The Man Behind The Badge

“Would you mind checking that out for us?” Travis said. “See if anyone on this floor had a female visitor last night. And if they did, get an ID and ask what time she left.”

“Sure. But I already know nobody’s home in a few of these apartments.”

“Well, get answers where you can. And if nobody on five can tell you who she was, we’ll want to ask all the occupants about her. How good a description do you have?”

“Not very. The guy only saw her from the back. But he figured she was in her twenties or thirties and...” The officer checked his notebook. “She looked ‘stylish.’ I don’t know how he could tell that from the back, but it’s what he said. She was average height, with short blond hair, and was wearing a gray trench coat. Had a big black purse slung over her shoulder. Or it might have been a briefcase with a strap. He wasn’t sure.”

Travis barely registered the last sentence. His mind had caught on the “short blond hair.” He turned to Hank, reading his own thoughts in his partner’s eyes.

There were probably half a million young women with short blond hair in New York City. Even so, instead of sending a uniform to notify the sister they’d go themselves.

* * *

CELESTE REREAD THE SENTENCE a third time. There was something decidedly awkward about it, but she couldn’t quite figure out how to fix it. Finally, she gave up and set her pencil down on top of the manuscript.

She just hadn’t been working up to speed lately—a serious problem when publishers always wanted a fast turnaround. However, past nine-thirty at night was definitely time to give up.

After switching off the desk lamp, she wandered from the spare bedroom she used as her office to the living room and stood staring down at the street, wondering how long it would be until she began to feel human once more.

Months yet, her friends had warned her. Probably a year before she was her old self again. She’d been close to her mother, so she couldn’t expect to just bounce right back to normal.

Aunt Nancy had even suggested grief counseling, but that simply wasn’t her. She’d always coped with her problems on her own.

Telling herself that things could only get better, she absently watched a black Mustang pull up in the No Standing zone outside her building’s entrance.

The two men who climbed out were both tall, dark...and, yes, she’d give both of them handsome, too. They were somewhere in their thirties, and the driver put her in mind of Alec Baldwin.

That thought had barely formed before she recalled how annoyed her estranged husband used to get when she’d say that someone reminded her of a movie star. Bryce had always told her comparisons like that were stupid.

Of course, he’d thought a lot of things she did were stupid. Particularly toward the end.

As she looked down at the street again, to where the two men stood talking in front of the car, Snoops leaped onto the window seat and arched his back, demanding attention.

When she picked the cat up and cuddled him, he nuzzled his cold nose against her neck—his version of a kiss.

“Thanks, little guy,” she murmured. “I needed that.”

* * *

TRAVIS AND HANK had almost reached the stairs of the stately old brownstone when Travis decided the element of surprise would be a good idea. If they could simply knock on Celeste Langley’s door, without giving her any advance warning...

“Let’s wait outside a few minutes,” he suggested. “See if we can get in without pressing her buzzer.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Hank said.

That was hardly a news flash. Hank was three years older than Travis and had been in Homicide longer. But they’d been partners for long enough that they generally thought alike—which was exactly what they’d been doing tonight.

During the drive over from Parker’s apartment, they’d agreed there wasn’t much chance his sister was their killer. Aside from anything else, they never caught the cases that were easily solved.

And even if Langley had been visiting her brother last night, it hardly proved she was a murderer. Parker could well have been alive when she left.

Still, you never knew what the element of surprise would produce.

“I’d say we just got lucky,” Hank said as a teenager came along and started up the steps with keys in his hand.

“Excuse me?” Travis said. “NYPD detectives,” he added, showing his badge when the kid turned toward them. “You mind letting us in?”

“I...” He glanced nervously at the gold shield, then shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

They took the stairs and headed along the hall to 304, Travis not looking forward to what lay ahead. Informing the next of kin was never a fun job, so they took turns with the ones they did themselves. And this one belonged to him.

Hank knocked on the door, then held his badge up toward the peephole when they heard a faint noise from inside. “Police detectives, Ms. Langley.”

“How did you get in?”

“Someone coming home.”

“Do you have other identification?”

She was, Travis thought as Hank produced his photo ID, a typically suspicious New Yorker—which wasn’t a bad thing to be.

A couple of locks clicked, then the door opened and Celeste Langley gazed warily out at them.

The snapshot hadn’t done her justice. In living color, her eyes were the deep blue of sapphires. Her mouth was positively lush, and while in the picture she’d been wearing a tailored suit, tonight she had on a dark silk shirt and slacks that revealed slim curves.

Reminding himself why they were here, he said, “I’m Detective Ballantyne’s partner, Ms. Langley. Detective Travis Quinn. May we come in? We need to talk to you.”

For a moment he thought she was going to ask what this was about, then she simply stepped backward and ushered them inside.

Travis closed the door and followed her and Hank into the living room—wishing he were just about anywhere else. He knew she was assuming they’d come with bad news. People always did. But that didn’t make delivering it any easier.

He glanced around as they sat down, doing his standard quick assessment. The room, large enough to easily serve as a combined living and dining room, was tastefully decorated with quality furniture. The antique dining room suite was undoubtedly from the 1800s, or even earlier, and he’d guess that the artwork was worth a fair bit.

After taking a second to psyche himself up, he focused on Celeste Langley. “Steve Parker is your brother?”

“Yes...my half brother, actually.” She paused for a beat, then said, “What’s happened to him?”

“I’m afraid he was murdered last night. I’m sorry.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and even though she managed to blink them back she suddenly seemed so fragile that Travis’s heart went out to her.

That wasn’t good, he told himself. He made a point of staying as detached as he could from cases. It went a long way toward helping him maintain his sanity. But, sometimes, keeping his emotions completely in check was tough.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

When Celeste nodded, he could tell she was trying hard not to let her tears escape.

After giving herself a few seconds, she focused on him again and said, “How did it happen?”