Hide (Detective Harriet Foster #1)(15)

She glanced around the office but didn’t see Lonergan. It had been a frosty ride back from the hospital. They still hadn’t found a way to connect even enough to make polite conversation, but she held a glimmer of hope that she’d find something in the man she could come to appreciate . . . or tolerate. The rest of the detectives seemed okay. She’d met Detectives Kelley and Symansky, as well as Tony Bigelow and Vera Li. All good, all fine. Bigelow, a sturdy Black man with dark hooded eyes that missed nothing, appeared to be the jokester of the group. They called him Bigs. Li looked about Foster’s age and moved fast, darting around the office purposefully, like she had one hundred things to do and only five minutes to get them all done. Sharp eyes, too, Foster noted. She didn’t imagine much got past Li. It wasn’t her old team, but it was a solid team she was sure she could blend into. Then she thought of Lonergan.

Foster rolled her chair away from the desk and rubbed her eyes, taking a moment to focus. She had a young Black man in custody for a heinous crime, a young Black man who reminded her of her lost boy. Ainsley hadn’t so much as a parking ticket and had never been in any kind of trouble before. That wasn’t proof of innocence, but it was a pretty good indication of character. What was the prevailing wisdom? Past behavior was a useful marker for future behavior. But something had placed both Ainsley and Birch on that Riverwalk.

Lonergan’s snap-to voice broke in. He pointed down the hall toward the interview rooms. “He’s in three. You coming?”

She stood, straightening her blazer. “Can we talk first?”

He looked wary, like he expected a trick. “About?”

“Somewhere with a door?”

They ducked into a small room with boxes of office supplies and reams of paper lined up against the wall. It was as good a place as any. He stood there, poised for confrontation.

“We don’t see this the same way,” she began. “But I think it would be better if we at least didn’t work at cross purposes in there.” She kept her distance, a small, scarred table between them. She leaned her hands on the back of a folding chair tucked under it. “We need his statement, first and foremost. He’ll be more willing to give us that, I think, if we don’t go charging in there hot and heavy, accusing him of butchery, especially when there are still so many unknown variables . . .” Lonergan watched her but didn’t speak. “I think I understand your feeling on that, but I’d like to hear it again. We should run it through and find some common ground.” Lonergan said nothing. “Or if there’s anything else you think we need to say to each other?”

“Seems you’ve been making judgments about what kind of cop you think I am,” Lonergan said. “That ain’t sitting well. I chalk it up to you being raw about your . . .” He stopped himself, noting the warning look on her face. “I give you some slack on that being the case.” He slipped his hands into his front pockets. “I think he’s good for this, for obvious reasons, and you got a differing opinion. We’ll see on that. Meanwhile, we go at him and see what he gives us. We wait for the techs to give us the definitive. I know the drill, Foster. This ain’t my first rodeo. And I never once met a smart killer. This kid’s half out of his head, kills her, then doesn’t have enough brain cells functionin’ to get himself outta there, so he plops right there at the bridge with evidence all over him. Now he’s making like he can’t remember nothin’. He’s runnin’ a game. That’s how I see it, and that’s how you’ll see it when the blood comes back a match to Birch.”

She lifted off the chair. “You’re right. If the blood matches, that’ll put me in a different place. But right now, we aren’t there yet. Right now, we need to go in as a team and see if we can get more out of him. Right?”

His eyes narrowed, and his square chin lifted. “I push hard.”

“I’ve noticed. I do, too, when it’s called for.”

He nodded. “Who starts off?”

“It’s my first day. I don’t have a problem with you taking it.”

He hesitated, his eyes holding hers. “Nah. You take it.”

“First, let’s start over. Right foot this time.” Foster held out her hand for a shake. “Detective Harriet Foster. Harri.”

“Like Houdini?”

“Or like Harriet, only shorter.”

Lonergan looked at the hand offered before returning the shake. “Jim Lonergan. Jury’s still out, my end.” There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

She smiled. “Anybody ever tell you you’re a pain in the ass?”

Lonergan grinned back. “Everyone who’s ever met me, including my mother.”

They walked into the tight interview room expecting to see Ainsley alone, only he wasn’t. He was flanked at the table by a fierce-looking couple, both dark, well dressed, and humorless, each with a hand on Keith’s shoulder, forming a human protective shield. Keith was dressed in scrubs given to him in the ER when his own clothes had been bagged and tagged and rushed off for testing.

“What the hell?” said Lonergan. “Who the hell are you two? You’re not supposed to be in here.”

“These are my parents,” Keith said.

Lonergan stormed over to the table. “Yeah, well, they can wait outside till we talk to you.”