Pas de Deux

Chapter 1 Voices held back from speaking were sometimes louder than those shouting in protest. Tension weighed like a stone in the small parked Corolla, but Detective Owen Duke focused too intently on the ramshackle warehouse across the street to give the others in the car too much notice. At Duke’s side, Finch’s rosary clicked between his fingers, but any prayers Finch had for the next few minutes remained mute, transformed into shape only by the scant movement of his lips. Glass shattered in the alley behind them. “s**t,” someone muttered from the backseat. Duke didn’t know if it was Truong or Rucker. He didn’t really care. Neither made a move except to twist around and check it out through the rear window. Duke watched them in his mirror until they settled in their seats again, then resumed his scrutiny of the warehouse. No questions. No suggestions they go check it out. That was good. They recognized his authority on this assignment. A step in the right direction. September sun pounded down against the concrete, uncharacteristically brilliant for Oakland this time of year. It highlighted every vivid piece of graffiti, so the reds and blues and oranges bled across the walls like new scars waiting to form. The sidewalks ran dry, though. Nobody bothered with this part of town anymore. Nobody who wanted to be seen, anyway. That was the way Duke liked it. The rosary slipped from Finch’s fingers, and he jerked forward to catch it before it hit the floor. The beads clattered together before Finch had it firmly in his grasp again, and a faint blush stained his wan cheeks when he glanced over at Duke. “Sorry,” he said. Duke c****d a single brow. “Is it helping?” Finch pinked even further. His pale blue eyes ducked to stare at the rosary in his hands. “Not really.” A wave of sympathy washed over Duke, though he carefully caught it and tucked it away before he let it take root or the others noticed. “I suggest you pray harder, then.” Something flashed at the edge of his vision. He turned his head in time to see one of the few unbroken windows on the ground floor slide shut. “Later. We’re on.” All three of them snapped to attention. Leather holsters rustled as they drew their weapons. Duke bit his tongue about drawing too early. He’d rather they had their weapons ready now than struggle to get them out in time once they were inside. Less noise, too. He was the first to get out, though the others quickly followed. The heat crawled down the back of his suit collar, coaxing the sweat to the surface of his skin, but he ignored the sticky coolness in favor of measuring his steps as he reached the end of the alley. He glanced up and down the deserted road, then over to the empty-eyed warehouse. The open street offered no cover, but a quick assessment of the windows revealed no obvious surveillance. A short, sharp run, and he was pressed against the side of the building, Finch and the others lining up beside him. His gaze swept upward. A fire escape that looked like it was held together by rust snaked to the roof. The bottom rung of the first ladder was within reach if he stretched. “Truong, Rucker, go in through the back. Finch is with me.” Three sets of eyes followed him as he caught the lowest rung and effortlessly pulled himself up. He’d reached the second level platform before he realized none of them had moved. “Were my instructions not clear enough?” Though he never raised his voice, the warning in it was clear. He’d spent years perfecting that tone. It was gratifying to see it still worked, he thought grimly as they broke their formation and scrambled to obey. It would have been more gratifying, however, if they had simply done what he’d said in the first place. Finch had to holster his weapon to make the climb. Duke had his ready, the solid weight against his palm the most comforting sensation he knew, by the time Finch joined him. He didn’t bother with further instructions. If Finch didn’t have it by now, that was his problem. Duke had done everything he could. He wasn’t going to coddle the kid, just because he brought a rosary to an assignment. The warehouse was five stories tall, but Duke didn’t bother going to the roof. The entry point he wanted was on the third floor, a large, skeletal window with slivers of broken glass still embedded in the frame. He climbed in without letting any of his clothing catch on the jagged edges, focusing on his destination rather than the small grunts coming from Finch behind him. Dust and debris coated the floor, but a sweep over its surface said nobody else had been through this way. Without looking back, he gestured for Finch to follow him. Noise was inevitable, but he kept it to a minimum by stepping lightly through and around the worst of the trash. He strained to pick up other sounds from the bowels of the building, anything at all he could use. A creak. A thud. A door slamming would be perfect. In the wide hall, he stopped and tilted his head in the direction of the window he’d seen shut earlier. A low bass throbbed through the floor, vibrating into the soles of his feet. It was faint, but unmistakable, and he glanced back to see if Finch had noticed it. Finch met his eyes and jerked his chin downward, toward the distant music. At Duke’s nod, he stepped past and led the way toward the stairs at the end of the corridor, surprisingly quiet in the booming silence. The dust stirred around their ankles, rising high enough to aggravate their sinuses. Duke held his breath to keep from sneezing, but Finch had either forgotten his training or had less lung capacity. He sneezed as soon as he pushed open the door to the stairwell, automatically letting the door go to cover his nose. Duke caught it before it could slam into place again, and frowned at Finch’s devastated flush. “You better hope nobody’s on the stairs,” he whispered, barely moving his lips. Finch swallowed and nodded. Duke held the door open until he’d passed by again and started the descent to the second floor. Maybe Finch hadn’t been the best choice to accompany him. He made a mental note to review their files again once the assignment was over. Finch got lucky. The deserted stairwell emptied onto what appeared to be an even more deserted second floor, in spite of the music beckoning them closer. None of the overhead lights were on, casting the chasm in shadows that made it harder to see beyond, and rats skittered softly behind the walls. Duke let Finch remain several paces ahead, controlling their speed and direction even when Duke’s every instinct told him not to relinquish the lead. He had no choice in this instance. He had done everything he could. A ringing cell phone muffled from a nearby room. Both men came to a halt. Seconds ticked by. The phone was cut off by the second ring, but the damage had been done. Finch crept forward first, edging closer to the door, beads of sweat on his brow. They might have been from the stifling heat or his nerves about the situation, but Duke didn’t care. He was too focused on forcibly tightening his grip on his weapon to refrain from stopping Finch from going in. He was back-up. This was Finch’s operation. He definitely needed to double-check those files. Except Finch didn’t make the rookie mistake. He stayed out of the door’s way and pressed an ear as close to the hinges as he could get, his pale eyes narrow slits as he listened to what was going on inside. Duke couldn’t hear anything, but he was certain Finch did. The second the knob started to turn, Finch slammed his shoulder into the door. Shouts erupted from the room. Finch ducked and dove through the narrow entrance. Truong and Rucker exploded from another doorway farther down the hall, racing to cover their teammate. They were smart enough not to waste a second glance at Duke as they followed Finch inside, though the thud that reverberated through the wall didn’t bode well for the one of the pair who’d likely just been jumped. Duke waited. Someone would try making a break for it. Someone always made a break for it. He wasn’t surprised when a familiar blond burst from the room. Duke grabbed his shoulder and slammed him face-first into the opposite wall, pinning him there like a bug on a board as he pressed the muzzle of his Sig P226 to the back of the blond’s head. “You’re dead, Metcalf.” Metcalf jerked against his hold, eyes sliding sideways as far as they could go to see Duke watching him. “Goddammit!” His face screwed up into a furious scowl, and his meaty fist punched into the wall. Duke shook his head. “Yes, because hitting the nearest immovable object is so productive.” He held Metcalf for a few seconds longer to prove his point, then holstered the weapon. Instead of pulling back, though, he dipped his hand into the larger man’s coat pocket and pulled out the cell phone he’d known he would find there. “I thought it was on vibrate!” Metcalf protested. “Which doesn’t actually make me feel any better about seeing you armed on the streets.” Duke dropped it back into his pocket and let him go. The other young cadets filled the doorway and hall behind them, waiting in pensive silence for whatever he would say next. “Needless to say, Finch’s team won this particular exercise. Never leave your rear open like that. You never know when someone might be off taking a piss when you bust in.” “But the door was shut,” someone complained from the back. “And you have Metcalf to thank for alerting us to which room you were in.” “How do we know Finch was even the one who found us?” Duke zeroed in on the ruddy face of the lone dissident. Abbott. Almost as bad as Metcalf, though in different ways. Abbott was the one always looking for the angles, ready to cover his own ass at the first sign of trouble. He’d hoped putting them on the same team would force Metcalf to play smarter or risk Abbott’s wrath, but apparently, that strategy hadn’t worked. “Because I said so,” he replied. More than one set of eyes lowered at his unblinking gaze. Duke maintained the silence for a few seconds longer to drive his point home. “Now, clean up and get out. I expect full reports on everything that happened today in my email by the end of day Friday.” Turning on his heel to head back to the car, he listened to the group break up and disperse, footsteps no longer quiet as they got to work. The sound system needed to be packed up, and photos taken of where everybody had actually been. The owners leased it to the San Francisco Police Department for training purposes, not demolition. Duke was personally responsible for any unnecessary damage. To date, not one of his cadets had merited extra charges, and he planned on keeping it that way. Abbott’s low voice cut through everything. “Gee, Finch, suck him off a little bit harder next time, so our asses don’t look so tempting, okay?” Duke stopped. Slowly, he shifted back to face the cadets, but his icy gaze landed squarely on Abbott. His face felt like stone as he said quietly, “What was that?” Nobody moved, not even Abbott. Slowly, Duke advanced, one measured step after another, waiting for someone to have the balls to answer his question. His s****l orientation was not a secret within the department, though he made it a rule not to flaunt it out of respect for others. Finch’s sexuality, however, had always been in question, driven mostly by the young man’s embarrassment around his louder, more boisterous teammates. The rosary was not for show, Duke had learned early on. Finch had a devout streak a mile wide that made him nervous about the entire issue. The others perceived it as a weakness and exploited it whenever they could. Abbott’s comment was, unfortunately, not the first of its kind he had overheard. Abbott’s face was bright red by the time Duke came to a stop in front of him. “Do I need to repeat my question?” Duke said in the same, low tone. “No, sir.” “Do you care to repeat yours?” “No, sir.” “Then I suggest you control the instincts that insist your mouth work without consulting your brain, and funnel that energy into making sure you don’t end up dead on the next exercise. You’re better off paying attention to teammates who would rather not miss a call from their girlfriends than those who actually know how to successfully complete an assignment without getting their head blown off. Do I make myself clear?” A muscle twitched in Abbott’s square jaw. His ears had gone even redder than his face. “Yes, sir.” This time when he walked away, only silence followed. He saved his small, private smile until he was safely ensconced back in the Corolla. Two messages waited in his voicemail. Both came from the precinct, but it was the call from Captain Sager, requesting an immediate meeting, that got Duke moving. Sager never called when Duke was working with the cadets. He rarely bothered him at all, in fact; Duke had one of the cleanest, fastest records in the entire department. If he wanted a meeting, something had to be wrong. He still had no idea what it could concern when he knocked on the captain’s door. At the command to enter, he pushed the door open, schooling his features to face whatever waited inside. Captain Finn Sager was the whole reason Duke had become a cop in the first place. At fifty-four, Sager was a department legend. He’d busted a prominent multiple murder case on his very first day in the field, and then spent the next twenty years amassing a record that made Duke salivate. Duke had first seen him at a safety assembly in junior high, talking about citizen responsibility and the necessity for smarts on the street. By the time he’d gone home that day, Duke had decided that was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. He hadn’t regretted his choice a single day since. “Sit down, Duke.” Sager clicked his computer mouse, minimizing whatever he’d been working on to reveal the photo of his wife on his motorcycle he used as his wallpaper. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach, smiling as Duke took a seat. “So, the cadets driving you crazy today?” Duke managed a half smile at Sager’s little joke. He was renowned for maintaining his calm, one of the reasons why the instructors at the Academy kept asking him to lead the training exercises. “No more than usual, sir.” “One of these days, you’re going to have to let me tag along. I haven’t watched a training assignment since you were probably at the Academy.” “Just give me enough warning to cherry-pick who I show off.” Sager chuckled. “Something tells me it would be more interesting to see the ones who give you fits.” His thoughts drifted to Abbott’s red face. “Hopefully, the ones who give me fits won’t be around long enough to consider.” He cleared his throat. “May I ask what this meeting is about, sir?” His smile widened. “Thirty seconds of small talk. That’s a new record for you, Duke.” Catching the edge of a file with the tip of a finger, he slid it across his tidy desk. “The Academy will have to do without you for a while. I’m adding a case to your load.” Duke frowned and picked up the file. “One more case shouldn’t…” His voice faded when he noticed the name on its label. Mayfield, Tana. His blood alternated hot and cold, and he fought the urge to tear the folder open and devour its contents. “Excuse me, but this is Saucedo’s case, isn’t it?” “It was. Now it’s yours.” “Why?” A frisson of alarm shot through him. “Did something happen to Saucedo?” “He had a small heart attack last night. Nothing life-threatening, but the doctor pulled him from active duty.” He sighed. “Now I have to reassign all his cases, just because he’s never met a cheeseburger he didn’t love.” “But…” He looked back down at the file. On the outside, it seemed completely innocuous. Plain manila folder. Simple white label, with the red stripe along its edge denoting its classification. Nobody would know without opening it that it held the details of one of the most high-profile cases San Francisco had seen in the last year. “I don’t know anything about this. Saucedo’s been the primary investigator ever since they found the body.” “You will. That’s why I’m giving it to you. I know I can count on you to do the job right.” It was a tremendous compliment. To have Sager single him out specifically for such an important case validated everything he’d always worked for. Duke couldn’t help a proud bristle as he sat up straighter in his chair. “It shouldn’t be that difficult. Saucedo already has a suspect in custody.” “Yes, but it’s up to you to make sure we get an arrest. We don’t want a murderer walking free just because he managed to snow a hotshot into representing him.” “He doesn’t have a public defender?” Duke didn’t know the specific details of the Mayfield case, but everybody in the precinct followed the media drama that came with it. Escaping it was impossible. “Not as of yesterday.” For the first time since Duke had walked in, Sager fidgeted in his chair. “As of yesterday, he’s got James Scott trying to save his ass.” James Scott. The name didn’t draw a memory of a man, but of headlines. Lots of them. Scott had no fear of publicity. Unfortunately, he also had both the winning streak and photogenic smile to take advantage of that. He didn’t chase notoriety. Somehow, it always found him. “I think the operative word in that sentence is trying, sir. It’s a losing case, no matter who takes it.” Sager relaxed, his smile returning. “That’s the spirit. I knew giving you this was a smart move. I know I can count on you to get the job done.” Warmth, more fueled by Sager’s faith than Duke’s excitement for the new case, flooded through him. “Always, sir.”