"Not yet, but I'm working on it. And Kaz could have plenty later this evening."
"Oh?" He pinned her with a hard look. "You letting a civilian get mixed up in this?"
She fell back on the excuse that he would understand. "Do you think I could've stopped her? Her brother's in jail, accused of a crime he probably didn't commit—"
"We don't know that," Sykes said, his tone firm. "I'm still inclined to believe that he's guilty. But he may not have been working alone—almost certainly, he wasn't. Where is Kaz right now?"
Lucy hesitated. She'd opened the door—she could hardly refuse to answer. "The mooring basin."
He stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray and stood, indicating that their meeting was over. "I'll look into what you've said. I don't want one cop investigating another on my force. Until I have more proof, I'm not formally investigating one of my own detectives. If you pick up any other information, you need to tell me right away, is that clear?"
"Yes, sir." Lucy stood and turned to go.
"McGuire?"
At the door, she turned back. "Sir?"
"Good work."
#
At the Redemption, Kaz sat in the darkened corner of the same booth that Michael had occupied that first night, sipping a glass of beer and watching the other patrons in the bar. She'd tried Michael at the station, but there'd been no answer. Then she'd left a message on his cell phone. So far, he hadn't shown up.
Steve hadn't been happy when he'd seen her arrive, but she doubted he suspected why she was there. Svensen was standing at the bar along with Jacobsen and others. It was now two hours before the end of slack tide. If Karl was planning to make a move, he had to make it soon.
Karl drank the last of his beer and paid his bill, then headed for the back hall, his actions exhibiting a casual purposefulness. Anyone watching him, though, would assume he was simply going to the men's room.
After a minute, Kaz stood and followed him. The back hall was dimly lit, like the rest of the bar. Several doors, all closed, led off it, and at the very back, a door led outside, probably to the pier. Svensen was nowhere to be seen.
Kaz walked down the hallway to Steve's office door. She turned the knob quietly, opened the door a crack, and glanced inside. The room was empty. She stood there for a moment, perplexed. Then she heard a toilet flush in the men's room, and footsteps. She ducked into the office, closing the door behind her.
That had been close. Evidently, Karl really had come back here to relieve himself of all that beer. Then the footsteps got louder, coming down the hallway.
The knob of the office door turned. She hurriedly glanced around for a hiding place, then she dove underneath the desk, curling herself up as best she could inside the cavity and pulling the chair back into place.
The door opened, temporarily letting in the noise from the bar. The bar noise abruptly muted as Karl closed the door, locking it from the inside.
Kaz concentrated on breathing shallowly and quietly.
The light came on, and she watched boot-clad feet walk over to the file cabinet. He opened a file drawer. The plastic of folder frames clacked as he shoved them together. Then she heard something thud down on top of the cabinet. As quietly as possible, she shifted so that she could put her head down on the floor and look out from under the edge of the desk.
Karl stood with his back to her, unwrapping some kind of package. She heard a rustling sound, then he slammed the drawer shut, picked up the package, and turned around. Just before she ducked back under the desk, she saw that whatever he had was covered in black plastic. Her movement brought her butt up against the other wall of her hiding space. The wood of the desk creaked ever so faintly.
He stopped, turning back toward her hiding place. She stopped breathing.
After a long moment, his boots shifted out of sight. The light went off, plunging the room into darkness. Then, silence.
He wasn't leaving. Her air was running out, her heart pounding so loud she couldn't believe that he couldn't hear it.
Finally, finally, he crouched in the far corner of the room, pulling back the carpet. Reaching for something in the flooring, he flipped it, then used it to pull open the trap door. The dank odors of the pilings and stagnant water flowed into the room. She heard the waves lapping against the pier. There was a shuffling noise, then he dropped through the door, pulling it closed after him.
Kaz sucked air into her deprived lungs.
She climbed out from under the desk. Gary's information had been dead on—Karl was probably on his way upriver to the mooring basin. She had only minutes to spare if she wanted to follow him.
Rounding the desk, she cautiously opened the door. The hallway was clear. She slipped out, closing the door behind her. Smoothing her clothes and hair, she walked back into the bar. Steve gave her a sharp glance, his eyes worried. She smiled reassuringly.
Casually walking over to her table, she sat down and drank the last of her beer, unhurriedly setting down the mug, then placed some folded bills under the edge of the glass. Standing, she walked calmly out the door.
Outside, she broke into a run.
~~~~
Chapter 25
After losing a battle with herself, Lucy walked back toward the interrogation room to talk to Gary one more time in the hopes of getting him to cooperate. She needed to stay out of it, let Sykes handle it. But where Gary was concerned, well, she might as well get used to it—she had no objectivity.
As she reached out to open the door, she glanced out the window at the end of the hallway. And froze her in her tracks.
Sykes was standing in the parking lot next to a police cruiser, talking to whoever was inside. He said something, threw his head back and laughed, then reached inside the window to clap the cop on the shoulder. Then the cruiser backed out of the parking spot, turning and giving Lucy a clear view of who was driving.
Clint Jackson.
She leaned against the interrogation room door, closing her eyes. Sykes hadn't believed her. She made a sound of self-disgust. And why would he? She was the rooky detective, the one who had no experience. The one with the rep for jumping to conclusions.
She stood in the hallway, debating. Gary was in grave danger, she wasn't wrong about that. She had to buy him some time.
She glanced toward the squad room. Ivar was sitting where he'd been for the last two hours, still working on Kaz's computer. Should she tell him what she was up to? No. She didn't need to take his career down along with hers.
Squaring her shoulders, she opened the door to the interrogation room and told Brenner, who'd been standing guard, to leave. Gary looked down at the floor, refusing to acknowledge her presence, just as he had since they'd brought him in. She had only minutes to get through to him. Once he was arraigned and locked up for the night…
Pulling up a chair, she sat down, her knees touching his. "So," she said with a casualness she wasn't feeling. "I'll bet you don't have any way of knowing, since you haven't spent a lot of time in our cool new police station, that the men's room is right by the back door."
Gary's head slowly came up. He stared at her with his good eye.
"The back door that leads directly to the parking lot, and beyond that, to those old warehouses," she added.
He shook his head. "What…are you doing, Luce?"
She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "I don't think you'll be alive, come morning. Am I wrong?"
He just stared at her, his expression giving nothing away.
Anger bubbled up, edged with panic. "And I don't think you resisted arrest. They beat you, just like they beat Ken. Didn't they?"
No response.
She kept going doggedly, determined to get through to him. "You know, rumor has it that you have a weak bladder."