wanted a record of this conversation.
“Let’s play this tight to the vest,” she said to Jack as she stood and headed for the office door. “I don’t want to tell him any more than we have to.”
“Sure,” Birch said, Hhe stood and tucked the unlit cigarette into his breast pocket.
Victoria opened the door to find Laroy on the other side, his right hand raised to knock. Laroy started to say something then saw Jack and stopped. The two men locked stares, just as they had earlier that day out on the levee. Something passed between them. Something dark and hostile. She saw it in Hockley’s eyes. A shifting of gears, a tightening of the facial muscles. She glanced at Birch to check his expression, but he looked like he always did: like something carved out of a slab of granite.
“Jack,” Hockley finally said, his jaw working stiffly, like he was chewing barbed wire. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“Laroy,” Jack replied evenly.
“Have a seat, Laroy,” Victoria said, wondering exactly what the hell was going on between the two men? It was obvious they had some history. She wondered why Birch hadn’t mentioned it?
As she circled her desk, Laroy settled into the chair beside Birch and placed his briefcase carefully across his knees.
“Thank you for seeing me, Victoria,” he said. He tried on a smile, but it looked a little thin, like a pit bull playing at being friendly.
Victoria nodded noncommittally. “What can I help you with?”
“I just came by to tell you that Chief Ballast has agreed to keep the Sheriff’s Department in the loop on the Abby Sutton homicide,” he said. “But I guess you already know that,” he added with a sidelong glance at Jack.
Victoria nodded. “I understand Detective Birch is still the lead investigator,” She took pleasure in pointing out that Jack was still on the case, despite Hockley’s maneuvering. “So, what can we help you with?”
Hockley shrugged. “Where are we at?”
Victoria glanced at Jack who took the cue readily enough.
“Abby Sutton appears to have been shot twice in the torso and then stabbed to death. Most of the knife wounds appear to be postmortem. Frenzied. Your standard overkill. Our prime suspect is Abby’s boyfriend, Axel Rankin. Axel’s a dope dealer who runs with the Confederate Syndicate Motorcycle Club. We’re trying to track him down without much luck. We think he’s headed for Los Angeles”
Laroy smiled as he popped open his briefcase, reached inside and took out a single sheet of paper. He leaned forward and slid it onto Victoria’s desk.
“What’s that?” she asked, eyeing it like it might be infected with plague.
“That’s an address,” Hockley cryptically replied. “And it ain’t in California.”
Victoria leaned forward and turned the paper toward her using only a fingernail. ‘Axel Rankin. 207 East 12 th Street’ was typed at the top of the page, the rest was blank. Wordlessly, she shoved the paper toward Birch who picked it up and read the single line while she stared at Laroy, trying to keep her anger in check. How the hell was Laroy staying one step ahead of them? First he’s out on the levee trying to take the case from Jack, and now he was offering up the primary suspect. Not only did it piss her off, it was damned well embarrassing.
“That’s the Syndicate dope house I told you about,” Birch said. He cocked his head at Laroy. “Who says Axel’s there?”
Laroy shrugged. “That’s not important, Jack,” he said. “But I assure you Axel is there. Right this minute.”
“Where you got that information is very important to me,” Victoria said, letting her anger show. “This is a murder investigation. Withholding evidence is a criminal offense.”
Laroy shrugged as he stood. “I’d lay even money that Axel isn’t even the killer,” he said. “But the sooner you find that out the sooner we can move on to a more likely suspect.” Laroy didn’t have to mention Valentine by
“Let’s play this tight to the vest,” she said to Jack as she stood and headed for the office door. “I don’t want to tell him any more than we have to.”
“Sure,” Birch said, Hhe stood and tucked the unlit cigarette into his breast pocket.
Victoria opened the door to find Laroy on the other side, his right hand raised to knock. Laroy started to say something then saw Jack and stopped. The two men locked stares, just as they had earlier that day out on the levee. Something passed between them. Something dark and hostile. She saw it in Hockley’s eyes. A shifting of gears, a tightening of the facial muscles. She glanced at Birch to check his expression, but he looked like he always did: like something carved out of a slab of granite.
“Jack,” Hockley finally said, his jaw working stiffly, like he was chewing barbed wire. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“Laroy,” Jack replied evenly.
“Have a seat, Laroy,” Victoria said, wondering exactly what the hell was going on between the two men? It was obvious they had some history. She wondered why Birch hadn’t mentioned it?
As she circled her desk, Laroy settled into the chair beside Birch and placed his briefcase carefully across his knees.
“Thank you for seeing me, Victoria,” he said. He tried on a smile, but it looked a little thin, like a pit bull playing at being friendly.
Victoria nodded noncommittally. “What can I help you with?”
“I just came by to tell you that Chief Ballast has agreed to keep the Sheriff’s Department in the loop on the Abby Sutton homicide,” he said. “But I guess you already know that,” he added with a sidelong glance at Jack.
Victoria nodded. “I understand Detective Birch is still the lead investigator,” She took pleasure in pointing out that Jack was still on the case, despite Hockley’s maneuvering. “So, what can we help you with?”
Hockley shrugged. “Where are we at?”
Victoria glanced at Jack who took the cue readily enough.
“Abby Sutton appears to have been shot twice in the torso and then stabbed to death. Most of the knife wounds appear to be postmortem. Frenzied. Your standard overkill. Our prime suspect is Abby’s boyfriend, Axel Rankin. Axel’s a dope dealer who runs with the Confederate Syndicate Motorcycle Club. We’re trying to track him down without much luck. We think he’s headed for Los Angeles”
Laroy smiled as he popped open his briefcase, reached inside and took out a single sheet of paper. He leaned forward and slid it onto Victoria’s desk.
“What’s that?” she asked, eyeing it like it might be infected with plague.
“That’s an address,” Hockley cryptically replied. “And it ain’t in California.”
Victoria leaned forward and turned the paper toward her using only a fingernail. ‘Axel Rankin. 207 East 12 th Street’ was typed at the top of the page, the rest was blank. Wordlessly, she shoved the paper toward Birch who picked it up and read the single line while she stared at Laroy, trying to keep her anger in check. How the hell was Laroy staying one step ahead of them? First he’s out on the levee trying to take the case from Jack, and now he was offering up the primary suspect. Not only did it piss her off, it was damned well embarrassing.
“That’s the Syndicate dope house I told you about,” Birch said. He cocked his head at Laroy. “Who says Axel’s there?”
Laroy shrugged. “That’s not important, Jack,” he said. “But I assure you Axel is there. Right this minute.”
“Where you got that information is very important to me,” Victoria said, letting her anger show. “This is a murder investigation. Withholding evidence is a criminal offense.”
Laroy shrugged as he stood. “I’d lay even money that Axel isn’t even the killer,” he said. “But the sooner you find that out the sooner we can move on to a more likely suspect.” Laroy didn’t have to mention Valentine by
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