I’m Watching You

Chapter Six

Thursday, February 19,

1:30 p.m.

„Next time I pick lunch,“ Mia grumbled, taking the stairs to their office two at a time.

Abe followed her up. „It was good. Best Indian curry I’ve had in a long time.“

Mia turned to him with a frown. „It was vegetarian.“ Ray would never have – She stopped herself midthought. Ray wasn’t here. She had a new partner now. A new partner whose file she’d finally taken the time to read before going to bed the night before.

„It was one meal, Mitchell, not a disease. What’s this?“

Mia picked up the thick stack of papers on her desk, identical to the one he held in his hand. „Kristen’s new lists. She keeps her promises.“

She thumbed to a page marked with a little neon green Post-it and had to chuckle. At the head of the list was Kristen’s own name, bolded and italicized, followed in normal type by the names of her secretary, three other prosecutors, and her boss, John Alden himself.

„It’ll take us hours to go through this,“ Abe said, flipping through the pages. Mia could tell when he reached the green neon Post-it because his face turned red. „I didn’t mean to insult her. I was just surprised.“

„I think she understood.“ Mia looked up to see an unfamiliar face crossing the bullpen. Unfamiliar in and of itself, but there was too much resemblance to Abe’s to belong to a stranger. „Looks like you’ve got company.“

Abe looked up and a smile lit up his features. Mia sucked in an involuntary breath. Abe Reagan with a smile was enough to make her forget all her own rules about not dating cops. Except that she’d seen the look in his eye every time he looked at Kristen. The boy had some serious work to do there. Kristen Mayhew would be a hard nut to crack.

„Sean,“ Abe said. The two men embraced in an awkward hug, Abe shooting her a don’t-get-this-wrong grin. „My brother, Sean.“

„I figured that out for myself,“ Mia said dryly. Abe’s brother had the same dark good looks, but, unfortunately, a wedding ring on his finger.

„I was in the neighborhood,“ Sean said and Abe snorted.

„Since when do you slum in this neighborhood? He’s a stockbroker,“ Abe explained.

„Since Mom told me to come down and check on you. She wanted to be sure you were getting treated right. Dad wouldn’t let her come herself.“

Abe’s lips twitched. „I’ll just bet. It’s good to see you. How’s Ruth?“

„Better now since the baby’s sleeping through the night.“

A shadow passed over Abe’s face, and then it was gone, replaced with a smile that was strained, but sincere. „Good.“

Sean’s smile faded. „Abe… About the christening next Saturday.“

Again, the fleeting shadow and another strained smile. „I’ll be there. I promise.“

„I know. It’s just… Ruth feels just terrible, but her parents invited Jim and Sharon.“

The strained smile disappeared and Abe’s jaw clenched. Mia knew she shouldn’t be listening, but figured if they really wanted privacy, they’d go somewhere else. Jim and Sharon weren’t names she’d read in Abe’s file, but they seemed pretty damn important.

„Tell Ruth it’s all right,“ Abe said. „I’ll still come and there won’t be any trouble from me. Surely the church is big enough for the three of us.“

Sean sighed. „I’m sorry, Abe.“

„It’s okay.“ Abe forced a cardboard smile. „Really.“

„But on the upside, Mom’s making a ham for Sunday. She wanted me to tell you.“

„I’ll call her tonight and tell her I’ll be there.“ There was another short silence in which Sean’s face became pained.

„Ruth and I were out at Willowdale last weekend. The roses were nice.“

Abe’s throat worked, and this Mia understood. Willowdale was a cemetery and according to Abe’s file, he was a recent widower. „It’s the first time I’ve dared go.“

What must it have been like, she wondered, being so deep undercover that you couldn’t risk visiting your wife’s grave? She felt a stirring of compassion, of respect Abe Reagan had given up a great deal to bring some very dangerous drug traffickers to justice.

Sean clasped Abe’s arm, his knuckles going white. „I know. I’ll see you on Sunday.“

„Thanks for coming by,“ Abe said, subdued. When his brother had left the bullpen, he sank into his chair and picked up Kristen’s new list.

Mia studied him unabashed. „So he’s the moneymaking black sheep of the family?“ she asked, and made Abe huff a good-natured chuckle.

„Go figure. Whole damn family of cops and he has to go play with money all day.“

„Blue genes, huh?“

„Yeah. My dad’s a cop. Retired. Beat cop his whole career. My grandfather, too. And one of my brothers.“ He raised a brow. „Aidan’s single.“

„I don’t do cops,“ Mia said with a smile.

„Smart lady.“

She lifted her brows. „Smart enough to figure out that Ruth is Sean’s wife, and that Debra who was your wife is buried at Willowdale. But who are Jim and Sharon?“

Abe’s eyes widened in mild amazement, more than likely at her cheek than at her powers of deductive reasoning. „Debra’s parents,“ he answered anyway. „We don’t exactly get along. Are you always so nosy?“

„You’re my partner now,“ she said. „How long ago did Debra die?“

„Depends on your philosophy of life,“ he said, then sighed when she frowned. „Debra was injured six years ago. Technically, she was brain-dead from the moment they wheeled her into the ER. She never woke up.“

That hadn’t been in the file. „How was she injured?“

Abe’s face went carefully blank. „A bullet meant for someone else hit her by mistake.“

„Meant for who?“ As if it wasn’t written all over his face. Poor guy.

„Me. It was some punk bent on cheap revenge because I arrested his brother.“ He swallowed impatiently. „Damn punk was a lousy shot.“

Her eyes softened in sympathy. „So when did she die? Technically.“

„Technically? A year ago.“

„I’m sorry,“ she said.

Abe nodded stiffly. „Thank you.“

„How much time did the kid do?“

Gritting his teeth, he looked away. „Six fucking months.“

Mia sighed. „The piece of shit that got Ray? Plead down. Good behavior’ll have him walking the street again in two years.“

Abe lifted his eyes. „Then I guess we’ll be waiting for him in two years, Mitchell.“

Ray would have liked you, Abe Reagan, she thought. Despite your tendency to play the cowboy and take stupid risks. But now she understood why Abe had taken so many chances. Grief sometimes made a man do things he might never otherwise do. „You planning on doing any more stupid stunts like you did in Narcotics?“

His lips quirked up. „No.“

„Good.“

Thursday, February 19,

2:30 p.m.

From his van he watched as an old woman in a maid’s uniform opened the door and took the box he’d left on the doorstep after ringing the bell.

He started the van’s engine with a satisfied smile. He rounded the corner and pulled into an alley, hopped out, and pulled the magnetic sign from the side of the van, revealing the painted sign beneath. Crossed to the other side and did the same, then rolled both signs and stored them in the van before climbing back in.

He had to get back to work. To his day job, anyway. The real work would commence when the sun went down.

Thursday, February 19,

3:30 P.M.

Kristen sat in her car, dreading what she was about to do. Mitchell and Reagan would be here soon. Then she’d have to face the accusing eyes of Sylvia Whitman once again.

She remembered the day of the Ramey trial. It had been a cold day, like this one. The three women, dressed in the conservative clothes they wore every day to work, looking petrified and nauseous. Their husbands, boyfriends barely containing their fury at the sight of Ramey sitting next to his defense attorney. The way each woman took the stand, retold her story, her hands clenched together so tightly. The look of shame none could hide. The way they couldn’t look anyone in the eye. Except for me, Kristen thought. Each woman had fastened her gaze on Kristen’s face, as if she was the only anchor in the courtroom.

How brave they’d been. Even as the defense attorney battered and chipped at their esteem, at their composure. Not one of the three cracked. Until the jury read the verdict and Ramey walked away a free man. They’d cracked then.

Kristen drew an unsteady breath. So had she. The crack had widened this morning when she looked down at the body of Anthony Ramey, his pelvis blown away.

What she’d felt had not been outrage for Ramey the victim nor a sense of loss for his family. She’d denied the feeling standing there with Mitchell and Reagan, but later, alone she could admit it to herself. It was quite simply… satisfaction. And gratitude.

Their humble servant killed a man who didn’t deserve to live, whose death she refused to mourn. It was wrong, but human. And she was still human, after all. After everything.

Mitchell’s dark sedan pulled up in front of her, parking along the curb and Kristen watched the passenger door open and Reagan step out, straighten his body, then his tie. Her throat thickened as her eyes noted his wide shoulders, trim body, the faintest shadow of a beard on his cheeks and she swallowed hard. Yes, she was still human.

Reagan glanced up the hill at the house, then without warning turned his eyes on her. Her heart stuttered and skipped a beat as the tips of his dark hair lifted and the hem of his unbuttoned overcoat tossed in the wind. He made quite a picture, she was forced to admit.

Which forced her to admit something else. Her blood really could still rush, her pulse could still pound from something other than fear. Which was ridiculous. Especially ridiculous was the way she could never seem to look away from his eyes, she thought, so she did just that, opening her door just as he arrived to open it for her. She climbed out on her own, shaking her head politely at his outstretched hand. „I’m fine,“ she said aloud. „What’s new?“

Mia waited by the sidewalk. „We’ve informed the next of kin. They’ll be coming to identify the bodies over the next few hours. King’s mother wailed loud enough to break my eardrums and Ramey’s girlfriend nearly ripped Abe’s pretty face with her finger-claws.“

Abe rolled his eyes at the reference to his pretty face. Which it was.

„And our Blade friends?“ Kristen asked.

„We found next of kin of two of the three. Nobody seems to know anything about the third.“ Mia frowned. „The girlfriend of one swears she was with him on January 12, but that he was missing the next day. The second one’s brother swears he was home January 20, but that he was missing the next day. A full week apart.“

Abe shrugged. „Hopefully the ME can give us a reasonable estimate of time of death.“ He looked up the hill. „Are we ready?“

„What are you going to ask Mrs. Whitman?“ Kristen asked. „You don’t have a time of death on any of them yet, so we’re not asking her to provide an alibi.“

„Yet,“ Reagan answered. „I’m more interested in her reaction to the news.“

„I wouldn’t expect tears,“ Kristen said flatly.

„Of sorrow?“

„Of any kind. Sylvia Whitman’s not the tears type.“ Kristen squared her shoulders. „Let’s get this over with.“ Mia and Reagan stood back, allowing Kristen to ring the bell. Sylvia Whitman opened the door, her expression one of contempt, but not of surprise.

„You don’t seem surprised to see me, Mrs. Whitman,“ Kristen said quietly.

„Because I am not.“ The older woman stepped back. „Come in, if you must.“

As welcomes went, that one left a lot to be desired, Abe thought, but at least Whitman hadn’t ordered them to go. In the car on the way over, Mia had filled him in on the aftereffects of the trial, of the scathing letters Mr. Whitman had written to Kristen’s boss demanding she be fired for incompetence.

That Kristen still felt guilty for not convicting Ramey had been clear as she’d stood on the street, her dread almost palpable as she’d stared up at the house. But once inside, she was composed, her face as still as Whitman’s, and Abe had to give her credit for that.

„Forgive me if I don’t offer you tea,“ Mrs. Whitman said, leading them into the living room, and Abe chose a chair that gave him a good view of Whitman’s face. He’d been serious last night when he’d said one of the original victims could have killed all the men. Original was how he now thought of the eleven names inscribed in marble. That the five dead men deserved their fate didn’t change the fact they’d been murdered. One of the originals could have masterminded the whole plot, taking out a few other deserving accused felons on the way. What an ironic dilemma for the prosecution.

Sitting, Kristen folded her hands together in her lap. „These are Detectives Reagan and Mitchell. Mrs. Whitman, why aren’t you surprised to see me?“ she asked levelly and Abe felt a spurt of pride on her behalf.

Pursing her lips, Mrs. Whitman rose to her feet and retrieved an envelope from a desk. More envelopes, Abe thought. Without a word she handed the envelope to Kristen, who slid the letter out and, holding it by one corner, scanned it, and sighed.

„‘My dear Mrs. Whitman,’“ she read, „‘what you have suffered defies articulation, so I will make no attempts to do so. I want you to know your tormentor has received justice at long last. He is dead. This doesn’t begin to restore what you’ve lost, but I hope you can now go on with your life.’“ She looked up. „ ‘Your Humble Servant’.“

„So it’s true?“ Whitman asked. „Ramey is dead?“

Kristen nodded. „Yes. When did you receive this letter, Mrs. Whitman? And how?“

„It was on the welcome mat under my newspaper this morning.“

After Kristen had found the offerings in her trunk, Abe thought. The timing was interesting, the method of delivery conveniently untraceable. He’d bet they’d find no prints on the letter or its envelope, but they could get delivery time from the paperboy. „Was there anything else with the letter?“ Abe asked and Whitman met his eyes unflinchingly.

„No. Just the letter and the envelope. Why?“

Kristen slid the letter in the envelope and handed it to Mia. „The detectives will need you to verify your whereabouts at the time of Ramey’s death, Mrs. Whitman.“

Mia bagged the letter. „We’d be grateful if you and your husband would come down to the station and provide us with fingerprints. Then we can separate yours from the letter writer’s.“

„I’ll save you the trouble, Detectives,“ Whitman said entirely too softly. „If Ramey was killed at night, I was here alone. I’ve no one to corroborate my alibi. I didn’t kill him, but I salute the man who did.“

„And Mr. Whitman?“ Kristen asked.

„He’s gone.“ For a moment Abe thought Whitman’s composure might crack, but with a deep breath she held it together. „He filed for divorce a year after the trial.“

„We’ll need his address, ma’am,“ he said. Whitman’s eyes flashed with pain and anger and humiliation, and Abe felt a stirring of pity. „I’m sorry.“

Thursday, February 19,

6:00 p.m.

If the interviews with Sylvia Whitman and Janet Briggs had been stiff and formal, the conversation with Eileen Dorsey and her husband had been anything but. Kristen’s ears still rang from the shouting. Her heart still raced like a wild thing in her chest.

„Well, that was pleasant,“ Mia said, rubbing her forehead wearily.

Kristen leaned back against her rental car, barely controlling her trembling.

Reagan’s voice came rumbling from just behind her. „Are you going to be all right, Kristen?“ She let the sound of his voice, his very nearness, seep in. Felt the trembling begin to subside. Didn’t let herself think about how or why he made her feel so safe. For now she’d just take what he offered and leave it at that.

She threw Reagan a weak smile. „I’ll be fine. But I’m grateful you were there. Having two armed detectives certainly helped diffuse them. At least we know they own a gun.“

Mia whistled. „Or fifty. Man, I’ve never seen a personal arsenal so well equipped.“

Reagan moved to lean one hip against the hood of Mia’s car. „ ‘Yes, I have a gun, Detective,’“ he mimicked and Kristen snickered as the adrenaline high started to subside. He sounded just like the outraged Stan Dorsey as the man had slapped an enormous revolver on his dining room table, followed by two semi-automatics, a hunting rifle covered in camouflage paint, and an AK-47. Then he’d opened his custom-made oversized gun cabinet, revealing another forty weapons, his eyes angry and wild.

„And yes, they’d all been fired lately,“ Kristen added lightly. She could still taste the fear she’d felt when Dorsey advanced, standing toe-to-toe, icily declaring that he dreamed every night of filling Ramey’s body full of holes. That he hadn’t killed the bastard, but if he had, he could only hope he landed her as his prosecutor. That her ineptitude would ensure he made it home for supper. Then Dorsey had leaned in close and lobbed the final verbal grenade. That he wished Ramey had picked her parking garage that night. Then she’d know what it was like to be a victim.

Then there had been heat at her back as Reagan moved behind her. He hadn’t touched her, hadn’t said a word, but something in his face caught Dorsey’s attention and in a slow, measured movement, the man took a step back, fists at his sides. Reagan handed Dorsey his card over her shoulder, instructing them to call if they had more information.

Mia shook her head. „I wonder if their neighbors know they’re living next door to a fucking armory. He’s a ‘collector.’ How clever.“

Reagan shrugged. „They’re all registered. They aren’t breaking the law.“

„They got a letter, too.“ Kristen tried to put Dorsey’s wild eyes from her mind. He was angry enough to have killed, but probably too passionate to have done it so methodically.

„As did Janet Briggs,“ Mia said.

„Our humble servant either used one hell of a discreet delivery service or he was out last night himself,“ Abe said. „Assuming the other victims received letters, he made eleven deliveries. Somebody must have seen something somewhere. We’ll do a canvass of the neighborhoods to see if anybody remembers a car or a person lurking.“

„Good idea.“ Mia’s cell phone rang, a simple non-musical beep. „Yeah.“ Her eyes narrowed. „When?… Fine, we’ll be there.“ She pocketed her phone and looked up. „Spinnelli says the ME has news. We’re meeting back at the office ASAP. You coming, Kristen?“

Kristen nodded, just as her stomach growled. „I am, but first I’ll stop and grab some dinner to go. You bought the gyros last night, Detective Reagan. I’ll pick up something from Owen’s and bring it to Spinnelli’s. Don’t let the ME start until I get there.“

„What’s Owen’s?“ Mia asked. „Please tell me it has meat.“

Reagan rolled his eyes. „The Indian curry was good.“

„I gotta have meat, Reagan, or I’ll get anemic.“

He snorted. „Yeah, you look real anemic to me, Mitchell.“

Mia turned toward Kristen, ignoring him. „If Owen’s has meat, I’m in.“

Kristen smiled. „Owen’s is the diner where I eat. You want to try his fried chicken?“

Mia sighed. „Best offer I’ve had all day.“

Thursday, February 19,

6:15 p.m.

Zoe snapped her cell phone closed. „Bingo.“

Scott yawned. „I have a date tonight, Richardson.“

„So did I.“ Zoe made a mental note to cancel it. If she hurried, she might have a story ready for the ten o’clock slot. She watched two cars pass, the first with Detective Mitchell at the wheel, accompanied by a man she didn’t recognize but fully intended to get to know much better. The other car was manned by Kristen Mayhew, driving solo. „That’s not her car.“

Scott yawned again. „So maybe she got a new one.“

„Are you kidding? That woman plans to drive her old Toyota into the ground and it still has a few good years on it.“ She shrugged when Scott’s head turned, his brows scrunched in a frown. „I know her mechanic. He tells me stuff.“

„Pillow talk,“ Scott said with a sneer and Zoe bit her tongue. Like it or not, she needed him to make the damn film.

Ignoring him, she pulled her mirror from her purse. Her makeup was still flawless. „Besides, the car had an Avis sticker in the window. Come on, we’re doing an interview.“

„With who? Your hero just drove away.“

Again Zoe bit back the retort. The day Mayhew was her hero… Meal ticket, maybe. Hero, never. „Haven’t you been paying attention? She visits three houses with Detective Mitchell. Aren’t you the least bit curious as to why?“

„I’m sure you’ll tell me,“ Scott drawled, and the tips of her nails bit into her palms.

„Records says that this house belongs to Eileen Dorsey. The last house was Janet Briggs, the one before that Sylvia Whitman. Three victims of Anthony Ramey,“ she said and watched his eyes widen. Scott wasn’t stupid, just a man who foolishly believed a single night of sex months ago should become an ongoing relationship and was mad because it hadn’t. „So you do watch the news,“ she said, swallowing a smirk.

Scott straightened. „Ramey never went to jail. He’s either reoffended or he’s dead.“

Zoe slid out of the van and tugged at her skirt. „Well, let’s go find out which.“

Thursday, February 19,

6:30 P.M.

„Kristen, so good to see you.“ Vincent pulled a brown bag from behind the counter. „You’re order’s ready.“ Vincent had worked for Owen for as long as she’d been coming to the diner. A sweet, unassuming man. Everybody loved Vincent.

A loud crash had them both wincing. „Another new cook?“ Kristen asked.

Vincent sighed. „I give this one two days. Tops.“

Owen had hired so many cooks in the last month, Kristen stopped trying to remember their names. „Any news from Timothy?“

„Nope. Wish his grandma would get better, though. Owen’s been fit to be tied lately, dealing with all those new fry cooks.“

„Maybe we could get Timothy some help for his grandma and he could come back.“

Vincent shrugged. „We asked, but Owen says Timothy doesn’t want the help. You know how Tim is about accepting help anyway.“

Kristen nodded. „I know.“ A highly functional adult with Down’s syndrome, Timothy had a great deal of pride and independence. She could see him refusing Owen’s help.

„You know what?“ Owen came out of the back, drying his hands on the towel he kept tied around his thickening middle. He was solid and dependable and he made a hell of a chicken potpie. A smile creased his face when he saw her. „I missed you at lunch today.“

She made a face. „Peanut butter crackers.“

He scowled. „You’ll get sick if you don’t eat right.“

She crossed her heart. „I promise. I called in a take-out order.“

Owen scanned the order slip. „Three fried chickens and three chicken potpies?“

Kristen licked her lips. „Plus potatoes and gravy.“

„It’s all here. What’s going on tonight?“ Owen gathered the bag in his arms and started for the front door.

„Meeting. I offered to bring dinner.“ She held open the door and shivered while Owen stood in his shirtsleeves with hardly a tremble for the cold, looking around with a frown.

„My car.“ She pointed to the rental and his face changed to a beaming smile.

„You finally listened to me and got rid of that old thing.“

„It was not old. It was just well used.“ She opened the rear passenger door and he put the bag on the seat.

„It was a bucket of bolts that Vincent prayed for daily. We worried about you driving around at night in that rust heap.“

„This is just a rental. Mine’s in the shop.“ Kristen bit her lip over the little white lie.

The scowl returned. „Bucket of bolts, Kristen. It’s going to leave you stranded on the side of the road some night and…“ He shook his head, disgusted. „Stubborn girl.“

„With no monthly car payment. Go in out of the cold, Owen. You’ll get sick.“