Roman had already gone to his car and come back with his evidence kit. He’d gloved up and leaned over George’s body, swallowing hard as he checked George’s pockets.
“Yeah, here’s his phone.” He tucked the phone in an evidence bag and slid his fingers into the other pocket of George’s jeans, paused and pulled out a clear plastic bag filled with white powder.
“What the fuck is that?” Dante asked
“My guess is cocaine,” Gabe said. “About an ounce.”
“And you know this how…?” Dante asked.
“Because he works for Paolo Bertucci,” Roman said.
“The mob-guy Bertucci? That family’s still around?”
Gabe didn’t say anything, just turned his attention to the bag. “What’s George doing with coke in his pocket?”
“Good question,” Roman said.
The scream of police sirens interrupted any further discussion. Roman bagged the coke as the uniforms arrived. Dante wished they could hide the drugs, but he knew they couldn’t.
George, with coke? Had he come here to do a deal? It made no sense.
Black-and-whites blocked off both entrances to the alley. In short order, yellow police tape roped off the alley, and crime scene techs began working the area. The medical examiner had arrived and was looking at the body.
And Dante still hadn’t called Ellen. He wouldn’t call her. He’d have to do this in person. Did Ellen know about the drugs?
God, right before the couple’s anniversary. What was he going to say to her?
Another unmarked car pulled up at one end of the alley in front of the tape. Another detective, he imagined. He’d let Roman handle him.
Dante folded his arms and waited while the car door opened. The lights were shining on them, so he couldn’t see the detective coming at them until he—no, make that she—moved in front of the lights.
He caught the flash of badge clipped to her belt, which was attached to a very nice set of hips, the swing of a dark ponytail and the piece attached to her holster. His gaze lifted to rounded breasts in a polo shirt, and some very wide, very shocked amber eyes.
No fucking way.
Anna.
Two
Anna Pallino’s steps faltered when she entered the alley.
First, because she was in this godforsaken alley again, a place she hadn’t set foot in since that night twelve years ago. Now she was back again, and someone was dead in the alley. Again.
Second, Dante Renaldi was back.
Those were enough to justify the stutter in her step.
Roman greeted her.
“What the hell is this?” she asked as she caught sight of Gabe standing next to Dante. “Old-home week? Dante comes back and you three decide to have a reunion here?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then why am I here?” Something had obviously happened, but why would Roman call her to this crime scene? Because Dante was here?
And why the hell was Dante here?
She hated questions with no answers.
“Thought you’d want to know. That’s George Clemons back there.”
Third reason she almost tripped over her own feet. “George? Oh, my God, Roman. I’m so sorry. What happened?”
He laid his hand on her arm to halt her forward progress. “You need to know, Anna. He’s been beaten to death.”
She sucked in a breath and grabbed onto Roman, fighting to stay in the here and now. “And? There’s more. Tell me.”
She saw the reluctance in his eyes. “Tell me.”
“Someone carved a heart in his chest. Right where…” He glanced down at her shirt, at her left breast.
Oh, God. No. The heart carving just like hers. Her scar throbbed and she resisted the urge to touch it, to rub the ache away.
George Clemons, beaten just like the guys had beaten Tony Maclin that night.
She took a slow, long breath, then let it out. “I don’t understand.”
“Anna.”
Dante appeared beside her, but she had no time for him. Not now, not when her vision was nothing more than a pinpoint of light.
She had to focus on the scene and only the scene. It was the only thing that was going to get her through this.
She pushed past them both. “I need to see it.”
“Don’t,” Roman started, but she was already on her way to the body. To George Clemons, a nice man who’d raised foster children ever since he’d been discharged from military service.
And his wife, Ellen. Poor Ellen.
She knelt beside the body. Richard Norton was on the scene already, thank God. She was glad to have the chief medical examiner on this case.
“What have you got?” she asked, pulling on her gloves.
“Warm body. Based on liver temp and lividity I’d say he hasn’t been dead more than a few hours at most. Won’t know cause of death until I do the autopsy. He’s a bloody mess.”
That he was. Someone beat him badly, worse than the guys had ever pounded on Tony Maclin.
“This is interesting,” Richard said, pointing to the heart carved into George’s chest.
“Yes, it is.”
“Someone loved him to death, I guess.”
She grimaced. “So not funny, Richard.”
Richard grinned. “Hey, I thought it was one of my better lines.”
“George Clemons, our victim here, was Roman’s foster father.”
His smile died as he looked over his shoulder to where Roman stood with Dante and Gabe. “Oh. That’s a pisser.”
“Anything else you can tell me?”
“Not until I get him cleaned up and try to figure out what killed him. I don’t see any obvious bullet or stab wounds on the body, other than the carving here, but like I said, he’s a mess.”
“Okay. When will you autopsy?”
“Probably sometime tomorrow or the day after. I’ll check my schedule and let you know.”
She patted his shoulder. “Thanks.”
She stood and walked the scene, looking for evidence, then moved over to talk to the crime scene techs.
“Find anything?”
“No,” one of the guys said. “It’s like whoever did this vacuumed the place up after he was done. There’s nothing. Not even a gum wrapper. The only evidence is the victim himself. But we’re picking up whatever we can.”
“Okay, thanks.”
She turned around and there he was.
Twelve years. Twelve goddamn years and not one word.
“Anna…”
“When did you get back into town?”
So much for the reaction Dante had hoped for. If Anna was surprised or shocked to see him, she was sure masking it well.
“Couple hours ago.”