No Hero Page 3

  Against his will, the thought of his hands on her neck propelled him back to their one date. His fingers twitched as he recalled how he’d encircled her smooth, supple nape as she lifted her face to his, the delicate warmth of her breath fanning across his lips as he kissed her. And felt the firmness of her flesh as his thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts.

  That ache of desire hit him again…just as the familiar ripping sound of a body bag zipper jerked his attention back to what was really important. He rubbed his aching temples, then turned on his heel and walked over to where Liz was stripping off her gloves.

  “About time,” Givens groused. “What was going on over there? Isn’t that the Connor woman? That reporter? Can’t believe you were talking to her.”

  Dev grimaced and made a dismissive gesture as he met Liz’s gaze and hiked a brow.

  She nodded solemnly.

  Damn. “Same weapon?” he asked, knowing from her expression that it was.

  “It’s a little easier to tell with this one. He’s only been in the water a little over twenty-four hours.” She wadded up the gloves and tossed them into a bag. “I’ll know more once I do the autopsy. But the same person definitely could have killed this vic, too.”

  “Darnell,” Dev said quietly, his attention on the body bag that was being lifted into the CSU van.

  “Hmm?” Liz muttered as she gathered up her equipment.

  “His name was Darnell.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Don’t tell me he’s another kid from your center?”

  “Yeah. I gave him the Saints T-shirt, and he bought those tennis shoes himself. He was so damn proud of them.” Dev clenched his jaw as pain and regret buffeted him. When he’d gotten the call that the body of a young black man had washed up down by the docks, he’d mentally ticked off the teens at the Thibaud Johnson Center. He’d thought everybody was accounted for—at least within the past twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Therefore he’d been hopeful that this wasn’t one of his kids. Until he’d seen the body.

  “I’m sorry,” Liz said. “It’s hard when you know them.”

  He shook off the grief. “We’re keeping their connection with me and the center out of the media. Just like the weapon.”

  “No problem. Check with me this afternoon. Right now I’ve got twin boys who’ll be up and getting ready for school in less than two hours. I need to get home.”

  “Thanks, Liz,” he said, waving as she left. Then he looked at Givens. “How’s the canvass going?”

  Givens snorted. “How do you think? It’s the usual song and dance. Not a soul remembers a thing. Certainly not a medium-height black kid with new high-top Converse All Stars hanging around for the past day or so.”

  Dev grimaced. “Yeah. Just like Brian. Nobody ever sees anything.”

  “It’s a rotten truth,” Givens commented, “when kids down here by the docks looking to get high are about as rare as seagulls.”

  “Brian and Darnell weren’t doing drugs.”

  Givens shrugged. “That’s not what I was saying.”

  “They had to stay clean. They’d both qualified for a new federally funded scholarship program, specifically designed for homeless kids.”

  “Yeah? Both of them?” Givens wrote something on his notepad. “How many kids are up for these scholarships?”

  “I’ve got two more. One more that’s ready for the qualifying exam. Jimmy Treacher. And one whose nomination has just been accepted. His name is Nicky Renato.”

  “I suppose there’s a lot of competition for those spots…” Givens said thoughtfully.

  “What the hell are you saying?” Dev growled, although the same thought had crossed his mind. “That my kids are killing each other?”

  “You’re the one gave me the lead,” Givens said. “It’s not a stretch to think there might be a smart teenager at your center who thinks he or she deserves the scholarship more than these two. People have killed over less. You know that.”

  Dev raked a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I’m just—” Too close to losing it.

  Rather than yell at everybody within hearing distance, he stalked over to the edge of the levee to calm down. He looked out at the river. He knew exactly where his anger was coming from.

  Two kids from his center had been murdered within little more than a week of each other, and the investigation had turned up nothing—no suspect, no weapon, no clues. And no connection, besides the obvious that they’d both been residents at the center Dev himself had started and named after the man who’d rescued him from the streets, giving him the first place in his life where he could feel safe.

  He heard Thibaud Johnson’s gruff voice in his head. You can always find a connection, cher. The thing that won’ connect that’s the thing plus importante. C’est vrai.

  It had taken Dev a long time to completely trust the cop who’d caught him running from a liquor store with a stolen bottle of Jim Beam under his threadbare jacket, then had taken him home instead of to jail. Fourteen at the time, after two-plus years of running and hiding, Dev hadn’t trusted anyone. But eventually, Thibaud had earned his trust, and he had earned Thibaud’s.

  Thibaud had been dead for seven years but Dev still missed him every day, and would for the rest of his life. If he were still around, Thibaud would no doubt have made an acerbic comment about Brian’s and Darnell’s deaths, which would probably give Dev exactly the insight he needed to solve the case.

  Talk to me, Thibaud.

  He heard stealthy footsteps behind him. A lean, scruffy man of indeterminate years walked up beside him, his face hidden by matted dreadlocks and a disreputable cap. Dev met the vagrant’s eyes. It took him a beat to recognize Rick Easterling, a vice cop who specialized in undercover work. Rick had definitely earned the nickname the guys at the station had given him. He really was “the man of a thousand faces.” Outwardly, Dev didn’t react to Rick’s presence. He just turned his attention back out over the water.

  Rick dug in his pockets until he eventually came out with a cigarette butt. “Got a light, bud?” he rasped.

  Dev produced a lighter and held it, wondering how Rick managed not to burn his dreads as he leaned in toward the flame. “Hey man,” Dev muttered. “Anything happening down here?”

  “Tons,” Rick said out of the corner of his mouth as he puffed on the butt. “There was a kid hanging around, bragging that he knew the dead teen. Haven’t seen him before. Head shaved. Torn ear.”

  Dev tensed. “Right ear?”

  Rick coughed like a man with catarrh. “Know him?”

  Dev grimaced. “Scrawny? Loads of attitude? He’s a slummer. Probably not eighteen yet. His name’s Elliott. He likes hanging out at the center with the homeless kids.”

  “A slummer.” Rick spat the word like a piece of spoiled food. “Want me to feel him out?”

  “Nah. I’ll let Givens know. He can drag him in for questioning—and put the fear of God into him. Elliott’s too puny to take down a kid like Darnell by himself. He might know something, though. Thanks for the tip.” Dev expected Rick to slink back into the shadows, but the smaller man spoke again.

  “So, the redhead you were getting so cozy with over there. Isn’t she the one who—”

  “Ripped me a new one on her show and got me suspended from the force for three months? That’s her.”

  “Wow. She must really have a bug up her butt to climb out of bed at this hour. How’d she get past the police tape?”

  Dev rolled his eyes. “She’s pretty sneaky.”

  Rick snorted. “What’d she want?”

  “To tell me she had a DVD I needed to see.”

  Rick flicked cigarette ash. “From one of her shows?”

  “I guess. Apparently an interview she did with that scumbag Gerard Fontenot.”

  Rick shot him a sidelong look.

  “She believes he said something I need to hear,” Dev said impassively. “I sent Stevens with her to get it.”

  “Stevens?” Rick puffed on the stubb
y cigarette, and coughed again. “You mean that Stevens? The one coming this way with his tail between his legs?”

  Dev looked up and cursed. “Son-of-a-bitch. Now what?”

  Rick snorted. “Guess she gave him the slip.” He started to amble away, then stopped. He spoke without turning around. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? If she wanted you to see that DVD so badly, why didn’t she want to give it to Stevens?” With that, he disappeared into the shadows.

  “Uh, Detective,” Stevens said, his voice apologetic.

  “What happened?” Dev barked. “Didn’t I tell you—” he stopped. There was no reason to beat up Stevens just because Connor had pulled a number on the guy. Had Dev really expected anything different?

  Stevens swallowed audibly. “Ms. Connor disappeared while I was rounding up a car. Want me to find out where she lives and—”

  Dev leveled him a quelling look. “Never mind. Get that crowd dispersed.”

  “Yes, sir.” Stevens slunk away.

  Dev stood there a while longer, watching the deceptively calm surface of the treacherous Mississippi River and mulling over the meager facts of the case. Two kids connected to the center, dead within less than two weeks. Same weapon, same MO. No leads.

  He considered Connor and her DVD. Rick obviously thought the same thing he did. For whatever reason, the reporter considered the DVD important. But if she wanted Dev to see it, why give Stevens the slip? And what the hell had Rick been implying?

  Dev rubbed his forehead as Thibaud’s voice echoed in his head. People’s a lot like the river, cher. There’s the surface, and then there’s the depths. What you see on the surface is one thing. But it’s the depths you need to study. Don’ make the mistake of judging somebody ‘thout looking at him from the inside out.

  He silently acknowledged the wisdom of the man who had saved his life. Then he turned and headed back to the crime scene to offer his help to Givens.

  Tomorrow he’d go see Connor and find out what was so damned important on that DVD.

  …

  Two hours later, Dev unlocked the door to the Thibaud Johnson Center for Homeless Teens, wearily flexing his shoulders. It had been a long night. He doubled his fist and lightly punched at the wall, showing, he thought, admirable restraint. He itched to connect with the wood paneling at about ninety miles per hour, but Thibaud’s name shining from the plaque just inside the door stopped him. Etched into the brass were the words, It don’t help to run when you’re hauling around what you’re running from. The words reminded him of the promise he’d made to the man. He hadn’t always kept that promise, but he always remembered it.

  You’re strong and you’re smart, youngster, Thibaud had told him time and again, and those black eyes of your’n are damned intimidatin’, I’ll guarantee. When you grow into that temper, you’re gonna be a mighty big man. So be sure you’re as big inside as you are outside. Be right before you begin. Think, son, before you hurt somebody.

  “Give me a few more years, Thibaud,” he whispered, rubbing an imaginary smudge off the plaque with his thumb. “Maybe I’ll get better at being the man you thought I could be.”

  Old grief mingled with new to gnaw at his gut as he looked around the big front room. In the glow of the night-lights he saw a few kids sacked out on the couches or curled up on the floor with blankets. That meant the upstairs was full. He’d converted the second floor into a large dorm room that held four bunk beds for the males. His bedroom, and the suite where Penn, his “surrogate” sister, and her daughter lived, were on the third floor, along with a room that held three single beds for females, plus another room with a double bed and two fold-up cots.

  He wondered how many of the kids knew about Darnell. If they didn’t yet, they would soon. Information traveled fast in this close-knit community of kids who felt safer on the streets than in their parents’ homes.

  He’d talk to them sometime today, unless Penn volunteered to do it. The center was paying for her to get a degree in social work, and she was already using her knowledge and compassion to help the kids. He glanced at the stairs, wondering if she was awake.

  He vaulted up the steps. As he reached the third floor, he saw a dim light shining through the transom over Penn’s door. He knocked quietly. Within seconds, she opened up. She was dressed in an oversized T-shirt and bicycle shorts. Reading glasses perched on her short nose, and her finger was stuck in a book—her sociology text.

  “You’re up early,” he said.

  She gave him an indulgent smile. “Apparently you haven’t been paying attention during my last seven semesters. I’m up early every morning. When do you think I study?” she asked, indicating the textbook. “Want some coffee? I was about to make some.”

  “Nah.” Dev shut the door behind him and flopped down on her threadbare couch. “If I drank a cup of your coffee after being up all night, it would probably eat a hole in what’s left of my stomach.”

  She pulled a bottle of water out of a mini-refrigerator. “How about this?”

  “Great, thanks.” He lifted and drained it, then wiped his mouth. Leaning his head back against the couch, he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I haven’t seen Katie in a couple of days. She okay?”

  Penn sat down in a recliner and crossed her legs in a half-lotus. “She’s fine. She wants to try out for a part in a play the community center is putting on, so Tracy’s been helping her study lines.” Katie was Penn’s daughter, and Tracy was one of the new kids at the center. Penn set her book aside and pulled her braid around, methodically undoing it and combing her hair out with her fingers.

  “Katie really likes her a lot, doesn’t she?” Tracy had shown up during the two months Dev had spent in Seattle. Penn and Katie had taken to her right away, and it was obvious that Tracy adored ten-year-old Katie.

  Penn nodded. “Tracy’s great with her. She brought her a harmonica and she’s teaching her how to play it.” For a moment she didn’t say anything and Dev was happy to sit quietly. She rebraided her hair and tossed the braid over her shoulder, then grinned at him. “I am so glad you’re back.”

  He eyed her with affection. “Me too. Two months away from the center was much too long, and I still say all of the paperwork and depositions could have been handled from here. I shouldn’t have had to be in Seattle but for a couple of weeks for the judiciary hearing.”

  “Do you realize that’s the first time I haven’t had my brother around since you and Thibaud rescued Katie and me?”

  “I guess that’s true,” Dev said as he tried to rub the ache out of his eyes.

  Penn’s expression turned worried. “So what was the call about? Please tell me it wasn’t—” She paused.

  “Body pulled out of the river down by the Alabo Street Wharf,” Dev said. “It was Darnell.”

  “Darnell? Oh no.” Her eyes filled with tears. “First Brian and now Darnell? I’m so sorry.” Beneath the pain she looked thoughtful. “Didn’t Darnell just qualify for a scholarship?”

  “He and Brian were my first two kids who qualified.” The brand-new federally funded Safefutures Scholarships were designated for college tuition for qualified eighteen-year-olds who were homeless. “Two kids in less than two weeks, and both just received scholarships—it doesn’t make sense.”

  “How did Darnell die?” Penn asked.

  Dev stood and paced, rolling the plastic water bottle between his hands. “Would you believe he was killed in the same exact way as Brian?”

  “No! His throat was slit, too?” Penn’s voice was hushed.

  He nodded grimly. “Something sharp. One neat slice, right across the carotid artery. Then into the river, just like Brian.”

  “Who do you think could be doing such a thing?”

  “I wish I knew. Givens thinks it’s one of the other kids.”

  “Did you tell him that’s ridiculous?” Penn retorted. “These kids care about each other. They wouldn’t—”

  Dev held up a hand. “I know. I’ve been going over each
and every one of them in my mind. I can’t see it.”

  “I can’t either,” Penn said. “These kids aren’t bad, they’ve just had a hard time. Who knows that better than we do?” She threw up her hands. “No. I can’t think of a single one who could do something like that.”

  Dev didn’t answer.

  “Are you all right?” Penn asked.

  “I failed them, Penn,” he said sadly. “Brian and Darnell. They trusted me to keep them safe and I didn’t.”

  “Come on, Dev. This is not your fault. Not even you can be everywhere. All you can do is the best you can.” She paused for a moment. “Have you been eating?”

  He stopped massaging his temples to stare at her. “What?”

  “You know what I mean. You’re exhausted. And I know you. When you worry, you don’t eat. The stress is wearing the meat off your bones. You’re losing weight, you’re not sleeping, you’re probably living on coffee and nothing else. Consider this. If you don’t take care of yourself, how can you possibly take care of the kids?”

  Dev grimaced. “I’ll go you one better. If I don’t care about them, then nobody does. You of all people should understand that. Not to mention when I opened this center, I promised each and every kid who walked through that door that I would protect them. That they would be safe here.”

  “You give them a place to go when they have nothing, just like Thibaud did for you and me. You do everything you can to ensure their safety. But you can’t spend your life seeing your sister in every abused kid. Even you can’t save them all, Mr. Superhero.” She softened her words with a smile.

  “My sister never had a chance,” he muttered. “If I’d realized what was going on—”

  “Stop beating yourself up,” Penn said. “You were twelve years old, for God’s sake. She was barely a year older, and helpless against your stepfather. You did what you had to do to protect her.”

  “It wasn’t enough.”

  “No, it wasn’t, Dev. And it will never be. How many more years is it going to take for you to forgive yourself? You were a child. Thank God you managed to hit the bastard hard enough to crush his skull, or he’d have killed you, too.”