“That’s ridiculous! He’s a happily married man, for God’s sake.”
“Is he? How long has it been since you saw the two of them together?”
That gave Fiona a moment’s pause. She’d always thought Guy and Sherry Hardison had the perfect marriage. They seemed so close. “Their marriage is none of my business. If they’re having difficulties, it has nothing to do with me.” She started to turn away, but Milo stopped her again.
“Just...be careful around Hardison, okay? There’s a lot more to that guy than he lets on.”
“Like what?”
“Take my word for it. Guy Hardison is not the picture of propriety he wants everyone to believe he is.”
“You know what I think?” Fiona challenged him. “I think you’ve been listening to too much office gossip.”
“And you know what I think? I think you have no idea the effect you have on men.”
A shiver ran up Fiona’s spine at the strange note in Milo’s voice. She could barely make out his features in the darkness, but she could feel his eyes on her. She could sense his intensity, and the chill inside her deepened. She was suddenly aware of how alone they were on the street. There were cops at the scene, but their voices sounded a long way off. She felt a prickle of alarm as he continued to stare down at her.
Then he laughed softly, and his mood seemed to change instantly, as if the whole thing had been a huge joke. He jammed his hands into his pockets, looking like the Milo she saw every day at work. “Lucky for me,” he said with a disarming grin, “I’m immune to tall, gorgeous redheads. Blondes have always been my downfall.”
* * *
THEY SHOWED THEIR credentials to the police officer guarding the perimeter, and then Milo went off to find the medical examiner.
“Who’s in charge of the investigation?” Fiona asked the uniformed officer.
“Talk to Doggett.” He nodded toward a man who stood a few feet away, busily scribbling something in his notebook.
“Thanks.” Fiona knew most of the detectives who worked out of the Area Three Detective Division, but she didn’t recognize this man. “Are you Detective Doggett?” she asked as she approached him.
He didn’t look up. “Who wants to know?”
His voice caught Fiona off guard. It was deep and husky. Might even be considered sexy in certain situations.
But the man himself was nothing to write home about. He was around forty or so, with close-cropped brown hair, high, rugged cheekbones and lips that were well-shaped but humorless. Fiona had the immediate impression he wouldn’t be an especially pleasant man to be around, but that could be said for about ninety percent of the cops she’d met in her lifetime. And she’d met plenty.
“I’m Fiona Gallagher. I’m with the state’s attorney’s office.”
“Gallagher?” He finally looked up, and she was immediately struck by his eyes. They were a light, eerie blue. Piercing one might say.
And that stare. That stare could freeze meat, Fiona thought with a shiver.
“You related to Tony Gallagher?” he asked her.
“He’s my brother. Do you know him?”
“Yeah, I know him.”
And judging by his scowl, the experience hadn’t been all that pleasant. Fiona wondered what the source of friction had been between Doggett and her brother. Tony could be a bit...unpredictable at times. She suspected the same was probably true of Doggett.
“Are you the lead detective on this case?” she asked briskly.
“Let’s assume that I am.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but the last thing Fiona wanted was to become embroiled in a turf war between two homicide detectives. “What can you tell me about the investigation?”
He gave her a mild once-over, but that laser beam stare didn’t tell her a damn thing about what he was thinking. “The victim was shot in the back of the head with what looks to be a .45 caliber slug.”
“Have you identified her yet?”
“We’re running her prints now.”
“Any witnesses?”
“Not that we’ve found so far. The buildings in this area are mostly office space, and everything’s closed at this hour.”
“What about security cameras? Maybe something was caught on tape.”
Doggett nodded. “We’re working on that.”
Someone called out his name, and he turned as another detective hurried toward him. When the man saw Fiona, he stopped abruptly.
“This is Fiona Gallagher. She’s an ASA,” Doggett said. “This is Detective Vreeland.”
Vreeland nodded. “We’ve met.” His tone inferred it had been a pleasure he’d just as soon not repeat.
Vreeland and his partner, Jay Krychek, along with Vincent DeMarco, had been part of the Internal Affairs investigation into the allegations of misconduct by some of the detectives under Frank Quinlan’s command. Unlike DeMarco and Krychek, Vreeland had struck Fiona as a by-the-book cop. A basically honorable man doing a sometimes impossible job. If anything unethical and illegal had gone on during Quinlan’s watch, she doubted Vreeland had been a party to it. But, like any good cop, he wasn’t about to testify against one of his own.
He turned back to Doggett. “We checked the cross directory. The number isn’t in there, which means it’s either unlisted or a cell phone.”
“You try calling it?” Doggett asked.
Vreeland shook his head. “We didn’t want to tip our hand unless we had to.”
“What phone number?” Fiona asked.
“The crime scene techs found a purse in the Dumpster they think belonged to the victim. A phone number was stashed inside a compact, and we’re trying to track down a name to go with it.” Doggett took out his cell phone, and turned back to Vreeland. “Let’s give it a shot. Maybe we’ll get lucky and get a name off an answering machine.”
Doggett punched in the number, then lifted the unit to his ear and listened. A second later, the phone in Fiona’s purse started to ring.
CHAPTER FOUR
“THAT HAS TO BE A coincidence,” Fiona said as she fished in her purse for her cell phone. “The timing’s too perfect to be anything else.”
“One way to find out,” Doggett said.
She pressed the talk button and lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
“Coincidence, huh?”
Fiona was looking at Doggett, saw his lips move, but it took her brain a split second to register his voice in her ear. Then her gaze met his, and simultaneously they hung up their phones.
“I guess you’d better have a look at the body,” he said grimly.
She would have anyway, but now Fiona’s stomach churned in apprehension. If her phone number had been in the victim’s possession, then she was undoubtedly someone Fiona knew. Maybe a client, maybe just an acquaintance, but someone who had crossed her path. Fiona prayed it was nothing more personal than that.
The body was already being prepped for transport to the morgue, but Doggett waved the attendants aside. As they stepped back, one of them momentarily blocked the light so that Fiona could barely make out the victim’s features. She didn’t recognize her at