OFF LIMITS: Chapter Two
As Emma briskly walked up the sidewalk to the old house,
with its peeling white paint and genteel air of decline, she shot a
surreptitious look at the man ambling along beside her, his hands shoved deep
into the pockets of his black leather coat.
Choirboy?
No chance of that, even if he had the looks for it--pretty
in a way only a man could be pretty and still wholly, potently male. It almost
made her teeth ache, all that golden blond, ooey-gooey goodness.
The day she'd met Halloran, her knee-jerk response was
that he probably skated along on his physical appeal, because it didn't seem
likely he'd been gifted with intelligence as well as a face that would've given
Botticelli wet dreams. And, as she'd quickly noticed, his taste in clothes
didn't exactly scream "take me seriously," either.
Halloran stopped abruptly, interrupting her musings, and
Emma turned as he brought his hand close to his mouth, blew out a breath, and
then inhaled.
"Oh, man." Grimacing, he looked at her.
"Got any gum?"
Resisting an urge to roll her eyes, she patted her
blazer's pockets. Finding a half-empty pack of cinnamon gum, she tossed it over
to him.
He caught it neatly, again flashing a wide, disarming grin
that was an odd mix of sweet and bad-boy sexy, especially with his blondish
beard stubble and the visible ravages of one humdinger of a hangover.
"Thanks."
"I'm sure anybody you question this morning will
thank me, too."
She continued toward the house, but not before sneaking
another peek at Halloran, faintly resentful at how he made her feel like a plain
sparrow fluttering along beside a strutting, glorious peacock.
Most men in his shape would be lucky to match their socks,
but Halloran looked as flamboyant as ever in casual black pants, a shirt
sporting a retro bowling print in electric shades of red, blue, and yellow, and
a skinny red silk tie. His short leather coat, which nicely accentuated his
broad shoulders, concealed his shoulder rig, but not his detective shield.
Good thing, because without it he didn't come across very
coplike. The majority of detectives she'd known were understated types who
blended into the woodwork, and she'd been advised early on in her career not to
dress to draw attention to herself. Obviously, Bobby Halloran had skipped over
that part in the rule book.
Or, more likely, he didn't care, which just underscored
the doomed nature of this "partnership." On top of all that, Emma
found the entire physical package completely distracting, and, good God,
distractions were the last thing she needed right now in the craze-o-rama that
was her life.
Since she couldn't get around working with him, she might
as well strike up a conversation. "So this is it?"
"Yup. And that must be the landlord. What did you say
his name was again?"
"You should've looked over Delgado's report,"
she said tartly, sizing up the beefy, seedy-looking man on the porch.
"No disrespect to Rosie, who's a damn good cop, but
I'm here to form my own opinions. So what's his name?"
"Herb Demaris."
"It don't look like Herb's happy to see us."
True enough, and the landlord, wearing an expression ripe
with annoyance, tapped his foot on the porch as she and Halloran climbed the
steps, which creaked with their every step.
"Hello, Mr. Demaris." Emma motioned to her
badge. "I'm Detective Frey. We talked a short while ago on the phone."
Demaris, wearing paint-splattered jeans and a ragged Mardi
Gras sweatshirt, was a middle-aged man with a barrel chest, bushy gray hair, and
an old-time handlebar mustache. He peered at her as if his eyes couldn't quite
focus, then at Halloran, and frowned. "Who's he?"
"Detective Halloran. We're both here to look at the
vandalized apartment."
"I don't understand. The cops were here for hours
yesterday."
"The case was transferred to us this morning. We need
to quickly look over the scene for ourselves."
"And will this be it? Because I've got a hell of a
mess in there that'll take days to clean up. And the repairs are going to cost
me plenty, too. I need to get started as soon as possible."
"We won't be long. We really appreciate your
help," Emma politely assured the man, cuing in to his stiff posture and
obvious discomfort.
Guns and badges did that to people. Early on in her
career, it had been a heady rush to have that kind of power and intimidation.
Now it was just another part of the job she took for granted.
"So you don't mind if we take a look around?"
Halloran asked, more out of courtesy than any real need for permission.
"No, but make it quick." The man scowled.
"I'll show you the way."
With Halloran close behind her, Emma followed Demaris
inside. It had started out as the home of a wealthy family back in the days when
rich plantation owners built summerhouses in the city. Remnants of antebellum
elegance still existed in the architectural details, high windows and
ceilings-and the curving staircase where hoop-skirted Southern belles had once
descended, faces flirtatiously hidden behind fans, to meet their waiting beaux.
Similar to many older buildings in New Orleans, it wore a patina of age and
smelled faintly musty, with a hint of dust and mold.
The Mitsumi apartment comprised the northwest half of the
first floor. Not that she could miss it, as the mangled door hung off its hinges
and fingerprint powder liberally smudged the beige paint on either side of the
doorframe.
"Guess we can narrow down the method of entry to a
crowbar and heavy boots," Halloran said dryly, poking at the splintered
gash by the doorknob and plate.
"I was going to nail a tarp over it until I can get
the door fixed," the landlord offered, standing aside.
Emma nodded, although not really interested in his repair
plans, and gingerly pushed the door aside, hoping it wouldn't crash to the
floor. She became aware of an unpleasant odor, and as she stepped into the
apartment, the stench of spoiled food hit her full on.
She glanced at Halloran, hoping the smell wouldn't send
him running for the azalea bushes outside. He paled, lips thinning and nostrils
flaring slightly, but other than that he showed no signs of distress.
Probably because he'd had lots of practice working crime
scenes the morning after a bender.
"You came down to the apartment after receiving a
complaint of loud music, is that correct?" Emma pulled out her notebook and
pen, and turned to Demaris, who stood poised at the threshold, as if afraid to
cross it.
"Right; nothing out of the ordinary. So I came
downstairs to tell Chloe to knock it off, and found the door like this. I went
inside, saw what had happened, and turned off the music. Then I called the
cops."
"And the apartment was empty when you entered?"
"Yes, thank God. It never occurred to me the guys who
did this might still be around. I still get the shakes when I think about what
could've happened if I'd surprised them."
"Right. Keep that in mind if you encounter a similar
situation again." Emma noticed Halloran slowly circling the room--still
wearing his sunglasses. Turning back to the glum-faced landlord, she asked,
"Have you heard from Ms. Mitsumi since yesterday?"
"For the third time, no." Demaris sounded more
weary than impatient. "As I keep telling you people, Chloe's a big girl.
She doesn't check in with me. And she doesn't exactly keep regular hours,
anyway."
"And to the best of your knowledge, she wasn't living
with anybody at the time?"
"Not that I was aware of, and she's never been the
discreet type, if you know what I mean."
"I don't. Could you please explain?"
A dull red slowly tinged the man's cheekbones. "She's
a screamer."
Okay; image coming through, loud and clear.
Emma glanced at Halloran, curious to see his response,
since he allegedly knew the woman. But he was hunkered down beside a
toppled-over curio cabinet, unmindful of the glass shards beneath his polished
black shoes, and peering over the top of his sunglasses at scattered
knickknacks.
She turned her attention back to Demaris. "I looked
over the statement you made yesterday. You provided the names of several of Ms.
Mitsumi's friends, as well as contact information on her place of employment. Is
there anything else you'd like to add at this time? Either about the victim or
the break-in? Anything you might've remembered later, or forgotten to tell
Detective Delgado?"
"Nope. I don't socialize with my renters. All I care
about is if they pay their rent on time. I don't keep track of their social
calendars or sex habits."
He sounded certain enough that she didn't see any need to
question him further. With a perfunctory smile, Emma handed him her card.
"Thank you, Mr. Demaris. I appreciate your taking the
time to talk to us again. If you should hear from Ms. Mitsumi or happen to think
of anything else that might be useful to us, no matter how minor it seems,
please give me a call."
Understanding that he'd been dismissed, the man backed
out, his relief palpable. After his footsteps faded away, Emma gingerly made her
way through the debris toward Halloran.
"What are you looking at?"
"Nothing much. Whoever hit this place had a good time
busting up things." He held up what looked like one of those little ceramic
cherubs her mother liked collecting--except this one was headless. "They're
not worth much, she couldn't hide anything inside one, so why break them?"
"Good question."
Emma surveyed the wreckage of the living room, still
sensing the lingering shreds of fury in the air, the frustration that had driven
the intruders to destroy the apartment. No piece of furniture had been left
untouched; even the curtains had been slashed. Books and CDs had been dumped
from their shelves, and the TV screen was shattered. The stereo, because it had
been used to disguise the sounds of destruction, was untouched, although the
speaker covers had been dismantled and crushed.
"It's a good thing she wasn't home when these guys
broke in, otherwise we'd be responding to a homicide. Or at least a nasty
assault." Emma pushed a wisp of hair from her eyes. "I take it you've
been here before. Give me a tour."
Yes, she was fishing--and not being subtle about it--but
she really wanted a better idea about Halloran's past relationship to Chloe
Mitsumi, although from the captain's hints, she figured it had been an intimate
one.
Halloran smiled, which pretty much confirmed her
suspicions, and stood. "No call for a tour. It's an apartment, not a
palace. There's no more than the usual: living room, kitchen, bathroom,
bedroom."
Nodding, Emma moved to the center of the living room,
looking around, but nothing in the mess provided any obvious red flags or clues.
Yet she was still very aware of the heat of Halloran's body beside her, and the
expensive, spiced scent of his cologne she could smell even with the sour stench
wafting from the kitchen.
Halloran finally took off his sunglasses and hooked them
on his shirt pocket. "Yessiree, somebody wanted something real bad. Let's
see what the rest of the place looks like."
Together, they walked into the kitchen, where drawers and
cupboards had been emptied, and a few plates and glasses broken. After another
quick, wordless survey, Emma picked her way over the scattered remains of
congealed liquids and spoiling food, and headed into the bathroom. It looked
just as bad, with makeup, styling products, and tampons scattered across the
floor, countertop, and tub. Packages of birth control pills--and hey, the same
brand as hers--had been opened and dumped. On an apparently artistic whim, one
of the intruders had smeared lipstick over the white tile walls in vivid slashes
of crimson, rose, and dark purple.
"Somebody had a sense of humor." Halloran
motioned at a smiley face drawn on the mirror. "Kinda warms the cockles of
your heart, don't it?"
Pursing her lips, his solid presence still uncomfortably
close behind her, Emma headed to the bedroom, which seemed to have sustained the
most damage. Somebody had slashed all the clothing--and it was expensive
clothing, too. Leathers, silks, linens...even the dozens of shoes and boots
hadn't escaped damage. The ripped mattress had been shoved aside, and hundreds
of photographs lay scattered across the floor, along with the wilted remains of
potted plants and dirt.
She picked up the photo of a woman in a little black
dress, who radiated a blatant come-hitherness even in a picture. Small-boned and
exotic, with her hip-length black hair, full mouth, and dark, upturned eyes, the
woman had the whole Oriental-mystique and Dragon-Lady-femme-fatale routine down
pat.
Emma showed the photo to Halloran. "Chloe
Mitsumi?"
"The one and only."
Emma pocketed the photograph, wondering at his droll tone,
then looked around again. The room's two tall windows, both liberally dusted
with fingerprint powder, caught her attention. "The windows are
closed."
Halloran stepped up beside her. "Yeah, so what? It's
January."
"Delgado's report said the north window was
open." She looked over at him. "Somebody must've closed it."
"The landlord, or one of the uniforms. Probably to
keep out insects and animals, considering all that food in the kitchen."
"Or somebody came back in here after our guys
left."
Emma picked up a purple leather skirt from off the floor
and traced the holes in the slashed lining. Halloran likewise examined a pair of
jeans that had the pockets turned inside out. Putting it aside, he hooked the
strap of a red lace bra on his finger and held it up. "Look at this."
"Slinky." Emma arched a brow. "Not your
color, though."
"Pay attention, Detective Frey." Halloran made a
tsk-tsk sound. "The cup linings have been slit."
At that, the significance behind all this damage suddenly
made sense, and she met his gaze over the ruins of the bed.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked.
His long-voweled, deep drawl washed over her like warm
caramel, thick and sweet. More than a little unnerved by her reaction, Emma
looked away, shaking off the feeling, and dropped the leather skirt to the
floor.
"They were searching for something small enough to
hide in a bra, the lining of a skirt, or in a package of food." She sighed.
"Great. I was sort of hoping they were after a multi-ton pink elephant. I
could use a lucky break."
To her surprise, Halloran gave a short bark of laughter,
quickly followed by a wince. "Hey, don't make me laugh. It hurts."
"It could be somebody she knew," Emma added.
"Somebody with a grudge. She sounds like the kind of girl who might easily
get on somebody's bad side."
"She's no Miss Manners." Halloran tossed the bra
aside. "She runs with a wild crowd, but generally keeps out of serious
trouble."
"Unlike her brother."
Halloran shifted his focus directly to her, and for the
first time she noticed how bloodshot his eyes were--and that he looked deeply,
heavily tired.
A rush of sympathy washed over her, quickly followed by
guilt that she'd been so sharp with him earlier. It hadn't been necessary, and
it wasn't as if her bad luck were his fault. What would it hurt now to be a
little nicer to him?
"He was one mean sonofabitch, but he was a good
brother," Halloran said, interrupting her little burst of self-reproach.
"He took care of his sister, and always kept her clear of his business. For
her part, Chloe had an impressive set of blinders where her brother was
concerned. I don't think she's involved in anything illegal, unless it's petty
shit like smoking a joint or two."
"You're sure of this?"
"Nothing in life is ever absolute, darlin', but I'm
pretty sure."
Since Halloran called even the grandmotherly cleaning
woman "darling," Emma ignored it the same way she ignored his lapses
in grammar, which she suspected were as much of an act as the pretty-boy
schmoozing.
Emma turned back toward the living room. "I think
we've seen enough. I'll wait to hear if any prints come back, though I'm
doubting there'll be much to work with. It sounds like half of New Orleans
partied here at one point or another, and Delgado was sure the intruders wore
gloves. Let's go."
"Where to?"
"I want to talk to the other tenants and neighbors
again, but first we need to find Chloe Mitsumi. What do you think? Should we try
the boutique on Magazine where she works?"
Halloran caught up with her in the hall outside the
apartment. "At this time of the day, that'd be my first choice."
"Hope she gets a hell of a discount, because she's
going to need a new wardrobe." Emma took a final look around her, at the
door hanging off its frame, the slightly shabby elegance of the old house.
"The uniforms and Delgado already contacted most of the neighbors and
tenants. We'll come back to them later. You can follow up with the neighbors,
I'll take the other tenants."
One side of his mouth--a nice mouth, with a full lower
lip--curved in a smile. Then he popped his cinnamon gum. "Sounds
good."
Considering that it would take days to contact all of the
woman's acquaintances--having Halloran might not be such a liability after
all--her first priority was to find Mitsumi, verify her safety, and then
question her.
Solving the case would be easier if she could establish
not only a motive, but whether or not anything was stolen. Also, there had to be
a reason why Mitsumi up and disappeared after discovering her trashed apartment.
"Does it concern you that this woman's gone
missing?" Emma asked as they walked down the porch steps.
Again, he popped his gum in a steady rhythm. "Chloe
can take care of herself."
If that wasn't a provocative statement, she didn't know
what was. "Really?"
"Really." Halloran winked--winked?--at her.
"But I agree we need to find her. Otherwise, we ain't got shit to work
with."
As she neared the car, Emma headed for the driver's side,
but Halloran swiftly maneuvered his way there first, to her annoyance.
"Remember, you defer to me," he said. "That
means I'm driving, and you're not arguing."
Since he hadn't left her a choice, Emma headed back to the
passenger's side, yanked the door shut, and buckled her seat belt as he hit the
accelerator and muscled his way into traffic. From what she could hear on the
radio, the bad guys were hopping today, and she listened to the
transmissions--until she suddenly realized that Halloran was taking a strange
route toward Magazine.
When Armstrong Park whizzed past her window, she asked,
"What are you doing?"
"I'm taking a quick detour to the Iberville projects.
There's somebody I need to see over there first."
"Halloran, we need to find Chloe Mitsumi. That's our
-"
"This won't take long. Promise." Again, he
flashed that beguiling half-smile. "Just make sure your badge and gun are
visible. It can get a little rough down here."
He drove with a sureness that told her he knew exactly
where he was going, and she tensed, more alert, as they passed through run-down
blocks of public housing. She and the angelic-looking Halloran didn't exactly
blend in with the project's predominantly black residents. Even the youngest
children, playing in the streets or on patchy bits of lawn, could pick out an
unmarked police car, and stopped what they were doing as Halloran drove past.
Older residents watched from porch steps or lawn chairs, sometimes nodding a
greeting. Clusters of young men and women stood on street corners or next to
parked cars, rap music blaring from boom boxes, and Emma could almost feel their
stares as the car passed them. A squad on routine patrol drove by, and Halloran
raised a hand in salute to the other officer.
Finally, he pulled up before a square, multistory brown
brick apartment building indistinguishable from those surrounding it. Poverty
and hard times hung over the place like a cloud, despite the bright morning sun.
"What's going on?" she demanded as he turned off
the ignition.
"A follow-up on a domestic assault. Just wait
here." He slammed the car door shut behind him, and walked toward the
complex's main door with long, unhurried strides.
Emma quickly got out of the car. Like hell would she stay
behind. She was his partner--no matter how reluctantly, and if only for a short
time--and partners watched each other's backs. Period.
Ahead, Halloran reached the front door as it swung open to
reveal a short, thin black man who was talking over his shoulder, presumably to
someone behind him.
Halloran stopped short. "Hey, Raymond. Just the man
I've come to see."
The man whipped his head around, eyes widening. "Goddammit!"
Immediately, he tried to slam the door shut, but Halloran
lifted his foot and kicked it open, hard.
For a split second, Emma was too startled to react. Then,
as Halloran disappeared inside, she swore under her breath and ran forward,
taking the steps two at a time.
Back him up back him up...
With that litany pounding urgently in her head, her gun
almost clear of its holster, she stepped into the entryway and quickly scanned
the scene.
Halloran had Raymond by the front of his shirt, and two
other men stood to the side, frozen in place. Raymond was loudly cursing and
protesting, spittle flying, neck corded in rage.
Behind them and down along the hallway, several doors
opened as curious tenants poked their heads out to see what was going on.
Emma held up her shield, shouting, "Police. Stay
inside!"
The sound of slamming doors and clicking locks immediately
echoed down the hall as Raymond struggled uselessly in Halloran's white-knuckled
grip, glaring. "What the fuck you doing, man? You got no business -"
"Shut up," Halloran said pleasantly--then he
hoisted the man up into the air, ignoring his choking gasps and kicking feet,
and threw him into the opposite wall.
Raymond hit with a meaty thud and a grunt of pain before
sliding to the floor, head drooping.
Too stunned to do more than stare, Emma didn't react until
Halloran lunged forward. She grabbed the back of his coat, but he effortlessly
shoved her aside and against the wall. With a wince at a stinging pain in her
shoulder, she quickly regained her balance and moved toward him again.
And...now what?
She had no idea what was going down here, but every
instinct told her to at least act as if she were supporting him, to show a
united front with not even a whiff of weakness.
Raymond, his eyes rolling in fear, saw her come up behind
Halloran. "Get him off me!"
"You have a problem following orders, don't you? I
said, shut up." Hunkering down, Halloran grabbed the man's shirt again and
yanked him forward until they were eye to eye.
Emma hovered uneasily at Halloran's back, her gaze darting
between the scene in front of her and Raymond's two friends, who still hadn't
moved a muscle. For a brief moment, an eerie quiet filled the hall, except for
the sound of labored breathing and the distant, muffled wail of a baby.
"Now listen up, because I'm only gonna say this
once." Halloran smiled, deep dimples creasing his face as he continued in a
soft, growling drawl. "She dies, you sonofabitch, and I promise I'll be
coming after you."
After releasing Raymond, who flopped back against the
wall, Halloran stood, briefly catching Emma's gaze. Cold fury glittered in his
eyes, and a dark, violent current of tension radiated outward from every rigid
line of his body.
A tingle of fear slithered up her spine, and the angry
protest on the tip of her tongue died away.
Halloran turned, breaking the uneasy moment, then
straightened his tie, smoothed back his hair, and walked past her as if nothing
of consequence had just transpired.
As he headed out the door, Emma faced the man sprawled on
the floor, still spitting curses, and his two companions, who watched her in
silence, flat-eyed and sullen. She slowly backed toward the door, hand on her
gun, not turning her back on them until she'd cleared the building. Even then,
she kept checking over her shoulder as she followed Halloran.
She caught up with her sunny-haired lunatic as he reached
the car, and snapped, "What the hell were you doing back there?"
"Just taking care of business. Forget it."
Avoiding her glare, he slid into the car, cranked the ignition, and the engine
roared to life.
Emma stalked around to the other side, and after buckling
her seat belt, she leaned toward him. "Forget it? I don't think so. You
kicked in a door and roughed up some brother, who's probably going to call down
to the station house and -"
"Raymond won't be calling anybody. Don't concern
yourself. It's a personal issue."
"Nothing's personal when you're on company time-and
especially not when you involve me!"
Halloran pulled away from the curb, looking far too
relaxed for someone who'd just thrown a man into a wall. In fact, it looked as
if that burst of violence had left him feeling one hundred percent better. Color
had returned to his face, and a renewed vitality seemed to shimmer around him,
like a glow.
"I told you to wait in the car," he said calmly.
"If you'd listened to me, then you wouldn't have been involved,
right?"
Emma didn't argue that particular point, suspecting it
would do her little good. But the second they returned to the station, she'd ask
Strong to cut her loose from Halloran.
"Sorry for pushing you back like that," he said
after what seemed like hours, although it couldn't have been much more than five
or ten minutes. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"No." Her hands were shaking slightly, more from
shock than fear. That violence had exploded from out of nowhere, taking her
completely by surprise, and part of her still couldn't believe he'd thrown a man
into a wall. "And you're just damn lucky they didn't kick your ass
or shoot you before I got there. God, you scared me half to death."
She dies, you sonofabitch, and I promise I'll be coming
after you...
That threat, along with the captain telling Halloran
earlier to "get over it," provided a fairly clear reason behind the
hallway incident. She hesitated, then asked, "So who'd he beat up?"
Emma studied his profile while waiting for an answer,
amazed all over again that beneath his handsome, stylish façade lurked a
capacity for such casual brutality.
"C'mon, Halloran. You owe me that much."
He shrugged, unperturbed. "His girlfriend. It's your
usual domestic battery situation, and it's not the first time. Me and Raymond,
we've had more than a few confrontations. Guys like him, the only language they
listen to is violence--and it's the only thing they respect."
"That doesn't justify a use of force. What you did
back there goes against everything we stand for. We're the good guys,
remember?"
Halloran didn't respond. Instead, he rolled down the
window to let the January air rush through the car's interior. Registering the
welcome relief of the cool wind, it dawned on her that she was, quite literally,
hot with anger, and a quick peek in the side mirror showed her flushed cheeks.
It surprised her that he'd noticed--and quietly done
something about it. Not that she'd thank him, considering he was the reason for
her rocketing blood pressure, and since it appeared Halloran had closed the
subject, Emma let the car fill with her silent disapproval, figuring he'd get
the message without her having to say another word.
The remainder of the ride passed in an awkward silence,
but she'd calmed herself down by the time they reached their destination on
Magazine Street, a shopping mecca that bustled with traffic and people.
Chloe Mitsumi worked in the Wild Orchid, a trendy
and expensive boutique that was definitely the place to be seen--unless,
apparently, you were Chloe Mitsumi.
"I'm sorry," said the store's manager, a sleek,
forty-something woman named Leena Bondurant. "Chloe called me at home early
this morning and told me what happened. She's terribly upset, as you can
imagine. She asked if she could take the next few weeks off, to find a new place
and take care of matters with the police, her lawyer, and her insurance company.
I'm sure she's terribly overwhelmed, so of course I agreed. It's the least I
could do."
The woman's words added weight to Emma's suspicion that
Chloe was deliberately making herself scarce. She glanced at Halloran to see if
he'd caught that bit of disturbing news, but he wasn't listening. He was far too
busy checking price tags on a rack of slinky evening dresses.
Maybe if the situation at hand didn't involve destruction,
death, or threatening bodily harm, it wasn't worth his full attention.
Turning back to the manager, Emma pulled out her notepad.
"She said she was going to contact the police, her lawyer, and her
insurance company?"
Bondurant nodded. "Something like that. It was early,
and I wasn't exactly taking notes."
"So you have no idea where she is right now?"
"No. I'm sorry. If I did, I'd tell you. Why? Is
something wrong?"
"We need to talk to her, and we're having a little
trouble contacting her to leave a message." Emma took out a business card
and handed it to the woman. "If she calls again, or if you see her, can you
please tell her to contact me immediately?"
"I certainly will." The manager paused.
"She's not in any kind of trouble, is she?"
Picking up on the caution, Emma asked mildly, "Why do
you ask?"
"I know she likes to have fun, but I wonder about the
people she parties with. Don't get me wrong, I like Chloe very much. She's been
with us over three years, and she's an excellent worker. She's great with
customers, rarely calls in sick, and she's always on time and willing to do
extra little jobs. But sometimes I worry... You know about her brother,
right?"
"Yes, I'm aware of that situation. Do you believe she
is in some way involved with his prior criminal activities?"
Bondurant shook her head, looking shocked. "Oh, no.
No. Chloe hated her brother with a passion."
This was news. She'd assumed, from Halloran's earlier
comments, that the two had been close.
"Every once in a while these young men come in to see
her." The woman shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable. "Maybe it's
nothing, and I've only seen them around a few times since Chloe's been with us,
but I noticed because they're not the kind of people you'd normally see in a
store like this."
"What do you mean?"
Halloran had asked the question. Without Emma noticing,
he'd moved in close behind her--apparently he'd been paying attention, after
all.
"Well...let's just say they appeared to embrace a
rougher kind of lifestyle."
"How many were there? Do you remember what they
looked like? Were they in any way dressed the same? Any distinctive
tattoos?" Halloran's interest was plainly piqued, which in turn piqued
Emma's. "Would you recognize any of them if you saw them again?"
Bondurant blinked, flustered by his rapid-fire questions.
"There's two or three of them, and they're usually black, but every now and
again there's this Asian-looking guy with them. They're full of attitude and
loud, like they want to cause trouble. They made me nervous, and the other
customers, too. But I don't remember details, and I don't know that I'd
recognize them if I ran into them on the street. Sorry."
Emma jotted down the information. "When was the last
time they came by to see Ms. Mitsumi?"
"Last Tuesday. It was the first instance in at least
six or seven months."
"How did Ms. Mitsumi act around these men?" Emma
asked. "Did she seem comfortable with them? Afraid? Angry?"
"She was pleasant enough, but in a distant kind of
way. I never got the impression she considered them friends, just people she
knew in passing."
"Did you catch any names?" Emma persisted.
"No, I'm afraid not. I kept my distance. They made me
nervous."
"That's fine. You did great." Halloran smiled at
the manager, who smiled back, her demeanor suddenly less reserved, her
expression softening--almost flirtatious, in a discreet sort of way. The woman
inched closer to him, cutting in front of Emma to do so, as if she'd completely
forgotten her presence.
Note to self: From here on out, have Halloran question
all the women...
"You've been very helpful, Ms. Bondurant." In
his drawl, "Bondurant" sounded melodic, seductive.
From behind the manager, Emma tipped her head to catch
Halloran's attention, injecting as much skepticism into her look as possible. In
response, he cranked the charm even higher.
Emma almost laughed, and she had a sneaking suspicion that
was his intent. Aware he'd upset her, he wanted to coax her out of her bad mood.
Unfortunately for him--though fortunately for her--she was
mostly immune to schmoozy charm.
"If you do talk to Ms. Mitsumi and pass on Detective
Frey's message, would you also mention to her that Detective Halloran would like
to talk to her? She knows how to contact me."
"I certainly will, Detective. Can you leave me your
number just in case?"
No doubt to make note of it for her own purposes.
Then, as if suddenly remembering Emma's existence, the
manager turned, looking a little sheepish, and Emma managed to blank her
"I'm gonna puke" expression just in time.
"And thank you, too, Detective Frey. I hope you'll
help Chloe straighten out this mess. That poor girl. After all the grief she's
been through, she hardly needs this."
Emma nodded, then signaled Halloran to follow her out the
door.
"So what's the plan?" he asked as they crossed
the street to where he'd parked the car--illegally, if they'd been anybody but
the cops.
"I thought I'd make a few calls to see if someone
knows where she is, check back on the prints, then write up my notes."
"I'll drop you off at the station. I have a couple
other appointments this morning."
Emma eyed him. "Does it involve beating up any more
people?"
If he was offended by her question, he didn't let it show.
"Nope."
His nonchalance didn't sit right with her. It was as if
he'd completely moved on after what he'd done: out of sight, out of mind.
Well, she didn't work that way. This man was trouble
waiting to happen, and she could not--would not--open herself up to that kind of
pain again
When they were in the car and on their way back to North
Rampart, Emma turned in the seat toward him. "I told you I testified
against bad cops, and yet you roughed up that guy in front of me anyway. I don't
doubt he had it coming to him, and then some, but..."
Her voice trailed off as she watched for a reaction, even
a glimmer of remorse, but saw nothing.
Frowning, she quietly got to the point: "Aren't you
even a little concerned that I'll go to Strong and report what you did?"
As he stopped for a red light, Halloran looked at her from
behind his dark sunglasses and shrugged. "Truth is, Frey, I can't seem to
care."