Murder in the River City (5 page)

Mack had walked in, responding to the ad Dooley had run looking for a full-time bartender. Unshaven, with receding hair in a stubby ponytail and a faded Pink Floyd T-shirt, he looked like an old rocker who had always been on the fringe. But Dooley saw a military tattoo on his bicep and talked to him for nearly three hours while they drank beer. Mack had been a vet from the first Desert Storm, had been in and out of jobs because of a gambling habit he said he’d beat. Dooley took a chance on him, and it had paid off. Mack had proven loyal and had taken over much of the hard labor of running the bar, things Dooley should have stopped doing years before like swapping out kegs and getting on the floor to fix the plumbing. Without Mack, Shauna suspected Dooley would have retired years ago. Mack kept Dooley’s alive.

An hour after she first sat under the tree, John Black finally drove into the parking lot. It was already after one in the afternoon, and Shauna was sweating from the heat, even in her shaded spot.

She strode over to him, hot and crabby and ready for answers.

“Detective,” she said, “I need a minute.”

He seemed surprised to see her. He glanced at the tree, then back at her. She put her hands on her hips—she wasn’t going to be brushed off.

“That’s about all I have,” he said and motioned for her to follow him into the station.

“Then I won’t waste your time,” she said. A wave of artificially cool air assaulted her damp skin. She shivered as she followed Black. “I read every article on the downtown robberies and there are hardly any similarities between them and Mack’s murder. Three key differences—the robberies targeted liquor stores and bars only—no restaurants, like Dooley’s pub. Second, the injuries to the clerks were minimal—no one required hospitalization. And third, all the robberies took place east of 10
^th
Street and west of Business-80—a tight area of about two square miles. Dooley’s is a full mile west of 10
^th
. According to Smith’s Crime Blotter—”

“Don’t use him as a source.” Black scowled as he opened a door that led to the main squad room. “It’s not going to help your case.”

Shauna wasn’t put off as she followed him. “
He
wrote that the thieves only took cash and alcohol, and the gang unit believes that the crimes are part of the DT Gang.”

Black motioned for her to sit as his desk. She did, though she couldn’t keep still. She tapped her fingers over the files spilling over his inbox.

“ADHD?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She put her hands in her lap. “Forget the
Blotter
, okay? I don’t think those gangbangers are the same guys who killed Mack. And I talked to the owners of the two sports memorabilia stores in the area, and they both said no one—”

“You
what?
”

Black was angry. Shauna backpedaled just a bit. “I know them both. Dooley is friends with them, okay? One of them authenticated his baseballs. They’ll recognize them if someone tries to sell them.”

“Ms. Murphy, not only could you jeopardize this entire investigation, but you could get hurt. What do I need to say to convince you I’m qualified? Show you my pay stubs going back nineteen years? Show you my college diploma? My ranking when I graduated from the police academy? Figure out my stats for clearing cases?”

He had a point. “I just want to know you’re not brushing this under the rug or dismissing any of the facts. You didn’t seem to be listening about the baseballs, and I think it’s important.”

He breathed deeply and slowly let it out. “I am not dismissing
anything
. I want to find Mack Duncan’s killer. I want to put him in jail. That’s my job, and I’m very good at it.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Shauna stood up. “About the baseballs—”

“
What
, Ms. Murphy?”

“Just so you know, I left photos of them with the two sports guys. The same photos I emailed to you along with the copy of Dooley’s insurance statement. Thomas Miller and Kurt Sutton. Miller is in West Sacramento, and Sutton is down on 56
^th
. They’re the only ones who trade in baseballs like this. They might be worth talking to, since they know all the private collectors and—” Shauna saw by the look on Black’s face that she needed to get out of there. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I’ll call you, Ms. Murphy, when I have news.”

She smiled warmly, hoping to smooth things over. “Thank you. I appreciate it. I’ll be at Dooley’s this week, helping my granddad.” She walked across the room, turned around and said, “I did give you my cell phone number, right?”

#

Sam saw Shauna talking to John in the bullpen and froze.

If anything, she’d grown more stunning with age.

It was always her hair that stood out—wild, red curls—and her legs—endless legs that curved into round hips.

He slipped away when John caught his eye, hiding in the break room. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see her, but she didn’t know he was back in town, and he didn’t want to spring everything on her like this.

They hadn’t parted on the best of terms.

Dear Lord, what an understatement.

Two years. Two years since he’d last set eyes on her, since he tasted her, since he’d nearly taken her to bed. He’d wanted her, but the timing had been so very wrong. He’d been on administrative leave from the Sacramento Police Department and in the middle of a divorce—his life one big personal and professional nightmare.

He’d turned Shauna away and regretted it ever since. When she was seventeen and kissed him, he was stunned and felt righteous in rejecting her advances. But two years ago? Her passion scared him, because everything about Shauna was vibrant. And now she was lost to him. The thought made him reel inside. He’d screwed everything up.

He’d made so many mistakes with Shauna that he half expected her to deck him when he saw her again.

Five minutes later, John came in and poured coffee from the long-simmering pot.

“You said you’d talk to her.”

“It’s complicated.”

“You said that yesterday.”

John stared at him, and Sam changed subjects. “Simone ID’d the dead woman on the cliff. Callie Wood. She was in the system for a minor drug charge last year. No jail time. I went to the address we had on file, but the landlord said she’d moved at the same time as her arrest. I’m working on tracking her residence down. No registered car, her license expired a few months ago—same address—and I have two cops canvassing her old neighborhood to see if anyone has had contact with her.”

“Good.” John continued to stare at him, so Sam continued with what he’d learned.

“Simone said she was strangled.”

“By hand?”

“No—a one-inch wide strip of leather, likely a leather belt. She’s going to see if she can find anything more unique about the fibers, but that’s all we have so far. Good news, the victim fought and there’re skin cells under her fingernails. It’ll take weeks to get anything from the system, but if we get a suspect, Simone can run a preliminary match.”

“Sexual assault?”

“No—she’d had sex earlier in the day. Simone is running tests to compare the skin cells to the semen, but again—”

“DNA is going to have to wait.”

“Bingo. What about Mack Duncan’s murder? Simone said she’d already sent you the report.”

“Blunt force trauma. The baseball bat we recovered from the scene was the weapon, and it was identified yesterday by Patrick Dooligan as the bat he kept behind the bar for protection.”

Sam shook his head. “As far as I know, he’s never had to use it.”

“He said as much.”

“Which means either someone knew it was there, or Mack felt threatened and pulled it out.”

“So far, the crime scene techs haven’t found any blood other than the victim.” John raised his chin. “What’s it going to take for you to keep Shauna Murphy from interfering with our jobs?”

“John—”

“You can work Duncan’s homicide with me, Sam—I need all the manpower on this, because if this is gang related, you have the experience. If it’s not, then something more devious is going on and the more eyes the better.”

Sam had to at least give him something, since John offered the first olive branch.

“I’ve known Shauna since she was born,” Sam said. “Her brothers and I grew up together with her tagging along. I can honestly say she got us into more trouble than we got into by ourselves—and that’s saying something.”

“You’ve known her since she was a kid and you can’t tell her to stay out of an official police investigation?”

Sam ran his hands through his thick, dark hair. “A year before I went to L.A., I was involved in an undercover sting—a joint task force with the FBI. We nailed this con artist who had a simple but extremely profitable con going among wealthy investors throughout California. The guy was Jason Butler.”

“Name’s familiar, but unless he killed someone—”

“No, he’s not violent. At least, he wasn’t before he went to prison.”

“What does this have to do with Murphy?”

“Everything.” Sam hesitated. Jason wasn’t the primary reason Shauna hated him, but he was certainly the easiest to explain.

“I arrested Jason the night before he and Shauna were supposed to get married.”

Chapter Six

It was six in the evening and still a hundred degrees outside, but Sam suspected as soon as Shauna saw him, the temperature inside Dooley’s would skyrocket and he’d prefer the sun to her temper.

He didn’t blame her.

Nostalgia slammed Sam square in his chest when he walked into the pub. It hadn’t changed. Even though technically the bar was closed until tomorrow, regulars were coming in to pay their condolences and drink with Dooley. Sam hadn’t been here in more than two years. Before his ill-fated marriage, before his career hit the skids, Dooley’s had been a regular hangout.

Dooley’s wasn’t an ordinary bar. Perhaps because it wasn’t an ordinary crowd. Catering to a broad cross-section of people, men and women of all ages and classes, from well-dressed business professionals to blue-collar laborers. Though the menu was short and changed often, there was always an abundance that smelled fabulous. Beer flowed freely, its hoppy aroma permeating the entire room. Irish folk music played comfortably from a jukebox in the rear.

Wasn’t it the truth I told you, lots of fun at Finnegan’s wake!

Dooley’s was clean and well-maintained with rough, worn, random plank wood floors and high ceilings fixed with old but functional electric fans, circulating the cool air pumped from a modern air-conditioning system. Signs with Irish sayings and beautiful framed pictures of Ireland’s lush, green landscape decorated the dark-stained, paneled walls.

Behind the beautiful, lovingly maintained mahogany bar that ran the length of one wall, a crew of four men were putting in a new mirror. Sam’s stomach rolled at the thought of Dooley being robbed, of Mack being murdered two nights ago.

It could have been Shauna.

Sam spotted Dooley behind the bar. He hadn’t changed, either. Not an inch over five feet tall with a thick mop of white hair and mischievous blue eyes.

Sam slid onto the only stool available, near the end of the bar by the doorway into the stockroom, while he waited for Dooley to have a free moment.

He didn’t have long to wait. Dooley came over with a pint of Harp—his favorite—and hugged him. “Sammy boy! It’s good to see you.” He slapped him on the back, harder than his small frame should be capable of. “Glad you finally got out of that hell hole. When did you get back?”

Sam couldn’t help but smile. L.A. wasn’t as bad as Northern California natives made it out to be, but it wasn’t home. “I got back a week ago Monday. Two years in L.A. was enough.”

“Two years too many,” Dooley muttered.

Sam didn’t want to get into all the reasons he’d left Sacramento. “I’m sorry about Mack.”

Dooley nodded, grim, and sipped his own pint of dark beer. “He didn’t deserve it, that’s for sure.” He eyed Sam thoughtfully. “I saw Mike last week. Did he know you were back? Or is this just temporary?”

“I asked him to keep it quiet. I’m back with the police department. Homicide. Officially started yesterday. I wasn’t sure all the paperwork would come together so quickly.” And he’d hoped he’d have more time before having to see Shauna again.

“Are you working with Detective Black?”

“Yes, though he’s lead. I’m up to speed. In fact, that’s why I’m here. Off the record, so to speak.”

“You’re here about Shauna, aren’t ya?”

“She’s not helping right now.” He tried to be delicate in how he put it, but Dooley laughed.

“She’s a sprite, that one. Always sticking her nose in everything. I’m glad you’re here. She thinks I’m molly coddlin’ her, but I’m just worried.”

“Shauna always had a knack for finding trouble.”

“Finding it? It finds her. But she had a bee in her bonnet about the Babe Ruth baseball being left behind. She went to the police station today to talk to the lead detective about the case. I told her to butt out, but you know Shauna.”

Did he ever, Sam thought with a mixture of sadness and frustration. All these years wasted.

But it was his own damn fault. If he’d only admitted to himself there was something between them, he wouldn’t have been so eager to disprove it by marrying Emma right out of college. But ten years ago, he’d been twenty-three and Shauna had barely been seventeen and off-limits, both because she was jailbait and his best friend’s little sister. And then there was that little problem a few years ago, with her getting engaged to a criminal. Sam had been so furious he’d made it his sole focus to put that slick weasel in jail. That didn’t go over well with Shauna, but what did he expect? Her to
thank
him for saving her from disaster?

It also didn’t go over well with his wife, who thought he spent far too much time with the Murphy family. At least, that was one of her many excuses when he caught her cheating on him.

Last he heard, Shauna was dating a rich doctor or lawyer or some such jerk. Why was he surprised? She was beautiful, sexy and smart as a whip.