Karen Rose - I Can See You

Micki’s brows went up. “She went to all the trouble to climb the fire escape?”

Jack’s lips twitched. “Three guesses as to the plants she was so attached to.”

“I thought the same thing,” Noah admitted. “But I bet she got rid of any pot she was growing on her windowsill before she called 911. Let’s finish up here. I’ve already searched the bedroom and bath. You take the kitchen, I’ll take the living room.”

Noah was searching Martha Brisbane’s empty desk drawers when Jack came in from the kitchen, a can of cat food in his hand. “The vic had a cat,” he said.

“There weren’t any cats here,” Noah said and Jack frowned.

“A multiple murderer and a missing cat. Not good. You finding anything?”

“Nothing, and nobody’s desk is this clean. Let’s see the neighbor, get a next of kin.”

“You talk to the neighbor,” Jack said. “I’ll go door to door and find anyone who may have seen her more recently than two weeks ago.”

Sunday, February 21, 8:20 p.m.

Dell stretched out his hand. “Gimme the zoom.”

Harvey shook his head. “You should have brought your own tools.”

Dell shifted in the passenger seat. “They’ve been in there a long time.”

“Means it’s a big case,” Harvey said. “Bigger the case, harder they fall.”

“Sonsofbitches,” Dell muttered. “That article made them look like damn Messiahs.”

Harvey heard the hate in his son’s voice. He felt the same. “Which is why we’ll show the world the truth. Which is why you won’t be taking that gun out of your pocket.”

Dell’s jaw tightened. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t, not till now. But it seemed like the kind of damn fool thing you would have done. You shoot, and they become martyrs on top of being heroes. And you go to prison.” He shot Dell a glare. “I lost one son. I don’t want to lose another. We’ll be patient. We’ll watch and take pictures and prove exactly what kind of men they are.”

“They deserve to die,” Dell said.

“Of course they do. But once we show the world what they really are, they’ll go to prison.” Harvey’s brows lifted. “Do you know what happens to cops in prison?”

Dell’s smile was a mere baring of teeth. “They’ll wish they were dead.”

Sunday, February 21, 8:25 p.m.

Noah placed his mini recorder on Sarah Dwyer’s coffee table. “So I don’t have to take notes,” he said when she eyed the recorder. “How well did you know Martha?”

“I’d see her occasionally in the laundry room. We weren’t friends.”

“But you gave her a key to your apartment, so you must have trusted her.”

“She was a lady in my building,” Dwyer said impatiently. “Sometimes we talked.”

Noah watched her wring her hands. “You seem agitated, ma’am.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I just flew in from Hong Kong and haven’t slept in twenty-four hours.” She pointed to a small hothouse on her dining room table. “I get home, find my prize orchids dead, and my neighbor deader. And you have the nerve to ac cuse me?”

“No one’s accusing you.” Jetlag and shock could account for her nerves, and fury over dead orchids could have sent her up a fire escape. “What did Martha do?”

“She was a computer consultant. I’m pretty sure she worked out of her apartment.”

Noah thought about the empty desk. No papers, no CDs. Only the computer. Odd that a consultant who’d worked out of her home would have no evidence of work.

“In any of your conversations, did she seem depressed or afraid?”

“No. Usually we talked about how much we hated Mrs. Kobrecki. She’s the building manager. Kobrecki and Martha did not get along.”

He’d paged Mrs. Kobrecki several times, with no returned call. “Why not?”

“Kobrecki said Martha was a pig. Martha took exception. That’s all I know. If you want more, you’ll need to talk to Mrs. Kobrecki.” She grimaced. “Or her grandson.”

“Why don’t you like her grandson?” Noah asked.

“He’s a creep. Once I caught him taking my lingerie out of the dryer and sniffing it. I made sure never to do laundry at night again. He only seems to come around at night.”

“What’s his name?”

“Taylor Kobrecki. Why?”

“Just gathering the facts, ma’am. Do you know Martha’s next of kin?”

“Her mom. She’s in a nursing home, in St. Paul.”

Noah stood, giving her his card. “Thanks. If you remember anything, please call me.”

“What is this?” she asked suspiciously. “ Did Martha kill herself?” Noah smiled vaguely. “We’re just following procedure, Miss Dwyer.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. “I’ll have my gun loaded and next to my bed tonight.”

“Anything?” Jack asked, meeting him as he left Dwyer’s apartment.

“Maybe. You?”

“Bupkiss. You get a next of kin?”

“Nursing home, St. Paul. You get any calls back from the building manager?”

“Nope. I couldn’t find any tenants who seemed to care for her.”

“She has a grandson.” Noah’s brows went up. “Panty fetish.” “Interesting. I wonder if Mr. Panty Fetish has a record.”

“I’ll run the grandson, you find the mom. Call and I’ll meet you at the nursing home.”

“What about Gus Dixon’s case reports?”

“Records said they’d have everything pulled when we got back to the station.”

Jack checked his watch with a sigh. “No dessert for me tonight.” Noah gritted his teeth. “You get too much dessert, partner .”

Jack snorted. “This from the man who hasn’t had dessert in how long?”

Noah shook his head. Everyone saw that Jack was a train wreck. Everyone but Jack. “Just find Brisbane’s mother. I’ll meet you there.”

“I’ll call Abbott,” Jack said, “and give him a heads up.”

Abbott was their boss. “I already did, while you were having your ‘quickie dessert.’ ” Jack’s eyes flashed, his lie called out. “And no, I didn’t tell him you weren’t there.”

Jack let out a careful breath. “I owe you one.”

Noah met Jack’s eyes, held them. “Don’t make me sorry, Jack. Please.”

Jack looked away. “I’ll call you when I find Brisbane’s mother.”

Sunday, February 21, 8:45 p.m.

The crowd was cheering at the largest of Sal’s flat-screen TVs. It was college hoops and home team star Tom Hunter had the ball. Not much more needed to be said.

Eve watched her oldest friend fly across the screen, dropping the ball through the hoop like it was nothing. A cheer shook the room and Eve rocked back on her heels.

“Yes,” she whispered, then jumped when a stream of cold beer ran up her sleeve. She jerked the overflowing pitcher out from under the tap and shook her sleeve with a grimace. Careless . She’d have to let it dry, as there was no time to change.

Tonight’s other bartender hadn’t shown. The line at the bar had been unending, but so far, no one was complaining. As long as the home team kept winning, that shouldn’t change. As long as the team kept passing to Tom Hunter, winning was assured.

“Your friend’s got a real gift,” Sal said behind her, quiet approval in his voice.

Eve jumped. For a man with a bad leg, Sal moved with surprising stealth. Then again, the bar was so noisy that she couldn’t hear herself think. Tonight, that was good.

“I know,” she said. She’d known Tom was gifted the first time she’d seen him play on a crumbling blacktop in a poor Chicago neighborhood. She’d been fourteen, Tom ten, both older than their years. She’d been a runaway, and in a different way, so had he.

They’d become friends, raised under the sheltering wings of three amazing Chicago women who had become Eve’s family. But her bond with Tom went far deeper.