Jump The Line (Toein' The Line Book 1) Page 4

  “Naw, man, me‘n her, we’re tight,”he says. “I’m gonna marry Alaina.”

  I snort a mouthful of java, trying to hide my surprise. What’s this sausage-faced bastard think? I’m talking about Alaina Colby? I saw her. Fuck, it’s hard to ignore that kind of beauty. She’s no one I’d connect with Theodore McCloskey, the grizzly sitting across the interview table from me. But I ask anyway. “You mean you and Ms. Colby are . . . engaged?”

  “Haw,”he bawls, slapping the table. “Good one.” He shakes his head. “Negative, good buddy.”

  I gaze at him, steady-eyed.

  “Uh, I mean, uh, I’ve been after her to go on a date, but she ain’t said yes yet. You know what I mean? I go watch her when I get paid so I can look—”

  Recalling his manners, and maybe the fact I’m a cop and it’s my job to protect dancers at Omar’s from salacious bums like him, he looks sheepish, or maybe like a pig that’s just realized I’ve tightened the clamp on his balls.

  “Hell, she’ll come‘round.” He slumps lower in the chair. “Why?”he asks, irritation creeping into his voice.

  Maybe he’s jealous. Maybe he thinks I’m going to ask Alaina out. Nota bad idea. Images from earlier tonight flash through my mind. In the movies harem dancers are dusky-skinned and dark-eyed. They look like Alaina Colby, wearing gobs of mascara and doing a shimmy that made my tongue hard. In the brief glimpses I got of her, it looked like she’d modeled her makeshift outfit loosely on those exotic harem dancers’ costumes, like maybe she used a pair of Wal-Mart curtains stapled together to look like harem pants. Basically, she was wearing more mascara than clothing, if you count her G-string and the two black Wally World curtains rubber banded around her ankles—nothing else. Fuck me. Watching her, I could barely focus on the reason I went to Omar’s.

  Fighting a surge of heat to my groin, I focus on what I know, what I’ve learned about her so far. I’ve had my new rookie partner up all night, running Alaina Colby through Ohio’s and Kentucky’s state crime databases. She’s also been searching county records online.

  DeeDee Laws, NPD’s newest rookie, who used to work as a stringer for the Enquirer but quit when she joined NPD to avoid any conflict of interest, ran Alaina’s background check in record time and came up with zip. Alaina Colby’s clean. She’s got no criminal record. She works as an exotic dancer at Omar’s to pay her way through college. She also works at Verbote Dental weekdays. Meantime, she goes to the university fulltime, an honor student with a minor in dance and a major in criminology.

  I pause. If she’s so clean, why’d she skip out without learning why I was at Omar’s?

  I’ve got a lot of questions about her, some of them not so professional. Is it possible she’s interested in this rumpled trucker, a shoe-in for a part in a movie like Texas Chainsaw Massacre?

  “Theodore, why’d you chase her into the alley?”

  He leans his head sideways and glares. I get a whiff of his body odor. It’s strong, but I can’t complain. My own underarms smell like chicken shit. I’ve been up forever with no sleep, haven’t been home for a shower. All that’s keeping me going is the extra pot of coffee I just asked DeeDee Laws to make. Since the first body showed up a few weeks back, I’ve done nothing but think about this case and our killer,“Megalo Don,”we’ve dubbed him.

  I let my perp sit for a minute, eyeballing his rap sheet. When he doesn’t answer, I pull it back to my side of the table and flip to a page. I pretend to read, not that I need to: I can quote these bastards’ narratives in my sleep. “Says here, you’ve been arrested for assault. Specifications, too. What kind of weapon did you use?”

  “Charges were dropped,”Theodore says, drawing his lips into a victorious smirk, rubbing the thick stubble powdering his cheeks. “You got a cigarette—officer?”

  “No smoking,”I say, nodding toward the sign and returning his attention to the rap sheet. “What about this charge? Sexual assault on a minor.”

  “C’mon, man. She was my old woman. Sixteen at the time. Fresh. Know what I’m saying?” He winks. “I was twenty-two.”

  “They should’ve charged you with statutory rape, Theodore. That way, you’d be taking one up the ass right now, instead of sitting over there acting so smug.”

  I watch his emotions cycle, the expressions on his face changing slowly. First, confusion. Then anger. Finally, he looks like he wants to choke me with those big hands. Sensing the direction I’m heading, but not completely sure where yet, he draws back from the table, highly offended. “Hey, man, what’s this shit all about?”

  “You eat Moon Pies?”

  “The fuck are you talking about?”

  I keep eye contact, my voice still easy going but getting harsher. “Any man worth his salt has a Moon Pie for breakfast, along with his Bud Light and a roll in the sack with his‘old lady.’ That right, Theodore?”

  I stay focused on his mouth, trying to get a glimpse of his teeth. In my mind, I’m trying to match up his incisors with the bite wounds on the latest vic’s body, the young lady who had a life, a future—but no longer. “In case you don’t understand English, I’ll ask again. You eat Moon Pies, Theodore?”

  “Yeah, I eat fuckin’ Moon Pies. So what?” He locks arms across a barrel chest resting on a beer belly.

  Plenty of Moon Pies down that garbage disposal. I’m having a hard time imagining there are women walking the planet who think it’s okay to be called someone’s“old lady.”

  “Can you explain how Moon Pie crumbs showed up on a body dumped in that alley behind Omar’s tonight? Where you just happened to leave your illegally parked service truck? Where you chased Alaina Colby?”

  “Alaina Colby? Hey, wait a minute here.” He shakes his thick head. “You got this all ass backward, officer. I’m the victim. Some sumbitch out there in that alley tased me. Why’re you asking me all these dumb assed questions?”

  “Your empathy astounds me,”I say, my tired brain fueled by sarcasm. Even if he’s murdered my latest vic, or all of them, couldn’t he at least ask about her?

  “Huh?”he says. Perplexed, he shoots me a blank stare.

  I wonder who tased Theodore—Wes or one of the boots who’d shown up?—but I don’t want to distract myself. I’ve seen suspects actually shoot themselves to lead police off their scent. Theodore could easily have done the murder and then tased himself.

  “Murder’s the reason I’m asking,”I say, jaw clenched. “It’s not a charge you’ll be pleading down this time, Theodore.”

  Light dawns in his blue eyes, surrounded by a layer of droopy porcine fat. “Hey, man, what’re you layin’ on me here?”

  “We found a girl’s body in the alley earlier tonight,”I say, watching his expression shift. “She had crumbs on her—Moon Pie crumbs.”

  “Whoa! Hold your horses, Nellie,”he says, starting to lumber to his feet, both hands on the table to hoist himself up. “I ain’t had nothin’ to do with—”

  “Sit,”I say, hoping he’ll think there’s a squad of detectives watching from the other side of the one-way mirror. It’s a ruse. The only one out there at this hour of the morning’s my new rookie partner, DeeDee Laws, and she’s pissed as hell at me.

  “I still got questions,”I say, wishing he’d sip from the bottled water or nosh on the candy bar I’ve brought him. I want a bite impression. I want DNA.

  He ignores both the water and the candy bar. “Am I under arrest?”

  Damn, bro, you’re dense. It usually takes guys of your ilk light years’ less time to get around to asking me that. “Not yet,”I say. “You’re just being questioned. You cooperate, Theodore, and maybe they’ll go easy on you down at the court house.”

  His eyes bulge like yellow grapes through the fat beneath them. I’ve at last got his full attention.

  “Aw, hell no! I ain’t murdered no damn girl!”

  I kick back and let him jaw. I like it when perps get dribble mouthed. They leak out information without realizing it. Kind of surprising, too. With The
odore’s rap sheet, I figured he’d clam up. This interview’s different, though, from his usual. The M word—murder—tends to unnerve even hardened criminals. He’s definitely amateur hour.

  “Let’s try this again. Why’d you follow Ms. Colby into the alley?”

  “I followed her because I . . . wanted to help her. I saw her take off running and you and that blonde broad was chasing her. I thought I’d give her a hand. I’m a gentleman, you know?”

  “Uh-huh.” I scratch my chin. “And I’m Prince-fucking-Charles.”

  “Who?”he asks, and then shakes his massive head. “Look, I didn’t know you and the blonde broad was cops. That’s the truth.”

  Truth? When I hear that word from mouths like Theodore’s, my bullshit radar pings me hard. He shoots me a gaze, half pleading, half mean-assed. I guess we’re no longer best buddies. Then he asks,“She ain’t dead, is she?”

  I’d like to believe he’s got at least one empathetic bone in his body, but I don’t think so, not really. “You tell me, Theodore. Is she dead?”

  “I can’t believe it,”he bawls, realization finally dawning. “Alaina can’tbe dead. She took off with my fuckin’ service truck.”

  I’m fully aware Alaina, and whoever she drove off with in that alley, stole my suspect’s Coca-Cola truck. I smile to myself. She’s not just over-the-moon beautiful but she’s also adventuresome. Sweet.

  “Really?”I say, bastard that I am. “She jacked your fucking truck? Awwww.”

  I let him blubber a few more seconds, and then I tell him,“I’m not talking about Alaina Colby. I’m talking about her friend, Angie Miller. Angie’s dead. You know her? You want to dateher, too, Theodore? What about it? Did you try to make Angie your‘old lady’ and she didn’t want anything to do with you? Maybe she sent you packing?

  “Did her rejecting you hurt your ego—bro?”

  I bang the table with my fists and flip his rap sheet at him. It explodes in his face, and then drops in cascading sheets to the floor.

  Sweat pops on his forehead. My perp’s gaze tightens, and he starts talking nonsense. “I—I didn’t have nothing to do with it. You gotta believe me, I—I was just going to help Alaina when some sumbitch tased me.” Anger flushes his face, highlighting his reddish-blonde beard’s stubble. “I swear, I don’t know nothing about no damned fuckin’ girl named Angie—”

  The door opens and DeeDee’s eyes sweep my perp and then me. I wonder if she’s still pissed because I shook her loose and called Wes when I got the call about the vic in the alley behind Omar’s. She’s not ready to process a homicide scene, so I sent her back to get the cruiser and then called Wes. When she’d argued, I’d told her,“I should have to carry your inexperienced ass around with me and investigate a homicide?” That didn’t go over well.

  “His lawyer’s here,”she says, snarling and letting Theodore know what she thinks of him, or maybe that hot glare’s for me.

  Her snarl is lost on Theodore, though. “M-m-my lawyer?”he says, looking confused. “I ain’t got no gawddamned lawyer.”

  A tall dark man with intense eyes pushes into the room, ignoring me, except to slap a business card into my hand, and then walking straight across the room to my perp. “Mr. McCloskey,”he says,“Don’t say another word.” He picks up the water bottle and candy bar, wrapper and all. “Nice try, Detective Hawks,”he says, turning to me and dropping them into his brief case.

  “B-but I didn’t ask for no lawyer,”Theodore says.

  “Shut up.” Rakesh wipes his hand—and the doorknob to the interview room—with a pristine white handkerchief. “Omar Jain sent me,”he says, barely glancing at his client.

  It’s my turn to be confused. “Why would Omar do that?”

  “Are you charging Mr. McCloskey?”Rakesh demands, his turbaned head and fierce demeanor causing me to succumb to stereotyping and conjure images from the FBI’s most wanted poster in the coffee room. He’s easily Osam bin Laden’s brother.

  I shrug. He knows I’ve got nothing on Theodore, nothing connecting him to my latest vic’s murder, other than crumbs and a Moon Pie wrapper. They’re evidence, and probably belong to Theodore, but I keep this info to myself. Let Gupta and his nasty client find out in discovery.

  I smile. I know something Gupta doesn’t, but so far none of it’s helpful. The other two bodies found have all been just as clean as the most recent vic’s. Until we get DNA, prints, and other forensic analysis back on this vic, my only hope tonight was that Theodore McCloskey would give me something in this interview. He hasn’t. Sure, he beat me into the alley when we were chasing Alaina out Omar’s back door, but his story about wanting to help her—who wouldn’t?—holds water. At least for now, he’s just another thug. I’ve no doubt about that, but he’s not a suspect. I know it. Theodore knows it. Gupta knows it.

  I put Theodore on my list, anyway, and decide I’ll keep him on my radar just in case. “Alright, I’ll be in touch,”I say, standing and offering Rakesh Gupta,“criminal attorney,”his business card says, my hand. “Don’t leave town, Theodore.”

  Ignoring my hand, Gupta grabs my perp by the hairy forearm. “Let’s go.”

  Theodore stops on his way out the door. “You oughta go get my truck back, officer, instead of accusing an innocent man of murder.”

  “You’re all innocent,”I say,“until you’re fucking caught. You’ve been caught, Theodore.”

  “Now wait just a gawddamn minute—”

  “Not another word,”Gupta says, shoving my perp from the interview room. It’s not easy, either, considering Theodore’s size. I gaze at him. Maybe he didn’t murder the girl in the alley, but if he’s innocent of other felonies, then I’m Peter Pan—

  “Stay away from Alaina Colby,”I warn, sorry the second I open my mouth and certain the words I’ve blurted have been provoked by my perp’s size. He’s massive. He’s got an assault record six inches thick and hates women. And Alaina Colby, who’s all woman—another surprising thought whose origin I can’t quite fathom—is yet very vulnerable to whatever chicanery Theodore might decide to dream up. If I’m wrong about Theodore not being Megalo Don, she could easily end up being vic number four.

  “It’s a free country,”Theodore says, jerking his jeans up over a hairy belly by the belt loop and puffing out his barrel chest. “I know my constitutional rights.”

  I almost laugh—almost.

  “Shut up,”Gupta says.

  I ignore DeeDee’s raised eyebrows, her perplexed gaze. Even Rakesh Gupta, the criminal trucker’s patron saint, stares at me. He and Theodore squeeze through the door and exit the interview room. What made me say that? What’s Alaina Colby to me?

  Following them out, DeeDee close behind, I grab my notes and briefcase. “I’m going home to grab a few hours’ sleep. See you at Arnee’s for breakfast. We’ll get a workup started on the latest vic. Captain Meyers is demanding an immediate report.”

  “I’ll be there,”DeeDee says, suddenly all smiles.

  She’s not still pissed that I dumped her and went to the homicide scene with Wes?

  Hmmm. That thought, and her flirty smile, make me worry. This isn’t a date,I want to warn her. I’m DeeDee’s boss until she’s trained, but that’s not the problem. It’s her mother. She’s Newport’s Mayor, Darlene Laws. My boss at Newport PD, Captain Bill Meyers, gave in to Mayor Laws’ demand that he put her daughter on homicide instead of vice, where DeeDee and every rookie belongs. I’ve got to train DeeDee, and at the same time I’ve also got to keep this whole mess from blowing up in my face. That’s not going to be easy, considering DeeDee’s temperament, and her mother’s.

  “Yeah,”I say, feeling a knot forming and gouging my gut. “See you tomorrow.”

  Chapter 6

  Tomorrow arrives before I get a chance to lay my head on the pillow. Bright and early, I skip another shave, do a quick shower, and then rush to meet DeeDee at Arnee’s.

  Shoving eggs around on my plate and drinking coffee to clear the cobwebs from my sleep deprive
d brain, I feel irritable. And I know why.

  The moment I laid eyes on Alaina Colby at Omar’s last night I felt it, the attraction. Instantaneous. Strong. I can’t shake the mental images tailing me from last night. Her hair. The crazy harem outfit. Those breasts.

  In a very good way, it’s torture. Let it go. Roll with it.

  But I can’t. Women don’t get under my skin.

  “Aidan, is something wrong with your eggs?”

  “No, they’re . . . nice.” I plunge my fork into a swollen yolk and stare, but it’s images of Alaina Colby’s taught breasts I keep trying to push from my brain. Most men would argue this is a good quandary, the sweetest form of torture. I just don’t happen to feel that way, not this time. Something feels very different, unsettling as hell.

  DeeDee soaks up adoring stares cast by Arnee’s customers and then launches a smile at me across our table. I don’t bother hiding my frown. Best she starts getting to know I’m not the easy mark she’s apparently got me figured for. Just because women draw a bead on me doesn’t mean I’m easy. Still, she’s got assets . . .

  I sneak another glance. She’s blessed doubly. Cup size and a family that wields local power: DeeDee’s got both. Her grandmother was Newport’s reform mayor, Irene Blackmoore. Irene chased the bars, and the B-girls and prostitutes and naked dancers, out of“Sin City,”Newport’s name back in the day. Thanks to Irene, the only topless dancing bar left in Newport, other than Omar’s, is the Brass Ass. The PC police have moved in, so everyone calls it the Brass Mule nowadays, except the old timers, who simply call it“the Ass.”

  “I’m privileged to be sitting across from you,”DeeDee says.

  “Oh?”I yawn. “Why’s that?”

  “You’re only Newport PD’s youngest ever lead homicide investigator,”she says.

  “Glad you feel that way,”I agree, lying bastard that I am. I turn the problem in my mind. I’m saddled with a rookie who has more political clout than she’s earned and more blonde hair and plastic boobs than a Barbie doll. “Wish I had my old partner back,”I grumble.