Prime Suspect Page 2

  Ryan gave her a dubious, narrow-eyed look. “You’re talking about a cop who not too long ago came off administrative suspension.”

  “IAD’s entire case was based on circumstantial evidence,” A.J. said through her teeth.

  “We had enough to prove Ken violated department policy. Enough to bust him from detective to patrolman.”

  A.J. gestured toward the floor. “And because of that, you think he took this printout.”

  “No. I think he took it because his fingerprints are all over it.”

  “I can explain that.”

  Ryan cocked his head. “I’m listening.”

  Courage seeping out of her, A.J. retraced her steps and lowered herself onto the chair. Inside, she was falling apart. Her right thigh ached, her pulse hammered in her ears. The idea that Ken had involved himself—and her—in something illegal was like slow paralysis.

  “The printout disappeared from my desk the day before Ken died,” she said in a wooden voice.

  “Had he been in your office that day?”

  “Yes,” she said, and raised her gaze to meet Ryan’s. “He and his partner came by.”

  “Greg Lawson?”

  A.J. nodded. “They wanted a computer run done on robberies that had gone down in their district. Greg met with one of the analysts—Tim Ford, I think it was. While Greg did that, Ken came in my office to talk.”

  “What about?”

  A.J. narrowed her eyes. “A personal matter.”

  “I need to know.”

  “Our aunt’s ill,” she answered after a moment. “I’d taken her to the doctor that morning. Ken wanted to know how it went.”

  Ryan nodded. “Go on.”

  A.J. gestured toward the floor. “I had the printout spread across my desk, using it to compile a report.” Her throat tightened against the image of her tall, wide-shouldered brother striding into her office in his sharply pressed uniform. His dark, solemn-eyed handsomeness habitually pulled women’s gazes like radar, and taking into account the wistful looks A.J. had seen coming from the two female analysts in the outer office, Ken’s appeal on that day was as devastating as ever.

  “Ken gathered up the printout and held it so he’d have room to sit on the desk while we talked.” A.J.’s voice hitched. God, the memories hurt. Tears welled and she blinked them furiously away. She hadn’t cried since Ken’s death, and she’d be damned if Michael Ryan could make her start now.

  “I can get you some water,” he offered in a soft voice.

  “The only thing I want is to leave.”

  “When we’re done.”

  She took a deep breath, thinking about the grimness she’d seen in Ken’s eyes that last afternoon. When she’d asked him what was wrong, his gaze shifted for a split second out the door of her office, then settled back on her face. “I’m worried about Aunt Emily,” was all he’d said.

  A.J. had sensed there was more bothering Ken than just their aunt’s health, but she hadn’t pressed. Ken had taken his suspension and resulting demotion hard—if his current assignment to the Patrol Division had put the bleak look in his eyes, she hadn’t wanted to bring it up.

  “How long did Ken stay in your office that day?”

  “Maybe fifteen minutes,” she answered, meeting Ryan’s gaze. “Then Greg came to get him.”

  “Did Lawson come in?”

  A.J. frowned. “I don’t think so,” she said after a moment. “I barely knew Greg...then. He and Ken hadn’t ridden together long. I seem to remember that Greg poked his head in to tell Ken he had what they needed. Ken handed me the printout and left.”

  Ryan leaned toward her until his face came even with hers. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice a soft presence on the still air. “One hundred percent sure Ken didn’t walk out with that printout?”

  “Positive.” The warm, spicy scent of Ryan’s aftershave filled her lungs as A.J. kept her gaze locked with his.

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “I started back to work on my report after Ken left. Tim and I went to a meeting about an hour later.”

  The room had suddenly become uncomfortably warm. A.J. felt her flesh heat beneath her gray wool suit. She ran a hand across the back of her neck before continuing.

  “The meeting ran long, so Tim and I didn’t go back to the office. The next morning, the printout wasn’t in the desk drawer where I’d left it. I asked the two other analysts if they’d seen anyone in my office while I was at the meeting. They’d been at the computers with their backs to the door. They hadn’t seen anyone.”

  Ryan shifted his gaze to the floor where the crumpled printout lay, the lines in his forehead deepening. “Confidential information came up missing from your unit, and you didn’t make a report. Why?”

  “I intended to. Captain Harris had taken a day of leave, so I made an appointment to see him the following day. But Ken died that night.” A.J. bit back the anger that surged inside her. This was what Ken had gone through before his demotion, she realized. Facing an accuser with no evidence to back him up.

  She rose, feeling as though she’d spent a lifetime in Ryan’s disconcerting presence. “If you’re finished grilling me, Sergeant, I have a question for you.”

  The ghost of a smile played at his lips. “I’m not quite finished with the...grilling, but go ahead.”

  “Why don’t you quit wasting time looking for dirt on Ken, and find out who set him up?”

  Ryan took a step toward her, his eyes intense. “All right, A.J., let’s suppose for a minute Ken was set up. Whoever’s behind it implicated you, too. Think about it. Just because Ken’s dead doesn’t mean whatever’s going on is over.” Something in Ryan’s expression softened before he added, “If that’s the case, you’d best watch your back.”

  “I don’t know anything.” She dragged an unsteady palm across her forehead. “I don’t stand in anyone’s way to anything.”

  “Someone may think you do,” he countered. “You’re grieving for your brother. People with their defenses down make perfect targets.”

  “I told you, I don’t know anything.”

  A headache pounded behind her eyes; her throat was bone-dry. She needed to think, needed to remove herself from Ryan’s unsettling presence, was desperate to get out of range of those see-through-you blue eyes.

  She snatched her coat and purse off the chair, then turned to face him. “I’m late for an appointment. I’ll be in my office tomorrow if you feel the need to continue this... interrogation.”

  As she spun toward the door, a sudden wave of nausea lurched in her stomach. A.J. grabbed for the back of the chair; her coat and purse tumbled into a heap at her feet.

  “Sweet Jesus!” Ryan caught her by the shoulders as dizziness swirled up from the ground.

  “I’m...fine.” She made a weak attempt to escape his iron grip. “Fine,” she repeated a split second before her knees buckled.

  “Fine, hell,” he muttered and eased her onto the chair. “The last time I saw someone as pale as you was at the morgue.”

  “Just need...a minute...” She shut her eyes against the blinding white spots spinning before them.

  Ryan’s hand settled against her spine and nudged her gently forward. “Lean down and take deep breaths.”

  Please, God, don’t let me heave on his shoes, A.J. prayed as she dragged a series of shaky breaths into her lungs. Her hands shook; clammy perspiration covered her heated skin.

  Ryan crouched beside her chair, his hand sliding down to rest at the bend of her waist. Despite her dazed senses, she felt the pressure of each of his fingers through the fabric of her skirt, was aware of the latent strength in his touch.

  “Will you be all right if I leave for a second?” His voice held a softness that had not been there before.

  His touch, his closeness made A.J.’s pulse quaver. She wanted desperately to leave, but she could barely stand, much less walk.

  “I’ll...be fine,” she mumbled, keeping her eyes on the blurred toes of her s
hoes. Ryan was right, she thought miserably. At this instant her defenses were down and she was about as helpless as a newborn.

  “I’ll be right back.” He rose and disappeared from her line of sight, his footsteps hollow echoes as he stepped around his desk. She heard a drawer slide open, then close.

  He returned in less than a minute, carrying a bottle of apple juice and a paper cup. “I keep a stash,” he explained, using a foot to maneuver the other chair inches from hers before he sat down. “When was the last time you ate?”

  She eased herself upright and inhaled a tentative breath. The room had stopped spinning. “Lunch.”

  Eyeing her with quiet skepticism, Ryan filled the cup, then handed it to her. The graze of his fingertips against hers jolted her already raw nerves. “Lunch, what day?”

  She sipped the juice, letting the revitalizing liquid slide down her throat. His question made her suddenly aware that she hadn’t eaten a full meal in the ten days since Ken’s death.

  A.J. forced down another swallow. If she got some sugar into her system, maybe her knees would function again and she could get out of this place. Get away from this man, whose touch had become so disturbingly personal.

  “Yesterday,” she answered. “Lunch, yesterday.”

  He leaned back in his chair, looking concerned and intense. “No wonder you’re about to faint.”

  She cast him a sideways glance. “I was fine until I got here.”

  He gave her a long, considering stare, as if conducting some internal assessment of her. Finally he said, “I was out of town when your brother died. When I got home, I had a message from him on my answering machine.”

  A.J.’s eyes widened. “What did Ken say?”

  “Nothing specific, just that he’d gotten into something that had to do with a dealer named Snowman and needed help getting out. He said he had evidence to turn over.”

  “What evidence?”

  “I have no idea. I didn’t hear the message until two days after Ken called. I phoned here, thinking he might have heard I was out of town and contacted someone else. That’s when I found out he was dead.”

  A.J. swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Did he talk to anyone here?”

  “No. Ken’s locker was the most obvious place to start looking for the evidence he mentioned. That’s where I found the bank-deposit slips and the printout from your unit. I added two and two and got four. That’s why I called you in.”

  “To accuse me.”

  “To find out what you know.”

  “And what are your findings?”

  He cocked his head. “At this point, I’m inclined to believe you’re in the dark about what’s going on.”

  “What about Ken?”

  Ryan narrowed his eyes. “I don’t share your convictions about his innocence.”

  A.J. stared at the remaining juice in her glass. “He was a good man,” she insisted softly. “He wouldn’t have come to you for help if he’d crossed the line.”

  “Maybe he’d gotten too deep into something and wanted to work a deal,” Ryan countered.

  “Do you always look for the worst in a situation, Sergeant?”

  “What I do is look at both sides,” Ryan answered in an even voice that betrayed no emotion. “Facts are facts, A.J. Classified information from your unit wound up in your brother’s locker, with his prints all over it. There’s an extra ten grand in a bank account to which you have access. Put it all together, how do you think it looks?”

  Like Ken went bad, A.J. thought, as she forced down the last swallow of juice. And maybe myself, as well.

  Ryan leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees. “Talk to me, A.J. If you believe Ken’s innocent, telling me what you know may help clear him.”

  I’ll kill the bastard for involving you in this, A.J. So help me, I’ll kill him.

  The memory of Ken’s words put a knot of panic in her chest. What if he’d done it? What if the brother she’d idolized had gone bad, then committed murder to hide his sins?

  She stared into Ryan’s waiting face and for an instant considered telling him about the anonymous phone call and Ken’s reaction. Her jaw clenched. She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t initiate steps the heart-wrenching consequences of which she and her ill aunt might have to deal with the rest of their lives.

  “There’s nothing to tell, Sergeant. I didn’t know until a few minutes ago that Ken called you.”

  She set the cup on the floor. “Are we done?”

  “Two more things. Your brother had a reputation as a ladies’ man. I’m sure you’re aware of that. I can’t get a line on any special woman in his life. Do you know of someone he’d confide in?”

  A.J. raked back damp tendrils of hair from her face. “No. After his divorce last year, Ken dated a succession of women. If there was someone special, I don’t know about her.”

  Ryan nodded. “I went by Ken’s apartment the day of his funeral. The place was empty. Cleaned out. What happened to his belongings?”

  A.J. frowned, not sure where this was leading. “Did you intend to go through his things?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’d have needed a search warrant for that.”

  “I had one. Help me out on this, A.J. I need to know what happened to Ken’s belongings.”

  She blinked. God, was there no end to Ryan’s probing? “The furniture went back to the company he’d leased it from. Greg Lawson took care of everything else.”

  Ryan stared back at her in silence. The unrelenting watchfulness in his eyes increased her tenseness.

  “Greg closed Ken’s apartment as a favor to me and my aunt,” she explained. “Ken’s landlord read in the paper that he’d died. The man called the house that same day, saying Ken’s rent was past due and if we didn’t clear his things out he’d toss them in the street. Thank God, Greg took the call, and not Aunt Emily.”

  “Or you,” Ryan added.

  “Or me,” A.J. agreed. Her chin rose. “It just hit me. Ken let his rent get behind. That doesn’t sound like a man who knew he had an extra ten grand in his checking account.”

  “It sounds like a man who needed money in a bad way,” Ryan countered. “When did Lawson pack Ken’s things?”

  “The same day the landlord called. I wasn’t thinking too clearly. I remember Aunt Emily telling Greg to give Ken’s clothes to charity.” A.J. rubbed her temple, trying without success to remember details of those grief-numbing days following Ken’s death. “I have no idea where the rest of his things are. I haven’t even thought to ask.”

  “I realize it’s a long shot, but Ken might have hidden the evidence he mentioned somewhere in his apartment. I need you to ask Lawson where he put your brother’s property.”

  “Why don’t you ask...” A.J.’s voice drifted off in sudden realization. “My God, do you suspect Greg of something?”

  “He was Ken’s partner.”

  “And I’m his sister, but that doesn’t make me guilty.”

  “You’re right. But until I get some answers, I have to wonder about most everyone. And you should, too.”

  A.J. dropped her gaze. What was going on? What the hell was going on?

  “You can use my phone to call Lawson.”

  She shook her head and rose. “He’s visiting his parents in Colorado. He’ll be back in a couple of days.”

  Ryan retrieved her coat and purse as he stood. “What about your aunt? She might know where Ken’s things wound up.”

  “She might,” A.J. said between her teeth. She turned to face him, her spine as rigid as cold steel. “I told you, Aunt Emily is ill. She has leukemia. She’s in the hospital, undergoing experimental treatment. She has enough to deal with, without me asking about her dead nephew’s belongings.”

  Ryan expelled a slow breath. “You’ll let me know what Lawson has to say when you talk to him?”

  Hands clenched into a tight, white grip on her purse, A.J. stared at him, saying nothing.

  He took a step toward her. “Whateve
r the evidence Ken had, he wanted me to have it. Remember that.”

  “I’m not likely to forget.”

  Ryan looked steadily back at her. “I don’t imagine you will.” He raised his hand with slow precision and brushed a loose curl away from her temple. A wayward fingertip grazed her cheek, soft and light. “Get something to eat,” he added softly.

  The awareness that arrowed through A.J. jarred her into momentary immobility.

  This time, it wasn’t a lack of food that weakened her knees. Michael Ryan’s touch was the culprit. A gentle, beckoning touch that kicked her heartbeat into a thrumming rhythm she hadn’t felt in years.

  Saying nothing, A.J. turned and limped out the door.

  He shouldn’t have touched her, Michael thought while concentrating on the uneven staccato of A.J.’s retreating footsteps. What the hell had gotten into him? He was conducting an investigation. A.J. Duncan was a suspect, and that meant hands off.

  Had been a suspect, he corrected. Although he doubted she’d told him all she knew, he was almost sure what she’d told him had been the truth.

  Back to square one.

  Sudden movement in the dark outer office stiffened Michael’s spine. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s me, Mike.”

  Tony DiMaiti stepped from the shadows, hands in the pockets of his wrinkled corduroy jacket, mouth set in a grim line. “Thanks for paging me. I got here in time to hear it all.”

  Michael expelled a tension-filled breath and watched the drug enforcement agent drop into the chair A.J. had abandoned moments before. The man had the build of a fireplug, all round and solid with a full head of dark, curly hair that lapped across a thick neck.

  Crossing a scuffed brogan over one knee, Tony gestured at the printout heaped on the floor. “You believe her? That she doesn’t know how that wound up in her brother’s locker?”

  “If she lied, she’s one hell of an actress,” Michael said, scooping up the printout. He tossed the bundled paper onto his desk and settled into his chair, brows knitted. “And if she’s innocent, I hate that I was so rough on her.”