A Dangerous Game. Heather GrahamЧитать онлайн книгу.
hunkered down by her again as she sank down into one of the comfortably upholstered chairs in the waiting room. He looked at her worriedly. “The cops are good—you know that.”
“Craig, you have to be in on this. That detective—”
“Lance. Lance Kendall. Kieran, really, he’s all right. He’s doing all the right things.”
“Yeah! All the right things—grilling me!”
“Okay, I will speak with Egan about it tomorrow, how’s that?”
She nodded. “Thank you. Get one of your joint task forces going—at least maybe you can participate?”
“Sure.” He hesitated. “I guess...um, well.”
There was a tap at the door. They both looked up. Craig stood.
A man walked in. It wasn’t the first officer who had arrived at the scene—it was the detective who had arrived while others were setting up crime scene tape, handling the rush hour crowd around the body, and urging her to get the baby back up to her offices and out of the street.
Detective Kendall was a well-built African American man. About six feet even, short brown hair, light brown eyes, and features put together pleasantly. He was around forty-five, she thought. He wasn’t warm and cuddly, but neither was he rude.
“Detective,” Craig said. “Have you wrapped up at the scene for the evening?”
“Yes—a few techs are still down there, but there’s nothing more I can accomplish here. Unless you can help, Miss Frasier? You can’t think of anything?”
“I have no idea why this lady chose me,” Kieran said. “None.”
“And you’ve never seen the woman before?” Kendall asked.
“Never.”
“Nor the baby?”
What? Did he think that the infant paid social calls on people, hung out at the pub, or requested help from psychiatrists or a psychologist?
“No,” she managed evenly. “I’ve never seen the infant before. I’ve never seen the woman before.”
“All right, then.” He suddenly softened a little. “You must be really shaken. I understand that, and I’m sorry. For now... I don’t have anything else. But I’m sure you know we may need to question you again.”
“I’m not leaving town,” she said drily.
He wasn’t amused.
Kieran continued. “I’ve spoken with Dr. Fuller and Dr. Miro. I’ve told them all that I could, and they will be trying to ascertain if they can think of any reason—other than who they are and what they do—that the woman might have come here.”
“I’ve spoken with the doctors, too,” Detective Kendall told her grimly. “And I’m sure we’ll speak again.”
“I’m sure,” Kieran muttered.
“Good night, Special Agent Frasier—Miss Finnegan,” the detective said. “You’re both, uh, free to go.”
He left them. Craig pulled Kieran around and into his arms, looking down into her eyes. “We are free. There’s nothing else to do tonight. You want to go home?”
“I know that we both really wanted to see the band play tonight,” she told him. “I’m sorry.”
“Kieran, it’s not your fault. I’m sure you didn’t plan for a woman to abandon a baby in your arms and then run downstairs and find herself stabbed to death.”
“It’s driving me crazy, Craig! We don’t know who she was. We don’t have a name for her. We don’t know about the baby. I think she was too old to be the mom, but I’m not really sure. And if not...she was trying to save the baby, not hurt it. But who would hurt a baby?”
“I don’t know. Let’s get going, shall we?”
“We can still go to the pub. Maybe catch the last of the Danny Boys?” she said.
“You know you don’t want to go anywhere.”
Kieran hesitated. “Not true. I do want to go somewhere. I’m starving—and I’m not sure what we’ve got to eat at the apartment.”
“Yep. We’ve been staying at yours—if there is food at mine, I’m certain we don’t want to eat it.”
“Then we’ll go to the pub,” she said quietly.
Kieran hadn’t realized just how late it had grown until she and Craig walked out of the building. New York City policemen were still busy on the street, many of them just managing the crowd. The body was gone, but crime scene workers were still putting the pieces together of what might and might not be a clue on the busy street.
It was Midtown, and giant conglomerates mixed with smaller boutiques and shops. Most of the shops were closed and the hour too late for business, but people still walked quickly along the sidewalks, slowing down to watch the police and curious to see what had happened.
Kieran looked up while Craig spoke with a young policewoman for a moment. Her brother had once warned her that she looked up too often—that she looked like a tourist. But she loved the rooftops, the skyline. Old skyscrapers with ornate moldings at the roof sat alongside new giants that towered above them in glass, chrome and steel. And then again, right in the midst of the twentieth-and twenty-first-century buildings, there would be a charming throwback to the 1800s.
From a nearby Chinese restaurant, a tempting aroma laced the air.
Even over murder.
The cops generally knew Craig; he was polite to all of them. They nodded an acknowledgment to Kieran. She’d worked with the police often enough herself.
“Is Detective McBride going to be on the case?” Kieran asked hopefully. They’d worked with Larry McBride before, not even a year ago, and he had been an amazing ally.
Drs. Fuller and Miro worked with city detectives regularly, and nine times out of ten, they were great. Every once in a while, as in any job, there was a total jerk in the mix. Mainly they were professionals, and good at their work, and Kieran knew it. Some were more personable than others. Homicide detectives could be very cut-and-dried. McBride had told her once that Homicide, while horrible, was also easier than dealing with other crimes. The victims couldn’t complain about the way he was working. Of course, the victims had relatives. That was hard.
She had come to really like McBride.
In this case, a baby was involved. A woman had died trying to save that baby, Kieran was certain. So she felt they needed the best.
Craig looked at her quizzically. “You know that there are thousands of detectives in the city, a decent percentage of that in Homicide—and even a decent percentage in Major Case.”
“Actually, when you break it all down...”
“I don’t know who will be working the case—probably more than one detective. For right now, it is Lance Kendall. And he’s all right, Kieran. He’s good. He was doing all the right things,” he added quietly. He looked as if he was going to say something more. He didn’t.
He took her hand in his. She held on, letting the warmth of his touch comfort her as they walked down the street.
“Hey, remember, I’m an agent, and you work with psychiatrists who spend most of their time on criminal files. It’s the life we’ve chosen, and we’ve talked about it. This will be just another case—whatever level of involvement we have with it. You can’t let it take over, or neither one of us will be sane.”
She nodded. He was right. There were other cases where they found themselves on the fringe, and, frankly, every day of Craig’s life had to do with criminal activity in the city of New York. They’d already worked on cases of cruel and brutal murders. This was another. And