Face to Face (21 page)

"No, no." Athena waved away Cassie's concerns. "How's my baby? She doing okay?"

"She's just fine. A fighter. Like her mom."

"Good. You make sure she gets a good home with a real mama who can take care of her." Her sentence was punctuated by a rumble from her stomach.

"When's the last time you ate?" Cassie asked.

Athena shrugged. "Had me some bananas and grapes at the Whole Foods over in East Liberty yesterday before they kicked me out."

Cassie took her hand. "Let's get you some proper food. Come on inside."

Athena peered past Cassie's shoulder, scrutinizing the Liberty Center. "I don't know. There's something bad happened there last night."

"What?"

"I was hiding in that cubby hole in the basement beside the elevator, you know?"

"Near the loading dock?"

"Yeah. And a car pulled up. Man and woman. I could hear their voices."

"Could you see them?" Cassie couldn't help but remember what Drake had said about being with a woman last night. She glanced at the parking lot. Drake's Mustang was there, parked crooked, between the dumpster and the side door. "What did they look like?"

Athena shook her head. "Couldn't see nothing. Just heard them. They went inside and the elevator started running—you know how loud it is."

Drake wouldn't take the elevator. Unless he was too drunk to stumble up the steps? 

"Then came the shot."

Cassie whipped around to stare at Athena. "A shot?"

"Yes'm. Just one. Not sure if it was inside or out. Sounded strange like it was close but not close. Echoey-like. Then the elevator came back down and the man left. But not his car. Just him walking."

Not Drake. Couldn't have been Drake. But—"A man and a woman and only the man left?"

Athena nodded. "I got out of there then, thought the cops might be coming. But they never did. No one did."

"Did the woman leave?"

"Not that I saw." She shrugged. "Could've. I guess. If that man didn't kill her dead with that shot. Maybe she was shooting at him to get him to leave."

"We need to call the police."

"Not me." Athena moved to push past Cassie. 

Right. The girl was a homicide suspect. Cassie blocked her way. "I'll do it. What time did this happen?"

Athena shrugged. "Don't got a watch. But it was late, real late. Past midnight at least."

Definitely not Drake. He was asleep on her couch by then. Someone else in his car—with whom?

"Here." Cassie slid a twenty from the pouch on her keychain that held her driver's license and credit card. "Get something to eat. But take a bus, go over to Monroeville or someplace where the Rippers and Gangstas won't be looking for you. Somewhere safe."

"No ma'am. Gotta stay close to Baby Jane. Until she finds a proper home. Safe and sound." She edged a glare at Cassie. "Don't you be sending her with any of my sorry-ass family. You find her a real home. Until then, I'm not going anywhere."

Cassie thought the girl might be wanting to say more. "If you gave the Rippers back their money, that might help."

"I don't got none of their money. Wouldn't take it if I had the chance, no how. That's blood money, pure and evil."

"So you didn't steal their bank roll? Did you kill Rodney Hunsacker?"

Athena blinked fast and looked away. Her shoulders slumped as if she might cry. Cassie wanted to hug her but knew the teen would never allow it. Too proud. "Rodney died trying to save me and Baby Jane. So, yeah, I guess I killed him. He'd be alive if it wasn't for me, that's for sure." She sniffed hard and wiped her face with her palms. "I gotta go."

"Athena." Cassie wasn't sure what to say. "If you need anything—if there's anything I can do—"

"Don't worry. I'll get word to you. I'm not about to let them win."

"Wait. If you didn't steal from the Rippers or kill Rodney, why are they after you?"

The teen's gaze hardened to steel as she gripped Cassie's shoulders and stared into her eyes. "Baby Jane. You keep her safe no matter what. Promise?"

"Of course. I promise. Come with me. I'll find you someplace safe."

A van turned the corner. Athena jerked away. "No. Only I can fix this." She fled into the shadows between buildings before Cassie could stop her.

The van pulled into the Liberty Center parking lot and Cassie saw it was Tony. She ran across the street to him. 

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" he greeted her. His mood quickly dampened when she told him what Athena had told her about hearing a gunshot. He reached into his van and emerged with a pistol. "Wait here." 

"No. I'm not letting you go in there alone. Shouldn't we call the police?"

"Gunshots happen around here all the time. What if it was a woman Drake brought back to his place—do you want to embarrass him by having the police wake her up?"

"It wasn't Drake—"

"Cassie." Tony sighed as if breaking bad news. "I was at The Stone last night. Drake had some young chick all over him. She was drunk as hell, could barely walk. And he left with her." He rested his free hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. But it's the truth."

She remembered the reek of liquor and perfume that smothered Drake's clothes. Remembered how confused he'd been. Maybe he'd been with another woman, but he hadn't brought her here. She marched towards the door. "I'm not staying out here alone. So if you want to protect me, come along."

Tony hustled after her, going through the door first after she opened it. "The alarm's off," he noted.

"They turned it off while the police were here yesterday. But I thought I turned it back on again." Then she brightened. "Drake doesn't have the alarm code so it couldn't have been him coming here last night."

"If the alarm was even on," Tony reminded her. "Wait here. Do you have your cell?"

"No. It was in my car."

"Here. Take mine. If I shout, you run and call 911." 

She stayed by the door in the stairwell while he checked the first two floors. "Nothing," he said. "Only Drake's place left." He ran up the stairs, rattled the doorknob. "It's locked and the key you gave me isn't working."

Had she given him a key to Drake's place? She must have. "Drake had the locks changed yesterday. I don't have a key yet."

Tony came back downstairs. "Guess he must want his privacy. I wouldn't worry. Athena probably heard wrong."

"She said they used the elevator." Cassie glanced suspiciously at the wrought iron door of the old-fashioned elevator. 

"So? We checked everywhere except Drake's place." He glanced around. "Where the hell is he, anyway? Does he know you're here alone?"

Cassie wasn't about to tell him that Drake was passed out on her couch. Instead she reached past him to punch the elevator call button. "There's one other place. The elevator goes up to the roof."

The doors opened. Tony shrugged and joined her inside. When they reached the roof, the scent of jasmine and roses filled the elevator car. Tony slid the wrought iron gate back. "Not much chance of a killer lurking in the middle of your rose bushes, but stay close, okay?"

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. It was getting pretty old, all these men trying to protect her. Handling Drake was hard enough, but Richard and now Tony?

The roof was eerily silent. Usually, this time of day, there were birds chirping and the faint noise of the city. Today the air felt still and heavy. As if holding its breath.

As soon as she and Tony stepped forward, she saw why.

A young woman in a black dress hiked up past her waist lay on the ground face up, arms and legs sprawled. Her face was demolished. Gray matter mixed with blood, creating an unholy halo around her blond hair. 

Cassie's initial impulse was to rush forward, check for signs of life. After a single step she realized how futile that was. 

Crows had already torn away chunks of flesh. A dozen of them perched on the other side of the roof, watching over their meal. Tony shouted at them but they didn't move. 

She and Tony stayed on one side of the body, unwilling to contaminate the crime scene as Tony called it in, while the murder of crows stared at them from the other side.

Tony hung up the phone and turned to Cassie. "This doesn't look good for Drake. That's the girl I saw him with last night."

"How can you tell?" She doubted the woman's own mother could identify her. Then it hit her. The girl's wounds looked a lot like Pamela Reynold's. 

"I recognize the necklace she's wearing. And the dress."

"Could it have been suicide?"

He glanced around the scene. "No gun. Someone shot her in the face, though. Point blank range. Maybe they were trying to make it look like suicide." He turned to her. "You need to stay away from Drake. If he did this—"

"He didn't." Her voice was firm, certain. At that moment, she realized her heart was sure as well. "I know Drake didn't do this. He couldn't have."

<><><>

Drake woke to the scratch of a tongue licking his face and the smell of rancid tuna. He opened one eye and stared directly into a yellow cat's eye. Hennessey.

"Go away," Drake muttered, closing his eye once more. 

Hennessey responded with a bat of her paw to Drake's nose before she turned in a circle. Her tail swatted Drake across the face and then she leaned back, resting her hindquarters against Drake's face and giving him a mouthful of fur.

"All right, all right," he told the cat, sitting up and yielding the sofa pillow to her. Which was what she wanted in the first place, of course.

It was a big mistake to move. Drake's head roared, protesting the sudden shift in position. He opened his eyes only to have them seared by the bright sunlight coming in the bay window. God, he'd never had a hangover hit this hard before. He shut his eyes again but now the roaring was accompanied by waves of nausea.

He compromised. He slit his eyes open and gingerly moved them around, taking in his surroundings. Hennessey sat in her accustomed place on the sofa and regarded him with amusement.

Hennessey was Hart's cat. Drake concentrated on simple, basic facts trying to slice through the cotton wool that enveloped his brain. That was good. The sofa he found himself on was also Hart's. He strained to remember how he came to be there. He remembered drinking. He could still taste stale beer and whiskey, he must have passed out on Hart's couch.

That was bad. He was covered by Rosa’s velvet crazy quilt. Hart's most precious possession. That was good. But he was still fully clothed; she hadn't undressed him.. He saw the red plastic bucket placed at the foot of the sofa. That couldn't be good. 

Drake groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. Why couldn't he remember? Even his hair hurt. It hurt to swallow, it hurt to breath, hurt to think.

Gingerly he rocked onto his feet and stood. The room spun. He grabbed the couch for support but he remained upright. So far so good. Now which way to go? Coffee or bathroom? 

He lurched toward the powder room beneath the staircase.

Leaning against the basin, splashing water on his face, Drake's memory began to return. He'd been at the Stone, drinking–why was he drinking, he never drank anymore–oh yeah, Hart and King getting married. Had to celebrate that, didn't he?

And there was a girl, wasn't there? Spanos had been there, too, or was that a bad dream? The bruise blossoming on his chest and the soreness that came every time he moved brought that into focus. Drunk, brawling with Spanos—he was lucky Hart had let him have the couch. What he deserved was a good kick in the ass. 

A shower could wait. First he needed to apologize to Hart. He moved back out into the hall and up the steps. Her bedroom door was half open, a good sign. Hart never closed doors unless she was seriously upset. 

He knocked and pushed the door the rest of the way open. Hart's bed was empty, the snarled bunch of sheets giving silent testimony to her own restless night. 

Going down the steps hurt worse than going up, but he ignored the pain as he prowled through her house. First floor empty, except for the fat cat sitting beside an empty food bowl. Drake didn't take the bait; Hennessey had conned him too many times in the past. Now he knew better. Hart fed the cat once a day, just as the vet had directed her, usually at night before she went to bed. If the bowl was empty it was because the cat had scarfed it all.

Drake opened the cellar door. No sounds of Hart pounding her heavy bag, no clank of weights, not even the rumble of the washer or dryer.

She was gone.

The trilling of his cell phone echoed through the empty house. He dashed into the living room, grabbed the phone from the end table where it sat alongside his weapon. 

"Drake here."

"Where are you?" Jimmy's voice was harsh and way too loud for a Sunday morning.

Drake winced and held the phone farther away. "At Hart's. Why are you shouting?"

"Stay there. Kwon's on her way."

"Kwon? What the hell—"

"Where'd you leave your car last night, DJ?"

He stopped to consider the answer. He remembered staggering away from the Stone after the fight with Spanos, but he didn't remember driving anywhere. Probably good thing, drunk as he was. "Parked at the Stone. I think."

"You think?" Jimmy's voice barked out of the small phone. "You'd damned well better be sure before Kwon gets there."

What the hell was going on? This wasn't Jimmy—his partner got quieter the busier, more tired he was. Even after a weekend on call for the squad, he'd never be this upset. And what the hell did his car have to do with anything? Surely he hadn't driven it, hit someone?

His stomach roiled at the idea. Then he had a clear image of Kenny, the bartender, taking his keys and hanging them on the rack behind the bar. 

"It's definitely at the Stone," he told Jimmy. "Ask Kenny, he cut me off and took my keys."

"Was that before or after you and Spanos fought over that Burns woman?"

Aw hell, Jimmy already knew about that. No wonder he was pissed. Drake screwed up royally, might even be hauled up on charges with Spanos now a civilian. Which wouldn't reflect well on his partner. "Before. Is Spanos pressing charges?"

"Who the hell cares? This isn't about some barroom brawl, kid. This is about murder."