“It’s not silly. We’ll check it out.”
Within a couple of minutes, they had searched the small apartment and determined it empty.
“Thanks,” she said. “I had the locks changed…I forgot to tell you that part. About the woman.”
“The woman?” Spencer repeated, frowning.
“Yes. I came home the other night and found a woman at my door. She claimed to be my neighbor Nancy’s mother. Said the key Nancy gave her didn’t work.”
“Maybe she was Nancy’s mom?” Stacy offered.
“She wasn’t. That same night, she told Nancy she was my mother. That’s how she got inside. Nancy told her where I keep my spare key.”
Spencer frowned. “What night was this?”
“Monday. I came home early. Cramps.”
Patti’s close call.
He caught Stacy looking at him quizzically, and he refocused. “Could the Artist be a woman?”
Yvette opened her mouth as if to form an automatic no, but shook her head instead. “I just assumed it was a man. I mean, it’s mostly guys who, you know, hang around the Hustle and stuff. Besides, Tonya said a guy gave her the letter to give to me tonight.”
“Tonya?”
“Manages the Hustle’s talent and wait staff,” Stacy offered. Then to Yvette, she said, “Why don’t you get us the letters?”
“They’re in the bedroom. I’ll be right back.”
When she left them alone, Stacy turned to him. “What’s the deal, Malone?”
“What do you mean?”
“When Yvette told you about the woman who claimed to be her mother, you got a funny look on your face.”
“Did I?”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t give me that innocent crap. You’re hiding somethi-”
“They’re gone.”
They turned. The young woman stood in the doorway, wild-eyed and pale. “They were here, I swear. He must have taken them.”
“Show us.”
She led them to her bedroom, pointed to the nightstand, its single drawer standing open. “I had them in there.”
“Are you certain you didn’t move them?”
“I’m sure. They were there. All of them!”
“Tell me about Ramone,” Stacy said.
“What? Who-”
“Ramone?” she said again. “Marcus’s partner. The one you told me about.”
When she hesitated, Stacy answered for her. “Let me guess, you made him up.”
“I didn’t make this up!”
“What about the photograph Detective Malone showed you? You recognized him, didn’t you?”
“Yes! I’ve seen him around the club. He hits on the girls. So what?”
“If that’s the case, why’d you lie?”
“Because I was pissed. Because I didn’t want to get involved. Because someone like me doesn’t help the cops.”
“Give me a reason why we should believe you now.”
“Because it’s true.” She hugged herself. “It’s all true. The letters. The money. The woman breaking in.”
Her voice took on a desperate tone and she moved her gaze between them. “He killed Marcus. I know he did!”
“We’re not saying he didn’t,” Spencer said gently. “We’re not denying any of this is true. But we need something to work with. Some proof that what you’re telling us is true.”
“Screw you.” She spit the words at them. “I should have known not to go to you for help.”
“Put yourself in our shoes, Ms. Borger. What would you believe?”
“Get out! If you’re not going to help me, just get the hell out!”
They didn’t argue or try to reason with her and a couple of minutes later they were on the street. Truth was, without more from her, there was little they could do.
“Well, that was interesting,” Stacy said. “What do you think? Is she a liar or just plain nuts?”
“Part of what she told us was true.”
She stopped and looked at him. “Which part?”
“The woman.” He unlocked the Camaro and opened the door, but didn’t make a move to get in. “It was Patti.”
After dropping that bomb, he climbed into the car. Stacy followed a moment later. Once she was buckled in, she turned to him, expression incredulous. “What do you mean, it was Patti?”
“She wanted something to tie Yvette’s roommate to the Jane Doe. But she couldn’t blow your cover, and she refused to wait.”
“So she broke in?”
“Yes.”
Stacy was quiet a moment, as if processing the information. When she spoke, he heard the disappointment in her voice. “I can’t believe you were involved in this, Spencer. If PID catches wind-”
“I didn’t have any part of it. Aunt Patti didn’t tell me what she was up to.”
“You guessed.”
“Yes.” He started the car and eased away from the curb. “I confronted her with it.”
Traffic was nonexistent. He had cleared the French Quarter and crossed Canal Street within a couple of minutes-a trip that could take twenty minutes when the Quarter was jamming.
They were jumping on the expressway before Stacy spoke again. “Did she find anything?”
“Name of the roommate’s dentist. But before you get too excited, yes, the dentist had X-rays, and no, they didn’t match our Jane Doe’s.”
“She broke the law for nothing.”
“If you can call peace of mind nothing.”
“That’s such crap, Spencer. And you know it.”
“She’s the captain.”
“And she’s losing it, dammit!”
They fell silent. “What are you going to do?” he asked finally.
“You’ve put me in a very awkward position.”
“I’m sorry. Considering the circumstances, I felt I had to tell you.”
“I won’t lie. If I’m asked, I’ll tell what I know.”
“Fair enough.” He exited onto Carrollton Avenue, heading toward the river. “But nobody’s going to ask.”
29
Saturday, April 28, 2007
6:35 a.m.
Stacy couldn’t sleep, couldn’t shut off her mind. Like a hamster on a wheel, her thoughts went round and round, replaying the events of the night, the things she had learned.
Captain Patti O’Shay had broken the law. Spencer had known she was doing it. He’d felt no remorse, then or now.
And he’d kept it from her. So effectively, she hadn’t even suspected.
Stacy was uncertain which revelation had rocked her more-his secret-keeping or her total obliviousness to it.
How could she trust him? And how could a relationship flourish amid secrets and lies? A healthy relationship required total honesty, which led to complete trust.
Like the best cop partnerships. You never wondered if your partner had your back. If you wondered, you were dead.
Spencer snored softly beside her. Not an unpleasant sound. Comforting. Familiar.
She rolled onto her side and gazed at him. No wonder neither of them had a clue where they were going. How could they?
“Why’re you staring at me?” he asked, not opening his eyes.
“I’m not.”
He cracked them open. “Liar.”
She leaned over and kissed him. “Go back to sleep. I’m getting up.”
“Crazy woman.”
Tell me about it.
She slipped out of bed and pulled a sweatshirt on over her cotton pj’s.
“Stacy?”
She stopped at the door and looked back. “Yeah?”
“Marry me.”
She stared at him, quite literally dumbstruck. Several seconds ticked by before she found her voice. “You didn’t just say-”
“I did. Marry me.”
Just last night they had agreed they didn’t know where their relationship was going. “You’ve caught me by surprise, Spencer. Why are you asking me…now?”
“Dunno. Think ’bout it, okay?”
She nodded and backed out of the room, gently closing the door behind her.
Like most girls, she had daydreamed about the day the man she loved would propose marriage. The fantasy included bended knee, candlelight, music and the promise of undying love-not to mention a ring.