The Man Behind The Badge. Dawn Stewardson
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course, he’d thought a lot of things she did were stupid. Particularly toward the end.
As she looked down at the street again, to where the two men stood talking in front of the car, Snoops leaped onto the window seat and arched his back, demanding attention.
When she picked the cat up and cuddled him, he nuzzled his cold nose against her neck—his version of a kiss.
“Thanks, little guy,” she murmured. “I needed that.”
* * *
TRAVIS AND HANK had almost reached the stairs of the stately old brownstone when Travis decided the element of surprise would be a good idea. If they could simply knock on Celeste Langley’s door, without giving her any advance warning...
“Let’s wait outside a few minutes,” he suggested. “See if we can get in without pressing her buzzer.”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” Hank said.
That was hardly a news flash. Hank was three years older than Travis and had been in Homicide longer. But they’d been partners for long enough that they generally thought alike—which was exactly what they’d been doing tonight.
During the drive over from Parker’s apartment, they’d agreed there wasn’t much chance his sister was their killer. Aside from anything else, they never caught the cases that were easily solved.
And even if Langley had been visiting her brother last night, it hardly proved she was a murderer. Parker could well have been alive when she left.
Still, you never knew what the element of surprise would produce.
“I’d say we just got lucky,” Hank said as a teenager came along and started up the steps with keys in his hand.
“Excuse me?” Travis said. “NYPD detectives,” he added, showing his badge when the kid turned toward them. “You mind letting us in?”
“I...” He glanced nervously at the gold shield, then shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”
They took the stairs and headed along the hall to 304, Travis not looking forward to what lay ahead. Informing the next of kin was never a fun job, so they took turns with the ones they did themselves. And this one belonged to him.
Hank knocked on the door, then held his badge up toward the peephole when they heard a faint noise from inside. “Police detectives, Ms. Langley.”
“How did you get in?”
“Someone coming home.”
“Do you have other identification?”
She was, Travis thought as Hank produced his photo ID, a typically suspicious New Yorker—which wasn’t a bad thing to be.
A couple of locks clicked, then the door opened and Celeste Langley gazed warily out at them.
The snapshot hadn’t done her justice. In living color, her eyes were the deep blue of sapphires. Her mouth was positively lush, and while in the picture she’d been wearing a tailored suit, tonight she had on a dark silk shirt and slacks that revealed slim curves.
Reminding himself why they were here, he said, “I’m Detective Ballantyne’s partner, Ms. Langley. Detective Travis Quinn. May we come in? We need to talk to you.”
For a moment he thought she was going to ask what this was about, then she simply stepped backward and ushered them inside.
Travis closed the door and followed her and Hank into the living room—wishing he were just about anywhere else. He knew she was assuming they’d come with bad news. People always did. But that didn’t make delivering it any easier.
He glanced around as they sat down, doing his standard quick assessment. The room, large enough to easily serve as a combined living and dining room, was tastefully decorated with quality furniture. The antique dining room suite was undoubtedly from the 1800s, or even earlier, and he’d guess that the artwork was worth a fair bit.
After taking a second to psyche himself up, he focused on Celeste Langley. “Steve Parker is your brother?”
“Yes...my half brother, actually.” She paused for a beat, then said, “What’s happened to him?”
“I’m afraid he was murdered last night. I’m sorry.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and even though she managed to blink them back she suddenly seemed so fragile that Travis’s heart went out to her.
That wasn’t good, he told himself. He made a point of staying as detached as he could from cases. It went a long way toward helping him maintain his sanity. But, sometimes, keeping his emotions completely in check was tough.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
When Celeste nodded, he could tell she was trying hard not to let her tears escape.
After giving herself a few seconds, she focused on him again and said, “How did it happen?”
“He was shot. In his apartment. If it makes things easier, he died instantly.”
“I...thank you for telling me that. And...who did it? Do you have any idea?”
“Not yet. We were hoping you’d be able to help us with that. Thought you might know if he had any enemies, or if there’s been recent trouble in his life.”
She slowly shook her head. “If Steve was having problems he didn’t mention them to me. We didn’t have the sort of relationship that...we weren’t very close.”
“He’d listed you as his next of kin,” Hank Ballantyne said.
“Well, yes, I’m...I was the closest relative he had in the city. But...” Celeste paused. Even at the best of times, it was hard to explain that she barely knew her own brother.
“Steve’s father was my mother’s first husband,” she continued. “After they’d divorced and she married my father, before I was even born, Steve went to live with his father. So he wasn’t around much while I was growing up. And since he was fifteen years older than me...”
“I understand,” Travis Quinn said, sounding so much as if he truly did that she tried to smile at him.
It didn’t feel like much of a smile, but it was the best she could manage.
Then Hank Ballantyne was saying, “Ms. Langley, it’s possible your brother had a female visitor shortly before he was killed. So just for the sake of elimination, I have to ask if you were in his apartment last night.”
“No. I haven’t been in his apartment since...not since our mother’s birthday, back in March. And I wasn’t anywhere last night. I mean, I was right here. Working.”
“On a Saturday night?”
“Yes. I’m a freelance editor, and I have a deadline looming.”
The detective nodded. “Okay, then getting back to your brother, when was the last time you saw him?”
“A few weeks ago. Our mother died in July, and after her service we decided we wanted to work on building more of a relationship. Neither of us had other siblings, so... Well, we had dinner together around the start of September and were going to make it a monthly date, but now...I...would you excuse me for a minute?”
She pushed herself up and headed to the bathroom, her tears making good their escape before she reached it.
Normally, she wasn’t a crier. Her father had come from stiff-upper-lip English stock, and she’d learned early to conceal her emotions—especially from strangers. But first her mother’s death, and now learning that Steve’s life had been cut short, too...
They might not have been close, but that didn’t mean she’d had no feelings for him. And the thought of someone murdering him had her completely torn up inside.
Leaning against the closed door, she stood with her eyes shut