Cold Target (19 page)

“Too much,” Wagner replied. “I'm more than happy to have you here. I liked Tom, but he was really slowing up.” Wagner's old partner—one of the veterans in the department—had just retired.

“These are our active cases,” Wagner said, giving Gage several files. “Most are routine. A domestic murder. A homeless man found dead in an alley. A robbery homicide.

“We have a confession in the first, but we need to do follow-up work on evidence and the perp's background. The homeless man …” He shrugged. “We have damned little there. Probably another homeless man. I have some snitches nosing around. The robbery? We think it's the same two men that have committed a series of robberies. The pattern and description is the same. Except they haven't killed before.”

“That's it?”

“The current ones.”

“Okay. Where do we start?”

“The robbery. Go back and interview all the other robbery victims. See if we can't get something new.”

“Car?”

“A dark sedan. One person got a license plate number, but the car turned out to be stolen. No prints. They're careful.”

“What kind of stores do they like?”

“Fast food, just before closing.”

“A lot of kids work those places.”

“That's probably why they choose them.”

“And the killing?”

“Older woman. A manager.”

Gage's cell phone rang. He took it out and pressed the talk button. “Gaynor”

“Detective Gaynor, Meredith Rawson.”

He felt surprise. And a flicker of unexpected pleasure.

“What can I do for you, Counselor?”

“Nan Fuller.”

The pleasure died. “What happened?”

“She saw Fuller watching her at the school. He's stalking her. She's terrified.”

“I talked to him. He didn't like it.”

“What can we do?”

“He didn't violate the protective order?”

“No. He didn't approach her. But he wanted her to see him.”

“Unless he goes near her …”

“I know.” He heard the weariness in her voice. Had she gotten any sleep lately?

He hoped she'd gotten more than he had. He had spent the past day worrying about his brother. He had compiled a list of possible employers but he dreaded asking them to do him a favor. He hated asking favors. Especially when he couldn't vouch that his brother would be a responsible worker.

He dismissed the thought and concentrated on the conversation. “Do you want me to talk to him again?”

“I don't know. I just thought you should be aware of it.”

“You're right. Morris have any luck with your case?”

“No, not yet. Do you think Fuller …?”

“I checked his schedule. He was on duty that night.”

“That lets him out, then.”

“Not entirely. He could have friends. I'll have another little talk with him.”

“Thank you.”

There was something in her voice that alerted him. “Has anything else happened?”

A short silence, then, “Two anonymous calls. Silence, then heavy breathing. It wasn't just a wrong number.”

He swore to himself. “Morris doing anything about it?” He knew how impossible it was to trace calls, especially with today's throwaway cell phones.

“He's doing what he can. I take it there isn't much.”

He knew he should hang up. He wasn't sure why she intrigued him as much as she did. And God knew he had enough problems in his life without someone like her.
You're forgetting a hard lesson
.

“Have you moved back to your home?”

“Yes.”

“Morris aware of that?”

“He's having cars drive by, and he checked the alarm system himself. And I have a revolver now.”

Wagner eyed him curiously. He wondered whether his voice had changed. It was time to hang up. More than time to go. She had let him know the other day that she had no interest in him. Yet he found himself loath to do so.

“I'll get back to you on Fuller.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you okay?”

“No.”

It was a confession he was sure she hadn't meant to make.

“Look, can I take you to dinner tonight? We can talk about Fuller and what steps we should take.” Just as she probably hadn't panned to admit a weakness, neither had he planned to set himself up for rejection again.

Hesitation on the other end of the line, then, “Yes.”

“Where would you like me to pick you up?”

“At my office.”

“When?”

“Seven?”

“I'll be there.” He hung up.

Wagner raised an eyebrow. “Counselor?”

Gage debated whether to answer or not, but they were working together. Partners shared. He'd always been reticent but this was no big deal. It was business.

“Meredith Rawson. Her house was broken into, and she was attacked a few nights ago.”

“I heard. It's not your case.”

“We were working together on something else.”

“She's the legendary ice queen,” Wagner said. “Or so rumors go.”

“Right now, she's a lady in trouble,” Gage retorted. “Nothing more.”

“Okay. Just a friendly warning.”

“Let's get back to work,” Gage said.

“It's your life, pal.”

“Exactly.”

Meredith held the receiver for a moment. The invitation had been as unexpected as her reply.

She didn't date cops.

She never had. It wasn't snobbery. She respected the dangerous job they did. Perhaps she understood too much. She knew the pressures on them, on their wives and children.

She didn't have time for relationships. Occasionally she went to the opera or symphony with a male friend, but she had not been involved in a relationship for a long time. Her practice was her life right now.

Truth was, she wanted to avoid entanglements. If she was attracted to a man, she usually ran in the other direction, and as fast as possible. Her parents' marriage of icy courtesy was something she never wanted.

She admitted she was attracted to Gage Gaynor. She'd never believed in the looks-across-a-crowded-room type of attraction, but she'd felt a connection the first time she met him. Perhaps that was why she had given him a really bad time.

He obviously didn't hold grudges. He had tried to help her, and she had practically shoved his help in his face. At the very least, she owed him an apology.

And she did want to talk about Fuller. She wanted to know if he might be her attacker. She wanted Nan safe and free from fear.

Excuses. She wanted to see him.

She felt safe with him. She liked his easy confidence. And she wanted to know …

Know what that kiss might have led to.

Just remembering it made her nerves react with anticipation.

She would run a brush through her short hair. Add some lipstick. Nothing else. It was a business engagement.

Yes. A business engagement
.

Gage figured he had enough time before dinner to drop by Dom Cross's shelter for teenagers.

The shelter was located in one of New Orleans's less desirable business communities. The rent was cheaper there but the shelter was still accessible to the runaways who had escaped wretched home lives to come to New Orleans and found only more misery.

Dom was an ex-con himself. He'd been convicted as a teenager of car theft and served time in Angola. He'd been befriended by a priest and had been recruited by him upon his release to help at his shelter. When Father Murphy had died, Dom had taken over.

Because of his record, some police officers were wary of the man, but Gage had met him through Clint. Someone had suggested Dom Cross might be able to help Clint when Gage had found him high on drugs. It had been too late.

Though the two had met and Dom had tried to get Clint involved in the center, Clint's friends—and their drugs—were far more tempting to a rebellious young man than what Clint called a “do-gooder.”

Yet after Clint's arrest, Dom had visited him in jail and the two had connected in some way. Perhaps because Dom had been there himself.

Dom was playing basketball in the gym with some of the kids. The Cajun influence in his family tree was obvious. He was not as tall as Gage and carried more weight. But though his black hair was graying, he moved with an agile grace as he dunked a ball in the basket.

Then he apparently saw Gage, and a broad grin spread over his face as he said something to one of the boys and left the floor.

He held out his hand to Gage, then pulled him to him in a bear hug. “You're a sight for sore eyes.”

“Maybe not when I tell you what I want.”

Dom immediately sobered. “Should we go into my office?”

Gage nodded and walked alongside the man whom he respected as much as anyone he knew.

When they were seated in the small cubbyhole Dom called an office, Gage studied him. “You look well.”

“I feel well. Just got a new grant. It means we can finally expand. One of my boys also offered to give us that new roofing we need.”

One of his “boys” meant a New Orleans businessman who had gone through Dom's center.

“Let me know if I can help.” Roofing had been one of Gage's various jobs as a teenager.

“I would rather you spend time with the boys.”

“Work …”

“I know. I didn't mean to lay a guilt trip on you. God knows we need as many honest—and understanding—cops as we can get. Now what can I do for you? It's none of my boys, is it?”

“My brother. Clint thinks he has a good chance for parole, but he needs a job. I know you're miraculous at finding them.”

“Now that
is
good news. I'll see what I can do. Where is he going to stay?”

“Probably with me for a while.”

“I'll go up and talk to him.”

“He's into computers now.”

“Good. That should help.” He studied Gage for a moment. “Something else going on?”

“Do you know anything about the Rawson family?”

Dom didn't move, but a muscle throbbed in his throat. Then, “I know of them, of course.”

That casual answer contradicted the sudden tenseness of his body.

Gage tried not to show his surprise. Dom was one of the most open men he knew. Yet it was obvious that he was keeping something to himself.

He decided to probe. “I think the daughter, Meredith Rawson, might be in danger. She was nearly run down at a hospital and her home has been trashed. She's also received threatening phone calls.”

Dom didn't say anything.

“Her father's name also came up in connection with an old murder. A man named Prescott.”

Dom sighed heavily.

“If you know anything …”

“Why would I know something?”

“Your reaction a few seconds ago.”

Dom leaned back in his chair. “Prescott was the reason I went to prison,” he said. “I was still there when he was killed.”

“I've never known exactly what happened.”

“He loaned me his car. He later said I stole it.”

“And you spent how long in prison for that?”

Dom smiled slowly. “A long time.”

“Why would Prescott do that?”

Dom shrugged. “A friend of his wanted something I had.”

“What?”

“Now that, my friend, is between God and me.”

“Maybe it was connected with Prescott's death.”

“Not many people liked Prescott. He was a liar and a cheat,” Dom said in a calm voice that belied his words. “Now tell me more about your brother.”

It was obvious Dom wasn't going to say more.

They talked about several of Dom's boys for a few moments, then Gage rose. “Thanks for looking into a job for my brother.”

“Any time. You know I always liked him.”

Preoccupied, Gage left the center. He had another item on his agenda now: a search back through the police files concerning Dom.

thirteen

N
EW
O
RLEANS

Meredith tried to work as she waited for Gage Gaynor. She had been hungry earlier, but now her stomach was full of butterflies.

She'd been an awkward child, more comfortable with books than with people, and she'd never been popular as a teenager. Her stomach always churned when she had to confront people or when attention centered on her. It had taken her years on a debate team to conquer her fear of speaking, and she was never entirely at ease in social situations.

She'd always known she wasn't the beauty that her mother had been. Not even close to it. She was tall and awkward. Her face was lean and sharp like her father's, not oval and symmetric like her mother's.

The comparison had always wounded her. She would see a visitor's double take when she was introduced. She had refused to participate in the Krewe parades, feeling as if she would stand out as the ugly duckling.

She'd grown out of that feeling of inferiority. Her face had filled out a little and she'd learned how to dress to suit her figure. Confidence had been hard-earned.

But now she felt like that schoolgirl again. She hated that feeling. Another strike against Gage Gaynor for bringing all that insecurity back. She needed to feel secure and confident now. She needed to control her own life. She did not need the anticipation bubbling inside despite her best efforts to quench it.

Meredith glanced back at the computer. Between calls to Lulu Starnes, she'd tried researching the woman on the Internet, using some sources she shouldn't. She could find nothing. Lulu Starnes must be the most law-abiding citizen in Louisiana. Meredith couldn't find so much as a parking ticket.

The woman certainly wasn't social as Meredith's mother had been or Meredith knew she would have seen the name. That was unusual behavior for a graduate of the school she'd attended. Most of the students were the daughters of the New Orleans elite and then became the New Orleans elite.