Cold Case Cop (5 page)

On the bottom floor of the building in a large window, a pink neon Roxie’s sign was flickering. A Closed sign hung in the door. The place looked like any other neighborhood bar. He imagined it came with its own cast of regulars.

He glanced at Mackey, trying to imagine her growing up here. His own childhood had been privileged and he’d not had to work. Everything had been taken care of.

“Mackey,” he said softly. “We’re here.”

Her head snapped up. She ran tense fingers over her hair. The bar was quiet, but the second-floor light was on. “Hey, would you do me a favor?”

“Need help getting out of the car?”

She smoothed the wrinkles from her shirt as she glanced at the second-floor window. “That, too.”

He lifted a brow. “What else?”

“Pretend to be my date?”

That was the last thing he’d expected her to say. “Say that again.”

“When the ambulance driver told me I had to go to the hospital, I called my aunt and told her that I couldn’t make it in to work at the bar tonight because I had a date. I don’t want her knowing I was in the hospital. She worries.”

He shifted his arm over the seat behind her and turned toward her. Moonlight accentuated the high slash of her cheekbones. “Your aunt is okay with you missing work for a date?”

A wry smile tipped the edge of her lips. “She’d sell her soul if she knew I was dating. Her fondest dream is that I marry and give her grandnieces and grandnephews.” She blushed as if she’d not meant to be so direct. “Just show your face, and I’ll make up a quick story and you can be on your way. You can pretend you like me for a couple of minutes, can’t you?”

He’d have no trouble pretending with Mackey. “Sure.”

Tuesday, July 15, 12:01 a.m.

T
ara had chosen the lesser of two evils. To avoid telling her overprotective aunt that she’d nearly been killed in a car accident, she’d asked Kirkland for a personal favor.

Now Tara wasn’t so sure she’d made the right choice.

Normally, she wouldn’t have asked him for anything. She didn’t like owing the cops she covered, and for some reason she especially didn’t want to be beholden to Kirkland. He was sharp—one of the best detectives she’d ever met. He worked hard and didn’t expect any more from the people under him than he was willing to give himself. Because she respected him so much, she’d always made sure she’d done her homework when she was around him.

Add in the fact that he was one of the social elite, and she felt really uncomfortable bringing him into her world. The last time she’d brought one of his kind into her life it had met with disastrous consequences.

She was not ashamed of her family or her roots. She adored Roxie. But her aunt’s outspoken opinions and colorful language could make even the toughest longshoremen blush. She flashed back to her thirteenth birthday, when Roxie had arrived at her party dressed in a pink muu-muu, a sparkly hat, crooning “Happy Birthday” in her whiskey voice. Tara had been mortified.

Kirkland pocketed his keys and came around the car. This time the pain in her shoulder had her waiting for him to open her door. Cool night air rushed over her as he held his hand out to her.

She accepted it and carefully rose. “Thanks.”

The look in his eyes was tender. “No problem.”

Evening shadows accentuated the lines creasing the corners of his eyes. His brown hair was brushed back, emphasizing his angular face and stark blue eyes. Even knowing his background, she couldn’t picture him lounging on a yacht or whiling away the afternoon at the country club golf course. He was the kind of guy who needed to be in the center of the action.

Tara pushed aside the thoughts. She was not going to get involved with this guy.

“Brace yourself,” Tara warned. “My aunt Roxie is quite the character.

Kirkland pressed his hand into the small of her back, steadying her as she fumbled with her keys. “She can’t be that bad.”

“She’s just going to be very excited. It’s been a little too long since she’s seen me date. She’s going to be all over you.”

“You worry too much.”

She shot him an I-warned-you look and pushed open the heavy wooden door. Bells jingled over her head.

Mondays were slow nights, and the place had all but cleared out by eleven. The faint smell of beer and cigarettes permeated the large room filled with chairs turned upside down on round tables. The floors had been freshly mopped and the large wooden bar wiped clean.

The quiet stillness was enough to let Tara hope that Roxie had gone to bed, which would have been a minor miracle. But she’d not taken two steps when the swinging door behind the bar pushed open.

Roxie wore her big blond hair teased high, blue eye shadow and a T-shirt that accentuated double-D breasts. She sported silk pajama pants and fuzzy slippers. The woman grinned broadly when she saw Tara and Kirkland.

“Roxie,” Tara said. “I thought you’d have called it a night by now.”

“Me? No way, not with my baby girl out on a date.” Roxie boldly stared at Kirkland. “Well, it’s about time you two lovebirds got back.”

Roxie crossed the distance between them and hugged Tara, who did her best not to cringe as her aunt squeezed her bruised shoulder.

“So, who is your friend?” Again, Roxie boldly stared at Kirkland as though he were a fresh slab of meat.

Kirkland didn’t bat an eye.

“Roxie, this is Detective Alex Kirkland.” Tara cleared her throat. “He’s my date this evening.”

Kirkland put out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Mackey.”

Roxie moistened her lips and in a deep, throaty voice said, “You call me Roxie.” She winked approvingly at Tara. “You could have knocked me over with a feather when Tara told me she had a date. The kid works all the time. Too hard, if you ask me. It’s about time she had some fun.”

“Roxie,” Tara warned.

“What? You do work too hard. And you don’t have any fun.” She shifted her gaze to Alex. “During the day it’s the paper and in the evening she’s here slinging drinks. There have even been times, like when she was working on those vagrant murders, that she would write all night after her shift here. She makes me tired just looking at her.”

Alex glanced at Tara. “I didn’t realize it was such a push to write those articles.”

Tara shrugged, refusing to admit it had stretched her to the limit to get them done. “It really was no big deal.”

Their exchange went over Roxie’s head. Her focus was on Kirkland. “Very, very nice, Tara. So where did Mr. Handsome take you tonight?”

Tara fumbled to come up with a story.

Kirkland smiled. “Dinner, and then we drove around.”

“Where’d you eat?” Roxie asked Kirkland.

“Roxie,” Tara warned. “No third degree.”

Roxie shrugged. “When you called and said you were on a date, I told you I wanted details. So where’d you eat?”

“Brenan’s,” Kirkland supplied.

Roxie nodded approvingly. “Very nice. So where did you and my Tara meet?”

“She covers the crime beat,” Kirkland said. “I’m a cop. We’ve crossed paths regularly.”

Roxie lifted a penciled-on brow. “So, Detective Alex Kirkland, what kind of policeman are you? Not vice, I hope.”

His laugh sounded genuine and relaxed. “Homicide.”

Roxie’s eyes widened with approval. “Very nice. Detective, can you stay for a cup of coffee?”

Experience had taught Tara that the best lies were the least complicated ones, and the sooner she got Kirkland out of here the better. “Roxie, he has an early-morning roll call.”

Kirkland shook his head. “A cup of coffee won’t hurt.”

Tara tried not to groan.

Roxie winked at him. “Come on over to the bar. I just made a fresh pot.”

Tara’s shoulder ached and she braced herself to climb up on a bar stool. Kirkland surprised her by pulling out a stool and helping her up in such a way that the gesture looked more loving than helpful. His touch was solid and steady and made her heart race a little faster. He took a seat beside her.

Roxie went around to the bar and set two mugs in front of Kirkland and Tara. She filled each with coffee. “So it’s taken a year for you two to finally go out on a date.”

Kirkland thanked her for the coffee. “We both lead busy lives.”

Roxie wasn’t convinced as her gaze skipped between the two. “So what did you learn about my baby tonight?”

“Not much,” Kirkland said. “She plays her cards close.”

“That’s my girl.” Roxie leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand. “What do you want to know about Tara?”

Tara set her coffee mug down. A bit of coffee sloshed onto her hand. “Roxie, that’s enough. Kirkland doesn’t want to hear about my boring past.”

Roxie shrugged. “Baby, you are not boring.”

A teasing light sparked in Alex’s eyes. “Your niece didn’t say much about herself. She’s very tight-lipped and very guarded.”

Roxie nodded. “That’s my T. Has been like that since she was a kid.”

Tara’s gaze narrowed. If she could have run from the room she would have. “I’m not that interesting.”

Roxie waved her away. “She’s very modest. She is brilliant. I have a scrapbook full of her articles from the
Post
and the
Globe.
My baby is going to win a Pulitzer one day. The scrapbook is in the back. I can get it if you want to see it.”

Tara pushed off her stool, wincing as her feet hit the ground. “Roxie, no—really. Alex really does have an early call in the morning.”

Kirkland slid off the stool and stood beside her. This close, she realized how much he towered over her. “Tara’s right. I do have an early-morning call.”

Roxie nodded. “Hey, I understand how hard you boys in blue work. As far as I’m concerned they don’t pay you guys enough. So remember, there’s always a free beer or coffee waiting for you at Roxie’s.”

Kirkland’s smile was genuine. “Thanks.”

“Will you be seeing my girl again?”

Before Tara could come up with some excuse, Kirkland said, “I hope so.”

Roxie winked. “Good. Because I like you, Detective Kirkland. Tara, go ahead and escort your date out to his car. That is the polite thing to do.”

Tara was grateful to be making an exit. “Absolutely.” She walked Kirkland to the curb. “Thanks again. I really appreciate the ride home, and you speaking to Roxie. She can be a little bold.”

He smiled. “She seems like a good person.”

“She is. And I love her to death. But there are times when I cringe.”

He kept his gaze on her and, lowering his voice, said, “You know she’s staring at us.”

“Did I mention she’s overprotective? It’s just the two of us, and she worries.” Energy and heat radiated from his body. She had to concentrate to not stare at his full lips.

Alex leaned forward. “I think she’s waiting for me to kiss you.”

Her mouth went dry. “What?”

“You’ve heard of a kiss, haven’t you, Mackey? It’s when…”

She glanced into the bar and saw Roxie boldly staring at them. Roxie grinned and waved. “I know what a kiss is, Kirkland. And don’t worry about it. You’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty today.”

He slid his hand around the back of her neck. “I’d hate to disappoint Roxie. And if we’re pretending we’re on a date we might as well put on a good show.”

Before she could protest, he leaned his face forward and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was light, soft, but it stirred a heat inside her she hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

He pulled back a few inches but he was still close enough that his warm breath brushed her face. “You think that is enough to convince Roxie?”

Her heart hammered against her ribs. It wasn’t enough for her. “Yes.”

A slight smile tipped the edge of his mouth. “Maybe one more, just for good measure.”

She moistened her lips. “Oh, that’s not necessary.”

“Better to be thorough.”

“Okay.”

The second kiss wasn’t so chaste, and he lingered longer. She tipped her head to the side as his tongue teased her lips open for him. His tongue caressed the inside of her mouth.

Tara wrapped her arm around his neck and forgot about Roxie, the article, even Kirkland’s pedigree. There was only this kiss. This very incredible kiss.

When he pulled away, his eyes burned with a desire that made her knees weak. He dropped his hand to her shoulder. He, too, seemed as surprised by the intense desire as she had been.

She was reluctant to step back, but she did. “Thanks. I really do owe you for everything.”

A faint smile tipped the edges of his mouth as he pushed a stray strand of hair back into place. “You don’t owe me a thing. The pleasure was mine.” He turned back to the bar and waved to Roxie, who gave him a thumbs-up, and then got in his car and drove off. Tara went back into the bar.

Roxie nodded approvingly at her. “Now, him I approve of.”

Tara held up her hand. “No more questions.”

Roxie lifted a brow. “What? Me? Hey, far be it from me to stick my nose into your personal life. But he seems very nice. A keeper.”

“He’s a good man.” That was as much as she was willing to admit. She didn’t dare voice the feeling she’d felt when he’d kissed her.

Roxie refreshed Tara’s coffee. “So, now that it’s just us girls, tell me what’s really going on.”

Tara eased up on the stool. “What do you mean?” Her aunt could spot a lie twenty miles off.

“Oh, he’s a good-looking fellow, and I’d like to see you two hook up, but you two weren’t on a date.”

Tara felt as if she were seven and had just gotten caught egging the neighbor’s house. “What?”

Roxie tucked a bleached curl behind her ear. “Doll, I wasn’t born yesterday. Spill. Where is your car, and what happened to your shoulder?”

Tuesday, July 15, 1:20 a.m.

R
oxie spent the next hour squeezing every detail out of Tara regarding the accident. The more Tara talked the more worried Roxie looked.

“I swear on your mother’s grave, Tara, you better be more careful or I’m going to lock you in your room.”

Tara grinned. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

Roxie leaned forward, her gaze hard and direct. “Don’t be afraid? You were run off the road.”

The details of the accident had already started to get hazy. “It could have been just a dumb accident.”

“Honey, if you’ve been stirring up questions about Kit Landover, I don’t think it was any kind of mishap. I know from personal experience that Pierce Landover doesn’t always play by the rules.”

That surprised Tara. “How do you know Pierce Landover?”

Roxie shrugged and glanced down at her red, manicured fingernails. “I know a lot of people.”

Tara knew her aunt had lived a full life before she’d adopted her. But once Tara had come to live with her, Roxie had settled down quite a bit. She’d been dating the same guy, Tommy Sloan, a foreman on the docks, for twelve years. “It’s your turn to spill.”

Roxie studied her long red nails. “We crossed paths back in the old days.” She twirled a bleached blond lock with her fingers.

“Were you and Pierce—” Tara struggled to find the right word “—intimate.”

Roxie shrugged, unapologetic. “Yeah, if that’s what you want to call it. We saw each other before he married his first wife, Grace, and then a few more times after they divorced. Pierce might have married into one of Boston’s first families, but he liked his women a little rougher around the edges.”

Tara sat back, blinked. “Roxie, I am amazed.”

“What do you want to know about Pierce?”

“Do you think Landover is the kind of guy that could kill his wife?”

“Hard to say. He does have a temper. And he expected his women to stay in line.” She grinned. “That’s why we didn’t work out. I didn’t like being bossed around.”

Tara was stunned. “Wow.”

Roxie frowned. “I can tell you that Pierce likes his private life to stay private. Image is very important to him. So be careful.”

“That’s what Kirkland said.”

“Smart man.” Roxie grinned. “I’ll try to be more subtle when you bring Alex around again.”

Tara suddenly felt uneasy. “What makes you think I’m going to be bringing him around again?”

“Oh, honey, if Roxie knows anything, it’s sexual chemistry, and you two definitely have that.”

Tara woke with a terrible headache and a sore shoulder. Her ribs also ached. She gently swung her legs over the side of the bed and eased her bare feet onto the blue shag carpet by her bed. Rising, she moved into the main room of her apartment, which was located on the third floor of Roxie’s building.

Her apartment was a small space, only eight hundred square feet, and everything in the place served double duty. Shelves lined the walls and held hundreds of books, knickknacks and art covered most of the walls. Storage chests doubled as end tables, and the few real pieces of furniture she had were on casters so she could move them around to suit her needs. She liked the small space because it forced her constantly to edit the possessions in her life.

She elected to skip her morning run and savor a second cup of coffee before showering and dressing in loose-fitting pants and a cotton top. She spent the next hour on the phone with the insurance company. The car was covered and the company would give her a rental car for two weeks. A few more calls and she found a company that fit into their budget.

Tara opened the file on the Westgate article but found it difficult to concentrate. Her mind kept wandering to Kirkland. She’d had her eye on the guy since she’d started freelancing in the city a year ago. She’d been doing a piece on gang violence, and when she’d gotten a tip that there’d been a shooting, she’d gone to the scene. That was the first time she’d seen Kirkland. She’d tried to interview him but he’d barely given her the time of day. His arrogance had made her angry. In fact, she’d shared a few choice words with him when he’d ordered the patrolmen to keep her behind the yellow tape.

Then she’d watched as he’d methodically analyzed the crime scene. He’d spotted things the forensic techs had missed. He’d spoken so gently to the victim’s grieving mother. She’d known then that Kirkland could be a hard-ass, but he was a class act.

Tara shoved out a breath. “Don’t go down this path. He’s got wrong-guy-for-you written all over him.”

She sipped her coffee and refocused on her notes. Her career was the most important thing in her life.

It had been warm the night Kit had vanished. She’d been wearing a designer wedding dress made of white satin with a thousand cultured pearls hand-sewn on the bodice and hem of the dress. A year-old news account reported that the necklace, earrings and bracelet were family heirlooms and had been in the Landover family for six generations. The article quoted a local jeweler, Frederick Robinson, who said the pieces were valued conservatively at fifteen million dollars. Even the pearls on her dress had been worth over one hundred thousand dollars.

The estate’s greenhouse had been soaked in the socialite’s blood, but her body was never found. Kit’s dress was discovered by the river one week later, but the pearls sewn into it and the diamonds had never surfaced.

Tara glanced at Brenda’s mug shot. She picked up the phone and called a colleague at the newspaper, who gave her a contact in the New York Police Department. A few phone calls later and she’d gotten ahold of a woman in the records department who had promised to do some digging for her.

She then called a friend of hers who was a male nurse at Boston General. It took a few minutes for her call to get transferred, but finally she heard a familiar, “Tara.”

“David, how are you doing?” She’d known David since college. Her friend wore his ink-black hair short, and he generally dressed in jeans and flannel shirts. He was a talented surgical nurse who also taught at the university. And David saw conspiracy theories everywhere. His was the perfect brain to pick about Kit’s disappearance.

“Good!” David said. “I haven’t talked to you in months.”

“Sorry about that. Work has been insane.”

His deep voice dropped a notch. “When are we going to catch another concert?”

She hoped David had figured out that friendship was all Tara could give. “Name the time, and I’ll be there.”

“As a matter of fact, I’ve two tickets to a jazz festival in two weeks.”

“Count me in.”

“I’m going to hold you to that one. So, what can I do for you?”

“I’m working on an article about an unsolved case.” She ran down the details of Kit’s story. “So is there any way someone could survive losing five pints of blood?”

“No. Not a chance. That’s over half the body’s blood volume. Brain function would cease.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Are you sure?”

“Very.”

Tara sighed. “That shoots down my theory. I had this half-baked idea that somehow Kit survived all that blood loss.”

“Ah, a conspiracy theory. Now you’re talking my language. Give me a second to think.” After a moment’s pause he said, “Actually, the blood thing wouldn’t be hard to fake.”

Tara sat straighter. “The blood was Kit’s. DNA was a perfect match.”

“I’ve no doubt the blood was hers. But, what if she started banking her blood months before she vanished?”

“It would keep that long?”

“Sure, as long as it was frozen. All she’d need is access to a freezer.”

“Wow, I hadn’t thought about that. Outlandish.”

“But possible.” David sounded pleased with himself.

“Hey, thanks. You’ve earned yourself a steak dinner.”

“Excellent. You can feed me before the concert.”

“Done.”

Tara hung up the phone. It was a crazy theory, but not an impossible one.

Five minutes later the phone rang. The woman on the other end from the New York Police Department’s records office gave Tara Brenda Latimer’s basic stats, including her year and place of birth and the list of charges.

Excited, Tara thanked the woman and hung up. Brenda and Kit’s birth years matched. And one of the charges leveled against Brenda had been fraud.

For the sake of argument, Tara decided to assume that Brenda had created Kit and that she had vanished with the gems intentionally on her wedding day.

If Kit/Brenda had done all that, she’d have to have found a buyer for the jewels. The likely place to start was the jeweler who had appraised the gems, Frederick Robinson. He could give Tara a full description of what went missing so that she knew what to look for. He could also help her figure out how such unusual pieces could be fenced.

After she spoke with Robinson’s Jewelers, she’d track down more details about Brenda.

Two hours later, Tara had taken a cab to the rental-car place and driven to the area where the ritzy Beacon Hill jeweler was located. She’d dressed in a black pantsuit and pulled her hair back in her customary tight ponytail. She’d chosen patent-leather flats and a costume pearl brooch she’d bought at a flea market years ago.

Tara followed her directions to the letter but the jewelry store was harder to find than she’d first thought. It didn’t have display windows filled with gems or even obvious signage. There was simply the street number above the door and a small sign that read Robinson’s.

She parked across the street and walked toward the shop, only to discover the front door was locked. And there were surveillance cameras trained on the spot where she stood.

She rang the bell by the front door.

After a two-or three-second delay the door buzzed and the lock opened. She went into the shop.

Sitting behind a large oak desk was a small man with gray hair, a neatly trimmed goatee and rectangular reading glasses. He wore a tweed suit, a crisp white shirt and a red tie. A rich oriental rug warmed the floor and the walls were exposed brick. Large gilded mirrors hung on each wall. No gems were displayed. She had the sense she’d walked into a banker’s or lawyer’s office.

The jewelry stores she was accustomed to were the kind found in a mall. They had large display cases, large Sale signs and a half-dozen hungry salespeople looking to make a monthly quota off the walk-in customers.

The man rose. “Mrs. Freedman?”

“Uh, yes.” He didn’t look like the kind of guy who would talk to reporters.

He moved around the desk with an economy of motion. “Welcome to Robinson’s. I am Frederick Robinson. I wasn’t sure if you were going to make our appointment.”

“I’m sorry. Traffic. There was a pileup in town,
again
.” She didn’t know who Mrs. Freedman was but decided to run with it.

Mr. Robinson held out his hand to a plush chair in front of his desk. “Would you like to have a seat?”

She smiled, praying Mrs. Freedman was running very, very late. “Lovely.”

“Coffee? I have your favorite brand brewing. St Helena?”

“You are so clever, Mr. Robinson.”

He smiled, pleased with his attention to detail as he moved through a door into a back room. Minutes later he appeared with a silver tray holding a steaming cup of coffee in a lovely antique cup on a matching saucer, along with a plate of sugar cookies.

She accepted the cup and sipped the coffee. “Delicious.”

“I understand you are interested in a necklace.”

“Yes.”

He turned to the paneled wall behind him and pressed it. The panel popped open and behind it stood a huge safe. Mr. Robinson blocked her view with his body as he twisted the large bronze dial several times. The lock clicked open. The massive door swung open. He removed a long, slim velvet box, set it on his desk and opened the lid. Blinking up at her were twelve of the largest diamonds she’d every seen.

The cup in her hand rattled and she gingerly set it on the table. She’d never seen such beautiful jewelry. “They are stunning.”

“You said on the phone that you were looking for large, unique pieces. Preferably yellow diamonds.”

She leaned forward and looked at the stones. “Yes. I’m thinking about having a necklace made.”

“We can certainly accommodate you.”

Tara pictured the photo of Kit’s necklace. The center stone had been a ten-carat pink diamond. “These are wonderful, but I’ve changed my mind about the color.”

“What were you looking for?”

“Now, don’t laugh.”

He flattened his thin lips. “Never.”

“I have always envied the piece Kit Westgate Landover wore on her wedding day. She also wore it in the engagement photo that the press ran again and again after she vanished.”

He tugged the edge of his cuff. “That was a tragic event.”

“Tragic.” She hesitated for effect. “And such a lovely woman.”

A subtle tension settled in his shoulders. “Yes, she was a beauty.” His body language suggested Kit was also difficult. “She insisted on the best.”

Tara leaned forward. “I was at the Founders’ Yacht Club yesterday and was speaking with Regina Albright. By the way, when I mentioned I was coming here, she spoke highly of your work.”

He beamed. “Excellent.”

“We were talking about what a waste it was to lose so many lovely diamonds. Did those gems ever surface?”

He leaned toward her. “No. But I will tell you Mr. Landover insisted the family diamonds be engraved with a laser. Not visible to the naked eye, mind you, but under a high-powered microscope, the three largest diamonds have the letter
L
on them.”

“So if anyone tried to sell the diamonds…” she let the statement trail.

“They’d have to be authenticated, and the mark would be discovered. The police department put out a notice to all jewelers that the gems were connected to a murder.”

“But what if it were sold to a private collector?”

“Few jewelers broker gems that large. In general we are a small community, and word gets around.”

“But you know of such jewelers?”

“Of course.”