But no charges were filed? She sensed more unfinished business.
A warrant was issued for the fathers arrest. But he disappeared before his arraignment. Listed as a missing person ever since.
So justice was never served. Either pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place, or shed opened a box with more pieces than she could count. That body at the morgue could be Alvin Bishop. Get Mac Taylor at forensics on the line. Tell him to run Bishops name through as a possible ID on our John Doe.
Will do.
Anything else?
Yeah. A twinge of frustration colored his voice. The statements I took from those two homeless guys, Zeke Jones and Charlie Adkins, are useless.
His frustration just became hers, too. They didnt see anything?
Who knows? Charlie said nothing, just sat there staring at me. Zeke kept spouting off his name, rank and serial number. I thought I was in the twilight zone.
Sometimes, witnesses saw a male detective as a threatening presence, and were more apt to open up to a female. She hoped that, and not one of the mental disorders that affected some homeless people, was the case with these guys. Ill give it a shot tomorrow.
Thanks. Ill get you the address for the shelter where I sent them. She was just about to hang up when she heard Merle call her name. Hey, Gin?
She put the phone back to her ear. Yeah?
You have dinner plans? Ginny rolled her eyes heavenward at the sincere catch in his voice.
She pictured his sweet, unlined face and the gradual aging she saw day by day in his dark green eyes. This wasnt the first time hed asked her out. It wouldnt be the first time she said no, either. You know how I feel about going out with the men I work with.
His voice rushed over the line. Hey, no. Im your partner, Im just worried about you. We missed lunch, remember?
I remember. She forced a smile, as if he could see her relief. Ill get something to eat, dont worry. You get out of that office, too, okay?
I will.
Good night, Merle.
Night, Gin.
She hung up and dug inside another pocket for a specific slip of paper. A business card. Taylor Construction, Brett Taylor, Owner.
She looked at the card and pictured the man. Big. Rugged. Smart-mouthed. Do you always show up when theres a dead body in the neighborhood? she asked the image.
Memorizing the number, she hurried to Johns truck and dialed before climbing in.
John spared her an indulgent smile before putting the truck in gear. Duty calls, I take it.
She nodded through the unanswered rings. Ive got an opportunity to ask a few questions I shouldnt put off.
He wound through the hairpin turns toward the cemeterys front gates. One of these days I want you to tell me youre in a hurry to meet a young man.
She smiled. John, you sound just like my dad.
An answering machine picked up. Brett himself had left the recording. Even across transmitted miles of a recorded message, Bretts basso profundo voice reverberated through her like a mellow jazz tune, at once enervating and intriguing her.
She asked him to call her cell number and then hung up.
Just like that. Johns amused voice captured her attention.
What?
He shook a gentle finger at her. The look on your face when you talked to that man. Thats the look that tells me youve got a social life.
Ginny frowned. I talked to his machine.
He pulled up behind her car and put the truck in Park. But youre wishing it was the real thing.
Please. Brett Taylor? Social life? Neither phrase was part of her regular vocabulary. Hes a possible material witness to a murder case, nothing more.
If you say so.
I say so. Her protest sounded vehement, even to her own ears. She tried to come up with a plausible explanation. For John. Look, I dont really date much. Im too caught up in my work.
Its important work you do, he said in a voice of sage experience. But it isnt everything.
For her, it had to be. Relationships were too awkward for her. Many men were threatened by the nature of her job, her devotion to duty. More men lacked the patience to work through her eccentricities, and shed never developed those most feminine skills that could encourage a man to make the journey with her.
And if she should ever meet a man with the patience and fortitude and self-assurance to withstand a relationship with her, shed run away as fast as she could. She would never put herself in the position of losing someone she cared about again.
Maybe John understood that, after all. His weary silence revealed a man who had lived more life than most people his age. He surprised her by reaching across the seat and squeezing her hand. Dont take this the wrong way, but I hope I dont see you again very soon.
She squeezed back, understanding. Me neither.
BRETT PACED the small confines of his office, turning the mouthpiece away from his impatient sigh while one of his investors grilled him for information about the story hed seen on the local evening news.
The Ludlows still going to be renovated, right, Brett?
Brett righted the phone. No, Mr. Dennehy. Thats the one were tearing down, remember? The other buildings are structurally sound. But not the Ludlow Arms.
It was home to a lot of people, you know.
The older mans wistful tone added another rock onto the load of responsibility Brett carried on his shoulders. I know, sir. Hopefully the refurbished buildings will draw quality tenants like yourself.
Bill Dennehy perked up as a new thought hit him. Do you think that body was in the basement when Alice and I were living there?
I dont think so. Bill had been lucky enough to live in the Ludlow Arms during the buildings heyday. He knew these streets the way Bretts grandparents had known it. Thriving. Friendly. Safe. Trust me. A little bad press isnt going to stop me from renovating the neighborhood.
Alice wont come to that fund-raiser of yours if theres any more news like this.
Of course not, but
He felt a tap at his shoulder and stopped midprotest. Five perfectly shaped, copper-tinted nails reached for the phone. His gaze dropped to the half-amused smile on the mouth of the tall brunette beside him.
Ill handle this. You pace. She nudged Brett to one side and turned her attention to the caller. Mr. Dennehy. Sophie Bishop. Yes, I remember you from the old neighborhood
Bretts frustration turned to admiration as he watched his old friend work Bill Dennehy through a trip down memory lane and onto the road toward a charitable donation. He sat back in the chair behind his desk and watched her do her thing.
Hed hired Sophie for her expertise in fund-raising and public relations. He could only afford to pay her peanuts, but shed been quick to volunteer her time. She, too, came from the Market Street area of Kansas City, and seemed as eager to see a rebirth of the community as he was.
Things were a little awkward between them, but he hoped shed moved past their broken relationship. No longer the adoring young college student hed once dated as a favor to her brother, shed matured into a powerful, successful woman of the world. And she put her money where her work was. Sophie had been the first to sign up for one of the luxury condos he planned to put in the Peabody Building. Surely that kind of support was proof that they could still work together as old friends.