Dying To Play

Henshaw made a covert gesture toward the door. Instinct warning her that this wasn’t good, Elaine followed him into the short corridor that led to the rear emergency exit.

“Look, Jentzen, there’s something you oughtta know,” he said quietly as he glanced first right, then left. He plucked the rarely lit stogie from his mouth.

“What is it?” she asked, instantly moving to a higher state of alert. Henshaw had been in the division longer than any other detective, even the chief. By rights he should have been deputy chief years ago, but the powers-that-be had allowed a jackleg like Hindman to keep the position until he retired, which was about ten years too long. When Hindman finally retired, Henshaw was too close to retirement himself to be considered for the position. So said the chief, anyway. Though Elaine was proud of her promotion and she damn well knew she deserved it, Henshaw had gotten a raw deal. He should have been DC years ago instead of Hindman.

“Just before you got here there were a couple of Feds snooping around.”

Elaine shrugged. “It’s a bank, they have jurisdiction. I’m surprised they’re not still here.” She actually hadn’t even thought of that until that precise moment. She swore silently. Just another example of how this morning’s appointment had rattled her. But she had to stay focused.

Henshaw stroked his chin thoughtfully for a moment, then said, “Yeah, I know it’s their jurisdiction, but there was something funny about it. Not the least of which was that one of ’em wasn’t local.”

Elaine felt the beginnings of a low dull ache right where a frown was creasing her forehead. “What do you mean funny?”

“Trace Callahan.”

She mentally repeated the name a couple of times before recognition broadsided her. Trace Callahan. “Jesus.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Henshaw muttered. “The way I heard it the guy’s been off field duty for two years.”

Elaine considered what she knew about Callahan. According to local scuttlebutt the Bureau’s top Febbie, the nickname regular cops used for federal agents, had gone over the edge a couple years ago and had been jockeying a desk ever since. “You’re sure it was him?”

“It was him.” Henshaw lifted one shaggy gray brow and gave her the look. The one that said, I can’t say where I heard it, but you can take it to the bank, no pun intended. “Word is he actually tried to kill some perp with his bare hands shortly after that whole bizarre case two years ago.”

She’d heard the same thing. “He lost his partner, right?” If she remembered correctly, there was also gossip that Callahan and his female partner were lovers. The idea only added to her uneasiness. This was definitely not her day.

Henshaw nodded. “Yeah. Most everybody, including Callahan himself, thought it was his fault. He screwed up an operation and she bit the dust.”

Callahan had been the best of the best, the Bureau’s big star, but he seemed to just come unglued. Everybody in Homicide had heard the rumors. Though Callahan worked directly out of Quantico, the liaison agent who worked between Atlanta PD and the boys at the local Bureau office had kept the chief unofficially informed of the whole sordid story. It was front-page news for a while before the big news outlets moved on to something else.

“Well,” Elaine offered, “if Callahan is one of the Feds assigned to this case, then we’ll simply have to deal with him.”

“I’m just saying,” Henshaw countered, “that it could be risky business. That’s all.” He waved his hands in a magnanimous manner. “Hell, he could be the greatest frigging investigator on the planet, but if you can’t count on him during a field op, I don’t want no part of working with him. If he goes ape-shit again I want to be clear of the fallout.”

Elaine’s cell phone rang, saving her from having to make promises she might not be able to keep. She dragged it from her shoulder bag and flipped it open. “Jentzen.” It was the chief. He was brisk and to the point. “I’ll be right there,” she assured him. He wanted her at the office ASAP. She dropped her phone back into her bag. “Got a command performance with the chief. I’ll touch base with you later, Henshaw.”

He nodded. “I guess I’d better get over there and see how the interviews are going or Flatt’ll be taking over for me.”

Elaine watched Henshaw amble out to the lobby before she made a move to go. Callahan. Though she’d never met him in person, she’d heard plenty about him. The man had received numerous commendations from the FBI director, even a couple from the president himself. By all reports, Callahan was some sort of Bureau legend. Then, two years ago, things had gone wrong for him. According to the chief, he hadn’t been the same since. She’d seen his face splashed across the TV screen during the hoopla after his partner was murdered. Elaine shivered. He was as handsome as sin.

And every bit as deadly, if even half the rumors were true.

Chapter 3

By eleven-thirty, only twenty minutes after he’d called, Elaine stood outside the chief’s office. Connie, his longtime secretary, had told her to go on in, but she hesitated for some reason. She couldn’t actually justify her hesitation. It seemed irrational, yet she felt compelled to wait a moment longer.

Maybe it was everything that had happened that morning…a bad mix of personal crisis and unsettling professional remorse. Too much waste. Too little time. The possibility that the two mass murders could be connected—could happen again—weighed heavily on her. How was she supposed to keep Atlanta safe if she couldn’t solve these two crimes? It was her job to see that they got solved. She needed more Maalox. More time, and a frigging crystal ball.

At least, she considered, the day surely couldn’t get any worse.

Taking a deep, bolstering breath, Elaine clasped the door-knob, gave it a swift twist and pushed her way into the large, perpetually cluttered office. She didn’t bother to close the door behind her. Why feed the rumor mill? She marched straight up to the boss’s desk and produced a wide professional smile.

“Good morning, sir.”

Chief John Dugan glanced up from the papers he was riffling. “Have a seat, Jentzen. I’ll be right with you.”

That perfect blue sky she’d admired this morning served as a backdrop behind him through the wall of windows. His office had an amazing view, one of the best in the city. At night the city lights were awesome. She knew firsthand. Another twinge of regret needled her. God, if she didn’t know better she’d swear she was premenstrual.

Putting all personal worries aside, she sat down, dropped her shoulder bag to the floor, crossed her legs and relaxed into her chair. She mentally reviewed what she’d noted at the crime scene that morning. Then reviewed it again in an effort to keep her mind from wandering.

It didn’t work.

Despite her most gallant attempt, her gaze followed the chief’s every move. The slow, methodical shuffling of his strong hands. The determined set of his shoulders. He was tall and quite attractive for a man closer to fifty than forty. He wore his graying hair cropped short. Smile lines bracketed his eyes and mouth but didn’t detract from his good looks. He was a solid, good man. Inside and out.

That was what had first attracted her to him.

As a new detective assigned to his division, the only female at the time, John had taken her under his wing. He’d treated her as an equal and made sure she’d learned her lessons well. The affair had been an accident.

Neither of them had intended for it to happen. John was newly divorced, she was plain lonely. All work and no play had sent her social life on a crash-and-burn course. Falling into a relationship with John had been so easy…too easy. For an entire year they’d stolen forbidden hours every chance they got, had great sex and generally enjoyed each other’s company. But that was the extent of it. Neither of them had visions of a future together. It had been about safe, convenient sex.

Six months ago, though, when she’d gotten her promotion, Elaine had ended the relationship. She’d felt it was wrong under present circumstances. Truth be told, she’d felt more than a little uncomfortable for a while before that. John had sworn he’d recommended her for the promotion based on merit, but she couldn’t dispel the niggling little doubt that their personal relationship had somehow played into his decision.

She knew she was the best person for the job…that was a cold, hard fact. She worked harder than anyone else in the division, had from the beginning. Her very first case, kidnapping and murder involving four Atlanta children, was proof of her single-minded focus. Breaking that case had been a huge boost to her fledgling career. She’d maintained a collar record to match her ambition ever since. She was a natural at organizing ops…a born leader, John called her. But still, she was the youngest detective in the division, seniority- and age-wise. Henshaw had been the first to publicly show his support of her selection. But others, Flatt in particular, had not liked it one bit. He had even gone so far as to make little accusing remarks when he had known she would overhear.

John had told her to ignore the rumbles. It would pass, he’d assured her. And it had, for the most part. Flatt and a couple of others were still a little PO’ed about being passed over, but she could deal with them.

Still, at moments like this she wondered.

“So.” John settled back into the leather chair behind his desk and focused his full attention on her. “Does it look like the bank case could be connected to the beauty salon murders?”

“There are some similarities,” she admitted. “But it’s still too early to tell. We may discover that Matthews had a beef with Tate.” She shrugged. “Or even that he slipped over the edge for some reason. Who knows? Maybe the bank turned him or one of his clients down for a loan.”

John considered her words for a moment. “If there’s even a remote possibility that there’s some sort of shared manipulation or influence playing into this, I want you to follow it as far as you can. I don’t want another multiple homicide scene next week. The papers are going to have a field day with this. We’ll be reading about it every step of the way.”

Elaine nodded. John had to deal with the uppity-ups on these kinds of high-profile cases. The mayor would not be a happy camper if this happened a third time. Of course, all good detectives could see into the future. Determining if the two crimes were connected and preventing another one should be a piece of cake in the mayor’s opinion. It truly amazed her that the man had gotten elected.

“We’ll have to keep close reins on this one,” John reiterated, in case she didn’t get it the first time. “The mayor doesn’t want any leaks. We need to keep a lid on every aspect of this investigation.”

“I’ll do my best.”

John smiled at her. The same kind of smile that had once made her pulse react, now only flooded her with asexual feelings of affection. She wondered briefly if she’d forgone birth control during their relationship, would she have gotten pregnant? Had it already been too late then? How would he have taken that kind of complication? How would she have dealt with it? She almost sighed aloud, but caught herself. Had that whole year been another waste? If she’d tried harder, could it have been more? God, she really was a mess. She didn’t have the time or the option, careerwise, to try harder. Not then, not now.

“I know you’ll do your best,” he said, dragging her focus back to the conversation. “There’s just one glitch.”

She tensed, a warning registering. “What kind of glitch?”

He exhaled a frustrated puff of air, clearly dreading what he was about to say. “You know this one is Federal jurisdiction.”

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “If they want lead, they’re welcome to it.” She sure as hell wasn’t going to fight for this one. It was a no-win situation. Then again, the last thing she wanted was to be at the beck and call of a couple of arrogant Federal agents who thought they were God’s gift to women, if not mankind as a whole.