Part 19 (1/2)
Those flatfooted fools couldn't catch him in a million years. He was far too smart.
Chapter Twenty-One.
Two weeks, and no progress on the case or solving the body switch. Kevin had left on Sat.u.r.day and had called that night, Sunday night, and already once today, to check on new developments. It pained Cynthia to tell him that nothing had changed.
At the table, with Alex across from her, she finished up her nightly collection of accounting files. She closed the last folder and glanced at him. ”You know this isn't fair. I'm doing two jobs.”
”I know you hate working the serial case, but if you were doing my regular a.s.signments, you'd also have to write up reports for everything. You're lucky the detectives are compiling everything for you and Mike.”
”No, you're lucky. If I had to write up a report, I'd be bringing them home for you to do. So I'm still the loser here.”
”I know,” he said, remorse in his voice. ”You have no idea how I wish I could help you. I get so antsy sitting in your office, thinking of things I could be doing. It would sure help if we could tell Mike.”
Her tired body straightened. ”Why can't we? Aren't you close enough to him to make him believe you?” She leaned her face into her palm. ”Alex, I'm sick and tired of trying to pretend to be something I'm not. What if I really screw up? Someone could get hurt. I'm not a cop and I can't pretend forever. Besides, this isn't what I want to do with my life.”
Alex pondered her words for a moment. ”I know Mike pretty well, but I'm not sure I know anyone well enough to make them believe this story. Yeah, Kevin believes us, but look what we've turned him into. He can't talk about it to anyone either. I'm not so sure he doesn't think we're both nuts anyhow.” He paused and rubbed the back of his neck. ”Okay, I've got a deal for you. Let's enlist Mike's help with the information we've discovered about Sorenson and Cratski. If we can solve the murder case, I'll consider trying the shock thing again.”
”Really?” Her eyes lit up.
”Really. We can't tell Mike what happened to us, but the more I think about our friendly building super, the more I believe he's our man. We don't have anything concrete but we might as well run with what we have.”
Cynthia's adrenaline overrode her tiredness. She pushed her files to the side and rested both arms on the table. Alex had her full attention. ”What do I tell Mike?”
”Let him in on all the things we've discovered, like running Cratski and finding out he's dead. Share with him that...I...you went into the man's apartment and found a receipt in someone else's name. And tell him about the electrical wiring, the blue rags and Sorenson's suspicious behavior. Suggest that they put some sort of surveillance on the front and back entrances of the building and keep a record of his comings and goings. If we had done this already, we might not have had another victim as dead as her plastic companion.”
”That's gross, Alex,” she said with disdain.
”Sorry. I've got to get you out of uniform before you get as callous as I've become.”
Cynthia insisted that Mike drive while she jotted down notes for her report from their last stop, another dead end, but they at least issued a fix-it ticket for bald tires. Suddenly, they seemed to be working traffic stops again despite their present a.s.signment and that meant writing reports.
”Stupid traffic stops and paperwork.” She grumbled under her breath.
Mike cornered way too fast, and a scrawling line marred her perfect penmans.h.i.+p. ”Hey, I'm trying to write here,” she complained.
”Sorry. I guess I'm just getting bored. h.e.l.l, we can't even ha.s.sle the prost.i.tutes anymore until we catch this creep.”
She laid the metal clipboard in the seat. ”Can we park somewhere for a few minutes. I have a lead I'd like to share with you.”
”Sure.” Mike turned into a Wal-mart parking lot, switched off the engine and swiveled in his seat. ”What gives?”
Cynthia laid out everything she and Alex had agreed to share. The furrows in Mike's brow deepened with every fact she revealed, and at the end, his lips had thinned to the point of invisibility. He released a loud breath.
”Why haven't you told me any of this before?” His elevated tone showed his upset.
Cynthia dipped her chin. She wished she could tell him the whole story but she'd promised Alex she wouldn't. Instead, she tried to word things just right. ”I wanted to make sure I had my facts straight. No use in making fools of ourselves.”
He took a deep breath. ”I suppose that's a valid excuse. But we're supposed to be partners. You know, a team?” His tone softened.
”That's why I'm telling you now.”
”Then let's head back to the station and have a chat with the Captain. The publicity on this case has gotten so intense, I'm sure he's open to anything that might lead to an arrest.”
The engine whirred to life, and they sped toward the station. Mike remained silent for the entire drive, but at least his brow had relaxed. Recalling his disappointment at keeping a partner in the dark, feelings of guilt niggled at her. If he found secrecy about a few facts so upsetting, what would he think if he knew he shared the cruiser with a woman?
With their car parked in their numbered slot, Cynthia followed her partner down the long corridor and waited until the watch commander answered Mike's knock.
Her palms sweated like crazy as they sat in Captain's Casey's office while she told him about John Cratski and her suspicions. Not p.r.o.ne to dripping hands, she found yet another thing she hated about being a man. Did Alex contend with this problem every time he got apprehensive?
While she waited for the captain's response, she swiped the wetness on her pants.
There was no emotion in the commander's face as he pondered her story. His angular jaw tensed while his dark eyes fixated on the wall behind her. Finally, he lowered his gaze. ”I may be putting my a.s.s in a sling but I'm approving camera equipment to help with surveillance on your building. I'm willing to trust your instincts, Carlyle. Since we don't have anything else, I sure as h.e.l.l hope this pans out.” His stare intensified. ”Find a place to put the equipment, and you've got twenty-four hours. That's twelve hours each to man the camera. I'm not paying a penny more towards overtime. Our budget is already stretched to the limit.” He stood, back ramrod straight, walked toward the door and opened it. ”Now get out and catch somebody...anybody. The media is killing us by making us look like a bunch of fools. The baby doll killer is right here in our own backyard, so nab the a.s.shole.”
Before Cynthia walked out into the hallway, she paused in front of Captain Casey.
”Thanks, Sir. I just have a strong hunch about this, and I hope I'm right.”
”We all hope you're right, Carlyle, we all hope you're right.”
Alex's arm ached from carrying the file-filled attache. He set the case on the floor while he fished in his purse for his keys. The light bulb in the hallway had burned out and the corridor was darker than usual. As always, the same musty odor was ever present.
A spasm traveled down his arm when he reached for his shoulder bag. Cynthia might be sick of doing the paperwork, but he was pretty d.a.m.n tired of carrying it home every night.
He took a moment and flexed his right arm to work out the kink before unlocking the door. With briefcase in hand, he nudged the door open with his foot and walked inside. The smell of beer hung in the air and he eyed the full trashcan in the corner.
The place smelled like a bar. Cynthia probably hated how he'd stunk up her place. If he noticed the odor, then it had to be bad. He eyed the trash and decided he'd better empty it and light a candle before she came home. His place probably smelled of roses.
His mind flashed to her cologne. He eyed the aged sofa and remembered the night they sat there and cuddled. The recollections stirred a need he hadn't felt in a while.
Unfortunately, the circ.u.mstances weren't quite as perfect now as they were then. Oh, to go back and do things differently. He never would have considered she might have been more comfortable without the lights on. He eyed the lamp on the end table. ”You two-bit piece of s.h.i.+t. This is all your fault.”
He deposited Cynthia's homework on the table and went into the bedroom. No way was he risking a trip to the dumpster in her work clothes. He'd already been down that street and wasn't anxious to relive the tongue thras.h.i.+ng. He threw his purse on the bed and turned to the closet.
Her old jeans and t-s.h.i.+rt were his favorites, and he put them on, remembering to hang her work clothes back in the closet. He had no idea if they were washable or dry cleanable, but for the sake of neatness, and missing yet another lecture, he'd let her worry about that. A trip to the laundromat was definitely in order. Towels and underwear were getting scarce, but he was short of quarters.
After tying her tennis shoes, he packed everything down inside the garbage bag, tied the top and headed out the door. He took the stairs slowly, listening for footsteps along the way. He'd run out of patience with Carpenter, the neighborhood Casanova, and would avoid him even if it meant hiding somewhere.
Luckily the coast was clear and Alex was able to deposit the trash and get back upstairs safely. He realized he'd left the door slightly ajar after all his warnings to Cynthia. What a great role model he was. He couldn't even follow his own advice. Besides, he'd only been gone a couple of minutes. No harm, no foul.
Chapter Twenty-Two.