About That Man. Sherryl Woods

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Tucker was going to seem like a romp in the park.

       2

       W ashington, D.C., detective Walker Ames had just finished investigating his fifth drive-by shooting in a month. This had been worse than most–a five-year-old girl who’d done nothing more than sit on her front stoop playing with her doll on a pleasant spring evening. She’d caught a stray bullet meant for a gang member who’d been walking past her run-down apartment building in southeast Washington. The intended victim hadn’t even stopped to see if he could help.

      This kind of incident was not the reason Walker had become a policeman. He’d wanted to make a difference in people’s lives, not just clean up after the tragedies. Innocent babies dying, grandmothers shot without a second glance, kids on school buses killed over a pair of sneakers…there was something seriously wrong with the world when a cop had to spend his days working crimes like that. His stomach churned with acid just thinking about it.

      He’d been at it for fifteen frustrating years now, and not a day went by anymore when he didn’t wish he’d chosen another profession. Unfortunately, law enforcement was the only one he cared about, and he happened to be good at it. His arrest-conviction ratio was the best in the department, because he refused to give up until he had the right suspect in custody. Few of his cases were ever relegated to some cold case file left for others to solve years from now.

      “You get a line on those punks that did it?” his boss asked when he spotted Walker crossing the squad room and heading straight for the industrial strength coffee.

      “Half a dozen people on the street at the time of the incident,” Walker told Andy Thorensen, the caring, compassionate chief of detectives who’d also been his best friend since he’d joined the department. Andy was fifteen years older and going gray, but pushing papers hadn’t dimmed his street smarts or his indignation over crime.

      “Four people claim they never saw a thing,” Walker added as he poured a cup of coffee and took a sip. “The two who admit they did aren’t talking. The girl’s mother is too upset to question. I’ll go back when things have settled down and try again. Maybe when it sinks in that it was a five-year-old who got caught in the cross fire, their vision will improve.”

      His boss gestured toward his office, then waited till Walker was seated before asking, “What about the guy the bullet was meant for?”

      “Vanished. He has to live in the neighborhood, though. We’ll find him. I’m not letting go of this one, Andy.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes, battling exhaustion and the sting of tears. He tried not to let these things get to him, but that was impossible. He had kids of his own, boys he thought about every single time he had to handle a case like this. He might not be raising them since his divorce, but they were never far from his thoughts.

      To buy himself a minute, he gazed out the window and finished his coffee, then said, “You should have seen the kid, Andy. She was just a baby, still clutching her doll. Somebody’s going down for this, if I have to drag every gang member in D.C. in here for questioning.”

      Andy Thorensen nodded, his expression sympathetic. “Stay objective. That’s one of the first things they teach you in the police academy. I’d like to see one of those classroom cops stay objective when they find a kid’s blood splattered all over the sidewalk in front of her own house. It never gets any easier, does it?”

      “I don’t think it’s supposed to,” Walker said. “If we get used to it, we’re as bad as they are.”

      “Let me know if you need any help. We’re short-staffed, but I’ll see what I can do to free up some additional units,” Andy promised. “There’s going to be a hue and cry all over town until we close this one.”

      Walker didn’t care about the headlines or the calls from the mayor’s office. He’d stay on it because that little girl deserved justice. He didn’t envy Andy’s need to balance justice with politics. He just respected his friend’s ability to take the heat while letting his men do the job they were paid to do.

      “I’ll try not to leave you on the hot seat too long,” he promised.

      “You can’t know how much I appreciate that,” Andy said wryly. “By the way, before I forget, you had a call earlier, some woman by the name of Jackson. When she heard you were out, she demanded to speak to me.” He grinned. “Tough lady. Seems to have something on her mind.”

      Walker shook his head. “Don’t know her.”

      Andy fished the message out of a pile of papers on his desk. “Says she’s with Social Services down in Trinity Harbor, Virginia.”

      “Never heard of it.”

      “I’ve been there. It’s a great little town on the Potomac a couple of hours from here. The sweetest crabs you’ll ever taste. Victorian houses. A bunch of little froufrou shops. You know, the kind women love. Antiques, crafts, all that artsy crap. Gail was in heaven. She wants me to buy a place down there so we can spend weekends and summers away from D.C. Says she could support us by opening a shop of her own.” He sighed. “To tell you the truth, after a day like today, it’s beginning to sound real good to me.”

      “You’d be bored to tears in a week,” Walker predicted.

      Andy grinned. “Maybe less, but I’m willing to give it a try. Give the woman a call. She said it was important.”

      “Whatever,” Walker said, tucking the message into his pocket. Strangers took a back seat to the immediacy of this investigation.

      Two hours later, the message was still in his pocket, untouched, when the phone on his desk rang.

      “Ames.”

      “Walker Ames?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

      “That’s me.”

      “This is Frances Jackson. I left you a message several hours ago,” she said, a note of censure in her voice.

      Andy might have found her tough attitude amusing, but prissy women like this always got Walker’s back up. “So you did,” he agreed, tilting his chair back on two legs as he prepared to enjoy himself a little. On a day like this, any amusement, however slight, was welcome.

      “Then you did get the message?” she asked.

      “I did.”

      “I believe I mentioned it was important. Didn’t your boss explain that?”

      “He did.”

      “Then why haven’t you returned the call?” she asked impatiently.

      “I’ve had some important things of my own to deal with.”

      “Such as?”

      “A dead five-year-old, shot right through the chest.”

      Her dismayed gasp gave him a certain measure of satisfaction. “Okay, then,” he said, ready to end his little diversion and get back to work. He wanted to hit the streets again before dark. It was destined to be another fourteen-hour day. “You’ve got me now. What’s on your mind?”

      “Are you related to Elizabeth Jean Flanagan?”

      Oh, СКАЧАТЬ