Perilous Curves Collection (BBW Romance) (12 page)

His voice deepened with interest. "I'm listening."

"I sent you a recording and details on how I obtained it." I paused. I had experienced more than a moment's worry about sending the recording to Malkin. "So I can moved forward on my end, though, I'd like you to keep the recording to yourself for the time being. It's not exculpatory," I assured him. "But it might be worth something at trial."

I intended it to be worth a little leverage with Hicks and Davies long before that and hopefully to avoid a trial altogether, but I couldn't tell an attorney I intended to resort to
leveraging
the tape with the cops.

"I'll do whatever is in Alex's best interest, Ms. Miller," Malkin said.

"Of course, I'm not asking otherwise." I finished the call with Malkin, agreeing to meet him before he flew back home if he decided to take Alex's case.

Next I called Chris in Chicago to make sure he had received the image scans and to strong arm him if necessary to process the pictures as soon as possible. Satisfied that, if there was anything to be pulled from the image, he'd have it to me by noon, I powered the laptop down and made momma an omelet before showering. By the time I was ready to leave, Ivy was there.

At the office, I called Craig. He sounded like he was still in bed.

"Hey, just checking whether you found anything else on the video." I didn't figure he had or I would at least have a text from him.

"Wasn't jack on it."

"'Okay. Sorry you had to sit through that torture."

"Kind of made me nostalgic about being on the force," he laughed.

"Seriously?"

"For about fifteen minutes," he snorted. "So what's next?"

"I need Davies direct number, you got it?"

Craig hesitated.

"I don't want the call routed through the station," I said and cleared my throat with meaning. "Or recorded."

"I don't think I want to know...give me a few minutes to find the number and I'll text it to you."

"Thanks."

I let him go and walked across my office to the white board. I took the memory card from my video recorder and popped it into the card slot on the 65-inch television that stood to one side of the white board. Like the television, the camera was high definition and I ran through the murder scene looking for something I had missed.

While I watched, I divided the white board into sections. The murder site, Ray's truck and Arby's took up half the board. The columns were filled with inventories, site descriptions and other details. On the other half, I listed names: Ray, Alex, Dante, Claire, Lee, Vivian and Briggs. When I was done, I sat down on the floor and looked up at the board.

I didn't have enough information about Ray or his family. It was day three and I should know more about the Epps and their circle of friends and neighbors. Because either the killer knew Ray or it was a random killing. I had no means right now to find a random killer. But the space under the columns for the Epps family was inexcusably empty.

Sighing, I called Dante's office and checked with his secretary for when Ray's funeral services would be.

"Sunday," the woman replied, giving me the time and address.

I had no intention of showing up at the funeral but I called a discreet cameraman I had on retainer and hired him for the day. At eleven, I called Davies, catching him outside on a smoke break and away from his partner Hicks.

Davies took a long drag on his cigarette after I identified myself. "Diamond give you my number?"

I didn't answer, determined to drive the conversation with him. "No one wants to see you make a mistake in your career, Davies."

"Don't see how I am, Ms. Miller," he said, but there was no detectible conviction in his tone.

I looked at my watch and calculated how long it would take Davies to reach the liquor store. I didn't want him looking at the videotape without me whispering in his ear. Still talking to him, I grabbed my keys and computer bag and headed for the office door.

"The killer was caught on tape."

"I've seen all the footage, just a bunch of teenagers, single guys with no life and frazzled moms with their brats going through the drive-thru or inside."

"Then all you've looked at is the Arby's tape." I forced a wide grin, knowing it would carry over the phone through my tone and the precise enunciation of my words. "Which means you missed the killer and the witness who can identify him."

Another long drag on the cigarette while Davies mentally chewed over the claim. "What have you got, exactly?"

"Meet me back at Arby's at noon and I'll show you." I was taking the stairs down to the lobby, afraid I would lose the connection if I got on the elevator. "Alone."

"Ms. Miller, I don't--"

"Run an errand," I cut in. "I need you to look without any blinders on."

"You better produce or you won't have any currency left in the department," he warned and hung up.

********************

I parked in front of the liquor store and waited alongside my car. Davies was fifteen minutes late. Spotting me from the street, he pulled in the space behind my sedan.

"You couldn't point this out to the fucking patrol unit yesterday?"

I knew from the placement of "fucking" that he was more irritated with the patrol unit than with me, and maybe a little annoyed that he hadn't visited the location before now. It was, after all, part of the crime scene in Ray Epps' homicide -- even if it was halfway between the murder site and his house.

I paused on my way into the liquor store to pull out my phone. I plugged in the construction site's address, Ray's place and the liquor store.

Arby's was on the main street between the site and Ray's neighborhood.

"You got a call you have to take, Ms. Miller?" Davies drawled as he pulled up short behind me. "Because I can always leave while you take it and come back, like...never."

There had to be more than one camera on the route from the murder site to Arby's that captured the street traffic. But first I had to convince Davies that he didn't already have Ray's killer in jail or else he'd never look for the other video.

I turned and showed him the phone's display. A frown surfaced on his face for an instant before he suppressed it. He shrugged and motioned for me to proceed to the counter, where he flashed his badge at the clerk.

Inside the small office, I offered Davies the seat while I cued up the video, but he remained standing. I sat down and fast forwarded the tape to a few minutes before nine-thirty.

"Here," I pointed at the car. "And you see here, what he's throwing over the roof of the car into the dumpster?"

Davies didn't say anything, but he was leaning over my shoulder and squinting hard at the screen. I watched his face as the video continued playing, relief flooding through me when his expression first sharpened in anticipation as the car began to pull forward and then flashed with outright anger as the truck pulled in and blocked the view.

He was, at long last, hooked.

I fast forwarded the tape to Max taking the jacket out of the dumpster and putting it on.

I swiveled the chair so I could look straight up into Davies face. "So, was that Alex Serrano?"

Davies pulled out his phone and called up a document. "Alex drives a 2008 F150. Looks like the only sedan readily available to him is his grandmother's 2010 Impala. Of course--"

"He could have had an accomplice," I finished for him. "That's, what...Chapter Six of Introduction to Police Bullshit?"

Davies looked down at me, his gaze narrowing. "You used to be on the right side if I remember right."

It wasn't the first time I'd heard those words coming from a cop and I delivered my canned response with a saccharine smile. "Justice doesn't take sides, detective."

I pulled my phone out again, relieved to see a fat email message from Chris. I opened the file to find a jpg with the last four characters on the truck's license plate cleaned up. The other two remained beyond recognition. I showed the picture to Davies. "Accomplice or solo killer, this guy will be able to identify him, you just have to find him."

When Davies continued to hesitate, I pulled up another file, the one Adam Malkin had been so kind to send me from his visit with Alex after the surgery. It was a picture of Alex, his face badly bruised and his left arm in a cast from wrist to elbow. "He got jumped last night by three guys in what was supposed to be a locked cell. All the men were from east of Waverly."

Davies knew the city well enough to understand my meaning. A working man was dead and the rich white boy accused of killing him had to share a cell block with men from Ray's side of town.

I switched back to the picture of the license plate and Davies dutifully took the number down. When he was done, I briefly touched his hand. "One more thing..."

He cut a glance at my face and then looked away, but I knew he was still listening from the tilt of his head.

"Ray's phone hasn't been recovered. You probably did a dump for the night of the murder." Davies nodded and I continued. "Have you done one since?"

He shook his head.

"Are you going to?"

Another nod.

Davies turned and went out to the store front. I followed right behind him. He motioned the clerk closer. "I'll be back in about an hour, but, listen, I wasn't already here."

The clerk furrowed his brow, and Davies repeated himself. "I wasn't here, neither was she."

Slowly, understanding dawned in the young man's eyes.

Out on the street, I halted Davies before he could get in his car. "So you go back to the station and have a lunch time epiphany?"

"Pretty much," he said, unlocking his door. He grinned, appearing downright friendly for a second. "Worst thing in the world I could do is tell Hicks the information came from Serrano's hired gun."

I smiled at that. I'd been called a lot of things regardless of which side of the case I was working on, but no one had ever called me a hired gun. Considering I'd been a little mercenary getting Davies down here and was ready to do worse with the tape recording, it kind of fit and I liked it.

Chapter Twelve

At home in the kitchen, my hair twisted into a bun, sleeves pushed up and a hand towel over my shoulder as I washed the dinner dishes, I didn't hear the knock at the front door. It wasn't until I heard Dante's voice drifting from the entry room that I realized momma had opened the door and wasn't just talking to herself.

"Daniel, isn't it?" she asked.

"Dante," he corrected gently. "Is Olivia home, I need to see her."

Wet up to my elbows, I frantically searched for the dishtowel to dry my hands.

"Oh, of course. No reason why you can't." Momma dropped her voice a pinch. "It's only bad luck on the big day, dear."

"What big day?"

I could hear the confusion in Dante's voice. He didn't realize momma didn't always live in the present. Still dripping dish water, I rushed into the entry room and slipped a hand around momma's arm. She had a lost look on her face. "It's okay, momma."

"Your hands are wet, dear." She took the dishtowel from my shoulder and dried my hands off before wiping her own arm dry. "Sometimes I swear you have the Alzheimer's, Ladybug."

My eyes watered immediately, a tear falling down my cheek when I blinked. "Maybe momma." I put an arm around her shoulder. "I've got your tea on. Let's get you ready for bed."

In the hallway, momma whispered to me. "Weren't you going to marry him?"

"A long time ago." I managed to keep my voice from breaking. If I started crying now, it would only upset her.

In her room, momma sat on the bed and held her arms up as I lifted the dressing gown she had put on that morning and replaced it with a fresh one. "What was it that happened?"

"His brother died in a car accident." I pulled the blanket and sheet back and then rotated a stack of books next to her bed so that she could read the titles.

Momma put a hand out to stop me. "That doesn't seem like a reason for not getting married."

"You'd be surprised, mama." I offered her a thin smile and ran a finger over the book spines. "Now, you finished the last one. Which one are you starting tonight?"

"Not any of hers." She pointed at a title by Orla Clark. "That last one wasn't a romance at all! Can you believe the grandmother killed the baby?"

I thumbed a tear from momma's cheek before taking all the Clark titles out of the pile. "No, momma. I don't read your stories. But I'll check and make sure these are romances if you want."

She nodded like a two-year old who was sure the bogeyman was hiding in her closet -- or her stack of books.

"Okay." I put the Clark books on the floor and pushed them under the bed. "So which from these?"

She pointed to a fat anthology at the bottom of the pile. I pulled it out and rearranged the stack before handing the book to her.

"Alright." I kissed her on the forehead. "I'll be back with your tea in a few minutes."