Watchers of the Night, page 10
Adam was in there? “I thought Solberg had only returned to the precinct to finish his serial killer case.”
“That’s right, but when Grant brought the teenager in, Timmins and Hawthorne weren’t here.” She tilted her head at Adam. “Just Solberg. Grant’s okay with it so long as Solberg doesn’t dig too deep with the questioning.”
Several tense moments passed before Turnbull stepped to one side. “Wouldn’t want you to miss out on firsthand evidence, Cornwall. But you know I can get into big trouble with Boucher for doing this.”
“Thanks. I won’t breathe a word, I promise.” Cynthia walked into the well-lit room, where four computers sat on a wide table, each one hooked up via video and audio link to the interview rooms.
“Number Three.” Turnbull sat in front of the computer and hit several keys. “Recording,” she said into the microphone.
Cynthia pulled up a chair and saw Grant raise his hand in acknowledgment on the computer screen. Larry, on the other side of the metal table, sat slouched in the chair, fingers linked across his chest. His expression was rebellious, and ready to do battle. Adam sat in a corner, arms crossed, his gaze not missing anything.
“Well, Larry, I understand you’re paying us another visit. Welcome back.”
Larry looked him up and down. “Who the hell are you?”
“Constable Edward Grant.”
“What am I doing here?”
“You were brought in to answer some additional questions.”
“Like what?” Larry seemed more defensive than usual.
Grant flipped through several sheets of paper. “Last night, someone broke into Forensic Investigator Cynthia Cornwall’s apartment.”
Larry jerked in his seat, then sat up straighter. “Who’s that?”
“Come on, Larry. She’s the lady who questioned you with Captain Boucher.”
“Okay, yeah, I remember. She backed me up when your captain got snarky with me.”
Constable Turnbull looked over her shoulder, her eyebrow cocked.
Cynthia shrugged. “Larry wasn’t going to talk if Boucher kept threatening him. I intervened and dialed it down.”
“You’re gutsy for a forensics analyst. I like that.”
In the interrogation room, Larry propped his arms on the table. “So someone jacked the lady’s home?”
“Larry, we know it was you.”
The teenager didn’t move, but his expression was angry. “I told your captain that I don’t do that anymore.”
“Well, that’s hard to believe, since we have evidence to the contrary.”
“Now wait up!” Larry slammed his hand on the table. “You all trying to set me up, is that it? Can’t believe that a guy wants to go straight?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Cynthia noticed Adam sliding to the edge of his chair. He leaned forward and clasped his hands—an innocent enough move.
“That’s not the point, Larry. The point is, we found something with your fingerprint on it.” Constable Grant shuffled through his papers and pulled out two plastic bags—one containing the letter, while the second held the photo. He placed them on the table. “These were found in Ms. Cornwall’s apartment.”
Larry looked sick. His dark brown skin turned ashen. “Hey, man, I didn’t break into anyone’s place.”
“Well someone sure did, and did a damn good job too.” Grant jabbed the evidence with a finger.
Larry got up and paced the small room. “This ain’t right, man.” His hands gestured with each word he uttered. “I didn’t do shit!”
“Larry, take it easy.” Grant pushed his chair back, keeping an eye on the teenager. “All I’m asking is for your side of the story.”
“Are you going to believe me, huh? How do I know you won’t lock my ass up?”
Larry was scared—really scared. Did he know something?
“Because my dad believed in you,” Adam said.
Startled, Cynthia watched as Adam rose and approached Larry, who had finally stopped pacing.
“My dad agreed to help you get straight because he saw something in you,” Adam continued. “Something that mattered. And in return you helped him by being his informant. Dad wouldn’t have done that unless he felt in his gut that you were trying to clean yourself up.”
Larry tilted his head. “Hey, I know you—”
“No, you know my dad. The guy who ran the Chariots of Chrome.”
“Mr. Solberg? He’s your old man?” Larry’s demeanor changed suddenly. His body relaxed, and he actually had a smile on his face. “He was one cool dude. Nobody tried anything with him.”
Cynthia was sure no one else noticed, but she did—the sad, but proud expression on Adam’s face when the teenager praised his father. “Yeah, he was my dad.”
“Look, man, I’m sorry about what happened to him. That was some serious stuff.”
“Yes, it was. And we need your help.” He pointed at the photo. “That picture of Ms. Cornwall was taken when she arrived at the MC clubhouse, after the explosion. Your fingerprint is on it. You need to tell us how that happened.”
Larry started pacing again, but it wasn’t the frantic movements of an agitated young man. He seemed more relaxed, arms hanging at his sides.
Adam backed off and sat down. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Another minute went by before Larry took a seat. “First, I’m telling you straight up I had nothing to do with the bombing.”
“We’re not talking about that, Larry,” Grant intervened. “We’re just discussing the picture and the letter. Did you do this?”
“No, man. When I was with the gang, the Desperados cased houses, but we never left letters. Are you kidding? That’s a whole other level of creepy.”
Cynthia breathed a sigh of relief. She had hoped Larry had nothing to do with that part of the crime.
“I did take the picture, though.”
She gasped. “The little bastard.”
Grant leaned forward. “Why?”
Larry shrugged. “For money, what else? Look, I wasn’t there when the place blew up, all right? Yeah, I was there talking to Mr. Solberg, but that was to give him the lowdown on a drug deal. Ms. Cornwall and Captain Boucher questioned me on that.
“Anyhow, when I heard the explosion and came back to check it out, I saw it was Mr. Solberg’s place.” He glanced at Adam. “There was already a pretty big crowd of people checking it out, so I hung around to watch. A lady came up to me, asking what was going on, and we talked for a bit. She told me she was a reporter, but her partner wasn’t with her, and asked if I could help in taking photos. Showed me her ID and gave me her business card, one of those disposable cameras and cash on the spot—two hundred and fifty bucks. She said she wanted pictures of the building and the emergency crews when they arrived. Said she’d give me another two hundred and fifty if I got the photos developed and delivered them to her in person.”
Cynthia nodded—that explained her picture in particular.
“I finished the roll and went to one of those places that got photos ready in one hour and called her while I waited. When she showed up, I took the pictures out and showed her. She said I did a great job and paid me the other half. That’s it.”
Grant was taking notes while Adam tapped the floor with his foot. “What did she look like?” Grant asked.
“Reached my shoulder, blond hair, sort of fat. Looked like the grandmother type.”
“Did she touch the photos?” Adam asked.
Larry looked at him. “What?”
“Did you notice if the woman touched the pictures when you gave them to her?” Adam asked again.
“Man, I don’t remember. I only wanted the money—easiest five hundred bucks I ever made.”
“Except you’re here.” Adam stood and paced the small room like a lion in a cage. “Do you still have that business card?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Larry pointed at the small plastic container beside Grant that held a wallet, cell phone and a set of keys. “It should be in the wallet.”
Grant pulled on a pair of gloves and opened the wallet. He rummaged through it until he found a couple of business cards. “Which one?”
“That one, the blue and pink. I thought those were weird colors for a reporter, but hey, however she wants to roll, man.”
Adam looked over Grant’s shoulder. “‘M. McCarthy, Reporter.’ There’s nothing else except a phone number. Odd.”
The air around Cynthia suddenly grew cold. McCarthy—her landlady’s name. When her home had been violated, she knew she couldn’t leave the older woman out of the equation, but she had hoped...
“Thanks for letting me listen in,” she told Turnbull as she gathered her things.
“Cornwall, I don’t think Grant’s finished.”
“I am. Thanks for your help.”
The elevator to the laboratory floor couldn’t move fast enough. Her landlady. The woman who helped Cynthia move in, watched out for her when she came home late at night, the landlady who offered the comfort and humor that she missed when she moved out of her aunt’s house. That woman. She was part of all this.
* * *
Cynthia pulled the gloves off and carefully rubbed her eyes. She had managed to pry open the small portable safe she had found at the clubhouse. It was fire-resistant, and the items inside hadn’t been damaged—small bills, a couple of keys, the lease to the clubhouse and insurance papers. The fingerprints she had carefully managed to lift all belonged to Adam’s father, and the insurance stated that his friend Bruiser would inherit the clubhouse.
She hadn’t expected much from the metal box, but it was still disappointing. Her hope for answers now lay with Mr. Creatura’s upcoming interview about his Rolex, and the remaining pieces of evidence—the wires and the strange white dust. If she couldn’t find any clues with them, she’d have to head back to the burned-out building and pray she’d find something else.
Man, she was tired, and the emotional toll felt greater because of Adam. She was determined though, both for him and herself, to solve this case. She wasn’t going to give up by a long shot.
Her cell phone pinged with a text.
Hey, it’s Adam, are you still here?
Yeah, just trying to figure out something. What’s up?
Getting ready to leave and now I just realized you don’t have a way to get in if you get back before me. I’ll have to find my extra keys.
Wow, she hadn’t expected that. It made sense, but getting a set of keys to his condo screamed another kind of trust. Um, okay.
What are you up to? You said you’re figuring something out. Need a hand?
His last question sent a warm, fuzzy feeling through her insides. An honest, innocent inquiry about her progress. Adam was up to his eyeballs with his own work, yet he asked if she wanted help.
While work had been busy, Adam was constantly at the back of her mind. What surprised Cynthia was that it wasn’t intrusive or bothersome. It was almost like...
Her heart clenched at what she thought. He was like her Buddha in her meditation space—always present, but never in the way, a fixed point she could turn to if she felt emotionally vulnerable. She started typing without thinking, and it wasn’t to give him her typical “I’m fine” spiel.
Actually, I do need you. Would you mind coming down to the lab?
This was so unlike her, and she didn’t care in the least. Cynthia wanted to see Adam before he went back to the condo, even though she knew she’d see him later tonight. Anticipation made her heart race.
Footsteps in the hallway, then the door opened to reveal Adam’s strong form. “Hey,” he called out, walking in. “What’s up? You said you needed me?”
Too late to turn back now. She took a deep breath, rose from her desk and walked toward him, never hesitating while she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a thorough kiss. Adam’s eyes widened in surprise before he embraced her, returning the kiss with such fervor she thought she might pass out.
Cynthia lost track of time, and finally stopped, although she didn’t want to. She held his face with her hands.
He tucked a finger under her chin and caressed her cheek with a thumb. “Did you want to go home now?”
“I—I have a bit more work to do, but I’ll see you later?”
“You bet.” He kissed her nose and walked out.
His words—they tugged at her, made her feel like she was a part of something. She let this heady feeling fill her with a happiness that maybe—just maybe—would let her take the next step, if Adam gave an indication he wanted to do the same thing.
Chapter 9
Adam read Bruiser’s text again, guilt and grief warring for attention. While he had thought constantly about his cousin and friends, and was praying for their recovery, he hadn’t been back to the hospital to see them. His friend said Jeffrey was still in a coma, but everyone else was out of immediate danger and recovering—thank God for that. But he should be there too, if only for a little bit to show his support.
Right, decision made. As soon as Cynthia returned he’d head out. She could keep herself occupied for a couple of hours. He hadn’t eaten, so he’d have to grab a sandwich along the way. For her, he threw together a salad and arranged fixings for a quick meal—it was the best he could do on short notice, and he knew she’d be back soon.
Her surprise text and their discreet make-out session in the lab had been a serious turn-on and cheered him up immensely—it was the last thing he’d expected. What surprised and pleased him was that she’d forgotten her important rule of no precinct shenanigans, and it didn’t seem to bother her. Adam knew they had something special, and sure, he could gently try to convince her, but Cynthia needed to convince herself.
His phone pinged. Hey, I’m at the condo, be up in five.
He grabbed his jacket and helmet, and opened the door at her knock. “Sorry, I wanted to get back earlier—” She stopped, frowning. “Is everything okay? What’s going on?”
“I’m just heading to the hospital—I won’t be long.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “I’ve put together dinner for you. I’ll eat something on the way back.”
She was silent for a moment. “Thanks.” She stepped inside and dropped her satchel on the floor.
Not quite the reaction he’d expected. She seemed disappointed, which was sort of a good thing, right? It meant she wanted him here to have dinner together.
He shrugged into his jacket, reached for his keys...
“I’m coming with you.”
He turned around. She had reached for her own jacket, and was rummaging through her satchel until she found her phone and shoved it into a pocket. His surprise must have been evident, because she offered up a small smile. “What?”
He shook his head, because he didn’t have the words. “You don’t have to do this,” he blurted.
“You’re right, I don’t.” Cynthia reached out her hand and clasped his fingers within her own. “But I want to.”
* * *
Adam was feeling restless, edgy. The thought of going back home after that hospital visit filled him with dread. Jeffrey was unconscious, the other officers in various stages of healing. Bruiser, the rock who had held everyone together, was close to an emotional breakdown. To walk into the condo and face everything attached to Dad would push him over the edge. He needed to get away, if only for a couple of hours, and he had the perfect companion. “Do you want to go out?” he asked Cynthia, strapping on his helmet.
“Sure. Anything particular in mind?”
“A friend of mine owns a tapas bar about twenty minutes from here.”
“That sounds like a great idea.” She climbed on behind him. “We could do with a break.”
Parking wasn’t a problem, but the sidewalks were filled with pedestrians. “There must have been a baseball game tonight,” Cynthia said. She dodged around a group of guys hollering their admiration of Toronto’s favorite baseball team.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her close. The crowd’s excitement for the team winning a major game lifted his spirits. Having his arm around Cynthia’s shoulders was even better. They navigated the boisterous men and women, with Adam having to play linebacker against a few guys who got too close. “Good grief,” he muttered.
“Hey!” Cynthia yelled.
He turned, and watched with escalating fury as a guy dragged Cynthia out of his grasp. Before Adam could get his hands on him, Cynthia had leveled an accurate and deadly kick to the man’s crotch. His groan was loud enough for everyone nearby to hear as he sank to the pavement, clutching his manhood.
“One of the reasons I wanted to live someplace a bit quieter,” she said, pointing at the guy as he struggled painfully to get to his feet. “I’m tired of city life. It has its perks, but...” She shook her head.
There was nothing hotter than a woman defending herself, and Cynthia had plenty of that.
Nuevo Comienzo Tapas and Bar was off the main street. Inside, it was a lot quieter, but it looked like all of the tables were taken.
“Adam, mi amigo!” Luis Garcia was in his early forties, fit, smiling and always welcoming. “Bienvenido, welcome! It’s been too long. Where the hell have you been?”
“Working mostly.” He shook Luis’s hand.
“You need to slow down, young man, enjoy life. I’ve always told you that.” Luis looked over at Cynthia. “And who is your beautiful friend?”
Adam smiled. “Luis, meet Cynthia.” He thought it best not to say more than that, and it looked like she took it in stride, shaking Luis’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“Please come in. It’s busy, but I have a table upstairs with an amazing view of downtown and the CN Tower.” Luis looked up. “And a lovely evening. The moon should make her appearance as well.”
