Peril in the shallows, p.5
Peril in the Shallows, page 5
The low voice over her shoulder was friendly, congenial even, so why did that husky timbre manage to send a wave of shivers low down on her spine?
Kerrigan whirled to face Arlo, determined to shrug off the ridiculous reaction. “Detective.” She nodded. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Officer Doyle. Looks like we’re both getting an early start.”
“I spent a lot of time with the photos last night, trying to associate them with what I saw on the dive. But we were also so focused on the body recovery that I didn’t get a good look at much.”
“Recovery in the midst of a hurricane’s lingering effects, I’ll add.”
She didn’t miss the clear note of approval in his gaze, and she found herself looking a few beats too long in those dark blue eyes before coming back to her senses.
“It’s not the easiest to see in the depths of New York’s waterways on a good day, so that’s a fair point.”
Even now, she could conjure the feel in her mind of being down in the dark on that dive. The water had been flowing hard, pushing on her and Jayden as they did the work. Every dive required her full focus, but that was one of the ones where she’d truly earned her keep.
“What do you see now as you look at this?” Arlo asked. She had to admit just how excited she was to share her theories.
And if it led to more of that approval she saw in his eyes...
“The deliberate setting of the fire obviously impacted the whole boat, but there’s more significant damage on the starboard side.” Kerrigan gestured to the pieces of the boat railing, where even now she could remember the way the bodies had been lashed to it. “Jayden and I had to remove the bodies from that railing.”
“That’s where they were tied down?” Arlo kept his fair distance, just as she had, but he did move to examine where the evidence team had laid out the boat railing.
“Yes.” She pulled the image from the dive fully to her mind. “More than six hours under the water had already done a lot of damage but their hands were bound to the railings, and both were sort of slumped over it.”
“That takes some work on the part of the killer. Especially if the gunshots had already taken care of them.”
Kerrigan weighed that remark. “You’re right. That’s a lot of unnecessary work. Why go to the trouble to lash them to the railings?”
“One more question we have to figure out.”
They moved in and around the debris but Kerrigan kept coming back to the railing, Arlo’s observations racing through her mind. Why did the killer attach the bodies? It wasn’t like a man was a threat with a bullet in his head?
Theater?
“Arlo.” He glanced up from where he was standing among various pieces of decking and walked over. “Come look at this.”
Although she knew the starboard side had sustained more damage, upon closer review it looked like the boat had burned in layers.
“Look at this here.” She pointed toward a large piece of decking. “See that arc of charred wood? It looks like the flames followed the pour of the fuel as the deck was doused.”
“It makes sense. The boat went down pretty quickly so while the fire would consume if given the time, the rain, as well as the harbor water, likely put it out.”
“But then look here.” She gestured toward a piece of decking that was still attached to the base of a seating banquette. “This looks like fuel was poured straight on it. Like it had a wider mouth from the fuel container.”
She was already glancing toward the entrance, ready to flag down the fire commissioner, when Arlo spoke.
“Seems like a funny coincidence. Two bodies and more fuel.”
“It’s possible it’s just because this was the last area where the victims were. Like maybe they had emptied the last of their fuel?”
“But you don’t buy it?” he asked, his voice neutral as he pressed her to work it through.
“It just seems as if it could be more deliberate. Like the area was doused with more fuel.”
“The ME didn’t note any additional fuel on the clothing. I think we’d have seen more burn damage on the vics if that had been the case.”
Kerrigan considered his statement. “Maybe just more fuel on the ground, beneath them. This had to have happened fast, and methodical behavior starts to go out the window.”
“I suppose it does.”
“I’m going to go get the arson investigator. I’d like her take on this.”
“Calhoun. She’s good. I spoke with her on my way in.” He moved into a crouch beside the piece of decking. “Let’s see what she says.”
He got back to his feet. “And then let’s go get some breakfast. Despite the grisly subject, I’d like to talk this one through.”
She could hardly deny the suggestion when her stomach chose that moment to let out a large growl. Arlo hadn’t missed it, either, his wry grin at the ready. “I guess you agree?”
“Sure. I could definitely go for some breakfast.”
It was only as she headed off to the other side of the warehouse that Kerrigan recognized the challenge now before her.
Having breakfast with her partner wasn’t a crime. Nor should it be a problem. She and Jayden had eaten any number of meals together, just as she had with the rest of the harbor crew.
But this was different, Kerrigan knew.
Whether she wanted it to be or not.
Because no matter how she wanted to slice it, dice it or try to wish it away, she didn’t get a funny little flutter low in the belly when she thought about sitting opposite her other male colleagues sharing a meal.
* * *
Arlo had learned his first week on the job that coffee was damn near sacred to a cop. Drinking coffee and eating doughnuts might be an age-old police cliché, but it was for a reason.
He’d played a game with himself from that first week, often trying to guess how a fellow officer might fix their cup.
Coffee regular? It was a New York standard for a reason, with milk and two sugars dropped neatly into a steaming mug of joe.
Just black? Some of his best friends consumed it that way, including his first chief of detectives, who’d drunk roughly a gallon a day.
And then there were the rare few, heaven forbid, who drank decaf. An awful waste, in his opinion, in any possible combination.
But Kerrigan?
The heavy cream, dumped in until the coffee resembled the color of oatmeal, along with four sugar packets, was a surprise.
“What?” She glanced up as she finished off the last swirl of her mug with a spoon. Sunlight filtered in behind her, haloing the crown of her head, and he was just fanciful enough to admit he was a bit dazzled.
Which was why his tone likely came out a bit drier than he intended. “How can you possibly drink that?”
She glanced down at her mug. “My coffee?”
“More like sugar and cream with a splash of coffee. Is it even hot?”
“First you pick on my doughnut choices and now you piss and moan about my coffee?”
“Consider it more a surprising observation.”
“Over my coffee?” Her dark eyes sparkled but he could also see the genuine curiosity there.
“I guess I took you for a black coffee type?”
“Oh?”
“You divers are tough. Seems you’d take your coffee the same way.”
“Obviously not.”
She looked about to say something, then seemed to think better of it, so Arlo pressed the point.
“What is it?”
She hesitated by taking another sip of her coffee before sharing her thoughts. “The harbor team seems to have a special reputation.”
“A well-deserved one, I’d say.”
“But it’s like we’re held separate somehow. The words are always complimentary, but we’re still seen as something other from the department. I noticed it with the captain earlier. And, truth be told, it comes up often.”
“What you do is special.”
“Sure, I get it. But it’s also cop work in a city surrounded by water. Somebody’s got to do it.”
“But not many people do. Diving work is special under any circumstances. But in the waters around New York? Which, and I realize we’re about to eat, and you live it on the daily, but they’re horrifically nasty. Wyatt’s told more than a few stories.”
She sniffed, her affront at an assessment held by oh, basically everyone, oddly sweet. “They’re not as bad as they used to be.”
“That’s like saying toxic waste only has a half-life of a century.”
“Well, it’s not the Caribbean, but what is?”
“Not much.” Arlo settled his scarred menu in the small wire holder against the window.
Why was he pushing this?
He’d spent the better part of the past day feeling ill at ease for his decision to run Big Will and his family. It had seemed like the right decision inside the showroom, but once he’d begun running queries and checking files in the database, it didn’t feel quite so cut-and-dried.
Kerrigan was his partner on this.
Yet he’d kept her out of a line he was tugging because of what? Concern her feelings could get hurt?
Or, worse, that she couldn’t handle it?
He wasn’t one to run from his mistakes and he nearly said something right there, anxious to clear the air, but he didn’t want to lose the momentum of their conversation.
Nor did he want that lone choice—made in the moment—to negatively color an opportunity to help her get past whatever it was that was gnawing at her.
So he’d save it for another time.
“My point’s still valid. The job’s impressive, just like the cops who choose to do it, day in and day out.”
“But it’s the job. It doesn’t deserve special attention. Or not to the degree everyone seems to put on it.”
Arlo did understand the special attention. While it was an ego boost, it could be a bit much at times. He’d been fortunate to have a strong run of closed cases, and while he more than appreciated the attention for it, closing cases was his job.
Police diving was hers.
And too much attention could mess with your head if you let it.
Which made her overall reticence interesting. Because the anxiety he kept sensing in her didn’t seem at all tied to cocky behavior or an overabundance of attitude. Instead, there was an obvious processing on her part as she tried to find her place in the department.
“It’s important to you, isn’t it? To know where you fit.”
The sparkle vanished from her gaze, even as she held her voice steady. “Isn’t that important to everyone?”
“Yes, but I can see you working through it. It’s okay, to be part of the team and still have a specialized role. You can have both. Be both.”
“I’m not trying to sound ungrateful.”
There it was again. That subtle insinuation that having an opinion or ambition or thoughts about what she was doing was somehow ill-advised.
Which meant he had to tread carefully.
Someone had made her feel that way.
She had far too much competence and inner drive for it to have simply surfaced without provocation.
“You don’t sound ungrateful. You sound like you’re trying to figure it out.”
Although she was toying with the handle on her coffee mug, she kept her attention focused on him. Direct. Solid. A willingness to stick to it, even if it was difficult.
“Not everybody thinks a woman belongs on the force. That goes double for specialized services.”
“Has someone said anything to you? You have problems with other officers?”
“I know how to take care of myself. But it doesn’t mean there isn’t pressure. It also doesn’t mean there aren’t men concerned about going down on a dive with a female partner. Or other cops, male or female, worried about going out on an op with a female partner. It’s real, Arlo.”
“You were trained, same as me. Same as the other divers. What does the rest matter?”
She shrugged at that, but he saw the slightest smile return to her gaze. “You’re a detective. A damn smart one best as I can tell. Don’t suddenly develop a case of ignorance as if you think it doesn’t happen.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s right.”
His comment hung there as their waitress brought over their breakfast orders. His stack of pancakes along with eggs and bacon and an omelet and wheat toast for her.
She prepared to dig into her breakfast when he pressed the point again.
“I meant that. You belong on the team.”
She took another sip of her coffee, obviously marshaling her thoughts. “I’m not trying to dismiss your question, or dance around it. I suppose I am a bit tetchy about my role. I’m here because I want to learn. I want harbor, yes, but I want more. I want the detective’s badge.”
“Why’s that? The tetchy part, not the badge.”
“I joined the NYPD to make a difference. I have a love of the water, so Harbor Patrol was a natural choice, but I’m a cop to the core. I love this city and I want to see it shine.”
“Then why worry what others think?” When she looked about to argue, he held up a hand. “Hear me out.”
She nodded but didn’t say anything.
“You work hard. You do the job. Expertly, I’ll add. No one who partners with you can argue you don’t pull your own weight, especially when I saw you drag a body out of the harbor and then saw you use your mind to work through the puzzle of that same body’s gunshot wounds.
“Lean into that. Lean hard, because from where I’m sitting, you’re doing the job and then some.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He nodded, aware he’d veered dangerously close to elder-statesman, speech-giving territory. “Now let me eat my lumberjack breakfast in peace.”
“You got it.”
* * *
Arlo’s words were still occupying Kerrigan’s thoughts that afternoon as she and Gavin prepared to descend into the spiky waters of the Harlem River around the Macombs Dam Bridge.
“Some moron tosses a gun over the bridge and we have to go hunt for it.” Gavin was one of her sunnier colleagues, so the fact he was complaining was out of the ordinary.
“It’s the job, Gav.”
“I know.” He shook his head as he did a final check of the gauges on his oxygen tank. “I know it is. But life would be a hell of a lot better if people’d quit shooting one another.”
“I won’t argue with you there.”
“Fifteen.” Gavin sighed. “It’s the young ones that get me. Fifteen damn years old and he gets in a fight after the Yankees game. He’s too young to just be a moron. He’s a kid.”
Only the child who tossed a gun used to kill another wasn’t a kid anymore, Kerrigan thought as she did the final check of her own equipment. And wasn’t that nearly as sad as the loss of life the fifteen-year-old’s gun had inflicted? Two lives ruined, with one simply left to exist above ground.
She shook off the dark thoughts—there’d be time for them later—and focused on the dive. The water ran a bit easier here than farther south, but it was still a tough dive. All the waters around New York were, Kerrigan thought as she dropped her mask over her face and fitted in her breather. With no more preparation left, she sunk into the water, reorienting herself to the immediate shifts in sound and physical weight.
They had a limited field for the search. The likelihood the gun was within a ten-yard radius around the perimeter of the bridge was in their favor. Witnesses hadn’t been plentiful and the kid who did the shooting still hadn’t talked, but video from the bridge’s shelter house had indicated the gun fell straight down versus being tossed.
Gavin took the north side of the bridge and she’d taken the south. She used her thickly gloved hands to sift the silt at the bottom of the river, working in slow, progressive movements. Visibility was limited, as usual, but the sun was bright and filtered in a bit from above. She settled into a rhythm, communicating with a quick confirmation of “negative” to Gavin every ten feet or so. Other than his negatives in return, the work was quiet.
Steady.
Which gave her far too much time to think about breakfast with Arlo.
Lean hard, because from where I’m sitting, you’re doing the job and then some.
She was leaning hard, damn it.
So why was she so far in her head?
She was devoted to her job and she’d willingly taken on the additional work with Arlo. She had confidence in herself—she wouldn’t do the job if she didn’t—so why was she second-guessing herself over everything?
Those last few months in Queens had been bad but she’d survived. The Internal Affairs investigation had been unfortunate but necessary, and she’d simply done her job.
But it had left scars.
And despite getting the rep as the team snitch, she was the one who’d been left feeling betrayed.
None of it had anything to do with her work now.
Hell, it hadn’t had anything to do with her work then, either. She’d just been made to feel as if it did.
With that fire lit in her belly, she focused on the task at hand and off the voices that kept racing through her mind. Arlo was perceptive and he’d hadn’t taken long to notice her concerns and that lingering sense of injustice she hadn’t fully shaken.
Which meant it was time to shake it.
High time, she thought.
This wasn’t her precinct in Queens any longer. She’d only been here a matter of weeks and she’d already had more opportunity to progress than the entire two years before. She might not have liked the reason she chose to leave, but she was damn glad she had.
Silt filtered through her left hand as her right hit something.
Immediately keying back in, she recognized the distinct shape and, as she picked it up, weight of a gun.
