“Erin,” Sean said, coming forward from the doorway. “You’re going to have to stop. He needs to rest now.”
“Okay,” she said reluctantly, standing up. It wasn’t much, but it was more than she’d had. Before she left, she refastened the handcuff to the bed rail. Rojas didn’t seem to care, or even to notice.
“Thanks, Sean,” she said, going on tiptoes to plant a kiss on her brother’s cheek on the way out. “I’ve got to run.”
“Of course you do,” he said. “Be safe. Y’know, you’re better at this police stuff than I thought. I didn’t think a guy like that would say anything. Dad would be proud.”
Erin called Vic from her car. “What’re you doing?” she asked.
“Sitting in my skivvies, drinking vodka straight from the bottle and cleaning my guns.”
“I asked what you’re doing, not what you want to be doing.”
“Oh. Cataloguing evidence.”
“That’s what I hoped. You back at the Eightball?”
“Yeah. How’s our shooter?”
“He’ll pull through. I’ve got a question.”
“I got all kinds of answers. Want to see if one of them’s the right one?”
“Did CSU find a photograph in the bedroom? It’d be lying loose, maybe on the floor.”
“Just a sec.” Erin heard Vic rummaging in the evidence bags. “Yeah, here it is. CSU dusted it for prints, we got a good thumbprint on the front and a couple partials on the back. Probably a match with our suspect. Not that we’re really in any doubt he’s our guy, but every little bit helps, right?”
“Who’s in the picture?” she asked.
“Looks like a snap of some guys at a bar. Hang on, I’ll take a shot on my phone and send it to you.” There was a brief pause. “Can’t figure out how to do it while we’re still on the line. You want to tell me what you’re looking for before I hang up?”
“Trying to ID the guys in the picture,” she explained. “Rojas says they’re our shooters from the restaurant hit.”
“Really?” Vic sounded more interested. Erin could picture him turning the photo over in his hands and looking at it.
There was a pause.
“Erin…”
She knew from his voice something was wrong. She hated playing guessing games over the phone. “What?” she demanded.
“You sure this is the one he meant?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know that? He said he found a picture in McIntyre’s bedroom that had McIntyre’s guys in it, and he thinks they’re the ones who helped him hit the restaurant.”
“Okay,” Vic said, uncharacteristically subdued. “I’ll send it right away. You coming back to the precinct?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Okay,” he said again and hung up.
“What was that all about?” she asked Rolf.
He wagged his tail hesitantly. He didn’t know.
Erin’s phone buzzed with Vic’s incoming text. She opened it and saw the photo he’d attached. She poked it with a finger to expand the image.
The bottom dropped out of her stomach. She knew the bar in the photograph. And she knew some of the men in the picture.
“Son of a bitch,” she muttered.
The bar was as familiar to her as her own living room. It was the Barley Corner. The picture was of one of the big tables in the middle of the room. Liam McIntyre was sitting with five other men. She didn’t know three of them, but the other two had faces she was never likely to forget.
James Corcoran grinned at the camera, eyes sparkling with his customary roguish good humor. He had an arm around the shoulder of his best mate and childhood friend. Morton Carlyle wasn’t smiling. He seemed to be looking straight into Erin’s eyes, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Son of a bitch,” Erin repeated. She sank back into the Charger’s upholstery and closed her eyes. What the hell was she supposed to do now?
At least Vic didn’t know about her relationship with Carlyle. He just thought the Irishman was Erin’s CI. But he did know they had a history. How much more was he guessing? She tried to remember exactly how he’d sounded. How sure was she that Vic didn’t know? And he wasn’t the only one she had to worry about. Kira Jones, one of Erin’s best friends at Precinct 8, knew at least a little. And Kira was working for Internal Affairs now.
She had a choice to make, and no option felt right. The photograph was a genuine lead. If she didn’t follow up on it, they might not crack the case. And the very fact that she was thinking that way was worrisome.
“What would you do, boy?” she asked Rolf.
He stared at her. His answer was obvious.
“You’d go after the bad guys,” she said. “Of course.”
She put the Charger in gear. It was time to move. But she wasn’t going back to the Precinct; not yet. She had to see someone first. It wasn’t protocol, it might not even be smart, but she had to do it.
Chapter 10
“Good afternoon.” Carlyle’s voice on the phone was wary. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Erin hadn’t wanted to make this call. She didn’t even know where the two of them stood after their previous confrontation. But what choice was there?
“I need to see you,” she said. “Alone.”
“When?”
“Right away.”
“Where?”
“My place, if you can make sure you’re not followed.”
“Who’s to be following me? Your people, or mine?”
“Both. Plus maybe some Italians and Colombians. Be careful; they may be hunting you.”
“I see. Give me a few minutes to get things in order. I can be there in half an hour.”
“Thanks.” She wanted to say something else, but didn’t know what. She lamely ended with, “See you.”
Erin didn’t call Webb yet. She should have told him where she was and what she was doing, but she honestly wasn’t sure what to tell him. Instead, she drove to her apartment, parked in the garage, and went upstairs with Rolf to wait for her boyfriend.
Carlyle was nothing if not punctual. Precisely half an
