stop that?" he grumbled.

"Stop what?"