Gone Too Far (Devlin & Falco), page 10
Falco followed Kerri through the parking area. “No reason. It never came up.” He stopped at the tailgate of her Wagoneer. “It’s not like we’ve talked about her family. We haven’t even talked about her that often. Not since the Abbott case.”
Flashes of memory from those days and weeks tore through Kerri; she blinked them away. “True.”
She walked around to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel. Usually Falco did most of the driving, but with the tragedy at Tori’s school, Kerri needed her vehicle handy in the event she had to leave suddenly. Her chest tightened with the thought. Tori had been far too quiet this morning. The atmosphere in the house reminded her of this time last year after Tori’s father had left. The somber silence and unspoken anger were hard to bear.
This time instead of anger it was fear pulsing in the silence. Kerri did not want her daughter to be afraid. She didn’t want her to be unhappy or sad or hurt. But how could she protect her from all that life had the potential to hurl at her?
She couldn’t. No parent could.
Sadie’s Loft
Sixth Avenue, Twenty-Seventh Street
Birmingham, 2:00 p.m.
Falco pounded on the door again.
Kerri ended her third call to Cross’s number. “Did she tell you what time she would call you today?”
“Nothing specific.” Falco glared at the camera above the door. “Open the damned door, Cross. I know you’re in there. Your ancient Saab is in the alley.”
Kerri scanned the alley below. The Saab was parked beneath the fire escape. Unless Cross had left with a friend, Falco was right. She had to be in there. Avoiding them, most likely. She thought of Mason Cross. Strong build. Obviously intelligent and good at his job or he wouldn’t be in charge of the Birmingham district office. Dressed like a general, only in civilian clothes. Fierce attitude. One of those guys who went strictly by the book and thought he should be in charge of any given situation. Supremely uptight and no doubt completely ruthless.
Then she thought of Sadie Cross. A total contradiction to her father. So laid back she was practically in a coma. Thin to the point she could just disappear. Dressed like a street dweller. Capable of anything whether it was legal or not. The one thing the two had in common was obvious intelligence. Unlike her father, Sadie Cross expected nothing of anyone. Her resources were like her, ragged, unkempt, but incredibly smart and capable. That was the strangest part about the woman and her group of misfit resources—they were like this unexpected group of geniuses who had somehow fallen out of accepted society.
Falco pounded on the door again. Kerri jumped at the sound. “If that doesn’t get her attention, she’s either not at home or dead.”
The sound of dead bolts sliding snapped their gazes back to the door. When the door opened, Cross stared first at Falco and then at Devlin with enough irritation to blast them off the landing.
“It lives,” Falco griped.
“What time is it?” Cross asked, her voice rusty.
“Two o’clock,” Kerri said. The woman looked hungover, seriously hungover. Her hair was mussed. Her clothes the same ones she’d been wearing yesterday. Actually, it was difficult to tell about the wardrobe. Ragged jeans and tees were her usual attire. As were the well-worn sneakers.
“I need coffee.” Cross gave them her back and disappeared into her perpetually dimly lit loft.
Since she’d left the door open, Kerri and Falco followed.
“You were supposed to call me,” Falco reminded her.
Her hands shook as she attempted to pour the water from the carafe into the coffee maker. Water splashed on the counter.
“Give me that.” Falco took the carafe from her and finished the job.
While he scooped coffee grounds into the basket, Kerri said, “I met your father this morning.”
Cross’s bloodshot eyes shifted to Kerri. “Aren’t you the lucky one?”
Falco shoved the basket into the machine and started the brewing process. “He took over our case. The DEA is now lead.”
“Surprise, surprise.” Cross reached for her cigarettes and lit up. “That’s what the old man does when it serves his best interests.”
The smell of coffee drifted into the air. Would never be enough to block out the smell of cigarette smoke. Kerri got the distinct impression that Cross was trying to kill herself. In Kerri’s opinion there were far easier ways.
“What was the deal between you and Walsh?” Falco demanded. “No more beating around the bush, Cross. I want the truth. All of it.”
“Give me five minutes, and we’ll talk all you want.” She walked across the room, leaving them staring after her.
She grabbed a black tee from the pile of clothes on a dresser. Scrounged for a pair of jeans and underwear and then disappeared into the bathroom.
Kerri shook her head. “Has she always been this hell bent on killing herself?”
Falco shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a little.”
He’d told Kerri as much as he knew about Sadie Cross’s story. Deep cover cop. Things had gone to hell, and she’d ended up damaged goods. Apparently, she and her father were not on good terms. He didn’t approve of her lifestyle, Kerri imagined. She didn’t have to know the man to recognize he likely approved of very little. Since Cross was an only child, he had no doubt attempted to mold her into something that resembled his image.
Clearly, he had failed miserably.
Then again, Kerri wasn’t exactly the perfect parent. She had no right to judge anyone else. Except that she already disliked Mason Cross. Immensely.
While they waited, Kerri wandered around the space. There were windows facing the street. None that overlooked the alley, thus the cameras. Cross kept the blinds closed tightly. Her furnishings were sparse and had seen better days. The kitchen area was more a kitchenette with a small peninsula skirted by a couple of stools. A television. Music system. All looked to be from the previous decade. A movable whiteboard—the type on legs with wheels—she likely used for cases stood in the corner near the door. Lots of filing cabinets lined the wall, fronted by a massive wooden desk that might actually be an antique. The top was cluttered with papers and file folders. An empty whiskey bottle lay on one end. No glass or cup.
This would certainly explain the megahangover.
The bathroom door opened, and Sadie Cross emerged, dark hair wet, clothes as wrinkled as the ones she’d been wearing before her shower.
“Pour me a cup, Falco.”
Judging by the urgency in her voice, Kerri figured she felt on the threshold of death’s door. Since Kerri was closer to the counter, she grabbed a mug and the carafe and poured the hot liquid.
Cross came straight to her and took the mug. It wasn’t until after she’d finished off the first cup that she spoke. “I haven’t heard anything new from my sources. I told you why Walsh was talking to me. I said I’d call you if I had anything new, but I don’t. What is it you want from me?”
Falco kicked off the questioning. “You and Walsh were working on an off-the-record case.”
“I told you that already,” Cross growled.
“Like I told you already,” Falco said, “we saw the case board he’d made in the back of his closet. Whatever the two of you were doing was a lot bigger than you led us to believe.”
Kerri added, “It was dangerous, and it’s likely the reason he’s dead.”
That part was a no-brainer.
Cross poured another cup of coffee, took a breath before meeting Kerri’s gaze. “I’m not stupid, Devlin. I know he’s dead because of me. I told him what he was doing was dangerous, but he didn’t listen.” She walked over to the whiteboard near the door, pulled it aside, and gestured to the wall. “Look familiar?”
Kerri moved to her side and stared at the wall, which looked very much like the one in Walsh’s room at his aunt’s. Sticky notes, photos, newspaper articles were stuck to the wall. The name that jumped out at Kerri was Osorio.
“This is the operation you were working on when you disappeared,” Falco said, his gaze roving over the notes and photos. “I remember it was all over the news when the son, Eduardo, disappeared.” He turned to Cross. “That was months—close to a year—before you resurfaced.”
Cross cradled her mug. “And these”—she gestured to the wall—“are the pieces I can remember from those lost months. Everything else is a fog.”
“How did you and Walsh meet?” Kerri decided Falco was right. Walsh and Cross obviously had a thing. He’d been digging around for information about the cartel, and he’d discovered the operation from four and a half years ago. What better way to learn details than by getting close to a member of that op?
“He came to me. Like I said.” Cross’s attention remained on the many fragments of her past she’d lost. “He claimed he’d come to Birmingham for a purpose: to stamp out the Osorio cartel’s connections here.”
So the hotshot had an agenda after all, Kerri mused.
Falco scoffed. “Did you remind him how many have tried?”
Cross grunted. “He was well aware.”
“Why?”
Cross looked to Kerri. “Why what?”
“Why the Osorio cartel? Why Birmingham? Why do this off the record? We’ve found nothing in Walsh’s background that gives us any sort of motive.”
The last part was the big question in Kerri’s opinion. As a part of the district attorney’s office, Walsh would certainly want to see that crime was stamped out—that justice prevailed and the law of the land was upheld. It was the whole purpose of the DA’s office. Why now? Why here? Why this particular criminal element? Where was the fire that fueled his passion? The match that lit the fire? Something or someone had to have triggered his decisions.
Cross shrugged. “No clue. All I know is I never met anyone who wanted to stamp out the big drug sources—particularly the Osorio cartel—more than Walsh. Whatever his motives, he was over-the-top antidrug.”
She turned and walked away from the wall of fragmented memories. Poured herself a third cup of coffee and focused on downing it.
“Why would you lie about how involved the two of you were?” Kerri joined her at the counter. “Is there some reason you didn’t want to share with us what he—or the two of you—were doing?”
Cross, her expression locked down like a vault, stared at Kerri. “I said I would check with my sources and see what I could find out. Otherwise, now you know what I know. Can we move on?”
Kerri shook her head. “Then why feel as if his death is on you? You said he’s dead because of you. What was he working on specifically? How exactly were you helping him? You’re sharing only vague details, Cross. Reluctantly at that. And what I’m reading in your body language isn’t vague at all. His death affected you deeply. Why, if—as you say—you don’t really know anything at all?”
“Maybe you’re not as good at reading people as you think. You got it wrong this time.”
“I am not wrong.”
Cross plunked the mug down on the counter. “Trust me, Devlin. You do not want to go down this path. You have a daughter. She needs you.”
The words took Kerri aback as nothing else the woman could have said or done would have, but she rallied. “Don’t use my daughter as an excuse to avoid the truth. You know we’re investigating this case. Why leave us in the dark?”
“I thought you said dear old Dad took it from you.”
Kerri held her stare until, remarkably, the other woman flinched.
“Fine. Just remember that you asked for this.” Cross looked from Kerri to Falco and back. “Walsh believed that someone in a powerful position in Birmingham helped the Osorio family forge a path through Birmingham as their major channel of distribution. He wanted to find that link no matter the cost. You happy now?” Cross waved an arm at the dozens of sticky notes on her wall. “This isn’t going to help you solve your case, but if you start asking questions on the subject, it will get you dead.”
“He’s been here only a few months,” Falco argued before Kerri could respond. “He came to this conclusion that quickly when no one else had?”
“Maybe the link is in the DA’s office,” Kerri offered, barely keeping her voice level as anticipation pounded through her veins.
Cross held up her hands. “I don’t know who he suspected; he wouldn’t say. All I know is he wanted my help. I made the mistake of agreeing, and now he’s dead.”
“He got too close to the truth,” Falco said.
Kerri turned to him. Her partner was right. It was the only reason to bother eliminating such a high-profile target. “Your father said Walsh’s murder was because he’d stumbled into an ongoing DEA operation. If that’s what happened, why wasn’t Walsh working with him instead of behind his back?”
Cross thought about the question for a bit before answering. Kerri wondered if she was putting a story together or collecting her thoughts.
“The DEA and every other law enforcement agency you can name has wanted to stop the Osorio cartel for years,” she said finally. “Walsh wanted to stop the people in positions of power who support the cartel, starting here. Those two goals aren’t the same.”
“Why do you say that?” Kerri asked.
Cross stared at her. “The ones Walsh wanted to stop are people the world around them believes in, respects. Except they have no idea that some of those icons of trust and justice wear masks that conceal the worst kind of evil.”
11
2:30 p.m.
Brighton Academy
Seventh Avenue
Birmingham
Tori kept her head turned down as if reading while she surveyed the other tables in the library.
They were watching her.
All of them.
“I’m terrified for you,” Alice whispered.
Fear slid icy cold through Tori’s body. She turned her head just enough to look her friend in the eye. Alice was the only person who had sat down at Tori’s table.
No one else was speaking to her . . . just watching her. They were all watching her. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Alice pretended to read her book, but, like Tori, she wasn’t. Enough. Tori had done nothing wrong. She lifted her gaze and scanned the tables. Faces instantly turned away, heads tilted downward. Tori gritted her teeth. She had gone to school with most of the kids since kindergarten. How could they believe she had done something so terrible?
She lowered her gaze to the printed pages. “I didn’t do anything.”
This was the truth. She’d never laid a hand on Brendal. She’d argued with her, sure. The girl was mean. She loved to hurt people. Tori’s mom had taught her to stand up for herself and her friends. She wasn’t going to stand by and allow some bully to just say whatever she wanted without speaking up.
“Maybe you just need to tell the truth.”
Tori’s gaze jerked toward Alice once more. From the day Alice started at Brighton, Tori had been in awe of her. She was so beautiful. Her long dark hair and intense dark eyes were like exotic or something. She had those lips celebrities paid big money for and extralong, thick lashes. Tori’s stomach cramped. She didn’t remember a lot about her grandmother. She’d died like seven years ago. But she did remember this funny rule she’d always recited. Pretty is as pretty does.
Alice wasn’t as pretty as Tori had thought.
“What do you mean?” Tori said this louder than she’d intended. She lowered her voice. “I did tell the truth.”
“Did you?” Alice’s dark gaze was laser focused on Tori, as if she could see inside her brain. See her thoughts.
“Of course I did. Why would I lie? I didn’t—”
“Everyone knows, Tori.”
Alice didn’t look away, didn’t blink. Her gaze was hypnotic. It drew Tori and at the same time terrified her.
“I . . . I don’t know what you mean.”
Not even a blink. “They know Brendal had figured out your secret. She was going to tell the whole school.”
Impossible. The only person who had known was dead. Tori had confided in her cousin Amelia. No one else in the whole wide world knew.
Unless . . .
Alice nodded as if reading her mind. “Yes. Sarah knows. She’s always known.”
Tori swallowed back the awful taste suddenly filling her mouth. “Sarah is my best friend. She wouldn’t say anything to hurt me.”
“Are you certain?” Alice countered. “She goes to that very strict church. They don’t accept just anyone, you know.”
Tori’s heart beat faster, throat tightened. She struggled to draw in a breath. “You’re wrong.” She stole another covert glance around the library. Some still stared at her and whispered behind their hands to their tablemates. Faster, faster, Tori’s heart pounded. “No one knows.”
“I know. Remember?”
The air stalled in Tori’s lungs as her gaze swung back to the other girl’s. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. No one knows. Not even Sarah.” A tiny burst of anger gave her courage. “You’re lying.”
Tori had seen Alice talking to Brendal. Lots of times. At least for a while. Then Brendal had started her usual mean crap, and Alice had ended up all alone again. Tori had felt sorry for her. She’d invited Alice to sit with her and Sarah at lunch again—despite how Alice had blown them off for Brendal. Sarah hadn’t wanted to. Not at first anyway.
But it was the right thing to do. Wasn’t it?
“I do know. You just don’t remember what happened that night.” Alice smiled. “Doesn’t matter, why would I ever tell? I’m your friend. I love you. But they see it. Anyone who really looks can. It’s so obvious. They probably think you and Sarah—”
“No,” Tori snapped. “Sarah and I are best friends. That’s all.”
“Has anything like Brendal’s fall ever happened to anyone you and Sarah know?”
