In Harm's Way. Lyn Stone
done it. He was convinced. Almost.
In the meantime he and Kick had a murderer to catch.
Kick would be interviewing the neighbors as instructed. Tomorrow he would start running down all of the victim’s contacts, checking his finances, looking for enemies. They would both be on it. The caseload was low right now and they could give it full attention.
But it was very early morning, not even daylight, and he couldn’t just cut Robin Andrews loose to fend for herself in the shape she was in. She didn’t even know her way around town. He had an idea.
“Do you have a place to stay?” he asked her. “You know, you can’t leave town until we wrap this up, and you sure can’t stay at your husband’s apartment.”
Her eyes grew large, the shadows under them emphasizing their redness, and she was biting her lip again, shaking her head, looking confused.
“No, no I hadn’t planned to stay there. Even before…” Her voice drifted off, then strengthened. “James promised to arrange for a hotel, but I’m afraid I don’t know which one he chose.”
She was too tired to think straight, totally wiped out and barely hanging on to her composure. Mitch had the absurd desire to hug her and tell her that everything would be all right. He’d been fighting that urge since the minute he first laid eyes on her. But everything might not be all right, and he had no business hugging her even if he knew it would.
“Come on with me,” he said, rounding the table and reaching for her arm. “I’ll find you a place to crash. Trust me to do that?”
She looked up at him like a little lost girl and nodded. He knew she didn’t trust him any further than she could pick him up and throw him, but she was too frightened to say so. She was afraid he would take offense and lock her up. He could read her right now as clearly as the big print on a wanted poster.
It reassured him that she was exactly what she appeared to be, a frightened woman in a terrible situation over which she had little, if any, control. His early training kicked in big-time, totally overriding anything he’d ever learned at the police academy or later on the job.
Treat every woman with the respect you show your mother and your sisters. The golden rule applies here, Mitch. Every female you meet is some mother’s daughter. Mitch could hear his father’s words of wisdom as clearly as if the man were standing there looking over Mitch’s shoulder at Robin Andrews. What would Pop think of her? She certainly was unlike any woman Mitch had invited to dinner so far. The thought made him want to smile.
“You should get a little rest before you phone your mother,” he told her. “It’s still too early, anyway. Give me the address and I can get a local minister or family friend in the city where they live to go and tell your husband’s family if you like.”
She fumbled inside her purse for a small address book, riffled through the pages and handed it to him, open. “James only has a half sister. If you could get someone to inform her personally, that probably would be better than if I called. We’ve exchanged Christmas cards, but I’ve never actually met her.”
“Consider it done. Will your mother be badly upset? Maybe we should send a minister or priest to tell her. I know how mothers can be,” he said.
“She’ll worry about me, I suppose, but she didn’t know James very well, so there shouldn’t be any grief involved. I’ll call her.”
She supposed her mother would worry? Very interesting. And Mitch couldn’t imagine marrying anyone when you didn’t know their family. His own had always been such a large part of his life, he rarely made a move they didn’t know about. All their advice and interference might be a little over-bearing at times, but Mitch was as guilty of that as they were. That’s what families were for. His, anyway.
Captain Hunford was waiting in the hallway when they exited the interrogation room. Mitch had known someone had been observing through the one-way mirror. He had sensed it even while he was working.
“Hey, Cap’n. What’re you doing down here at this hour?” The three of them walked down the hall to the bullpen. The lighting seemed eerie and uneven with the flickering of screen savers on the computers. The desks were deserted, their surfaces stacked with case files and the usual assortment of pens, coffee cups and the occasional family pictures.
“Taylor called and filled me in when he first arrived at the scene,” Hunford said in a tired, gravelly voice. “I couldn’t get back to sleep.”
“This is Robin Andrews,” Mitch said by way of introduction. “Wife of the victim. Ms. Andrews, Captain Hunford.”
“Ma’am,” the captain said with a nod, his only acknowledgement of her. He looked at Mitch. “Since you’re here, I need to see you for a few minutes,” he ordered, leaving no room for delay or argument.
Hunford was okay, maybe a little too conscious of public opinion at times, but Mitch supposed the boss had to be. The man had been on the job nearly twenty years now and obviously knew what he was doing. Judging by his expression, this was probably going to be one of those times when Mitch wouldn’t think so.
Mitch spared a look at the woman and saw she was almost asleep on her feet. “Wait out here,” he told her after he had guided her to a chair beside one of the vacant desks. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He crossed the room, glanced over his shoulder to make sure she wasn’t leaving, then entered Hunford’s office and closed the door.
Mitch briefly detailed the findings on the prints and lack of powder residue. “So, what do you think?” Mitch asked. “You hear the entire interview in there?”
“Most of it. There’s not enough for an indictment. Not yet, anyway. I’ll read what you got from her earlier and get with Taylor on it. I was looking for you this afternoon. You’re on suspension, pending an inquiry.”
Mitch blew out a frustrated breath and ran a hand over his face. “The review board? About yesterday,” Mitch guessed.
“You know to expect it, Winton, any time you fire that weapon. You shot that boy in the arm and the leg. The doctors say he might have a permanent limp.”
Mitch rolled his eyes. “He’s damned lucky he won’t have a permanent nap. He shot two people right there in the restaurant before I took him down.”
“I know. You did what you had to do.” Hunford leaned back in his chair, his palms flattened on the desktop. He stared at them and frowned. “But his victims didn’t die. And the kid you shot—”
“—was thirty-one years old and holding a smokin’ nine-millimeter,” Mitch finished. “I identified myself and he turned on me. When a guy’s that hyped on coke, you can’t talk him down, sir. You try, you die. I could have killed him and been justified—and you know it.”
“Just the same, I’ll need your badge and piece. You were planning to be gone for a couple of weeks, anyway, so it’s not like you’ll miss it. Take your vacation, let the review board do their thing, and we’ll get this ironed out soon as you get back. Don’t worry, I’ll go to the mat for you. You know that.”
Mitch nodded. It wasn’t like he had a choice here.
He unclipped the badge from his belt and tossed it on Hunford’s desk. Then he reached under his jacket and removed his department-issue Glock. His backup pistol rested comfortingly against his ankle. With a weary sigh, he unloaded the official weapon and carefully laid it on top of the desk blotter.
“There you go. Hey, you don’t mind if I give Taylor a little unofficial help on the Andrews homicide, do you?”
Hunford pursed his lips and thought for a minute. “I thought you were going fishing?”
“Hadn’t decided. I’d rather hang around, do what I can. I’m still on the payroll, right?”
“Well, yeah. If you do lend Taylor a hand, be discreet about it. I mean,