The Man Behind The Badge

CHAPTER THREE

Monday, October 4, 10:23 p.m.

GAZING OUT INTO the night, stroking Snoops’s soft gray fur while she watched for Travis Quinn, Celeste couldn’t help feeling a little dumb for not even considering that Evan Reese might have been lying.

If that possibility had occurred to her, she’d never have bothered Quinn. But she had. And despite her guilt about that, she wasn’t entirely unhappy that he was on his way over.

She was feeling a chilliness that had nothing to do with the room temperature. If Reese hadn’t gotten her number from the detectives, then where?

And how had he even connected her to Steve when their last names were different? Obviously, he’d somehow learned Steve had a sister, but just how had he honed in on her?

While she anxiously watched the street, a car sped down it and pulled to an abrupt stop in front of her building. A black Mustang. The car Travis Quinn had been driving last night.

A sense of relief enveloped her as she watched him climb out. There was something about him that she found extremely reassuring. Something in addition to his being a cop.

In part, she knew, it was simply that he looked like a man accustomed to taking charge. He moved with a fluid confidence, and his features, regular as they were, were decidedly masculine.

But there was more to it than that. And although she hadn’t managed to put her finger on exactly what it was, she’d caught herself wondering about it a dozen times during the day.

All she felt certain of was that it had to do with the way he’d watched her last night. She’d been aware of his eyes on her almost the entire time.

Strangely enough, it hadn’t made her uncomfortable. In fact, it had made her feel as if he was on her side.

Oh, she realized that didn’t make sense. He and his partner had simply come to tell her about Steve. There’d been no question of “sides.” Yet, whether it made sense or not, that was how she’d felt.

She continued gazing down at him until he’d walked halfway up the front steps and disappeared from view. Then she hurried to the entrance hall.

“Hi,” she said, pressing the intercom button after her buzzer sounded.

“It’s me.”

“I know. I was watching for you.”

Once she’d released the downstairs lock, she opened her door so she could wait for him in the doorway. A minute later he strode out of the stairwell and started along the hall toward her.

He was taller than she’d remembered him. And even more attractive. His dark eyes were the color of rich chocolate, and the little laugh lines around them were appealing.

Appealing. Her choice of that particular word surprised her.

Since her marriage had fallen apart, she’d only been aware of good-looking men in the abstract. And thinking in terms of “appealing” was moving from the abstract to the concrete.

Be careful, she warned herself. The last thing she needed was her thoughts wandering along those lines.

“I feel terrible about dragging you over here so late,” she said, gesturing him inside.

“You didn’t drag me—I insisted. And the time doesn’t matter. There’s nobody waiting at home for me, and if I cared about nine-to-five, I wouldn’t be a cop.”

“Well, even so... Can I at least get you something? Coffee? Or soda? I don’t have any beer.”

“Do I look like a beer kind of guy?”

“Aren’t most men?”

He smiled. She smiled back, aware it was the first time she’d felt like smiling all day.

“A cold soda would be nice,” he said.

He trailed along as she headed for the fridge. When she turned to set the cans on the counter he seemed to have completely filled her little galley kitchen with his presence. It made her far more aware of him than she felt comfortable with.

Telling herself a second time to be careful, she reached for the tab on the first can.

“Want me to do that?”

“Sure. I’ll get the glasses.”

By the time she had, he’d opened the sodas. He poured them into the glasses, then followed her into the living room.

“So,” he said as they sat down. “Tell me more about Reese’s call.”

She hesitated, suddenly afraid that once she had he’d think her phoning him had been downright silly.

“You said the conversation got weird,” he prompted.

“Well...yes, it did, although it started out normally enough. I mean, I was surprised when he introduced himself as one of Steve’s patients. But if he’d simply said he was sorry about what had happened, I probably wouldn’t have given his calling a second thought.”

“He said more, though.”

“Yes. First, he got into how awful the timing was for me—with my mother having died so recently.”

“How would he know about that?”

“I assume Steve told him. I know I said he’d never talk about his personal life with a patient, but he canceled some of his appointments after the accident. So, if he canceled one of Reese’s I guess he explained why.”

Travis Quinn nodded for her to continue.

“Initially, he just seemed concerned about me. But then he began getting personal.”

“Saying...?”

“Well, for example, he asked if my father was alive. And when I said that he died a few years ago, Reese said he certainly hoped I had somebody to lean on.

“I suppose that sounds innocent enough when I repeat it, but when he said it...”

“How did you respond?”

“I told him I had some really supportive friends. Then I wondered if, instead of that, I should have said I was in a serious relationship.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

She waited a beat, half expecting him to tell her how he thought she should have handled it. When he didn’t, she said, “At any rate, the next thing he asked was whether I lived alone, and that was when I really began getting nervous.”

“And you said...?”

“That there was no need for him to worry about me. That my building’s very secure and the neighbors all watch out for one another.”

“Your building isn’t bad. Is the part about the neighbors true?”

“Not exactly. The ones I’ve met seem nice enough, but I barely know them. I haven’t lived here long.”

He didn’t ask for more details. However, his expression said he’d like them, so she added, “I left my husband in January and took a sublet while I looked for something permanent. I’ve only been here since June.”

“Ah.” He slowly rubbed his jaw, which drew her attention to his four o’clock shadow and reminded her how long a day he’d had.

“Detective Quinn—”

“Travis,” he said. “Why don’t you call me Travis.”

He hadn’t even spoken all the words before he began wondering what he was doing. He was here because he was a cop, not to get friendly with the woman.

She looked a little surprised, but smiled and said, “Call me Celeste, then.”

Nodding, he told himself he’d only suggested they drop the formality because it felt strange to be sitting here drinking soda with her and calling her Ms. Langley. It had been nothing more than that.

Sure, buddy. Let’s be honest and admit you like her.

The imaginary voice sounded so much like Hank’s it almost made him smile.

Of course, he didn’t know her well enough to really like her yet. But he’d admit to finding her attractive. After all, he’d been admitting that—to himself, at least—since last night.

And the fact that he did was hardly surprising. Her smile was fantastic. And she had a beautiful mouth. Basically, she had a beautiful everything.

It made him curious about what sort of idiot her husband must be—to have given her reason to leave him. But that was not what he should be thinking about.

Scrambling to remember where they’d left off, he said, “So, getting back to Reese, you told him not to worry about you and then...?”

“He said he couldn’t help it. Because... This was what truly scared me. He said the two of us are cosmically connected.”

Travis felt that icy numbness at the base of his spine once more. “Cosmically connected. Did you ask exactly what he meant by that?”

“Uh-huh. And he said part of it was that I was an editor and he was a writer, so we were like two halves of a whole. But, far more significant, I was Steve’s sister. And Steve had been a very important part of his life. Which meant we had to look out for each other. So he’d keep in touch.”

Terrific. Just what she needed.

“Travis, he left me with such a creepy-crawly feeling I didn’t know what to do.”

“Well, you did the right thing by phoning me.”

“Then you don’t think I overreacted?”

“No. In fact, I’ll pay him another visit tomorrow. Make it clear he’s not to contact you again.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. Reduce fear is one of the mandates in the department’s mission statement.” Not that he was going to worry about reducing Reese’s fear. He’d threaten to hang the guy up by his ears if he ever called her again.

“I’ll get back to you after I’ve talked to him,” he added. “Let you know how it went.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

He pushed himself up, knowing he’d better get out of her apartment—pronto.

Until he and Hank were certain she hadn’t killed her brother, she was a suspect—regardless of whether he believed she could have done it or not. So he had to leave before he did something even more stupid than telling her to call him Travis.

* * *

CELESTE LOCKED HER DOOR, then resisted the temptation to head straight to the window so she could watch Travis as he left the building.

Instead, she sat down with her still half-full glass and asked herself what on earth was going on.

Her life had been heavy on emotional turmoil lately, and until she started feeling a lot closer to normal she’d be crazy to even contemplate getting involved with a man. Yet she couldn’t deny the tug of interest she felt toward this particular one.

Likely, she decided, that was the “something” she’d been trying to put her finger on all day. Last night, she’d been so upset she hadn’t consciously realized she found him attractive. But tonight had been a different story.

After he’d said there was nobody waiting at home for him, the statement had lingered in her mind. And she doubted he routinely asked people he was interviewing to call him Travis.

Snoops skulked into the room and leaped onto her lap, deciding it was safe to come out of hiding now that the company was gone. She began to stroke him, her thoughts turning back to Travis.

She felt immensely better than she had earlier, and that was entirely due to him. She’d told him what was bothering her and he’d come up with a solution. He’d talk to Evan Reese and set things straight.

It had been a while since she’d had someone offer to take care of a problem for her. And clichéd as it might be, she really did feel as if he’d lifted a weight from her shoulders.

Of course, as he’d said, it was part of his job. But even so, she had the distinct sense that he was going above and beyond for her.

I just hope you have somebody you can lean on.

Thinking of Reese’s words again made her wonder if that could be what she was doing with Travis. Was she leaning on him? When he was a virtual stranger? Who’d only come into her life because he was investigating Steve’s murder?

After considering the possibility, she decided she’d better give a lot of thought to exactly why she was attracted to him. Because not doing so could be very dangerous.

* * *

WHEN HIS PHONE rang at seven-thirty Tuesday morning, Travis groaned and pulled his pillow over his ears.

He hadn’t gotten home from Celeste’s until midnight. Then he’d tossed and turned, unable to sleep because visions of her kept wandering through his brain.

That had started him wondering whether someone could have hypnotized him without his knowing—and given him a post-hypnotic suggestion that was keeping her constantly on his mind.

Deciding whoever was calling wasn’t going to give up, he grabbed the phone from the bedside table.

There was a moment’s silence after he answered, then a woman said, “Detective Quinn, this is Jill Flores. You and your partner came to see me yesterday. About Steve Parker.”

“Yes, of course.” He sat up in bed, trying to force away his grogginess. “What can I do for you?”

“First, I should apologize for calling so early. But I wanted to do it before I left for work. I don’t have much privacy on the job.”

“That’s okay.”

She didn’t continue immediately, so he said, “Did you remember something that might help us with the case?”

She cleared her throat. “It wasn’t really something I remembered. I just didn’t mention it yesterday.”

So his sense that she was holding out on them had been right.

“Then I started thinking I’d better tell you,” she added.

“Good. You never know what will prove useful.”

“Yes...well, your partner asked if Steve had been seeing anyone since we broke up. And I said I had no idea, but that wasn’t exactly true.

“A couple of weeks ago, he asked one of my friends out. One he met through me. I only knew about it because she called to check that I wouldn’t mind.

“At any rate, she’s seen him a few times. I didn’t say anything about her last night because she’s the sort of person who’d get upset about being questioned by the police. So since I knew she couldn’t possibly have been involved, I didn’t see the sense in putting her through it.

“But after I’d had time to think, I realized Steve might have said something to her that would give you a lead.”

“I’m glad you reconsidered,” Travis said, grabbing a pad and pencil from the bedside table. “And her name is...?”

“Ah...do you think you could avoid saying that I told you about her?”

“No problem.”

“Thanks. Her name’s Beth Winston. I’ll give you both her office and home numbers.”

He jotted them down, then said, “And she works...?”

“On Wall Street. For a law firm called Mitchell and Conlin. She has her own office, so if you wanted to talk to her there I think it would be all right.”

“Great. And thanks a lot for calling. I really appreciate it. By the way, just out of curiosity, what color is her hair?”

“Oh...about the same shade as mine. Why?”

Another blonde.

Resisting the temptation to ask if Beth owned a gray trench coat and a big black purse, he said, “Oh, it really was just curiosity.”

After saying goodbye, he put down the phone and glanced at the clock. If Beth Winston started work at nine, he had enough time to be there waiting when she arrived.

That would make him late meeting Hank, but he wouldn’t care. Especially not if this woman turned out to be their mystery blonde.

He phoned and left a message for Hank at the precinct, then got the coffee started and headed for the shower.

Barely half an hour later, he was climbing into the Mustang. Not many detectives drove their own cars on duty, but he’d had enough bad experiences with ones from the pool that he always did.

Despite the morning traffic, he arrived at the offices of Mitchell and Conlin before nine. Even so, Beth Winston had beaten him there.

“Is she expecting you?” the receptionist asked.

“No.”

“And your name?”

“Travis Quinn,” he told her, thinking he’d only say he was a police detective if he had to.

Since Beth Winston was the type of person who’d get upset at being questioned by the police, she’d probably get even more upset if her coworkers knew about it.

The receptionist didn’t press him. She just buzzed Beth, then directed him to her office.

When he reached its open door, the woman behind the desk said, “Travis Quinn? Should I know the name?”

“No.”

He handed her his card, then appraised her as she eyed it.

Maybe thirty-five and definitely “stylish.” She might well be their woman. And there was a gray trench coat hanging on the coatrack in the corner. Seeing it started his hopes climbing.

When she looked at him again, he decided Jill Flores had been right. He hadn’t asked a single question yet, and Beth Winston already seemed upset.

“Would you like me to close the door?” he said.

“Please.”

Once he had, she gestured for him to sit down and said, “I assume this has to do with Steve Parker.”

“You’ve heard, then.”

“Yes. One of his friends called me last night.”

“I understand you were seeing him.”

“I’d been out with him three times. And I...” She paused and shook her head. “I could easily have been with him on Saturday. He asked me to a movie, but I already had plans.

“My sister moved away from New York last year, and she was coming home for a week. So I’d asked a few of her friends over.”

“To your place, you mean.”

“Yes. Just an after-dinner thing. Drinks and catching up. You know.”

He nodded.

She had an alibi. He’d check it out, of course, but she was probably telling the truth.

“Except for that...” she said.

“You would have been with Steve Parker.”

“Yes. I can’t quite get over it.” She nervously drummed the surface of her desk for a couple of seconds, then murmured, “What time was he killed?”

“Sometime between nine and midnight.”

“Then if I’d been with him he’d still be alive. We’d have gone someplace after the show.” She shook her head, looking close to tears.

“I liked him,” she said at last. “It’s very sad.”

“Yes. It is. And I’m sorry I have to make you talk about it, but I need to ask a few more questions. Have you ever been in his apartment?”

“Only once. And just briefly. We stopped by because he had to get something.”

But she had been in it. So those blond hairs the techs bagged might be hers rather than the killer’s.

“Is there anything you can tell me that might help with the case?” he said. “Was Dr. Parker having problems with anyone? Did he ever say something was bothering him? Anything at all?”

Watching her slowly shake her head again, Travis wondered how many dead ends he’d hit since he’d earned his shield. But there was no value in dwelling on that.

* * *

TRAVIS TURNED into the Manhattan North Precinct’s parking garage and began watching for a space. After he found one, he headed inside.

Hank looked up from his desk as he approached and said, “What’s been happening?”

“Jill Flores called me first thing—to tell me she actually did know who Parker’d been seeing lately. So I paid the woman a visit.”

“And?”

“She turned out to be a blonde with a gray trench coat. But she has a solid alibi for the time of the murder. I got the names of the people she claimed she was with and called a few of them on my way here.”

“And aside from that? She have any ideas for us?”

“Nada.”

Hank’s shrug said You can’t win ’em all. “So, what do you want to do now?” he asked.

Show time. Travis didn’t want to tell his partner about going to Celeste’s place, but he had to. “We’ve got to talk to Evan Reese again,” he began.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I had a call from Celeste Langley last night. Just after you headed home.”

Once he’d elaborated, Hank said, “You figure that was a smart move? Going to see her without me?”

“What should I have done? Called and told you to turn around and meet me there?”

“No,” Hank said slowly. “But you could have just gotten the details over the phone.”

“We know Reese is a nut bar. And he scared the devil out of her.”

Hank shrugged again.

“So I stopped by. Her apartment was practically on my way home, anyhow. You’ve got a problem with that?” he added when Hank said nothing.

“How long did we work yesterday? Twelve hours? Thirteen?”

“More or less.”

“Well, if anyone else had called at that point, I doubt you’d have headed right on over just because she was scared.”

“I might have.”

“Travis...man, I could say a lot of things you already know. But only one of them really matters. That woman is our prime suspect.”

“She’s your prime suspect.”

“And who’s yours?”

“I’m not there yet.”

After a moment’s silence, Hank said, “Hey, buddy, you realize you’re not acting like yourself, don’t you? It’s as if you met Celeste Langley and something short-circuited in your brain.”

Ignoring that, he said, “Let’s go.”

Hank shook his head. “There’s no point in both of us wasting our time with Reese.”

He bit his tongue to keep from saying he didn’t consider it a waste of time.

“So why don’t I take care of some other stuff while you go talk to him. We can start in on the rest of the people on our Parker list later.”

“Yeah. Why not. Good idea.”

Travis turned and started away, unable to stop himself from thinking about what Hank had just said—and worrying that he was right.

Scientifically improbable as it might be, maybe meeting Celeste Langley really had short-circuited something in his brain.

What else would explain why he couldn’t stop thinking about her for more than two seconds straight?

CHAPTER FOUR

Tuesday, October 5, 11:31 a.m.

EVAN REESE LIVED on the Upper East Side, in an apartment not far from Steve Parker’s, which meant that by driving through Central Park Travis made the trip from Reese’s to West Seventy-fourth in only a few minutes.

Even so, by the time he reached Celeste’s block he’d told himself twelve dozen times that he shouldn’t be going to her place. He could keep his promise to “get back to her” simply by phoning.

Of course, the problem with that was he wouldn’t get to see her. And he wanted to—despite knowing it was a bad idea.

He shook his head, thinking how his sister was forever telling him that sooner or later he’d meet a woman who’d knock him off his feet. And that the longer it took, the harder he’d fall.