“Drop the knife, or I’ll blow you away.” He stalked toward the man who held Kendall. He watched a second of indecision flash across the man’s grizzled features and prepared to double tap him.
“Toss it.”
The assailant pitched the knife away and stood up. Brian was on him in two seconds, but he stared down at Kendall, who’d come to a sitting position. “Are you okay?”
She looked up at him and his heart melted into his shoes. She nodded.
Officer Tassano rounded the corner at a jog. “Man, I’m sorry. I lost her in the crowd.”
“Get this scum out of here. I’m right behind you.”
“No problem.”
Brian listened to Tassano’s cuffs ratchet tight. “Charge him with assault for starters.”
“You got it.” He dragged the man away.
Brian collapsed on the ground next to Kendall and pulled her into his arms. No words passed between them; no words had to. He held her close, inhaling the scent of her hair as he pulled blades of dry grass out of it. His heart expanded in his chest and filled with emotion. Emotion he was afraid to put a name to. Emotion he wasn’t sure he could suppress.
“I’m sorry. I should have been with you.”
“He wanted to know where the money was.”
“Money?” His gaze settled on her lips.
“He seems to think I have Otis’s money.”
It was useless to resist and he brushed a piece of leaf off her cheek. The motion and the touch sent a shock wave into him and he locked his gaze with hers. A slow smile spread over her lips and his resistance died. He dropped his head and covered her mouth with his. The contact satisfied the river of raw sensation that roared through him, but the result was a need for more.
He pulled back and focused on the misty quality in her eyes, the wisps of her hair against her cheek, the tilt of her head to one side, like a girl with questions…or the answers. He wasn’t sure.
“One stalker down, one to go.” He took her hand and helped her to her feet. They waded into the crowd that had become more reasonable now that the excitement had died down.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No, but he threatened to.”
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“What happened?” Anger ate through his moment of euphoria and left him hungry for answers to why he felt as if he’d almost lost her.
“We were in Café du Monde, three or four explosions went off. Everyone got whipped into a panic and ran off. I tried to get away, but the crowd was too strong. I got separated from Officer Tassano.”
He could only shake his head. Relief pulsed through him, taking his tension with it. “Come on, I’ll take you up to my office so you can get changed before they call you to direct traffic.”
Kendall followed him into the building and onto the elevator, enduring a blast of heat when the doors slid open on the third floor. “Poor boy, hanging on the top floor.”
“Something like that. I’ve got an a/c in my window. I’d better turn it on.”
“You haven’t always been up here, have you?” She watched him slip a key into the door and open it. He stepped aside for her to enter.
“No.”
“Want to tell me why you prefer heat to cool?” She knew she was probing. His office was about as far as you could get from homicide.
He motioned to a chair, smack against the wall and covered with files. “Let me.” Scooping them up, he plopped them down onto his desk.
She sat down and tried to imagine him in this little room, putting the heat to every chop shop in New Orleans. It smelled like him. Clean and musky. Various awards were neatly framed and hung on a white wall. Honors for a man who deserved one more award for saving her life. The desk he’d taken a seat behind was small and behind it he looked tough, gorgeous…alone.
“I’d had enough.”
“Shell shock?” She focused her attention on him.
“That’s one way to put it. When you’ve seen what I’ve seen a hundred times over, it changes you. Before you know it, you’ve lost your perspective.”
“Is that why you took up hunting McKinleys?”
He leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes, as if the answer was there, but he didn’t want to share it. She wanted to test him, to slip under his skin and shake him up. She needed to know if he reacted to her because she was a McKinley or because she was a woman.
“Initially, yes. When the name surfaced, I wanted to hunt them down, but I’ve never been able to connect the dots. Five years, no arrests.”
“What more proof do you need? The rumor, although true in part, was put up as a screen to hide the real killer.”
Brian cocked his head and considered the new degree of spin she’d put on his quest. He’d been so sure the McKinleys were involved, he never considered anyone else.
“You’re an amazing woman.” She smiled at him and he saw a brief spark of surprise. Amazing and dangerous.
“Let’s go downstairs, I want to talk to Schneider, get his take on the smoke in the square and see if your assailant had anything to say.”
She stood up, her eyes locked on his desk. He followed her line of vision and glanced at the file on the top of the stack, ANDREW MCKINLEY.
“Don’t get me wrong, Kendall.” He grabbed the folder and put it on the bottom of the pile. “I’m just doing my job at this point. And you know he’s not squeaky clean.”
It was the look of injury in her eyes that nudged his heart. A look of trust betrayed. She was halfway out the door before he caught up with her and turned her around.
“Don’t. Don’t ask me to look the other way. It doesn’t mean I’m right. It means I’m doing my job.”
She wouldn’t look at him, instead she chose to stare at the floor and bounce the toe of her shoe against it. “Yeah. Your job.” Suddenly she looked up and he saw realization cross her face and furrow her forehead.
“I’m just a witness to you. Someone you plan to ditch after you’ve used me to tidy up your facts. If I hadn’t had a couple of stalkers after me, I’d probably be in a cell somewhere. That’s what you want. Right? Any McKinley will do?”
“No…but I think you’re holding out on me.” He’d said it. Handed over the last piece of doubt stuck in his mind. Would she take it, or shove it back in his face?
She sagged against the wall as if a ten-ton rock hung around her neck. “I’ve told you everything of any value. There isn’t any more.”
“I want to believe you.”
“Then do it. Use that thing between your ears and give me a break. Let me help you.”
Brian pulled her toward the ladies’ room, his anger beginning to boil. “Change.” He watched her go inside and hung his head. She wanted him to accept her help? A McKinley’s help? First he’d have to admit he needed her digging around for information. His level of trust would have to take a high jump.
She stepped out of the ladies’ room and took hesitant steps toward him. He felt like a jerk for not believing her and his anger cooled.
“Truce?”
“Since we’re stuck with each other for now, I guess.”
“Let’s go.” He followed her into the elevator and out onto the first floor. Brian focused on Schneider’s office and leaned against the door frame. “Anything on the square?”
“Remote devices, not an amateur job. The bomb squad is analyzing them now.”
“How many?”
“Five. Set off from outside the perimeter.”
“Kendall’s assailant?”
“He lawyered up, but not before he denied having anything to do with Otis’s murder. He claims Otis had something on David Copeland.”
“Kendall’s boss?” Brian digested the information and wondered how Kendall was involved. “Thanks, Ben. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He escorted Kendall to central booking, mentally working the David Copeland angle.
“Hey, Bennett.”
A clean-shaven officer looked up from behind his computer screen and nodded. “What ya got?”
“I need a set of elimination prints from this young lady. Keep them in-house and have a hard copy sent up to me.”
“No problem.” He stood up and came to the counter. “Ever been fingerprinted, Miss?”
“No.” A wave of apprehension swelled inside her. “Will it take long?”
“No. The procedure is simple. I’ll roll your fingers over a scanner.”
She watched him rub a cloth over a small plastic pad and flip a button on the side of the unit. Bright light glowed from inside. He picked up a pen and a card from under the counter.
“Your full name?”
“Kendall Elisabeth McKinley.”
“Date of birth?”
“June 20, 1977.”
“That’ll do it. Please step around the counter.”
Brian had taken a seat and seemed disinterested in the whole process. He’d probably witnessed it a thousand times.
“Let’s get started.”
“Okay.” She floated through the process and was glad when he turned the machine off.
“You’re done.”
“Great.”
He grinned at her and turned his attention to Brian. “I’ll get these prints into the computer and a hard copy to you, ASAP.”
Brian stood up and stretched, moving toward her in slow strides. Her heart jumped, but he didn’t say a word until they’d left through the front door of the station and stepped out into the heat of the afternoon.
“Want to finish your beignet over at Café du Monde?”
“Maybe another time. I think I swallowed it whole in all the commotion. It’s stuck right about here.” She indicated a spot on her chest, but he wasn’t paying attention. Instead he’d taken a rigid stance on the top step of the stairs. She focused on the set of his shoulders, the way he scanned the street in front of them.
“We need to scout out our next overnight. Any particular end of town you’d like to try?”
“Home.”
“Not an option.” He moved her forward with his hand on the small of her back. Tension built in his neck and tightened his shoulders as he looked across the street, then up and down the sidewalk. People were moving again, not in a panic, but at a leisurely pace.
He couldn’t explain his apprehension, the slow foreboding that climbed out of his gut and sneaked up his spine. But it was there. “Let’s hurry it up.”
“Sure.” She tossed him a what’s-going-on glance.
They hit the sidewalk and blended into the crowd, then broke loose and walked to the side of the station.
Brian opened the car door and closed it behind her, circled and took his place behind the wheel. His tension had eased by the time he put the key in and started the car.
“What was that about?’
Shifting into reverse, he glanced at her and saw worry lines around her mouth. “Don’t know, don’t even know if you’d understand.”
“Try me.”
He braked, put the car in drive and eased into the narrow street. “Have you ever felt like you were being watched? You can’t put a name on that sixth sense, you just know it.”
“Yes. I’ve felt it.” She shifted in her seat. ‘That night in the swamp, repossessing Otis’s car, I had it then. That’s when I smelled the cigar smoke. They were there. Watching. Waiting to grab the car and kill the poor guy, but I got to it first.”
“Probably. Judging from the evidence we collected, someone was there.”
“They think I have Otis’s money. They want it so bad they’re willing to go through you.” The color drained from her face, leaving her pale.
“Jackson Square was a distraction so they could take you, but it didn’t work.” He touched her hand where it lay in her lap and was rewarded with an emotional charge. “I won’t let them get close to you again. The next one will have to come through a hail of bullets.” He made eye contact with her, hoping he’d convinced her he was capable of taking care of her, but apprehension marred her face. Gently he raised his hand and stroked his thumb against her skin. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Well get him, Kendall. We have this.”
He watched them pull out and creep down the street from his vantage point.
Now he could relax. Anytime he wanted Kendall, he could have her. From now on he’d be in control. No more escapes to secret locations beyond his reach. With some harmless smoke grenades as a distraction he’d made sure he could find them anytime.
Crawling inside Brian’s head had been easy. He wasn’t a very good cop.
A laugh brewed in his throat. He nipped the end off his cigar and shoved it into his mouth, flicked the lighter and puffed the smoke to life.
Spring Hills was pretty springy, Brian decided when the ornate wrought iron gate opened and an attendant approached.
“Your name, Sir?”
“Littrell, New Orleans Police Department. I’m here to speak with Mary Whittley.” He flashed his badge.
The attendant looked at his clipboard. “She’s in the Magnolia complex. Through the gate and take a right. The parking lot is the first one on the left.”
“Thanks.” Brian eased down on the gas pedal and followed the sweep of the cobble drive lined with magnolia trees. “I wonder what a place like this costs?”
“I pay three grand a month for Jake’s care and that’s bare bones. This has got to be more.”
He had to agree. Someone was paying big bucks. His guess was it had been Otis. What would happen now that Otis was dead? Who would pay for his mother’s care?
The cobble drive widened and opened up at the top of a small knoll. Nestled among a grove of oak trees was a complex fit for a king. “Send me here when I’m old.” Brian chanced a glance at her.
“In your dreams, Mr. Littrell.”
“It’s okay. Homey beats the heck out of champagne and caviar.” Brian drove the car down a shallow decline, past a kidney-shaped swimming pool and a rose garden, where grey-haired ladies in large-brimmed hats tended to rose bushes and various other flowers. He was stuck by the country club atmosphere.
A large plaque with MAGNOLIA in bright gold letters designated the parking lot. He nosed his unit in between two Cadillacs and killed the engine. “I’m speculating, but let’s say Otis was covering the cost of his mother’s care. Guessing it at six to ten grand a month, he’s into this place sixty to a hundred-twenty thousand a year. You saw his shack, where does someone like Otis Whittley get money like that?”
“You mean did he get money like that? You can make it taking down cars, but you’d have to grab a couple a night, higher odds of getting caught. He was into something lucrative. Smuggling? Dealing drugs?”
“He’s got no record. My case is based on him boosting the mayor’s car. There was an eyewitness who named him. I could never get a handle on the guy. He was good, always looked over his shoulder, afraid of his shadow.”
“He had good reason, didn’t he?”
Glancing sideways, he looked at her. “He was running scared. The poor bastard probably didn’t even know I was on to him, because he had a bigger problem. Let’s go see if his mother knew what he was up to.” Brian opened the car door.
The outside of Spring Hill was posh. Tall wooden doors carved with flowers barred the entrance of the stone building. A bell with a gold-lettered sign above it read PLEASE RING IN.
Brian pushed the button and heard the dainty chime of the bell echo inside the fortress. A small square in the middle of the door opened up.
“Can I help you?” a female voice questioned from inside.
Is this the Emerald City? Brian dismissed the stupid thought. The precaution was probably as much to keep residents in as to keep the public out, but it still amused him.
“I’m Officer Littrell, this is Kendall McKinley. We’re here to see Mary Whittley. Do you need to see my badge?”
“No. Matthew the gate attendant said you would be arriving.” With that the square in the door closed into itself and blended seamlessly into the wood carving.
“Wait, I’m Dorothy. I’m here to see the wizard!”
“What?” Kendall laughed and popped him with the back of her hand, just as the door opened. They both turned to find a young woman staring at them.
Her uniform consisted of a black skirt and a white blouse. She was pressed and prim all the way from her black shoes to the frown on her face. “Come in. Mary is in the sitting room at the moment. She’s been quite upset since her son’s death. Follow me.” She turned and strode away.
Brian could certainly understand how upset she was. He’d take it easy.
The floor was covered with thick carpet in a rich shade of burgundy. Raised wood panels lined the lower half of the hallway and wainscot divided it from the artwork spaced at even intervals along the wall. The hall emptied into a large room where small conversation areas had been formed with floral couches. A bank of bookshelves lined the far wall and in the north corner was a big-screen TV.
The room was empty except for a woman in a wheelchair. She had her back to them and stared out the window at the expanse of lush green lawn and a fountain.
“Mrs. Whittley? You have guests.” The young woman touched her on the shoulder. The contact caused the woman to start.
“Oh, dear girl! You frightened me.”
“I’m sorry…” She turned the wheelchair to face Brian and Kendall and politely excused herself.
“Mrs. Whittley, I’m Officer Littrell, New Orleans Police Department, and this is Kendall McKinley.” Brian shifted his weight, and a zing of sympathy shot through him.
The elderly woman’s face was drawn, tired. Her eyes were swollen, no doubt from the tears she’d cried for her son. Even bad people have mothers who love them.
Brian sucked that knowledge in and used it to temper his attitude. “We’re sorry for your loss.”
The condolence turned her tear faucet on and she dabbed at her eyes with a dainty pink handkerchief. “Thank you, but I’m sure you’re here for another reason. I wondered when you would come. Sit down, young man. Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you.” Brian chanced a glance at Kendall. She was perched on the edge of a deep sofa, trying not to fall in. An amused smile turned the corners of her mouth and she shot him a “here I go” look, then shoved back onto the couch.
He looked away to avoid the stir of humor she’d raised. This was not the time. Still she looked very small, immersed in the fluff of the sofa.
“Can I see your badge?”
“Sure.” Brian pulled his badge off his belt and handed it to her.
She held it very close to her face, narrowed her eyes and squinted. Finally she tapped it with her fingernail and held it close to her ear. “Real. Good. You just can’t be too careful these days.” She handed it back to him.
“What do you mean, Mrs. Whittley?”
“There was a man here in early April, claimed to be a policeman. I talked to him in the dining room, but not before I checked his badge, just like that. The damn thing was tin. I told him to get himself right out the door. He got up and left.”
“What did he look like?” Brian’s curiosity flared. Otis was still alive when the cop had visited her.
“I’ve got cataracts, son. It’s hard to see detail. I did look him up and down. He’s a tall one, don’t know what color his hair or eyes were. Dressed in dark clothes head to toe and he smelled like the inside of a cigar box.”
Brian saw Kendall jolt forward on the couch. “Smoker, huh?”
“I’d say so.”
“What kind of questions did he ask?”
“Before or after I thumped his badge?”
“Both.”
“He wanted to know if I’d seen Otis lately, if he’d given me anything to hold for safekeeping. Then I asked him if I could see his badge. He got a little huffy with me, gave me some spiel about getting no respect…la-ti-da…then he handed it to me and I did just like I did to yours. It wasn’t real. Then when I told him to leave…he was plenty upset, but he left.”
“You did the right thing. When did you last see Otis?” Brian asked.
“The end of March. He dropped by for my birthday party. Didn’t have much to say, but he seemed out of sorts.”
“How so?”
“Jumpy. Nervous. Kept looking around, finally left before I even got my cake cut up, but he gave me these.” She reached in at the collar of her blouse and pulled up a key tied on a long piece of purple yarn, then reached into her sweater pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “It was Otis, God rest his soul, who told me not to trust anyone just because they claimed to be a policeman.”
Her hand trembled as she held the paper and key out to Brian.
“Thank you. This could help us find out who…killed him.”
She nodded. “I’ll hold you to it, Officer. He was a good boy, just a little misguided. When he started to associate himself with questionable people, I tried to rein him in, but he was beyond my control and my health was shot.”
Brian reached out and patted Mary’s hand. “I’m sure you did the best you could. Any chance you remember the names of those questionable people?”
“Clear as a bell. Alan Delancy. He’s the one I figure pulled Otis in. Neighborhood boy down the street. They went to high school together. He always had an expensive car in the driveway. My Otis liked expensive cars.”
Brian scribbled down the name. “How old would you guess Delancy is?”
“He and Otis were a couple of years apart, I’d say twenty-five, twenty-six.”
“Do you have any idea what this key might go to?”
“No, and I don’t want to know. I didn’t want to risk it. I wasn’t sure why he wanted me to keep that stuff. I’m no fool. I knew my Otis was into something bad, I didn’t know if my heart could take it so I put it away. He told me if anything happened to him, I was to give it to a real policeman.”
“Can I read this note?”
“I suppose…it can’t hurt. He’s gone.”
Brian unfolded the slip of paper and read it out loud. “Sixty-seven, thirty-five, Makin. Does that mean anything?”
She pondered the information, tilted her head to the side, then straightened in her seat. Surprise crossed her face and melted into irritation. “That boy. I don’t know how many times I asked him to keep my age quiet. I’m sixty-seven, my maiden name was Makin, and I grew up at thirty-five Chelmette Road out in Pennybrook. My younger brother, Phillip, still has a little winter place out there at the homestead.”
“Did Otis have access to the property?”
“I suppose so. There’s a small house and a couple of outbuildings. Nothing worth stealing, so my brother didn’t take any security measures.”
“How long since he visited the place.”
“Years. Ten maybe.”
A surge of excitement pumped through him. “Thank you. You’ve been a great help. If you think of anything, give me a call. My number’s on this card.” Brian pulled a business card out of his wallet and pressed it into her hand.
She promptly put it to her face and focused, then unfocused. “I will.”
Kendall was up and off of the couch, ready to go. She followed him out of the room and down the hall. “Did you hear that? The guy was a cigar smoker, just like the creep in the bayou.”
Brian liked her mind, among other things. “I wish she’d gotten a better look at him.”
“No, I don’t think you do. If this guy’s the one who killed Otis, he wouldn’t have risked having Mary identify him. He knew about her cataracts, knew she couldn’t make out his face. That means he and Otis were tight. Close enough to talk about family.”
Brian pushed open the heavy wooden door and followed Kendall out. She had a good point. Thank God for poor eyesight.
He unlocked the car and they climbed in. Brian fired the engine and turned the air conditioner on high. Opening the note, he read the address out loud. “Thirty-five Chelmette Road. Could be a place to stash stolen cars.”
“Maybe it’s the hangout for the theft ring…a chop shop.”
“Whatever it is, we’ve got the key.” He swung the piece of purple yarn with the key attached and picked up the radio microphone. “Dispatch, officer 557.”
“557, go ahead.”
“Run an identity check on an individual. One Alan Delancy, approximate age, twenty-five, last known address, New Orleans.”
“Copy, 557, stand by.”
“I wonder what will happen to Mary now that Otis is gone?”
“That’s assuming he was paying the bill on the place.”
The radio crackled to life. “557. We show your individual disappeared in February ‘05. The individual’s parents reported him missing on February 15th.”
“Copy that, dispatch. Is there a photo of the individual on file?”
“That’s affirmative.”
“Officer 557, clear.” Brian replaced the handset and leaned back into the seat. “Did you ever get a look at Thomas Romaro?”
“No.”
“Let’s assume they knew each other. That’s how Romaro was able to get close to Otis. Romaro was fished out of the Mississippi in February, around the same time this Delancy kid goes missing. What if Otis and Delancy were both mixed up in the auto-theft ring? Schneider said Thomas Romaro was a dead end. There was identification on the body, so no further search was necessary, but what if Thomas Romaro is really Alan Delancy?”
“You’re the cop. You figure it out.”
He shot her a smile and pulled the handset. “Dispatch, 557.”
“Copy, 557, go ahead.”
“Can you put the Delancy file into Sergeant Schneider’s hands ASAP along with the open case file on one Thomas Romaro, deceased?”
“Affirmative. Will you follow up?”
“Yes. 557 clear.”
Brian sucked in a breath. “Let’s see where this key takes us.” He tucked it into his pocket and put the car in reverse. They had to get to Pennybrook. It was clear across down from Gretna, but it was a huge break.
The cobbles click-clacked under the tires as they drove along. Brian stopped at the gate and the same attendant greeted them. “Hope you enjoyed your visit.”
“Thanks, it was very informative, but I’d like to know if you keep a list of who enters the premises and who leaves?”
The attendant looked annoyed. “This isn’t a prison, Officer. I only direct people to the residents they wish to visit.”
“Can you tell me if you remember who came to visit Mary Whittley in early April?”
“Hmm…I don’t remember anyone coming, just the police when they gave her that unfortunate news about her son.”
“Is this facility surrounded by a fence?”
“No, not the whole complex. Just the main entrance.”
“Thanks.” Brian rolled up his window. “For the amount of bucks going into that place, you’d think they’d have better security.”
“Someone for Mary to call.”
“She’s pretty great.”
“I hope I can be half as lively when I’m her age.”
“If I catch you back-talking an assailant, I’ll have to lock you up…for your own protection, of course.” Brian glanced at her. The late-afternoon sun coming through the window turned her hair to glistening strands of dark molasses. Her smile was real, genuine. He tried to picture her at Mary’s age, and he could. He could see her there next to him, fifty years from now. Still laughing, still smiling.
She looked at him and he looked away, desperate to hide his thoughts from her uncanny perception. How much longer could he hold out before he reached the point of no return?
Brian realigned his focus. Better to think about the case than a life with Kendall. He stepped down on the gas and brought the car to speed.
Otis had hidden something and the key was going to unlock a secret and could blow his whole case wide open. Quite possibly it would reveal the reason Otis was murdered.
“Had an interesting conversation with Schneider today.”
“Really. He agreed to spiff up those uniforms?”
“Yeah, right after he pulls the FBI into my case, that’ll be the next item on the agenda.” He tossed her a glance and watched her stare into her lap, fists clenched.
The traffic light glared red and he braked, wishing he’d found another way to tell her. “I’m sorry, Kendall.”
“I could get sucked into their investigation. Prosecuted.”
“Don’t get in front of this. Schneider and I speculated on the crime. There’s nothing to substantiate it. Yet.”
“Talk sense, Brian.”
“Money. We think there was money in the seats and your abductor’s threat confirmed it. Durant will be back in town soon, and Schneider is counting on him to back the theory with hard evidence. He’s willing to talk, but he wants protection.”
“There you have it. If there was money in those cars and I was sitting on it when I drove them to Dallas, across the state lines, I could go to prison.”
He brushed her hand. “I won’t let it happen. You didn’t know what was going on. We can get you immunity for your testimony. I’ll vouch for you.” Brian wished he could ease the knot in the bottom of his stomach, but she was right. If the feds wanted to, they could drag her in.
