Full Tilt. Rick Mofina

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СКАЧАТЬ told you, I didn’t take any pictures with my phone.”

      “We’re keeping the memory card from your camera and the additional memory cards we found in your bag. The technician tells me that your camera had wireless connectivity but that you didn’t send any images anywhere.”

      “I didn’t. Are we done? Or are you going to go full-bore cop and strip-search me?”

      Brennan let her comment pass.

      “No. I don’t have a female officer on duty, for one. I’m going to make a judgment call here, but I think we’ve covered this given the circumstances and the situation.”

      “So I can go?”

      “Not yet. Now, you’re going to show us your path into the scene so we can mark it,” Brennan said. “Then we’re going to need impressions of your shoes and take your fingerprints. When we’re done, Officer Reddick will drive you to your car.”

      “Am I being charged?”

      “No, but if you interfere again, we’ll bring the charges back. Understood?”

      Kate met Brennan’s stare and she nodded.

      “I appreciate your help,” he said, “and what you’re going through. Go home, Kate, and let us do our job.”

10

      Rampart, New York

      The grill of Reddick’s patrol car filled Kate’s rearview mirror for several miles after she’d left the rest stop.

      Driving to town, she bit back on her tears and her anger at Rampart police but mostly at herself. She was churning with rage and an underlying ache, because she’d never been this close to Vanessa.

       I’ve got to think clearly.

      Kate looked at the time.

      Even with the drive to Syracuse she had a few hours before her early evening return flight. Enough time to check into the other part of the case.

       Carl Nelson.

      She’d become so consumed by the necklace that she’d overlooked his role. She knew nothing about him, the man the local press had named as the second fatality in the fire, the reclusive computer expert. Remembering his long hair and beard from the driver’s license photo Brennan had showed her, Kate thought Nelson fit the image of a creepy eccentric. What part did he play in this? What was Vanessa’s relationship to him? And what about the rumors of a suicide note?

      Kate needed to talk to Nelson’s family, neighbors and coworkers.

      Stopped at a traffic light, she was glad to see Reddick had backed off. Kate concentrated on her GPS and entered Carl Nelson’s address, 57 Knox Lane, which she’d memorized from his driver’s license.

       Is going there a smart move after what happened at the scene?

      This is a democracy, and people have a right to talk to other people, she thought, searching her mirror for any sign that Reddick was still tailing her.

       Nothing.

      She headed for Nelson’s neighborhood and came upon his home, a modest ranch-style house with a neat yard and a detached garage.

       And a Rampart police car parked out front.

      Kate cursed to herself and let out a long breath.

      She wanted to knock on the door, talk to anyone who was there, and Nelson’s neighbors. She wanted to do her own digging for answers, but not with a cop sitting there eyeing the quiet street.

      Kate bit her lip, taking in the house as she drove by slowly, knowing the cop was likely recording her plate. No, this wasn’t going to work. Kate rolled down the street for a few blocks, coming to a gas station.

       Maybe somebody at the station can tell me about Nelson and point me to people he worked with at the call center.

      When Kate stopped and signaled at the intersection, she spotted another Rampart patrol car parked on the street.

      Reddick again.

      He’d been watching her.

      Un-freaking-believable. Okay. She got the message.

      Kate headed for the interstate and Syracuse.

      As she put Rampart behind her she refused to be knocked off her feet. There were other ways she could pursue this. It took about sixty miles for her to calm down. She stopped in Watertown at a Sunoco to fill up then went to a Burger King for a coffee and a muffin. She sent Reeka and Chuck a message.

      Worked it out with Rampart PD. Not going to be charged. Heading home.

      After sending it, Kate looked at Grace’s face, the background image on her phone, and checked the time. She should be home with Nancy.

      Kate pressed her number.

      “Hi, Nancy, it’s Kate.”

      “Hi, how’re things going up there? Did you have success?”

      Nancy was aware of Kate’s tragedy and her lifelong search for answers.

      “A bit, but it’s complicated. I’ll tell you about it when I get back.”

      “Would you like to talk to Grace—she’s right here?”

      “Yes, thanks. And, Nancy, thank you for doing this.”

      “No need to thank me, here she is.”

      “Hi, Mom!”

      “Hi, sweetie, how did school go today?”

      “It was fun. We learned about butterflies, it was so cool.”

      Kate cut a lonely figure in the corner of the restaurant. Listening to her daughter tell her about her day was a balm, briefly pulling her mind from Rampart, the death scene and the questions that troubled her.

      * * *

      The flight to La Guardia was delayed.

      Kate waited in pre-boarding, too tired to think or do much else but look at her phone and older photos of herself with Vanessa when they were children. There they were, sisters, hugging at Christmas. There was Vanessa on the sofa, looking so small and smiling so big. Her new angel necklace glinted in the flash. Kate blinked at the memories before closing the images.

      Later, as the jet finally lifted off, Kate contended with the aftershocks of self-reproach for messing up. Then she considered Brennan and his reluctance to escort her to the scene.

       Why wouldn’t he do it?

      Seasoned СКАЧАТЬ