In the Line of Fire Read online

  I went over to Z, who seemed more relaxed now. “Did you hear that?” I asked. “This case looks more and more like the Twilight Bandit is back in business.”

  Z shook his head, eyes on the sheets of written statements as someone piped up behind me.

  “Geez, Mori. If you were any greener, we’d have to water you twice a day.” Cranston leaned in between Z and me. “Your lack of experience is embarrassing. Did you not hear what the boss said?”

  “I heard him,” I said, keeping my annoyance in check. “But that doesn’t stop me from investigating connections.”

  “What connections? A couple of similarities?”

  “There may be more.” I looked to Z for support, but he just put down the paperwork and started texting on his phone. No help at all. “I would have to get more information on the Twilight Bandit.”

  “You’re talking to the expert. It was my case,” Cranston said. “In fact, I should be the one handling this case, since I’ve got experience. You can talk to the boss about passing it on to me.”

  I gave Cranston a dry smile. He wasn’t doing me a favor. He wanted the possible overtime and promotion of a high-profile case. “You’d do that for me? Aren’t you sweet.”

  “I’m the obvious choice. I took over the Twilight Bandit case. That’s how I know the thief dried up. Probably died or left the state. That’s what we figured in the end.”

  “Really?” I had never heard that. “Did you know that theory, Z?” I asked as I felt my pocket buzz.

  “Nope.” My partner shook his head and went back to the paperwork. Totally checked out, but I couldn’t blame him. You couldn’t win an argument with Cranston.

  “Thanks, Cranston, but I’m going to stay on this one.” I reached for my phone. Maybe it was Ashley remembering something important? I looked down. It was a text from Z.

  Shut it down, Mori. It’s trouble.

  I shot Z a confused look, but his face was unreadable.

  Unlike Cranston’s gloating smile. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Cranston said. This was a man who found joy in getting under your skin.

  Giving Cranston a steely look to end the discussion, I grabbed some of the witness statements from the stack and got back to work.

  3

  It was after ten when Z and I got into our cruiser to head back to the precinct. The brisk December night air energized me a little and cooled down my thoughts on the robbery.

  “Damn, what a haul.” Z shook his head. “Seventeen grand for seven minutes worth of work.” He whistled out loud, a long, descending sound.

  “You must be feeling better,” I said, starting the vehicle.

  Z nodded. “Yeah, sometimes the monster recedes when you face it.”

  “You sound like my dad.” My father was a big fan of proverbs. “You want to tell me why you shut me down in front of Cranston and the others?”

  “You know the answer to that. The Twilight Bandit case is not to be discussed.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says the culture of the department. Let it go, Mori. We’re both too beat to fight about it, but I can dream about the cash. Seventeen grand.”

  “More than the usual heist, which is around six thousand.”

  Z squinted at me. “Don’t tell me you looked it up.”

  I nodded. “I had some time to kill in there. So it turns out that the additional strap of cash from the safe significantly increased the robber’s cash.”

  “What would you do with that kind of money?” Z asked. “If seventeen thousand bucks landed in your lap?”

  As I focused on the white line marking the curve of the ridge road around the lake, I considered my easy life. I had a decent place to live, and, yeah, I had to have a roommate to make ends meet, but I liked living with Natalie. She was fun to be around and made independence a little less lonely. I didn’t make a ton of money as a police detective, but I also didn’t have expensive tastes, not like my mother, who loved to shop and have her hair and nails done at expensive salons. I kept my dark hair blunt cut over my shoulders, pulled back in a ponytail when I was working. All very simple.

  “I guess I’d travel,” I told Z. “I’d go visit my best friend from college, Neen, in Sweden.” A part of me wanted to be brave enough to fly away from Sunrise Lake and explore other parts of the world, but a bigger part of me was comfortable living among the manicured lawns and quiet parks I’d grown up in. Our small town was seeing changes in demographics and technology, but it was still my small-town home. Truth was, I liked living close to my parents and sister Hannah, though that would change soon when she went off to college.

  “Sweden, huh?” Z looked over at me. “What, Sunrise Lake isn’t white enough for you already?” He laughed. “You know they put one of the few black cops and the only Asian cop together for a reason, right? We’re like a rolling brochure for diversity.”

  I smiled and shook my head. This was one of Z’s favorite topics to riff on.

  “Hey, what would you do with the money?” I asked.

  Z smiled. “Oh, I know exactly what I would do. No hesitation.”

  “What?”

  “Her name is Tammy.”

  I shot him a look of shock. “What?” Damn. Did Natalie know? They’d just started dating a few months ago, but I’d never taken Z for a jerk.

  “She lives over on State Street at Sunrise BMW. She’s dark blue with tan leather interior. A five series.”

  “A car?” I feigned a yawn. “Predictable.”

  “Really, Miss Sweden? Judging?” He shook his head. “Besides, my beater is on its last transmission. That car is a money pit. Used to be a sweet ride, but all good things must come to an end. I swear the car knows when I drive past Tammy on State Street. It starts to sputter. That’s what I need for Christmas, Mori, a new set of wheels.”

  “Speaking of Christmas, I got us tickets to the SLPD’s holiday party.” I pulled into the parking lot of the precinct and parked under a bright streetlight. Z’s rust bucket was parked nearby, and I kind of felt sad for it.

  Z shook his head. “No way.”

  “Oh, come on. Don’t make me go alone.”

  “Don’t go, then.”

  “I’m still a rookie, and I want to get to know my coworkers better. You can understand that, right? Nobody talks to anyone around the precinct. It’s all business.”

  “You don’t need a stupid holiday party to talk to people, Mori. Besides, who do you really want to know better? Ward Brown? He’s just a bitter smokestack with one too many head injuries from his days in the Marines.” Z paused for a second to look at me. “Or maybe you’re dying to chat up Cranston, the biggest misogynist on the force? That amazing man knows everything. Or so he thinks.”

  “He really does think he’s all that.” I cracked a smile.

  “Oh, I’m just getting started, Mori. I bet you’re dying to get some one-on-one time with Scooter Rivers. He’s got the personality of a water snake. The man is a belly-crawler. He only looks up to ask whose boots he can lick next.”

  I was laughing now. For all of his strong opinions, Z’s assessments were right on.

  “And Chief Cribben? Why do you think they call him Crappin’ Cribben? He logs a lot of time on that throne in his private office, if you know what I mean. Reads all his daily reports with his pants around his knees.”

  “Ew, no. TMI.” I shook my head, swiping at a tear. “There are plenty of decent people in the department …”

  “Name one. Fast. Don’t think.”

  I opened my mouth, pressing my tired brain to come up with someone.

  “Eeeeeeepppp! Time’s up.”

  I was glad Z was back to his old self. I’m sure it wasn’t easy, handling another bank robbery case after being on-scene three years ago when his partner was gunned down.

  “You seem fully recovered,” I said.

  He nodded. “I’m fine. Superhero fine. Invincible.”

  “So, you won’t mind telling me the inside scoop on the Twilight Bandit. I mean, you were there. Tonight’s robbery really is similar, right?”

  Z stared straight ahead, the joy drained right out of him.

  “Come on, Z,” I said, getting irritated. Why was no one on the force willing to tell me the inside details of one of the most important crime sprees in Sunrise Lake history? There’d been nine robberies, but the string of crimes had ended abruptly after Officer Franny Landon was killed.

  “It would be a huge favor if you would just tell me what you know about that night.”

  Z stared straight ahead.

  “I’m sorry,” I tried again. “I know you don’t like to talk about it, but I wasn’t on the force when it happened, and some inside knowledge of that serial robber might help us solve this new case. It would really help if you filled me in.”

  He grunted, and in the dim light of the dashboard I could see his eyebrows were raised, a sure sign he was annoyed. “Just stay out of it, okay? It’s bad enough one cop got killed.” He ran one hand over his close-cropped hair and then pushed open the door. “I gotta go. Natalie’s making pizzas and I’m starved.”

  “But Z.” I pushed open the door of the patrol vehicle to hop out and call after him. “How am I supposed to stay out of a case when I’m investigating a similar crime? It might be the same perp.”

  He paused and turned to me. In his dark jacket and trousers, he cut a stark silhouette against the lights that bathed the police station behind him. “You know how to work a case, Mori.” His breath formed puffs of steam in the December night air. “You comb through witness statements and forensic data and you follow every lead. Stick to today’s case and you’ll be fine.”

  He was right. I knew he was. At the moment I had plenty of information and clues to pursue from tonight’s robbery without comparing it to past crime patterns. But I still wished he would open up about that night three years ago. That’s just me, probing until I have all the answers. “I could use your help inputting witness statements,” I called, a last-ditch effort.

  “When there’s a pepperoni pizza calling my name? Uh-uh. See you later, Mori.” He kept on walking toward his beater of a car, boots scuffing the sandy pavement.

  Pizza night. My shoulders sank a little as I watched him go. It was tempting, but not enough to lure me away from the investigation. Hoping for some quiet time at my desk to get organized, I went into the quiet precinct. The night shift desk sergeant, Sherry Joel, nodded as I passed, not missing a beat from her phone call. Most of the night shift was on patrol. A lone cop talked with one of the dispatchers as I headed toward the shadowed squad room, which now loomed empty since detectives didn’t work the graveyard shift unless they’d been called in on a priority crime scene. But as soon as I reached the back office, Lieutenant Omak snagged me.

  “Didn’t you work a two-to-ten tonight?” His voice was stern, as if he’d caught me with my hand in a cookie jar. “Your shift is over, Mori.”

  “I did, but I wanted to start framing up the case for our bank robbery. Have you loaded the bank videos into our database yet?”

  He shook his head. “You can dig into the case in the morning.”

  “But I like getting a head start,” I insisted. “Sometimes the details are sharper when they’re fresh in my mind.”

  “I understand that, Mori, and I appreciate the work ethic, but a nonviolent crime like this gets low priority. Tomorrow is soon enough, so for tonight I’m giving you the boot.”

  “Oh.” Even the mildest forms of rejection stung when you tried to be perfect. I looked away to hide my disappointment.

  “I appreciate your dedication, but you need to pace yourself, Mori,” he said. “No burning out on my watch. Everything will still be here in the morning.”

  “Okay. I’m just going to make copies of these witness statements before I head out.” With a sour taste in my mouth and the pressure of weariness filling my head, I put the stack of crumpled statements into the feeder of the copy machine and let the machine chug through the task as I ducked into the small women’s locker room. Suddenly tired, I shoved my street clothes into my duffel bag, leaving my uniform on until I got home. I stopped in the squad room to tuck the copies in my bag (for later reading) and place the originals in the in-basket of the admin assistants, the invaluable clerical staff who inputted police reports.

  As I passed the front desk, Sgt. Joel’s face reflected the odd light from her computer monitor as she kindly advised a homeowner about local noise regulations. “We’ve gotten a few complaints about the music in your Christmas display,” Joel said, phone pressed to her ear with one shoulder as she tapped the computer keyboard with one hand. “Can you make sure it’s off by nine?”

  That was the typical police action in Sunrise Lake: noise complaints, missing lawn ornaments, an elderly citizen who’d wandered off.

  The robbery at First Sunrise was a big deal, and I felt honored that Lieutenant Omak had made me the lead on the case.

  Outside I saw Lieutenant Omak walking in the shadows at the edge of the parking lot, pacing like a restless tiger. He stared down at his cell phone, occasionally swiping up. It was chilly, but he wore no jacket.

  Something about the boss mystified me. Not personally. Happily married with a couple of kids, he seemed as squared away as a former military man could be. Of all the supervisors in our department, Omak was the one who seemed best prepared to stand tall and make a decision. But that courage was tempered by a thoughtful side, something enigmatic and distant that always left me wondering what he was really thinking.

  “You’re going to catch a cold,” I said, sounding like my mother.

  “Colds are caused by viruses, not weather,” he said as he took measured steps through an empty parking space. Finally glancing up, he smiled. “See you tomorrow, Mori.”

  “Good night, Lieutenant.” I sensed that he would remain at the precinct awhile tonight, doing whatever supervisors did to juggle the police operations of a community. And for Omak, there was something more at stake—an investigation of possible police corruption, which he’d told me only because I was about to unearth one of his plants, Officer Esme Garcia. I’d been on the verge of reporting her for suspicious behavior when he’d explained that she was working an inside investigation and I was to back off and keep it confidential. My lips were sealed, though I was curious to know more. I always figure knowledge is power.

  As I drove home, I kept running the details of my new case through my head. Older male. Baseball cap. Black-framed glasses. Slight limp. White hair, possibly a wig. Right-handed. Young-looking hands.

  I was eager for the microanalysis of the hairs at the scene, as well as any fingerprints. The lab would be one of my first stops in the morning.

  The grainy image of the perpetrator lingered in my mind: glasses too big for his face, hat bunching up in places. I’d noticed him on camera wincing a few times as he scratched at the edges of his cap. Either an itchy scalp or an uncomfortable wig. And the glasses were probably part of his disguise, since he seemed to be glancing over them when he was writing the note.

  Ashley’s mention of his hands intrigued me, and Sidney Maynor had said his youthful face didn’t match that white hair. I wondered just how young the robber could be. What if he was a teenager, a high school kid robbing the bank on a dare from friends? Or maybe someone in his early twenties, desperate for money to feed an addiction. I recalled the grainy image of the robber’s face that had been captured on the bank cameras. Did the picture show enough of his features to run it by some administrators and teachers at Sunrise High to see if they recognized him? Possibly. But I couldn’t reach out to the high schools and local community colleges until I had some confirmation that we were dealing with a younger person.

  * * *

  I pulled up in front of the little white cottage I shared with my longtime friend Natalie Amichi and noticed Z’s car parked in the driveway. The silver door he’d had the body shop replace on the passenger side gleamed in the light of our porch lamp. Z had been seeing Natalie for weeks now, so I got the double whammy of seeing him both at work and often at home. Usually I was fine with that, but tonight it was going to be a little bit awkward for us with a new case and Natalie trying to report on it. The best way to avoid accidentally spilling confidential information was to not discuss the case at all, which was easier for Z than it was for me. Once I dig into an investigation, it’s hard for me to extract myself from the weeds.

  As I swung the front door open, music, laughter, and the amazing smell of freshly baked bread hit me, a reminder that I hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. Z’s booming voice filled the kitchen as he did another of his spot-on impressions. For a moment I felt my heart thud in my throat, and I knew I wanted something like what Z and Natalie had: the fun, the flirting, and the thrill of a close kiss. That kind of relationship hadn’t happened for me. Not yet.

  “Hi, guys,” I said, entering the kitchen and putting down my heavy work bag.

  “Hey you! We’re making personal pizzas and you’re just in time. I bet you’re starving, working through dinnertime.” Natalie poured a healthy glass of red wine and handed it to me. “I believe this has your name on it.”

  I accepted the glass and dared a glance across the butcher-block island to Z. Somehow the awkwardness was gone, melted away in the glow of our kitchen as Z raised his wine glass. “To working less and drinking more.”

  I lifted my glass in a toast. “I’ll drink to that.”

  “Hey, pick your favorite toppings, Laura. I’ve got them lined up over here,” Natalie said, then turned to Z. “Hey buddy, aren’t you supposed to be grating more cheese?”

  “Sorry, boss! No falling down on the job for me.” Z continued scraping a block of mozzarella cheese over the metal grater.

  I washed my hands and put on a cute little apron decorated with dancing forks and knives. I loved it. Natalie had purchased it for me as a housewarming gift when we’d first moved in together, trying to reassure me that our new living arrangement would work out fine.

  It had been hard at first, living away from the home I’d shared with my parents and sister Hannah. As much as I loved my comfortable childhood bedroom, I’d been feeling a little silly for not venturing out on my own. I guess I’d been most afraid of loneliness. And how would I stay current on the family restaurant gossip that was passed around the table more readily than the shoyu? Would Hannah and I grow apart? Already we sparred over stupid stuff, like which one of us ate the last Pop-Tart, but would we want to talk at all if we didn’t have to?