Trusting the enemy, p.5
Trusting the Enemy, page 5
Todd needed help? So did she. Maybe it was time to quit drinking. Was she becoming a sloppy lush? Alcoholism ran in families, and her father had been a member of AA since his retirement. No, probably before. Her head hurt too badly to remember.
Todd joined her in the kitchen, still buttoning his shirt.
“I’ll make breakfast.” He opened the refrigerator, squinted, and removed a bright yellow container of egg substitute. “You eat this stuff?”
“It’s not bad,” she said as she placed creamer and sugar on the pass-through bar between her kitchen and small dining room.
“Maybe something else.” He pulled out unopened bricks of cheese left over from the countless baskets sent following Rudy’s funeral.
Todd raised an eyebrow. “Sure you don’t want to go out?”
“Forget about breakfast.” Patrice poured two mugs of steaming coffee and placed them on the bar. “Ask your question. I’ve got a lot to do today.”
“Yeah, sure.” Todd settled himself on one of two bar stools and blew on his coffee. Patrice did the same and waited. He seemed to be having trouble putting whatever he wanted to know out there.
“I told you I’m a model, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, there’s some photos floating around that could ruin my career.”
Patrice took a sip. “Pornographic photos?”
A deep flush crept up Todd’s neck, surprising her. “Yeah.”
“We all make mistakes. Did you sign a release?”
“Hell, no. I didn’t pose for them.”
“Why do I sense there’s more to the story?”
“I was at a party and had too much to drink.”
“I thought you didn’t drink.”
“And this situation is why. I swear she drugged me, but all I know is now she wants money to delete the files.”
Patrice stared into her coffee. What had she gotten herself into? “That’s called blackmail, and it’s illegal.”
“I know.”
“Go to the state attorney and file a complaint.”
“If I do that, she’ll email the photos to my boss, and he’ll drop me like a hot bullet. She sent me another message this morning with an attachment.” Todd raised his brows. “Do you want to see it?”
“Why should I?”
“Well, I thought—”
“My advice is simple, Todd. Go to the state attorney’s office and file a complaint.”
“There’s nothing you can do?”
“Me? What could I do?”
“I thought you could go talk to her, maybe in uniform.”
Patrice stared at him. So that’s what the date had been about. This jerk wanted her to intimidate his blackmailer. When she didn’t cite him on the traffic stop, pretty boy had seen an opportunity and decided to grab it.
“So, Todd, do you want me to shoot her or just beat her up?”
He leaned forward. “Get the files.”
Patrice stood, scraping the bar stool against the floor. “Get out.”
“Hey, I—”
“Get the hell out of here before I shoot you.”
* * *
MONROE DISILVA IGNORED the resentful stares as he moved through the icy air-conditioning of the Intracoastal Station toward Major Solera’s office. After four years with Internal Affairs, he’d gotten used to the palpable paranoia that mushroomed whenever he entered their house. Hell, he could practically read the thoughts of the uniformed officers as they watched him.
Look out!
Here comes the rat squad.
Watch your back, pal.
Don’t say nothing ’bout nothing...
They needed to get over it. If their noses were clean, they had nothing to worry about.
Their fear bothered him only because it indicated secrets hidden under a rock he might turn over. As his daddy always said, when there’s stink in the yard, likely there’s some sort of fertilizer close by.
It was his job to find the stink.
Regs required command be notified when an officer attracted IA interest, but he wasn’t looking forward to the interview ahead.
Monroe kept an eye out for Patrice. She wasn’t scheduled for duty today, but schedules changed, and he hated to be blindsided. His brief interview with her yesterday had generated more questions than answers.
How would Solera react when informed that one of his officers was a subject of IA interest? Would he defend Patrice? Act indifferent? Agree that she had secrets? The major had a rep as a dinosaur who’d fallen way behind the curve on modern police tactics. He should have retired years ago.
Monroe knocked on Solera’s open door, and the silver-haired man looked up from reading a three-inch stack of reports. Solera might be pushing retirement, but he’d maintained good looks and a dignified manner.
“Can I have a minute?” DiSilva said.
Solera moved his mouth in a way that could only be described as a grimace. Command officers hated to see IA in their house. He closed the file.
“Come on in.”
Monroe entered the office, aware of dozens of eyes fixed on him as he closed the door.
After shaking Major Solera’s hand, Monroe took a seat in front of his neat desk. Solera’s walls were crowded with plaques and commendations going back thirty years. A photograph of him shaking hands with President Bush—the son—hung in a prominent location.
Solera leaned back in a creaky chair and waited. An old tactic. Never give anything away.
“IA has reason to believe that Lieutenant Rudy McFadden was accepting protection money,” Monroe said.
Solera’s expression didn’t change. “McFadden was never under my command.”
“We know, but he lived with an officer who is.”
“Patrice Skinner.”
“Yes, sir.”
Solera didn’t blink. “Do you believe Officer Skinner to be complicit in McFadden’s criminal activity?”
Monroe hesitated. Wasn’t that the million-dollar question? “I’m looking for that evidence.”
“Do you want her suspended?”
“No. Keep her on the job. We’ll be watching.”
Solera nodded, but made no comment.
“I’d be grateful for any observations,” DiSilva said.
“Officer Skinner has an excellent record, but hasn’t been herself since Lieutenant McFadden’s untimely death. I’ve placed her on restricted duty until she pulls herself together.”
“I have to say you don’t seem surprised.”
“Nothing surprises me anymore.”
Solera’s phone buzzed, and he picked it up. He didn’t wave DiSilva away.
While the major spoke into the phone, Monroe’s attention wandered to the photos around the office and spotted one of Patrice’s father on a fishing trip with Solera. From the size of the grins and the catch, it must have been a good day on the water. Old man Skinner had retired, but he and Solera were the about same age, and they were buddies. That would explain why the major might be closemouthed about Patrice.
“Any other questions, Detective?” Solera asked when finished on the phone.
“You’ve had no hints that Officer Skinner is dirty?” DiSilva asked.
“None,” Solera responded, again revealing nothing. “Is Patrice aware she’s under IA scrutiny?”
“I spoke to her yesterday in connection with our case against McFadden.”
Solera’s eyes narrowed. “That conversation took place without my knowledge.”
“The discussion wasn’t about any criminal activity on Officer Skinner’s part,” DiSilva said.
“But now she’s worried.”
“She refused to answer questions without a union rep present.”
“Smart girl.”
“It’s in her best interests to cooperate.”
“And I’m certain she will,” Solera said. “I’ll facilitate a meeting with a rep.”
“So you intend to inform her of this meeting,” DiSilva said.
“Of course. Anything else, Detective?”
DiSilva sighed. He was done here.
The men shook hands again, and DiSilva threaded his way through the hostile glares in the station, releasing a breath when he exited into fresh air.
Once in his vehicle, he made notes about the interview. Solera was damn good at hiding his thoughts. Monroe hadn’t been able to get a read on the man, but no question the major was protecting Patrice. Was it because of loyalty to her father? Affection for a longtime friend’s daughter?
Or did Solera also have something to hide?
That was a question he needed to ask Patrice. She wasn’t as skilled at shielding her emotions, and her reaction would tell him a lot.
How deep did the rot go?
CHAPTER FIVE
PATRICE TOOK A long hot shower after Todd’s hasty and surprisingly subdued departure. She emerged drained of energy but calmer, even able to acknowledge that Todd had been truly apologetic.
But she was convinced that he’d drugged her last night.
Towel-drying her hair, she moved into the office. Todd going on her computer had been way over the line. Maybe her father would know if there was a program available to reveal where he’d done.
Realizing she was rubbing her scalp raw, she tossed the towel over a chair and sat at the desk. Face the facts, girl. Todd snooping around your computer is the least of your problems.
Monroe DiSilva poking around Rudy’s financials was far more threatening.
Last night she’d hoped tequila would help her avoid thinking about the fact that Rudy was on IA’s radar, which meant she was under suspicion, as well. Had Rudy been dirty?
No question his behavior had altered during the last six months of his life, and that had changed everything in their relationship. He’d lost all interest in her, which she’d attributed to the pressure of his money-laundering investigation. Or another lover.
Had it been something more sinister?
Should she have wondered where he got the cash for the Navigator?
She should have been more honest with DiSilva, answered all of his questions.
It was past time to quit running from her problems. The disaster with Todd had taught her that, if nothing else. To clear her name, the best place to start was cooperation with DiSilva. She had nothing to hide.
But, God, why did the rat squad detective have to be DiSilva of all people? She hated that he’d be the one to learn all her humiliating secrets.
With a sigh, Patrice grabbed her cell phone and discovered she’d missed six calls and seven texts. She’d muted it last night before dinner.
The texts were all inquiring about the Navigator, which meant the new Auto Trader was online. Most of the callers hadn’t left a message, although she had a voice mail from the alarm company and one from her department regarding the breach yesterday morning. Her father had left two.
The last message, recorded while she had scrubbed away the stink of Todd, contained Rosa’s lilting accent.
“Hey, chica. What’s going on with the attempted 22 on Rudy’s truck at Esperanza’s last night? Sarge is freaking out. Call me. We need to talk. Oh, no te preocupas, no damage to the truck.”
Patrice cut off the speaker. Shit. Someone had tried to steal Rudy’s SUV? What was Sarge upset about? Did Solera know?
Her major had been on her ass big-time to get back with the program. Her stomach clenched. Maybe she should take advantage of the counseling offered by the department following the death of a significant other.
And, damn, his vehicle was still at Esperanza’s. She had to get a ride back to the restaurant, drive it home and prepare it for sale. She’d kept promising herself to clean it out. Now she couldn’t put it off any longer.
The phone buzzed, startling her. Patrice grabbed it and DiSilva’s name appeared. Speak of the devil.
“Hey, DiSilva,” she said. “Where are you?”
“Not far away. Why?”
“I find myself in need of a ride. Do you still want to question me about Rudy?”
After a pause he said, “What about that union rep?”
“I’ve decided to take your advice and cooperate.”
“I’ll be there in five.”
Patrice stared at her phone. What the hell did I do?
While returning texts to buyers interested in the Navigator, her phone rang again.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Why haven’t you returned my calls?”
“Sorry, my phone was muted. I was trying to sleep.”
“You need a ride to Esperanza’s to pick up the Navigator?”
Patrice sat back in the chair. Her father had been monitoring her squad’s frequency again.
“Someone tried to steal it,” he said.
“I heard.”
Her dad was the last person she would have asked for a ride. Just what she needed today: lectures on drinking from a reformed drunk.
“Thanks, Pops, but I’ve already made arrangements.”
“Good enough.”
“Listen,” she asked, “is there a way to trace where someone visits on the internet if they were using a private browser?”
“Maybe. What’s this about?”
“I had a date last night. Found him on my computer, and I’d like to find out why.”
“I see. So your date drove you home and stayed the night. That’s why the Lincoln is in a parking lot.”
“Don’t start, Dad. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Don’t start what? I’m confirming the time line, trying to get a complete picture.”
“You’ve got the picture.”
Her father didn’t respond.
“You’ve been telling me to move on with my life,” she said.
“Who is this guy?”
“Someone that I met,” Patrice said. No way was she telling her dad how she and Todd had met. Lately, all she did was disappoint her dad, starting with when she’d moved in with Rudy.
“I’ve got to go,” she said.
“What’s the rush?”
“My ride is on the way, and I need to get dressed.”
Trice threw on jeans and a blouse, locked her front door and waited for DiSilva on her screened front porch. The yard didn’t look much better from yesterday’s watering.
Yeah, that’s right, Trice. Worry about your parched grass, not what the hell you’re going to say to IA.
* * *
MONROE PULLED HIS unmarked vehicle behind Trice’s police cruiser. Before he could shut down the engine, her porch door opened and she hurried down the steps wearing blue jeans a little too big for her.
She’d been waiting for him. What did that mean?
“Thanks for the lift,” she said after sliding into the front seat.
“Thanks for agreeing to cooperate,” he said in the same tone, taking in her casual attire, long legs and damp hair. She must be fresh out of the shower, but she seemed tense. Why?
“Where to?” he asked.
“Esperanza’s.”
“The Mexican bistro around the corner from your station?”
“Yeah. I met a friend there last night, had a few too many and my friend drove me home.”
Monroe nodded, wondering if the friend was male or female. Had Trice already started to date?
“Glad to hear you’re not driving while impaired.”
“I’m not that far gone,” she said, her tone defensive.
“I didn’t mean to imply you were.”
He backed out of her driveway and turned north. “What made you change your mind about cooperating?”
“That’s a good question.”
“I thought so,” he said, shooting her a look.
She smiled, and he shook his head. The two of them had always sparred like this. He’d held his attraction to her in check because of his position as her trainer. Now his timing was worse than ever.
“I want to clear my name. I’ve done nothing wrong. Well, nothing illegal.” Her smile faded. “I drank too much last night. But if Rudy was into something dirty, I swear I wasn’t involved and knew nothing about it.”
“Did you have suspicions?”
She took a deep breath. “I thought he was cheating on me. I never suspected he was on the take, if that’s what this is about.”
Monroe gripped the steering wheel tighter. He’d heard rumors about fights, but not infidelity. McFadden had been a total fool.
“Why did you suspect he was cheating?”
She sighed and looked out the side window, obviously embarrassed. “He wasn’t spending a lot of time at home.”
“Did he come home at night?”
“He spent nights at my condo near the airport. He said it was more convenient to his investigation.” She glanced down to clenched hands.
“So he worked out of an apartment away from home?”
“Yeah. He kept a laptop there.”
“And a bed?”
“I left it furnished when I moved. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“And you think he was seeing someone else?”
“I don’t know,” she ground out. “Yeah, probably.”
“Is the laptop still there?”
“As far as I know.”
Monroe remained silent as he digested this new information. IA had no knowledge that McFadden had used a condo as an office. Maybe he’d kept his records on the laptop, although that seemed a little too easy.
“Have you been to the condo lately?”
“Not since he died.”
“So the place remains as it was when Rudy was last there?”
“Yeah. I’ve been putting off making the big decisions.”
“Like what?”
“Like where I’m going to live.”
“You’re thinking about selling the house?”
