Shoot the Breeze (Detective Kate Rosetti Mystery Book 1) Page 3

  “You already talked to Asha, I see?”

  “I did,” I said. “I also tried to notify the family. The wrong family.”

  Melinda winced. “Did you get to the part—”

  “No, thank God. I figured it was a fake ID before I explained about their daughter—or her imposter—being found dead this morning.” I shook my head. “That poor woman. Her daughter’s been missing for two years.”

  “I know that tone of voice,” Melinda said. “Don’t get sucked into the Alison Newton missing person’s case—you have your plate full with one already.”

  “I know.” I shook off the questions creeping into my mind from my glance into the files of the real missing Alison Newton. I focused instead on the body before us. “Find anything?”

  “See here?” Melinda switched tracks seamlessly, turning a gloved hand toward Jane Doe’s wrists. “Restraint marks.”

  “She was tied up?” I frowned, trying to fit that in with my first guesses of the way the murder had gone down. “So maybe the guy conks her on the head, hauls her to the car, ties her up when she starts to move?”

  “Maybe. But these restraints weren’t incredibly tight. She was conscious when she was bound; the marks are clear signs of a struggle.”

  I leaned closer, peered at the pinkish lacerations around the wrists. “Maybe Asha was right. Could this be a sex trafficking situation?”

  “It very well could be,” Melinda said. “But I’ll know more after the full autopsy tomorrow. I’m running the prints through the system today, but if she was incognito, I doubt we’ll get a hit. Ditto on dental records.”

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky. She could’ve been picked up for solicitation, something like that. Fat chance, but let’s run ’em as fast as we can anyway. I’d like to get this one closed up by the holidays.”

  “Merry Christmas to you too.” Melinda looked at the body, shook her head. “Her poor family. I can’t imagine having to do notifications this time of year.”

  “It’s not fun,” I said. “Then again, if we could only get a memo to the murderers to take a break from their work between Christmas and the New Year, it’d get a lot cheerier around here.”

  Melinda shooed me away. “Let me work. You owe me a coffee.”

  “Better yet, I’ll buy your drink tonight.”

  Melinda waved her finger at me. “Tomorrow morning. Coffee if you want entrance to the autopsy.”

  “You drive a hard bargain.”

  I left Melinda alone with Jane Doe and returned to the bullpen. The TC Task force was set up inside one of the local St. Paul stations with a special room for the team. There were four detectives—me and Jimmy made up half the team. Two other detectives completed the gang, but they were currently working a case in Minneapolis and had been scarce around the office this week.

  Our team shared resources with the regular precinct, though Asha worked almost exclusively with the TC task force. Melinda covered autopsies for all of St. Paul, but often ours rose to the top of her priority list because of their high-profile nature.

  This particular case had fallen into our jurisdiction for two main reasons. The first—location. Not only had the body been found on the border of the two cities, but it’d been found in a renowned neighborhood. Million-dollar homes. Manicured lawns. Old money. It hadn’t taken long for the mayor to dispatch the task force to the scene. Rich people don’t like dead people turning up too close to home.

  Besides location, the victim’s young age promised publicity. Nobody liked to see a pretty dead girl. But everyone wanted to read about the gory, morbid details. It was tragic, a life lost so young. This case would catch a lot more publicity than, say, the suspicious death of a seventy-year-old overweight male with high blood pressure.

  “Did you get the shoes?” I asked Jimmy.

  Judging by the growling sounds coming from him, I figured that was a negative.

  “Jerks,” I said.

  He burst out laughing. “What’d Melinda have to say?”

  “The victim’s hands were tied—literally. Can’t quite figure how that plays into everything.”

  “Huh.”

  “Unless the victim began to regain consciousness in the car,” I mused, “and the killer panicked? Maybe he was trying to stage a robbery.”

  “I suppose we’ll know more after the autopsy tomorrow,” Jimmy said. “What’s next?”

  I blew out a breath. “We’ll have to start asking around. Door to door in the neighborhood.”

  “Officers already did that.”

  “I’m all ears if you have a better idea?”

  He heaved himself out of his seat. “Your mom needs to start doing delivery.”

  “Your mom—” I hesitated. “Dang, I can’t think of anything.”

  “Good thing you’re a cop, not a comedian.”

  Chapter 3

  The neighborhood canvass lasted three hours and turned up zilch.

  “My nuts are freezing,” Jimmy said as we made our way back to the car after another door closed in our faces with the ‘Sorry, I can’t help you’ response we’d been getting all morning.

  “Buck up, buttercup,” I told him. “This is Minnesota.”

  “My circulation isn’t the same since I turned fifty. Someday, you’ll know what I mean.”

  “If I ever tell you my nuts are freezing, take my gun and shoot me between the eyes.”

  Jimmy’s eyes crinkled when he grinned. “I’m going to miss you when I retire.”

  “At what age did you turn soft?”

  “Watch your mouth, grasshopper.”

  I frowned as I glanced at the former crime scene. The techs had long-since cleaned up the evidence of the tragedy, but there were still plenty of footprints in the snow, scuff marks around the scene, and tire tracks where cop cars had squealed to a stop. More importantly, there was a man standing right where our victim had lain, his arms crossed, staring at the ground.

  I nodded to Jimmy. “Get the car warmed. I’d like to say hello to our little friend.”

  “Right,” Jimmy said. “I’m coming with you.”

  We crossed the street and left the expansive front yards behind us. The river stretched before us, icy and frigid, but not entirely frozen over. It was the Mississippi—it never froze entirely.

  The early darkness was beginning to set—the shortest day of the year was coming upon us quickly, and the only positive about the winter solstice was the fact that the days could only get longer after it.

  The river was lined by a hundred feet of steep embankment dotted by dead trees. During the fall months, the trees lit on fire with reds and yellows and oranges, coloring a stretch of city as if by magic. All throughout autumn, lovers walked hand in hand along the sidewalks and groups of college students jogged along the path with a level of excitement only possible by kids of a certain age. Dogs loped along with their owners and children screeched with delight as they pedaled bikes and dinged bells up and down the street.

  This time of year, the path was deserted save for hard-core runners decked out in lemon-lime colored vests and flashlights strapped to their heads, Vaseline slathered over their faces to prevent the wind from cracking their skin. Today, not even the hard-core runners were out. I had to admit Jimmy had a point. If I had nuts, they’d be freezing, too.

  As it was, I stamped my feet, rubbed my hands together, and tried not to let my hand stray too close to the gun strapped to my hip as I approached our looky-loo.

  “Can I help you?” I asked.

  The man looked up and gave a smile that burned hot against the cool air. A five o’clock shadow decorated his chin beneath a set of brown eyes that were worthy of movie star status. I wasn’t sure I understood the word smoldering, but if I did, I might say his gaze smoldered. A shock of dark hair sat touched by snowflakes, ruffled from the gloved hand that raked through his locks. His eyes twinkled with curiosity as I moved to stand in front of him.

  “Is this your property?” he asked. “I thought sidewal
ks were city property.”

  I ignored his particularly nice-looking smile and returned my finest scowl. “Is there any reason in particular you’ve come out to this spot today?”

  “Rumor on the streets is that a girl was killed here recently.”

  “Can I see some identification?”

  He watched me carefully, his gaze not faltering as he sized me up. I returned the favor, taking in his broad shoulders and tall figure, imagining the body beneath his winter clothes matched the chiseled lines of his face. He wore a suit and gloves, and by all accounts, he should have been freezing his privates off. But aside from his slightly red—and very soft looking—lips, he showed zero signs of being cold.

  “My name’s Jack,” he said finally. “And you are?”

  “Detective Rosetti,” I said. “Do you have a last name?”

  He shifted, gave a thin smile. “I’ve heard great things about you, detective.”

  I frowned. Jimmy stiffened beside me.

  Jack nudged snow out of the way with a polished shoe as he shifted his weight and reached into his pocket. I reached for my gun, rested my hand on it. The weight of it was comforting, especially seeing as this guy was throwing me all sorts of off balance. Jimmy stepped closer. He fixed his gaze on Jack, too.

  “Let me pull out some ID before you shoot me.” Jack withdrew his hand from his pocket, and with it, a badge. He flashed it toward us. “Jack Russo, FBI.”

  I exhaled a breath as Jimmy cursed.

  “Why didn’t you say something sooner, man?” Jimmy groaned. “What are the feds doing here?”

  “Checking out a case.”

  “This is my case,” I said, then corrected myself. “Our case. There’s absolutely no reason we need federal help. At least, not yet.”

  “Tell me, did you find a young girl dead by the river with a fake passport left on her body?” He studied me, not backing down. “I would imagine she was strangled. And the autopsy will turn up signs of a struggle—markings on her wrists.”

  “Have you talked to Dr. Brooks?” I asked.

  “I don’t need to,” he said. “We’ve had four similar cases across the country.”

  “When? How’d you catch wind of this one?”

  “I flagged it. We’ve been chasing this guy for years. The Riverbank Killer,” he said. “Three years. One body per year until this last year. He’s picking up the pace—we’ve only got a limited time before this guy disappears again. And if he goes back underground, we’ll have to wait until he resurfaces... along with another dead body in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Um,” I drawled, gesturing to the city skyline. “The middle of nowhere? St. Paul is a great city. It’s a big metropolis. Not to mention the fact that Minneapolis is a huge hub... just across the street.”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Well, if you’re not a fan of our city, why don’t you let us handle the case and head back to DC?”

  Jack laughed, then raised his hands before slipping his badge back into his pocket. “I didn’t mean to offend. I’m sure your little town is very quaint.”

  I rolled my eyes. “And you wonder why feds get a bad rap.”

  “I’m hoping we’ll be able to work together, detectives,” Russo said, glancing first at me, then at Jimmy. “You must be Detective Jones.”

  “That’s right,” Jimmy said.

  “Would you like to go somewhere else to talk?” Russo asked. “It’s freezing out here.”

  “Nah,” I said, ignoring the fact that I couldn’t feel nine of my toes and my fingers had long since stopped tingling. I was fairly certain I had icicles hanging from my nose, and I sensed that any second, my eyelashes might freeze shut. “I think it’s pretty balmy out here. Plus, I don’t have anything else to say to you.”

  “The FBI is hoping for your full cooperation on the case.”

  “You never leave us much of a choice,” I said dryly. “Don’t worry, if you want the credit once we solve it, I’ll happily hand it over. We don’t need the pat on the back; we just want justice for our vics.”

  “How noble of you.” Jack nodded, glanced out toward the river. “I’d heard Minnesotans were nice. I didn’t know y’all were angels.”

  Jimmy snorted. “Give her a few days. If anyone can change your mind, it’s Rosetti.”

  I glared at my partner. “You’re not helping anything.”

  Jack’s eyes followed our exchange, then landed keenly on me. “Who do I have to sleep with to get a cup of coffee around here and an internet connection?”

  “Her mom,” Jimmy said, thumbing toward me. When Jack stared at him, Jimmy shrugged. “It’s true. She makes the best coffee in town over at Seventh Street Café—it’s next door to the precinct. I’m sure Kate will be happy to escort you there and give you the rundown.”

  “Jimmy,” I said. “A quick word?”

  “If we can go in the car,” he said. “I can no longer feel my nuts.”

  Jack Russo burst out in laughter, the sound all too attractive and all too unwelcome. His eyes crinkled, and I caught a glimpse of laugh-lines around his eyes that signaled just maybe, he wasn’t always the stuck-up prick he presented to the world when on the job. Unfortunately for him, first impressions lasted a long time in my world, and his wasn’t all that great.

  Jimmy led the way to his car, and I climbed inside along with him. He cranked the heat. “Come on, Rosetti. Swallow your pride. Dance with the devil. Keep Russo in the loop—fighting the feds is only going to make things worse.”

  “He’s an asshole. Did you hear him talking?”

  “Not really,” Jimmy admitted. “When feds talk, it goes in one ear and out the next. We know how this works. Play nice. We catch our killer, everyone’s happy.”

  “Not if I have to work with a stuck-up pain in the ass like Russo.”

  “Tell me how you really feel about him.”

  “He’s—” I hesitated. “You’re hilarious. I hate it when they swoop in like this, thinking the case is theirs. Plenty of girls are killed each year, unfortunately. How does he know this one is the same guy?”

  “I expect that’s what he’s here to find out. Sort of handsome fellow, don’t you think?”

  I ignored Jimmy’s side-eye. “Your nuts really must be gone if you think so.”

  Jimmy barked a laugh. “Come on, Kate. Entertain him for the day. Let him sit in on the autopsy. Maybe it’ll loosen the stick in his ass.”

  “Nah,” I said. “That’s wedged up there for good—I think they get implanted when anyone joins the FBI.”

  Jimmy shook his head, his eyes gleaming. “Take the advice of an old dog. It will only make things harder for you if you fight him on this. It’s the holiday season. Consider it your Christmas gift to the bureau.”

  “I’m not really feeling like Santa at the moment.”

  “If nothing else, it’s a good incentive to close this case quick,” Jimmy said. “Now, pull up your big girl panties, buy him a coffee, and show him what Minnesota’s all about.”

  “What is it about?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “Fifty-plus years living here, and I still haven’t figured it out. I have to think that anyone with half a brain would move somewhere warmer. Now, get out of the car before it gets dark, and we get snowed in here.”

  “Let me call it in,” I said. “Make sure he’s kosher.”

  Jimmy warmed his hands by the heater while I made a few quick calls and confirmed that Jack Russo was, in fact, exactly who he said he was. My last call was to the chief.

  “I hear it in your voice,” the chief said, the second he picked up. “I know why you’re calling.”

  “Can’t you call off the dogs?” I asked. “Russo is a—”

  “Can it, detective,” he interrupted. “Do me a Christmas solid. Take Russo out for coffee. Make amends. I assume you got off on the wrong foot judging by the fact that my other line is ringing, and it’s a number from the bureau I don’t feel like answering.”

  “
In my defense, it’s not completely my fault.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?” the chief snapped. “You can make it up to me by taking Russo out for a bite to eat. Show him the ropes. That’s an order.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And Rosetti?”

  I groaned. “Yeah?”

  “Tie this up with a nice bow,” he said. “I want it gift-wrapped and under my tree by Christmas.”

  “Good one, sir.”

  “I’ve been working on it for a while,” he said. “While you’re with Jimmy, tell him to stop using work computers for his freaking eBay auctions.”

  “Of course.”

  I hung up. “No more eBay auctions.”

  Jimmy rolled his eyes. “He’s just jealous I outbid his wife on the shoes.”

  “I thought you didn’t win the shoes?”

  “I didn’t,” he said. “But I lost less badly than the chief.”

  “I’ll get you your shoes if you agree to take Russo out for coffee.”

  “Get out of my car.” Jimmy unlocked the door. “Don’t come back until Russo’s eating out of your palm.”

  Chapter 4

  Russo drove a sleek black rental with heated seats that just about set my ass on fire.

  “Cripes,” I said, shifting as we cruised away from the river and toward the precinct. “Can’t you control these things?”

  Russo glanced over, took a look at my seat, which felt just a little too invasive, then reached over and clicked a few buttons that significantly reduced my rate of perspiration.

  I shot him a grudging nod. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure. Though I thought you might welcome the heated seats after stomping around outside all day.”

  “I was born in the ice,” I said. “I’m not a pansy.”

  Russo’s eyebrows raised. “That’s what you think of me?”

  I shrugged, glanced out the window.

  “I assume you talked to your bosses in the car,” he said. “They probably gave you instructions to cooperate with the bureau. Specifically, me.”

  I shrugged again.

  “Is this you trying to play nice?”