Lucy hesitated, then shook her head. "Not yet. There's something I need to check first. But Kaz—be careful."
#
At the fire station, Michael stapled the last of his notes together and placed them in the arson investigation file. His cell phone rang. Dropping the file folder on the desk in front of him, reached for the unit, flipping it open. Recognizing the Caller ID, he smiled. "Mac. You ship me those coffee beans yet?"
"Sent them out yesterday. Tasha at the coffee shop sends her best. How the hell you keep them sniffing around when you don't put out, buddy, is a mystery to the entire staffs of the fire and police departments of the Greater Boston Area."
"Right." Michael's smile widened, remembering the events of last night. Mac didn't know that he'd finally broken his long run of celibacy.
He'd forgotten that making love to the woman you'd fallen in love with was a completely different, shattering experience. He felt like he'd been turned inside out, that he'd crossed some invisible threshold and was now looking at the world with an entirely new perspective.
"Yo, buddy. You still there?" Mac's voice held a note of curiosity.
Michael forced his mind back to the present. "Any word back on who's been checking me out?"
"The mayor of your cute little burg called a few of the higher-ups, including your surrogate papa, but that's no surprise. And someone from the police department evidently talked to Geoff Whitford who, as we all know, loves you just the way you are. The sonofabitch probably blabbed everything, out of spite."
Michael wouldn't be surprised. Mac was right—Whitford had resented Michael for more than a decade, stemming from an incident during Whitford's rookie years. Michael had been the one to write him up, and to point out to the brass that Whitford wasn't good management material. If Geoff could make Michael's life difficult, he'd leap at the chance. "You know who placed the call?" Michael asked.
"Couldn't ferret that out. So, when are you moving back?"
"Not in this lifetime."
"Says the person with the addiction to quality caffeine."
Michael's phone beeped, indicating another incoming call. "Gotta go. Say hello to Sharon for me."
"You're behind a little, pal. That's what living in the boonies gets you. This week, it's Susie."
Michael shook his head, smiling, and ended the call, picking up the next one. It was the state lab. "Tell me what you've got."
The lab technician, for once, sounded dead serious. "You'd better get over here. Now."
~~~~
Chapter 24
Lucy watched Sykes go down the hall to his office, enter, and close the door. She stood and wandered over to the vending machine against the far wall, fed quarters into it, punching the button for a can of soda with more force than was necessary.
Okay, think. Something wasn't adding up—what she'd just overheard didn't compute. And dammit, if she just had more caffeine in her system, her fuzzed-out brain would be able to sort through this mess.
Clint Jackson had told her that Sykes had been the one to put Gary on suicide watch. But Sykes was acting as if this was news to him. So someone was lying. And when she put that together with Gary's refusal to talk to the cops all along, then the way he resisted arrest...hell. Somewhere, there was a dirty cop. And the obvious choice was Jackson.
Could he be the in-town buyer of the drug smuggling ring? The fishermen were just the runners, she was fairly certain. But a cop? She knew these guys. She had trouble believing that any of them would be in on drug deals.
Then again, who better than a cop? A cop would have the inside track on investigations and undercover narc work. She remembered what her snitch had said the other morning at the warehouse. You cops, you think you're above the law.
A shiver ran down her spine. Jackson made sense—he'd been in the right places all along. He'd been assigned surveillance on Kaz's house, yet suspiciously absent when she'd had break-ins. Hell, he'd even been in on conducting the search warrant. He'd been in the vicinity and easily could've attacked Kaz afterward. And he'd been present at Gary's arrest. How many of Gary's injuries were really the result of resisting arrest?
She slapped the wall beside the vending machine, then leaned her forehead against her arm, closing her eyes. If she was right, then Gary was in real danger. He knew too much to be left alive. And a cop could make it look like suicide.
She gulped down soda. Although she didn't like her options, she had no choice—she had to take her suspicions to Sykes. If she were wrong, well, then she'd look like a fool. So what else was new? It wouldn't be the first time she'd jumped to conclusions and then had to live down the consequences.
No question that the guys on the force wouldn't trust her from here on out. Cops didn't rat on each other. But stand by and watch Gary possibly be murdered? No way.
She turned and walked down the hall to Sykes' office. His door was still closed—she could see through the window that he was on a phone call. When he finished, she tapped on the door and opened it, entering.
Eyebrows raised, Sykes motioned for her to sit. "What's on your mind, McGuire?"
"Sir, I'd like you to delay the arraignment."
He leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head, a scowl on his face. "I've already been through this with Kaz. Jorgensen doesn't need his own lawyer to stand there for five minutes and enter a plea."
"That's not what I'm talking about." Lucy leaned forward in her chair. Her best strategy was to convince Sykes that the case wasn't yet solid enough. "I've uncovered some information that indicates that Gary might've been framed."
Sykes went abruptly still. "What makes you think that?"
"Well, for one thing, Gary's not stupid enough to leave the tire iron where we could find it. And," she continued before he could argue, "the timeline doesn't work. I got the lab results back, and given the match of the concrete and mud samples with the bridge, Gary wouldn't have had time, after leaving the tavern, to meet up with Ken, kill him, then transfer him to the boat and set a time-delayed fire. Kaz was right on his heels—"
Sykes held up a hand. "Look, McGuire. I understand that you haven't worked that many homicides, so you wouldn't necessarily be aware that, in cases like these, not all the evidence lines up neatly. There's always some detail that doesn't seem to make sense. But that doesn't mean that Jorgensen is innocent. The man ran, and he resisted arrest."
"I think I can explain that," Lucy said urgently. "If I'm right about a theory I'm working on, one that I'd like your permission to pursue."
Sykes took his time pulling out a cigar and lighting it. After a couple of puffs, he motioned for her to continue.
She drew a breath and plunged in. "You said, a few minutes ago, that you didn't know that Gary had been placed on suicide watch."
Sykes stared at her through a cloud of smoke, his expression blank. "So?"
"So Clint told me before you got here that you were the one who had put Gary on suicide watch." Lucy waited for a reaction, but he said nothing. "Don't you see? If Clint is in on this, and Gary knew it, he'd be afraid to turn himself in."
"Whoa." Sykes sat forward abruptly. "McGuire, you can't just go around accusing your fellow officers of being dirty."
"But what if Clint put Gary on suicide watch because it would make a good explanation if he winds up dead?"
Sykes didn't say anything for a long moment, and she resisted the urge to shift in her chair. Finally, he nodded thoughtfully. "Interesting theory. Do you have any proof?"