Cry Mercy (5 page)

“How many of those ‘routine’ homicides have you taken lead on?”

Emme paused, debating. It was bad enough she was lying about who she was. She knew Steffie would back anything she said, but if she got the job, she wanted it to be on the merits of her own performance.

“I haven't been lead, per se, on any of them,” she answered truthfully. “The detectives take lead on homicides in our department.”

“How close do you think you were to making detective, Ms. Caldwell?” Mallory glanced down at her notes.

“I guess you'd have to ask Chief Jenkins that.”

“Actually, I did. She said you'd have been given strong consideration for the first available opening …”

Thank you, Steffie
.

“… but that she didn't anticipate having any openings for at least another five, possibly ten years.” Mallory leaned her forearms on her desk. “She added that you possessed exceptional investigative skills and if she had any reason to think there'd be one sooner, she'd have done whatever she could to have talked you out of this move.”

“That was very kind of her.” Emme smiled.

“She spoke very highly of you.” Mallory put down the paper she'd been scanning and looked Emme directly in the eye.
“Very
highly.”

“I appreciate that. What else can I tell you about myself to convince you to hire me?”

“You can tell me why you pulled up stakes to move from California to Pennsylvania just like that.” Mallory snapped her fingers.

“I told you on the phone, I saw the press conference. I'd been looking for months to make a move; it
just seemed like the right thing to do.” Emme fought to keep her nerves from making her voice sound shaky. Was it her imagination, or was Mallory suspicious of her motives?
Better make it good
, she cautioned herself, sensing that her future employment—or lack thereof—could depend on what she said at this moment.

“I mentioned there was a lot of drug trafficking in Silver Hills. Over the past year, there have been several shootings in town involving rival gangs. I have a daughter who is four, Ms. Russo. Her father was Mexican, her mother African American. She is just starting to become aware of the animosity, the name-calling between the two factions. I'd like her to grow up in a different atmosphere, to learn to respect her heritage on both sides.”

“I see.” Mallory nodded slowly. “She's adopted?”

“Was it the red hair, the green eyes, the pale skin, or the ‘map of Ireland’ on my face that gave it away?” Her hair wasn't so much red anymore as auburn and she couldn't be certain of an Irish heritage, but everyone seemed to comment on it, so she supposed there might be something to it.

“We can go with all of the above.” Mallory smiled with some warmth for the first time since she'd sat down. “I can understand wanting to raise your daughter in a different environment. But why Conroy?”

“Truthfully, when I looked it up on the computer, using Magellan Express, of course”—Mallory laughed—“I saw a town that looked like a place I wish I'd grown up in. I couldn't fill the application out fast enough. And once I did, once I'd hit send, I just felt as if … I don't know, I don't want to sound
silly, but I just felt as if this was where we were meant to be.”

“I see.” Mallory played with her pen. “Since you watched the press conference and you went to the website, I'm assuming you read more than the application?”

Emme nodded.

“Then you know that we're going to be taking on some pretty complicated cases, cases that have grown cold because the investigating departments weren't able to solve them. So we're talking about the tough cases, the ones where we will be looking for information that others have overlooked. We'll need instincts that are spot on—not every time, maybe, no one's right one hundred percent of the time, but you're going to have to have a strong track record. We'll need the best skills, the ability to think outside the box. For much of the time, you'll be working alone, because until we get up to snuff with hiring—and that isn't going to happen overnight—there won't be anyone to partner with you.”

“I don't mind working alone.”

Mallory patted a stack of fat files that towered on one side of her desk.

“These are the submissions we've received in the past week, requests for help from over six hundred people. I expect that will increase as time goes on.” She picked up one folder and opened it in front of her. “Here's a case where a woman has been missing for nine years.”

Mallory held up a second folder. “This next one, a young boy who went missing when he was seven.”

Another. “This one? A father of five who left home
one morning for work and was never seen or heard from again.”

Mallory met Emme's eyes across the desk. “These are the kinds of cases you'd be dealing with.”

She slid a stack of files across the desk to Emme.

“Pick one at random,” Mallory told her, “and tell me how you'd handle it.”

Ninety minutes later, they were still discussing the case, Mallory making notes without comment. They were both so engrossed that neither looked up when the door opened and Susanna walked in.

“Mal, I—Oh. Sorry.” Susanna paused in midstride. “I didn't realize you were still—”

“It's okay, Suse, come in and meet Emme Caldwell.” Mallory looked up from her notes. “We're just doing some hypothetical case analysis.”

Emme turned as the tall dark-haired woman came toward her.

“Good to meet you,” Susanna said as Emme took her outstretched hand. “If I'm not mistaken, you're our first interviewee.”

“She is.” Mallory nodded.

“I apologize for interrupting, but there is the most incredible aroma wafting from the kitchen, and I had to follow my nose to see what Trula was up to,” Susanna explained. “I was thinking it might be a good time to take a break but I see you're still busy …”

“Actually, I think we're done here.” Mallory pushed her chair back and rose. “Not because Trula is baking, mind you,” she made a point of telling Emme, “but because I think I have enough information for the time being.”

“Are there any other questions about my experience
I might answer?” Emme asked, concerned by Mallory's sudden dismissal.

“No, I think I have what I need. I have the entire personnel file from Silver Hill, and that has your transcripts and your performance reviews. Thanks for coming in. It was a pleasure to have met you.” Mallory walked around the desk to shake Emme's hand.

“So, what happens next?” Emme tried not to appear less than self-confident.

“You'll hear from me once a decision has been made.”

“I see.” Emme leaned down to pick up her bag, which she'd dropped on the floor when she first took her seat. “Let me give you the number at the hotel and our room number.”

“Don't you have a cell phone?” Mallory asked.

“I did. I lost it somewhere between Indiana and Pennsylvania.” On purpose, because cell phones can be traced. She'd pick up another throwaway as soon as possible. She'd used most of her prepaid minutes talking to Steffie and the rest of them when she called Mallory. “You don't realize how much you depend on those things until you don't have one. I'll be getting a replacement.”

“Well, if we bring you on, we'll give you one. Of course, you might want to have your own before then.”

“Yes. Well, then. I suppose we're finished. Thank you so much for seeing me on short notice. I hope it wasn't an imposition, Ms. Russo.”

“Not at all. I'm glad you came in.” Mallory walked to the door and stood there like a sentinel.

“How would I find Trula?” Emme asked.

“You've already met Trula?”

“She met us at the door when I arrived, and took Chloe—my daughter—to the kitchen.” Emme felt a bit of color tinge her cheeks. “I'm sorry, I didn't have anyone to watch her and I couldn't leave her alone in the hotel. I thought I'd leave her in the hall with some of her things to amuse her.” Emme held up the bag. “Crayons, coloring book. But Trula met us at the door and sort of swooped up Chloe …”

“No need to apologize,” Mallory told her. “Trula's swooped up all of us at one time or another. I'm sure she was delighted to have Chloe's company.”

“Ahhh, then we have you to thank for what I'm sure must be a wonderful afternoon snack.” Susanna grinned. “Well, come along with me, Ms. Caldwell, and we'll track down that child of yours and see just what she and Trula managed to cook up in the time you've been here.”

Susanna ushered Emme into the hall, then looked over her shoulder. “Coming, Mallory?”

“I'll be down in a while. Save me some of whatever it is.”

“No promises,” Susanna called back over her shoulder. To Emme, she said, “I suppose you think we're all very loose around here.”

Before Emme could reply, Susanna went on. “Well, I guess we are, in a way. I think that's what happens when your offices are in someone's home.”

“Is Trula the cook?”

“The cook, the housekeeper, and all around slave driver. Trula was a very dear friend of Robert's grandmother. She's sort of a family legacy. She'd lived with old Mrs. Magellan, and came to live with Robert when
his gran died.” Susanna lowered her voice conspiratorially. “She runs the house, watches over Robert and Kevin like a hawk. Kevin is Father Burch, Robert's cousin. Trula loves them both as she'd love her own, if she had her own. Which she doesn't. Actually, she doesn't have any family at all, except for the two of them.”

“It's nice of Mr. Magellan to let her stay here,” Emme said.

“Ha!” Susanna snorted. “As if he had a choice. He went to close up his grandmother's house after she died and came back with Trula.”

“Still, it's nice of him.”

“I'm kidding. Of course it's nice of him, but he adores her. They squabble and pick at each other, but they love each other fiercely.” Susanna held up a hand to push open the kitchen door. “All of which is probably too much information for someone who has just had her first interview.

“So let's see what we've got going on in the kitchen.” Susanna gave the door a shove and called, “Trula, what deliciousness are you cooking up in here?”

S
o Mal, what did you think?” Susanna squeezed in next to Mallory on the banquette in the blue and yellow kitchen.

The Magellan home may have been a mansion, but where Trula ruled, warmth was in abundance. She'd had the large, L-shaped benches built and deep cushions made to match the curtains. The cozy corner had quickly become the favored spot in the house for meetings.

“What did I think about what?” Mallory replied absently.

“The price of gas.” Susanna rolled her eyes. “Emme Caldwell. What did you think of her?”

“I think she very well may be as good as her former boss says she is,” Mallory told her.

“So do we have a hire?” Robert sat across the large square table from them.

“I don't know.”

“Is there a problem with her?” Robert asked.

“I don't know. I just feel that something is off somewhere. She's almost too good to be true.”

“Something about her you didn't like?” Robert pressed her.

“I liked her well enough,” Mallory conceded.

“I liked her, too.” Trula placed a square plate of cookies in the middle of the table. “Not that anyone cares what I think.”

“Not true,” Mallory protested. “Of course we all care what you think.” She picked up one of the cookies and licked the pink frosting. “Are you going to tell us what you liked about her?”

“I liked the way she was with that girl of hers. Came in here to get her, didn't rush the child as if what she was doing wasn't important, the way some folks do to their kids. Listened to what the girl had to say, spoke thoughtfully to her. You can tell a lot about a person by the way they speak to their kids. I like adults who treat children with respect.” Trula added a stack of napkins to the table. “And I liked that when she speaks to you, she looks you dead in the eye. ′Course I know that doesn't mean she's a good investigator, but we're talking about liking her.” Trula smiled at Mallory. “I liked her.”

“You're not fooling anyone. You just liked having a little girl in the kitchen with you,” Mallory teased.

“That goes without saying.” Still smiling, Trula began to pass around mugs for coffee. She'd been collecting for years and had just received several new ones she'd ordered online. While they each had their favorites, no one ever knew which one they'd end up with if Trula was passing them out.

“Hey, how come I got the one that says
He who dies with the most stuff is still dead?”
Mallory held up her mug.

“Don't complain. She gave me
Sleeps with Dogs,”
Susanna said, twirling hers around her index finger. “What's yours say, Robert?”

He picked up the mug, held it up for her to see.
“I am the Gatekeeper.”

“Oooh,
Ghostbusters.”
Mallory's eyes lit up. “Want to trade?”

“Oh, for crying out loud.” Trula set the coffeepot on the table and looked from one to the other. “Who cares what your mug says?”

“You obviously do, Trula, because you keep buying them,” Susanna pointed out.

Kevin came in through the back door. “Did I miss anything?”

“You missed the children fighting over who got what mug,” Trula said dryly.

“Which one did you get?” the priest asked his cousin.

“Don't start it up again,” Trula warned. “Just sit down and get on with business.”

She poured coffee all around while Kevin hung up his jacket. When he came to the table, she handed him a mug. He raised it to read the saying on it, smiled smugly, and sat next to his cousin.

“Okay, what's it say?” Robert asked.

Kevin held up the mug.
I see dumb people
.

“Trula always did like you best,” Robert grumbled.

“Doesn't everyone?” Kevin grinned. “So, where were we before I interrupted?”

“We were discussing the candidate Mallory interviewed today.” Susanna filled him in while he helped himself to a cookie.

“Good, bad, indifferent?” Kevin added sugar to his mug.

“She's good,” Mallory replied thoughtfully. “Better than good.”

“Availability?” Kevin tasted the coffee before adding cream.