Frank knew his way around the police department, but it wasn’t easy being back. He’d rather swallow his tongue than admit it, but he missed being a cop. The surprised expressions and uncomfortable greetings didn’t elude him as he wound through the CAPERS unit toward homicide.
“You know a lot of people,” Kate commented as they entered the homicide division.
“Yeah, I’m a regular social butterfly.”
“They usually make me wait.”
“It’s that Megabitch thing.” He softened the words with a smile.
“Oh, terrific,” she muttered.
They found Detective Bates on the phone at his desk. He was wearing a gray suit that matched his hair to a T. At some point he’d loosened his tie and it hung askew at his neck. He’d removed his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of a shirt that looked as if he’d been wearing it for a week. Knowing Bates, Frank thought, he probably had.
The detective glared at Frank a moment, then dropped the phone into its cradle. “What the hell is so urgent I had to cancel lunch with my wife?” he asked crossly. “Is this about the Ellis case?”
“Since Ms. Megason has to be in court at two, I’ll cut right to the chase,” Frank said. “We want to know why it wasn’t in the police report that Bruton Ellis knew about the new security camera that had been installed at the Snack and Gas.”
Bates stared blankly at him for a moment, and Frank knew immediately the other man didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. Jesus. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Kate that cops could be dense at times.
“What security camera?” Bates asked. “We got the whole thing on video.”
“The hidden camera Ellis took out with the shotgun,” Frank said.
“As far as you know that was a random shot to the ceiling and he got the camera by accident,” Bates said.
“That might be funny if you weren’t serious.”
Bates’s left eyelid began to twitch.
“He knew the camera was there,” Frank said. “A hidden camera behind a hole in one of the acoustic tiles. He shot it out thinking it would keep his face off the six o’clock news. Do you have any idea how he knew it was there?”
“If Ellis had inside help, then he would have shot out the other tape—the one that was working.”
“Unless his partner in crime wasn’t quite up on things.”
“Sounds like bullshit.” But Bates’s face tinged red. “If it’ll get the DA’s office off my back, I’ll have another look at the video.”
Kate stepped up to Bates’s desk. “We were just at the Snack and Gas, Detective. I’ll double-check with the security company the Snack and Gas headquarters uses, but the clerk told us a new security camera had just been installed. It was hidden from view, so without prior knowledge, Bruton Ellis couldn’t have just walked in and seen it.”
“You telling me you think this was some kind of a botched inside job?” Bates asked, but he was starting to look more intrigued than annoyed.
“I’m telling you Ellis knew about that camera,” Frank said. “I’d sure as hell like to know how, wouldn’t you?”
“So if some employee helped, why did Ellis get caught on tape? Why did he hit the place right after the cash was dropped into the box and walk away with only two hundred bucks? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Or maybe Ellis is just a dumb shit and screwed it up. Either way I’d like to know.”
“I hate to shoot holes in your sail, Matrone, but in the scope of things it doesn’t matter. We got Ellis doing the deed on video. Whether he knew about the camera isn’t an issue because he’s going down.”
“And his accomplice gets off scott-free.” Frank laughed, but it was an unpleasant sound. “Who says the criminal justice system doesn’t work?”
Bates looked like he wanted to leap over the desk. Frank almost wished he would. He was still pissed at the PD for forcing him to retire, and he’d like nothing better than to take his anger out on some smart-ass detective.
“Or maybe your new job with the DA’s office is a little too boring for you, Matrone. Maybe you’ve turned into one of those wannabe, rent-a-cop types.”
“Fuck you.” Despite his efforts to keep a handle on his temper, Frank could feel a vein pulsing at his temple, his hands curling into fists at his sides. In the twelve years he’d been with the Dallas PD, he’d never worked with Bates. But the two men had crossed paths enough times for Frank to know he didn’t like him.
“Frank.”
Kate’s voice came to him as if from a great distance. Giving himself a hard mental shake, he hauled himself back from a place he knew better than to venture.
“Ellis knew about that camera and you missed it,” Frank said.
“We got him on tape. He’s in jail. The rest doesn’t matter.”
“It matters if there’s someone else involved.”
“So what did they do? Split the two hundred bucks? Give me a fucking break.”
“Someone told Ellis about the camera, damn it.”
“Maybe Ellis was in the store the day it was installed, for chrissake! Maybe he talked to the guy who installed the camera.” Bates smiled. “Or maybe the CIA is involved and this is some kind of a conspiracy theory to make you look like a fucking idiot. From what I hear, it doesn’t take much.”
“Frank.”
Vaguely he was aware of Kate’s voice, but it was her hand on his arm that brought him back. Stepping back, he looked down at her, saw the look in her eyes and realized he was making a very big impression. A bad one. Without saying a word, he turned and strode toward the door.
Kate came up beside him, matching his pace stride for stride. “That wasn’t very helpful.”
“Fun, though, wasn’t it?”
“Not at all.” She had to trot to keep up with him. “You got a problem with Bates?”
“You mean aside from his being a smug asshole?”
“This isn’t a pissing contest, Frank. I don’t need you rushing in like some loose cannon.”
He gave her a look that had many a man shrinking back. “Back off, Kate.”
But Kate Megason didn’t shrink away. She didn’t even blink. “I don’t care about Bates. What I do care about is this case. We need a good working relationship with the PD to win this.”
“Don’t tell me how to do my job.”
“If you can’t control your temper, you’ll be more of a handicap than an asset, ex-detective or not.”
They reached the elevator. “I’ll take that under advisement,” he said and slapped his hand against the Down button.
SEVEN
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 25, 11:04 P.M.
The north wind shook the windows and howled around the eaves like a drove of keening ghosts in search of shelter from the cold. But Kate was only vaguely aware of the wind as she sat at her desk in the study of her north Dallas home and stared fixedly at her laptop screen. Her father had once told her a tornado could go right over the house and she wouldn’t notice—as long as it didn’t mess up her papers. That much was true. It wasn’t unusual for her to become so engaged in her work that she would lose hours at a time and not even realize it.
As her fingers flew over the keyboard, she was only vaguely aware that her neck and shoulders were stiff. She was working on the Bruton Ellis case. Spread out on the desk were his background report, arrest record, conviction record, and the police report Detective Bates had faxed earlier. Investigator David Perrine had been thorough, and Kate had everything right down to Ellis’s kindergarten report card. The one that plainly noted that he did not play well with others.
Three years ago, when she’d been an intern at the Dallas County DA’s office, her mentor had told her: “The jury wants to hear a motive. Give them a solid motive, and they will convict.” Kate had never forgotten that priceless advice, and to this day it was her first line of attack.
Ellis’s motive was clear. He’d walked into that convenience store because he needed money to feed his drug habit. When
the two clerks had threatened his goal, he’d cold-bloodedly eliminated them. The rape had been a crime of opportunity. The evidence and motive combined were powerful and would most likely win her a conviction.
Still, Kate couldn’t shake a tiny, niggling feeling that something wasn’t right. She wanted to attribute that uneasy feeling to Frank Matrone’s assertion that Bruton Ellis had known about the camera and that the robbery might have been an inside job. Kate wasn’t so sure. And from all appearances, neither was Detective Bates. The only question that remained was whether it was enough for her to proceed and prosecute as planned.
Matrone seemed to be one of those cops who worked as much off gut instinct as he did evidence and facts. Kate, on the other hand, worked strictly off of facts and tangible evidence. She didn’t put much value in hunches. Not when it came to the cases she prosecuted. Justice was far too important to her to risk it on something so capricious. Give her solid, tangible evidence and she could turn it into a conviction.
She recalled the way he’d approached the store clerk that afternoon, and she knew immediately he had once been a good interrogator. Some people had the gift of getting others to talk. Frank Matrone might be a little rough around the edges, but after spending the morning with him she amended her initial assessment that he would not be a benefit to the team. It would be up to her to make sure she used his skills wisely.
Realizing it wasn’t the first time she’d found herself thinking about her new investigator, Kate steered her thoughts back to the case. Absently she rubbed the back of her neck. A look at the clock on the mantel confirmed that she’d been at the computer too long.
She saved the file she’d been working on and closed it. The search engine she’d been using earlier remained on her screen, the curser blinking on the blank line that put so much information at her fingertips. She stared at it for an instant, not allowing her fingers to type what her brain was telling them to. After a long hesitation, she typed in “Frank Matrone” and hit Enter.
The search engine returned sixteen results. She clicked on the first one, and a story that had appeared in the Dallas Morning News some four years earlier materialized. It was a small piece about the promotion of four police officers who’d recently passed their detective examinations. A photograph showed all four men standing in front of a police cruiser. Frank Matrone stood at the end of the group, looking like a naughty kid who’d just emptied the cookie jar without getting caught. Even though the picture was only four years old, he seemed much younger. A tad heavier, as if he’d recently lost weight. His smile was deep and genuine, as if someone had said something tasteless and he’d enjoyed the hell out of it.
Kate mentally compared the image with the man she’d spent the afternoon with, and she instinctively knew something had profoundly changed in the four years since that photograph was taken. She was usually good at reading people, but she hadn’t been able to get a handle on Frank. She thought he was probably good at locking people out and wondered what he didn’t want anyone to see.
She felt like a sneaky teenager as she right-clicked on the picture and used her photo imaging software to enlarge it. The images of the four police officers filled her screen. But it was Frank Matrone who drew her eye. The image of him grinning with his arms folded at his chest commanded her full attention—and then some. He was attractive in a rough-around-the-edges sort of way. Dark hair. Dark eyes. An expression that could go from charming to cutting in an instant. She wanted badly to believe she was snooping because it was her business to know the people who worked for her. But Kate was honest enough with herself to admit her curiosity about Frank Matrone went deeper than professional interest.
Kate was not some flighty teen girl. She was a mature woman and knew well the dangers of entertaining inappropriate thoughts about a man who was working for her. But she wanted to know more about Frank Matrone. He was funny and unpredictable with an air of mystery that intrigued her a lot more than she wanted to admit. Mike Shelley had mentioned that Frank had been injured while overseas. She wondered if that was why he’d left the police department. If that was why he walked with a limp.
Realizing that she was ogling a photograph of a man she had no intention of getting involved with, she clicked the mouse and closed the image without saving it. Her screen blinked back to her search results page. The second link was also a story from the Dallas Morning News. “Police Detective Earns Purple Heart at Great Personal Sacrifice.”
Kate stared at the link, her finger hovering over the mouse an instant before she clicked. The article appeared replete with photos. Frank lying in a bed, covered with a white sheet from the hips down. His chest was muscular and covered with a thatch of black hair. He was smiling for the camera, his right hand raised in a thumbs-up.
Army reservist Frank Matrone gives a thumbs-up as he arrived at Ft. Hood yesterday morning after spending seven weeks at a military base hospital in Germany. He was one of two American soldiers critically injured in a suicide bombing on March 20 while on leave in Jerusalem. A parade celebrating the safe return home of one hundred and fourteen other soldiers stationed at Ft. Hood is scheduled for Saturday.
Kate read the story twice. She’d known he’d gone overseas, but her knowledge of what had happened ended with that. When Mike had told her he’d been injured, she hadn’t cared. All she’d cared about was getting a good investigator for her case. Someone who could get the job done. For the first time it dawned on her that Frank might be more vulnerable than he let on. That he might be more human than she’d anticipated. That rough-around-the-edges ex-detective might have some issues to work through.
“Do it on your own time, Matrone,” she muttered as she shut down the computer.
But as she turned out the study light and headed toward her bedroom, she found herself wondering why he looked so damn sad sometimes. So . . . disconnected. She wondered if any of those things had to do with the time he’d spent in the Middle East.
THURSDAY, JANUARY 26, 12:13 A.M.
A sense of freedom overwhelmed her seventeen-year-old mind as she sat behind the wheel of her mother’s 1991 Gold Lexus and grinned out at the open road ahead. The windows were rolled down and REM was cranked up as high as the stereo would go. Michael Stipe was belting out a tune about losing his religion. Kate didn’t know exactly what those lyrics meant. All she knew was that she wanted to lose hers, too.
Next to her, Kirsten was sipping a Corona and slapping her palm against the door in time with the drum. The night was sweltering—typical for Houston in July—but neither girl cared about the heat. After days of planning, they’d finally done it. They’d sneaked out of the house while their parents slept. They had Mom’s car, a six-pack of beer, and a party to go to. Life just didn’t get any better when you were seventeen and as wild as the summer days were long.
Kate and Kirsten weren’t going to just any party. They were going to a frat party. A party Kate had been hearing about for weeks now. It was at a big house with a pool not far from the Woodlands. The parents were in Portugal. Mark Preston, a freshman at Texas A&M, had told her there was going to be a keg and plenty of hard liquor. Maybe even marijuana. Not that Kate planned on doing drugs; she drew the line at alcohol. But breaking the rules was so exciting!
She felt so grown-up. As if she were already in college and not some dumb high school senior and too young to matter. She couldn’t wait to get to the party. She’d never been to a frat party, and the thought of hanging out with an older crowd excited her until she thought she would burst. She’d worn her tightest jeans and heels that showed off her long legs. Beneath her snug T-shirt, she was wearing a push-up bra with a little bit of padding. She looked older than seventeen. She hoped nobody would hassle them once they arrived.
“Give me one of those Coronas, will you?” she asked.
Kirsten giggled as she pulled a beer from the six-pack and passed it to Kate. “Just make sure you hide it if you see a cop.”
“We’re not going to see a cop.”
>
They were sitting at a stoplight in a quiet industrial area. It was just after eleven P.M. and the streets were deserted. Kate glanced at her watch. If she pushed it, they could be there in twenty minutes. She and Kirsten had agreed to stay for an hour. Then they would leave, sneak back into the house—and no one would ever be the wiser.
Smiling, she took a sip of beer. Michael Stipe was now singing about shining, happy people. She sang along, knowing the words by heart. The beer was just starting to go to her head and she felt wonderful. They had the whole night ahead of them. She wondered if Justin Riley was going to be at the party. She’d met him last year when he’d been a senior, and she would never forget the way he’d looked at her. . . .
The car jolted violently, yanking her from her thoughts. “What the—”
“Some bozo hit us!” Kirsten blurted, turning in her seat to look behind them.
But even before looking in her rearview mirror, Kate knew they’d been hit from behind. She saw the headlights in her rearview mirror. Damn. Damn. Damn! Of all the bad luck!
“I told you we shouldn’t do this!” Kirsten exclaimed.
“Just shut up and stay calm,” Kate snapped. “And hide the beer.”
“How are we going to explain a dent to Mom and Dad?”
“I don’t know. We’ll think of something.” Kate bit her lip. She was gripping the wheel so hard her knuckles hurt. “I’m going to see how bad the damage is.”
Putting the car in Park, she swung open the door and stepped into the sultry night. She squinted, trying to see, but the headlights blinded her. She could make out the outline of a man. He was tall and thin with long hair. She hoped he was nice.
“Hello,” she said, trying to make her voice strong.
As she drew nearer she could see that he wasn’t too old. Maybe in his twenties. He wore a dark T-shirt with the sleeves cut off and blue jeans. He was tall and wiry, but the muscles in his arms were big. He wore a blue bandanna over the top of his head.
“Sorry ’bout hitting you,” he drawled.