But who was she to judge? It was-what did they call it? Supply and demand. She had the supply. And the demand would bring her some bucks, and then her freedom.
Now, someone was contacting her. It was all going to work.
The message appeared: Do you have the teddy bears? Then it disappeared.
“Huh?” Kellianne whispered. What was this guy trying to pull?
Buyer RedSky42 is typing popped up again.
Kellianne waited. Then read the new message.
Not teddy bears. Compact. And the nightgown. How much will you take for them?
48
“You ready? I brought lattes. I must say, Jane, looks like you could use this.” Tuck handed her a Starbucks venti, then gestured to the apartment stairs. “We taking your car or mine? I’m all gassed up, but fine with me if you want to drive.”
Jane gestured her inside, taking a grateful sip. “Yeah, I’d rather drive. Thanks for this.”
“You have a rough night?” Tuck, in black jeans, black parka vest, and buckled boots, looked her up and down. “How come you’re not dressed yet? I thought we decided on eight. Unless you’re planning to win over Carlyn Beerman with the terry cloth robe look. You’re gonna be cold, though.”
Jane backed into her entryway, almost tripping over Coda, who’d placed herself exactly where Jane’s bare feet would step. “Come in, have a seat, watch out for the silly cat. Yeah, didn’t get much sleep. I’ll be ready in a sec. Just have to throw on my jeans. Did you call Carlyn?”
Tuck had plopped onto the couch, flapped open a New Yorker. Coda jumped up beside her, batting the edges of the cover. “Nope. Like I said yesterday. If I do, I’m gonna have to explain, and I don’t want to explain on the phone. And if I say, ‘I want to talk to you about something,’ it’ll freak her out.”
“Maybe,” Jane said. The whole thing reeked of wild geese, but it was better than staying home and watching out the window for imaginary intruders. Probably imaginary.
Tuck had been supportive yesterday when all hell broke loose, and even, somehow, retrieved Coda. Humoring her was the least she could do.
Jane took another sip of latte, heading down the hallway, then turned back. “Hey, Tuck?”
“Mmm?” Tuck, lounged against the couch cushions, didn’t look up from the magazine.
“When you were in the car yesterday, did you see a red cat collar on the floor?”
“So that’s that, at least. Case closed. Thanks, Kat.” Jake handed the ME back her manila file folder and clicked open his BlackBerry, checking for messages. Coming to work on three-maybe two-hours of sleep was going to be a challenge. At least City Hall’s property ownership Web site should be back up and running this morning. If not, he’d just use the phone, now that the rest of the city was also awake.
Jake was not looking forward to the Ricker murder arraignment, set for this afternoon’s court session, provided some poor public defender had the bad luck to be appointed for him. But the news Kat McMahan just revealed to him about the Brannigan case could make his life one level less nuts.
The two stood outside the revolving glass door of Boston Police Headquarters, corner of Ruggles and Tremont Streets, under the ornate silver seal that reminded all visitors that Boston cops had been on the job since 1635. Kat’s ME van idled in the no-parking zone by the curb. Jake had parked his cruiser down in the motor pool, hoping someone would gas it up and maybe wash off some of the gritty road salt.
The Supe was expecting Jake at 8:35, no earlier, no later, according to the confirmation text that just arrived. Jake didn’t look forward to reporting the Tillson arrest, which still twisted his gut when he thought about it. At least now he could mitigate with the good news-the cause of Niall Brannigan’s death.
“You put it in writing yet?” Jake continued. “I didn’t see the three-oh-three in the file. But great. Natural causes. Like I said. Case closed.”
“Possibly,” Kat said.
Jake looked up from his BlackBerry screen. “Huh? What do you mean, possibly?”
Two uniforms brushed by them, cursing the Celtics’ latest defeat.
“They suck,” one said.
“Give ’em a chance,” the other said, disappearing through the revolving door.
“Then they’ll suck worse,” the first cop said to the glass as he pushed it.
“Two days ago,” Kat shook her head, watching them. “That game was two days ago.”
“Boston.” Jake waved her off. “But Brannigan. You said it was a confirmed heart attack. Myocardial infarction. Natural causes.”
Today Kat wore her white lab coat under a neon orange parka. Her black baseball cap asked DR. WHO?
She flapped her arms against her sides, puffed out a breath, and watched the vapor evaporate. “I love that. We don’t have that in L.A. And yes, Detective, as I informed your friend DeLuca, Niall Brannigan died of a heart attack.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Well.” The medical examiner cleared her throat, and raised a finger. “One thing.”
“I’m not kidding, it was on the floor, where your feet are now.” Jane had argued over the cat collar, with Tuck, once again in the passenger seat, all the way to the Mass Pike entrance. “I suppose I could have dropped it when I took her to the vet the other day. Maybe Coda wasn’t even wearing it when she got out. But I gotta tell you, Tuck.”
She accelerated past the green light at the tolls, and yes, damn it, checked her rearview for the black truck. Which of course was not there.
“There’s no way I can talk myself into that. The silly cat was wearing her collar when I left home yesterday morning. And I locked the stupid door. When I got back, the door was open and the cat was gone. And then, boom, I find the collar in the car. That-is freaky.”
The light poles flashed by, just like yesterday. Today’s adventure better have a more satisfactory ending.
“Yeah, got to admit.” Tuck pulled down the sun visor. Jane looked over, saw her smoothing one eyebrow, frowning at her reflection.
“Tuck. Listen. The nasty phone call. The open door. The cat collar. I think I’d better call-” Jane paused. Jake, she had been about to say, tell him the whole thing and hope he didn’t think she was a nut. But Tuck couldn’t know that was an option. Come to think of it, it wasn’t.
“Alex,” Jane said out loud.
Damn. That reminded her she still hadn’t gotten in touch with Hec. She really wanted to see his photos of the Callaberry Street neighbors. What if he’d deleted them? She’d pull into the first rest stop they saw. Call him.
“But you said Alex ordered you to stay away from the Register, kiddo. Now you’re ‘away.’” Tuck took her paper cup of coffee from the console, toasted Jane. “And like you said, your place has a new lock. Only you have a key. I found the cat. That cop or whoever is watching your building. We’re going to find the truth about Carlyn Beerman. So it all works out. Right?”
Tuck took a sip of coffee, leaned back in her seat, and propped her boots on the dashboard. “Right?”
Jane picked up her own coffee, watching the road in front of them. She wasn’t quite sure of the answer.
49
“What do you mean, one thing?” Jake looked at his watch, impatient. He had seven minutes until his meeting with the Supe. Even if the elevator cooperated he’d need four minutes to get upstairs and another thirty seconds to walk the carpeted eighth-floor corridor to the corner office. That gave him two and a half minutes to hear what Kat had to say. So it better be good. And fast. “One thing about what?”