Secret Witness. Jessica Andersen
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Jilly and Maureen were safe. If it didn’t…
The alternative was unthinkable. Therefore, there was only one solution.
The DNA would match. She’d make sure of it.
DOWN THE STREET from Boston General Hospital, Sturgeon’s voice cut across the usual din of the Chinatown Station. “Hi, honey. I’m home!”
Reid let his feet slide off the edge of the desk and thump to the floor while he glared at his partner. “Go suck on a peppermint, Sturgeon,” he said, but he didn’t really mean it.
Fifty-something, jowly and slightly pop-eyed, Reid’s partner bore an unfortunate resemblance to his animal namesake. He was also one of the sharpest men in Chinatown, and Reid had been honored when the veteran detective had partnered him seven years earlier.
Sturgeon pulled one of the candies from the breast pocket of his already-rumpled suit and held it out. At Peters’s headshake, he shrugged, unwrapped the pinwheel with a deft one-handed flick, and popped it in his mouth.
“You have a good day off?” he asked around the peppermint.
Reid shrugged. “It was fine. You?” He didn’t need to ask. If it’d been a lousy day, Sturgeon would be crunching the candy with a vengeance. The rate at which he devoured mints was a pretty good barometer of his mood.
“Took Jennie and the grandkids to that water park in New Hampshire. They’ve got this great new slide that shoots you down the hill almost in freefall.” Sturgeon’s eyes took on a faraway, happy look. “The kids loved it, and while we were standing in line this pretty blonde lost her bikini top on the way down.” He grinned. “Jen tried to act mad that I looked, but later that night she gave me this reenactment…” Sturgeon trailed off and Reid held up a hand.
“Enough! No more, please. I’m begging you!”
He imagined Sturgeon in swimming trunks, surrounded by his three grandkids and grinned. Tried not to imagine Sturgeon and his trim, zippy wife engaged in a game of “Oops, I lost my bikini top!” and failed.
Tried to imagine himself taking children and a wife to a water park and scowled.
Sturgeon chuckled and hitched himself onto the corner of Reid’s desk. “You wouldn’t be begging me if you had a wife of your own, you know.”
Reid rolled his eyes. “Don’t start.”
It was beyond him how Sturgeon had managed to stay married thirty years and counting. He was the guy who threw the curve on cop demographics—the one half of one percent that was happily married.
The noise level started to rise as the shift changed. Sturgeon didn’t bother to lower his voice and a passing rookie snickered when the detective said, “I mean, what’s the problem here? You’re healthy, employed, only mildly lazy, and although I don’t really see it, Jennie tells me that you’re H-O-T hot. Apparently, your ass is exquisite.”
There was a guffaw from three desks over. Reid glared, but couldn’t tell which of his so-called friends it had been.
“I don’t,” he said in measured tones, “want to talk about your wife’s opinion of my ass.” Though he was flattered in a sick sort of way. “I don’t want to talk about my sex life.” Or lack thereof. He hadn’t dated steadily since he’d accidentally yelled the wrong woman’s name in the throes and had been summarily dumped on his head. When he’d gone to find the witness whose name he had yelled, he’d arrived at her house only to learn she’d been put in the hospital by a man who’d been on his list of suspects to question the next day.
He hadn’t yet forgiven himself for that one. Nor had he quite escaped the feeling that there was something not quite right about her kid’s reappearance the day before.
“And…” He pushed the thought aside and pointed at his partner. “I most certainly don’t want to talk about your sex life.”
Unperturbed, Sturgeon unwrapped another mint and popped it home. He shrugged. “Then what do you want to talk about? You gonna tell me what’s bugging you, and why there’re enough coffee cups on the desk to prove you spent the night here on your first day off in over a month?”
Reid scowled at the telltale cups. “I was working.”
“On what? There’s nothing on our desks except some leftover paperwork and old coffee cups. Don’t tell me you came in to do paperwork—that’s really sick. And don’t tell me you like the coffee.”
“Stephanie Alberts’s kid was snatched yesterday.”
Sturgeon inhaled his mint. “Come again?”
“Remember Stephanie Alberts? Redheaded lab tech from last year’s trouble over at Boston General?”
Sturgeon nodded and sketched a set of curves in the air to indicate that he remembered her. She was hard to forget, and both of them had been burned by that case when her boyfriend—who was barely even a suspect—had beaten her into a coma.
There had been a police detail outside the house where she was attacked and it hadn’t made a damn bit of difference. She’d still ended up in Boston General, hooked to more machines than Reid had ever seen.
“Yeah, I remember her. The daughter was snatched? Why didn’t you call me?”
Reid shrugged. “It was over quick enough. Uniforms from Patriot District found the girl across the street in a park.”
“Then she just wandered off, right? No snatch.”
“Looks that way,” Reid answered.
“But you don’t think so.”
Sturgeon knew him well. Reid nodded. “It doesn’t feel right. The kid was gone for a couple of hours and the aunt swears she checked the park right away when she disappeared. Kid’s not even four, so she couldn’t have gotten very far in any case…”
“You ask Jilly?”
Reid was surprised that Sturgeon remembered the little girl’s name when he hadn’t. But then again, Sturgeon had kids of his own. It was probably in the daddy manual that you had to remember other kids’ names.
Too bad Reid’s old man hadn’t read that particular owner’s manual. Reid shook his head. “Kid doesn’t talk.”
Sturgeon frowned. “No?”
“The doctors say she’ll talk when she’s ready. The aunt made it sound like the parents’ marriage ended badly and slowed her down.” Reid wondered what messy meant. He hoped it hadn’t been abuse, though he’d seen enough of it over the years. “She was just starting to talk when Steph was hospitalized last year.”
“Steph?” Sturgeon wrinkled an eyebrow.
“Ms. Alberts. Anyway, questioning the kid was out, and Murphy over at Patriot didn’t think much of my suspicions.”
“Leanne Murphy is a good cop,” Sturgeon commented, and Reid heard the subtext—If she doesn’t think there’s anything suspicious, she’s probably right.
Reid shrugged. “So I took a walk around the park. Talked to a few neighbors.” And had gotten more information about Steph’s ex than he had about her daughter’s disappearance.
He’d checked. Luis Monterro was still in prison on an embezzlement conviction. But the itch between his shoulder blades hadn’t gone away.
“Any evidence of a snatch?” Sturgeon asked, “Or are you just looking for an excuse to sniff around a lady who’s already turned you down twice?”
“I don’t sniff.” The only reason Sturgeon got away with comments like that was that he was a good partner and friend. Otherwise, Reid would’ve shot him a long time ago. “And no, there’s no evidence she was kidnapped.”
“Then let’s get to work.” Still perched on Reid’s desk, Sturgeon reached