While Others Sleep

Lefevre seemed buoyed by the reassurance, but already bored with the conversation, Blade was glad when the newest homicide file came up on the screen. “Stacie Rayann Holms. Born—an Aquarius. Figures.”

“You believe in that crap?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Then why did you—” The detective swore again. “You complain about wasting time. I don’t know why I bother with you.”

“Because having an extra pair of eyes and ears on the street pays off. Or have you convinced yourself that you found that murdering swine Pollard on your own?”

“Okay, okay. Why don’t you find me the Brown brothers instead of sticking your nose in this,” Lefevre said, nodding to the computer. “I suspect Snow will bring in her murderer before you hit the streets tonight.”

Blade barely heard him; he was absorbing new data on the deceased. “This could be interesting…there’s a father but no mother.”

“So? Maybe she’s dead.”

Possibly. Knowing for sure would shed some light on the situation. For instance, her car wasn’t something a father would buy a daughter when he was constantly being called down to the police station to pick her up. Had he been generous because she’d achieved good grades and had straightened up her act—at least at school—or was it to cover his own neglect? Or some abuse? The kid had managed to amass five speeding tickets since receiving the car, three of them remained unpaid. Blade didn’t like the vibes that came along with this information.

He also learned a .380 casing had been removed from the car. The initial consensus was that Stacie had exhibited little resistance to her attacker, but the autopsy report would confirm or refute that. At the moment, though, it did suggest she had known her killer, which would encourage Snow to grill her family, as well as her closest circle of friends. Or, could be that she’d picked up someone else after she dropped off the other girls.

“Come on, Blade, give me a break,” Lefevre said, checking his watch. “I’m due in court at one-thirty and I have to stop at the hospital for one of my own investigations, not to mention grab something to eat.”

Deciding he had the few facts available at the moment, Blade exited the file and the program and thought about what lay ahead. The other three of the Four Musketeers’ DNA had to be all over the car, making evidence analysis tedious for Forensics. And for Snow also, since it was logical to assume if Stacie had a record, they did, too. What a media field day this would turn into—kids who reject and rebel against society.

Preoccupied, he followed Lefevre out of the building. They were at the second set of glass exit doors when the detective suddenly swore, punched them open, and raced across the parking lot. As he slammed his hand on the Cody Security SUV, Blade ducked his head and quickly veered right until he was hidden behind a van.

Had he been spotted?

His concern proved unnecessary. Glancing around the van, he saw that Ms. Cody Security had her hands full with Lefevre.

“What’re you doing here?” the detective demanded.

8

Nuts, Campbell thought. She’d known this trip would be risky, that’s why she had arranged to wait out here. But to be caught so fast…

One of the few friends she had left in the LPD had been transferred to District C. Campbell hoped she could convince her to share what was known regarding Stacie Holms. She thought it would help her work with the Saunders family. Politics. Networking. She hated everything that stood for, but it was the technique du jour and it was her only other brainstorm since Bryce Tyndell remained WU like Maida—whereabouts unknown in Cody speak—having yet to show up at the office or to respond to her page.

She’d changed for this meeting thinking she would meet her friend at the mall, and wore the typical shopper attire—jeans, T-shirt and jogging shoes. Then she learned Taneeka’s car was being serviced and she would have to pick her up at the station. Campbell had hoped to meet her in the back parking area where there were few windows and fewer vehicles, but it was impossible to hide her Cody Security vehicle—especially from someone like the cop charging across the parking lot.

“I said hold it!”

Intimidating as Lefevre’s voice could be, it was the hard slap on the truck’s hood that had Campbell hitting the brakes. With sickly certainty, she knew her streak of bad luck had yet to change.

Detective Alan Lefevre stepped over to the driver’s window. All she knew of the big-boned and loudmouthed detective was that he’d been Greg’s distant relation through marriage. The scene he’d caused at Greg’s funeral made him a permanent part of that bad dream. Of all the people to run into…

“I said, why are you here?” he demanded.

“That’s none of your business.”

“You? On these premises? Guess again.”

She had a choice—create a bigger scene or cut her losses and opt for a hasty retreat. As loud as he was, if she drug this out, they were bound to attract an audience. Yet she didn’t quit easily.

“I don’t want any trouble. Five minutes is all I need.”

“To do what? Everyone knows you have an ax to grind.”

“If I did, I’d be at District B.”

“We’ve had transfers and realignments, something I suspect you know.”

She refused to respond to that. Getting a friend in trouble wasn’t an option, and accepting that she’d made a mistake in coming here, she let off the brake and jammed her foot onto the accelerator.

The launch into street traffic was almost as unnerving as running into Lefevre, and she barely missed a FedEx truck while, in her rearview mirror, she saw smoke rising as a minivan struggled not to rear-end her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, gripping the steering wheel. “I’m sorry!”

Damn Lefevre. How was she supposed to know he’d been transferred? What were the odds that he would be leaving the building as she was arriving?

9

As soon as the coast was clear, Blade joined Lefevre in the parking lot and asked, “What was that all about?”

“You tell me.”

He wasn’t admitting to anything until he had to. “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t decide whether you were hoping she’d shoot me or if you were hiding from her.”

Blade knew better than to respond to either part of that observation. “You know, the less I’m recognized around here the safer it is for everyone.”

“It looked like you were hiding from her.”

“Never met her before. What’s your beef with the woman anyway?” He knew Lefevre usually salivated over the long-legged type, and Ms. Cody Security had the figure to be a Las Vegas showgirl.

Beneath his neatly trimmed mustache, Lefevre’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Campbell Cody is poison. Got one of our guys killed—her partner. My wife’s stepbrother. It happened a short while before you arrived, though people talk about it even today.”

“Now that you mention it, I do remember hearing something.” But back then he’d been preoccupied with his own misery, and with learning a new job. What intrigued him was the intensity of Lefevre’s anger. Maybe Campbell Cody deserved it, but for someone who didn’t work too hard at hiding that he cheated on his wife, Alan Lefevre seemed somewhat overzealous. “So, she was a cop?”

“Please. More like a bitch with a gun. Greg found out the hard way.”

“Her partner?”

“Yeah, Greg Gerrard.”

“What happened?”

“She didn’t watch his back when she should have. She turned chicken, that’s what she did. Talks a tough game, but I wouldn’t trust her to cover my ass against a toddler with a water pistol.”