Along Came December Read online

  I turn away. Presley’s choices are his to make, and it won’t do either of us any favors if he sees me now. I start to leave, but Paddy pulls me back.

  “Mordecai,” he murmurs, looking past me to the stage. I shake my head subtly but he won’t let me go. I look reluctantly, and what I see nearly stops my heart.

  It’s not Presley up on stage. It’s Robin.

  JAMES’S GAZE burns like a hot lick of fire up my spine, but I can’t make myself look away. My attention is on Robin’s face, on the glazed look in his eyes and the slackness of his mouth. Robin works at the Orchard Hotel. He cleans bathrooms and washes linens and dusts furniture. He vacuums and folds towels and brings home little mints because Presley is addicted to them. He is excessively modest and hates to be the center of attention. The sight of him half-naked on a stripper’s pole just doesn’t compute.

  “Robin will be off-stage in five minutes,” James says, snapping me back. “He can answer your questions then.”

  My hands are fisted in his suit before I even think about it. “What the hell is this?”

  James looks to Paddy and clears his throat politely, but Paddy makes no move to back me off. James gives a patient sigh.

  “This is a young up-and-comer doing his job, detective. It’s a perfectly gainful way to make a living.”

  “Get him off. Now.”

  “Surely you can wait for a few—”

  I slam James bodily against the wall. A few customers look at us with disdain but I don’t care. I grab James by the shoulders and shove him chest-first into the steel paneling, harder than before.

  “Get your hands behind your back.”

  James wheezes, though he seems amused. “Are you sure this is a road you want to go down?”

  “You bet your ass I’m sure.”

  I reach for my cuffs and James slips smoothly from my grasp. His expression is patronizing. “What exactly do you think you’re accomplishing here, Detective Mordecai? You’re not going to arrest me.”

  “The hell I’m not! That boy is underage, and he’s intoxicated as shit on your property.”

  “Then I suppose you’ll be arresting him too?” James leans close and breathes in my ear. “Because that would mean fingerprints, and a record, and digging into his background.” He pauses. “Still sure this is your road?”

  That smile is back, and it takes a whole lot of willpower not to smack it off his face. Paddy shifts his weight, catching my attention. His look tells me to drop it.

  I take a deep breath and reach out to straighten James’s collar. He narrows his eyes. I give him a little smile of my own.

  “Well, you know what they say about the one less traveled. I’ll be seeing you again.”

  I head for the stage, pulling myself up amidst a low chorus of boos. Robin’s struggling to take his clothes off. I don’t know if that’s a comfort or not. I shrug out of my coat and drape it over his shoulders, curling one arm tightly around him.

  “Come on, Robin,” I mutter, guiding him toward the edge. He looks at me but doesn’t know me, and I hope to God it’s only alcohol in his system. Paddy’s waiting, steady hands ensuring Robin doesn’t topple off the stage. I send James one last look as we push through the crowd, and I don’t like the one I get in return.

  THE CAR is silent, Robin still unresponsive in the back seat. Paddy’s driving in circles on the outskirts of the red light district. He’s waiting for me to decide what I want to do.

  “Home,” I say at last. “You can stay.”

  He shakes his head. “You know how I feel about that church.”

  I explode. “Goddammit, Paddy, it’s just a building! You’re not going to burst into flames just by walking through the doors! If God was going to smite you he’s had plenty of opportunities already.”

  Paddy redirects the car toward my place and says nothing. I wait until I am before I say sorry. He gives me a flat look.

  “If it’s all the same to you, Mordecai, I’m going to head home too. It’s been a long day and our best lead is in no condition to talk right now.” He looks in the rearview at Robin, who’s slumped against the door. “Call me in the morning when he’s up to having a chat.”

  I deflate. “Okay,” I say, ashamed. “And I really am sorry. Honest.”

  “I know. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He pulls to the curb. The cathedral is dark, and for the love of Christ, my keys are at the office. Paddy slides a cigarette between his teeth while I coax Robin out of the car. Paddy doesn’t wait around this time. All I see as he drives off is his cigarette glowing in the night.

  I sit Robin on the step while I pop the dummy brick out of the wall and remove the lock pick. My church is downtown, and a spare key’s not worth the risk. It takes a few tries before the door clicks open, and a few minutes more to get Robin over the threshold. It’s not worth the hassle to get him up the stairs to the loft, so I ease him onto the couch and wrap him up in blankets. I pull his eyelids back and smell his breath. He’s stupid drunk, but I can’t shake the feeling there’s something more.

  I call Dixon to tell him there’ll be a delay on our report, immensely relieved when I get his voicemail. I’ll have to find a way to leave Robin out of this. I call Presley but get his voicemail too. I think about calling Paddy and apologizing again. He’s busted his ass looking out for me, and I haven’t made it easy. I decide the most considerate thing I can do is leave him alone for a night.

  When I check on Robin he’s sound asleep. I turn him on his side in case he gets sick and fetch a few blankets for myself. I drag the wingback chair closer to the couch and curl up, exhausted. But tired as I am, sleep does not come quickly.

  THE ROOM is a dreary grey the next time I open my eyes. My neck and back are sore, and for a blissful moment I forget why I’m folded up like origami in the living room chair. Then I see Presley squatted next to the couch, brushing his thumb over Robin’s cheek. Robin is pale and trembling despite all the blankets mounded on top of him, and his eyes can’t seem to focus on Presley’s face. I extract myself from the chair and Presley turns. He grabs me by the arm and pulls me to the kitchen.

  Thank God, the tomato sauce is gone.

  “What the hell happened?” Presley hisses. His expression is furious, but there’s something akin to guilt in his eyes.

  “Why don’t you tell me,” I counter, folding my arms. “Or didn’t you know he was dancing at the Speakeasy?”

  Presley’s lips tighten. “It was just dancing. James promised. Just the dancing.”

  “It didn’t look that way to me.” I glance back through the archway at Robin. “Presley, I think they roofied him.”

  Presley rakes his hands viciously across his scalp, then slams his palms on the counter, rattling the cutlery drawer. His chest heaves. “Those bastards. Those fucking bastards.”

  I put my hand on his. “You know I try to stay out of your work and you know why, but we don’t have that luxury anymore, kid. Tell me what’s going on.”

  I guide him to the breakfast bar and pull out a couple stools. We sit quietly, Presley watching Robin’s every breath. Presley’s an old soul, and it’s easy to forget how young he is, barely 22. Most of the time it feels like he’s the grown-up. It’s unsettling to see him so shaken.

  I wait. Eventually Presley sighs to himself and his eyes find mine. “Someone came for him. One of the guys from the Speakeasy.”

  “Who?”

  “Sonny Carpenter. He does security.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He wanted Robin to work for James. He said James asked for him specifically.”

  “When was this?”

  Presley lowers his gaze. “Right before I asked if he could move in.”

  “You mean right before someone beat the shit out of you and you quit hooking.”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it Sonny?”

  “Yes.”

  I feel a sick sense of satisfaction knowing Sonny got his, but the revelation puts ice in my g
ut. I thought Presley quit hooking because it was getting too dangerous. I thought he was trying to get out. Instead he went to work for the man who sent a thug after his boyfriend, and I have a pretty good idea why.

  “You tried to talk Sonny out of taking Robin.”

  “He wouldn’t listen.”

  “So you offered your services instead.”

  “It didn’t work,” Presley whispers. “He just took us both to James and that was it.”

  He looks devastated. I wrap my arm around him and he leans his head against my shoulder.

  “Why did James want Robin?” I ask.

  “I don’t know.”

  “But he’s been working there since?”

  “We made a deal. Robin would dance only two nights a week and I’d work for free two nights a week, wherever James wanted me.”

  I know he’s referring to the back room. “Shit, Presley.”

  “It was the best I could do. You don’t say no to James.”

  “Where do the roofies come in?”

  Presley’s jaw clenches. “It’s Sonny. He’ll dope up the dancers and send them home with someone if there’s enough money to be made, and he was going to do that to Robin. To Robin.”

  I put my other arm around him and he turns into the embrace. His breath trembles against my neck.

  “Shit, Presley,” I say again. “Why doesn’t anyone say anything?”

  He laughs, a harsh, angry sound I don’t like to hear. “Who are they going to tell? Half the Speakeasy’s VIPs are cops and judges, and they know the rules, same as us. No one cares about people in this line of work.”

  “That’s not true and you know it. I can—”

  Presley bolts upright, his fingers biting into my arms and real fear in his eyes. “Don’t. Please don’t. Just stay out of it, Mordecai. Please.”

  I smile humorlessly. “Can’t do that, kid. This is my case.”

  “You investigate murders.”

  “And yesterday’s dead guy was Sonny Carpenter.”

  Presley goes pale. “But that was before we went to the club. If Sonny was dead…”

  “Someone else drugged Robin.” I search his face. “Presley, if you know what’s going on you have to tell me, if not for your sake then for Robin’s. I know you’re trying to protect him—”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happening.”

  I don’t believe him. He’s in over his head and he’s scared to get me involved, but more than that, he’s scared what he knows will hurt Robin. “Presley—”

  His eyes suddenly refocus over my shoulder and he scrambles to his feet. I follow him to the living room, where Robin is struggling against the blankets to sit up. Presley rescues him from the pile and holds him like he’ll never let go, apologizing over and over. Robin doesn’t seem to know what he’s talking about.

  I glance at the clock. I can give them a little time together before I call Paddy and we start this all over again.

  3

  PADDY’S DEFINITION of holy ground includes everything under the church roof, but the yard is okay. We sit on the front steps and wait for Presley and Robin to come out. Paddy’s drawing on a cigarette and I’m munching on a pocketful of mints. Yesterday’s wind is long gone and the cigarette smoke lingers in our faces. It’s a welcome reminder my partner’s got a high tolerance for my bullshit.

  “He doesn’t remember,” I say at last. “He was roofied.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking too.”

  “Presley says it happens quite a bit. That’s probably where Sonny’s cash came from.”

  Paddy puffs out a smoke ring. “Presley know anything about Sonny’s death?”

  The door opens and I lower my voice. “He knows more than he’s saying.”

  The boys join us on the steps. Robin’s eyes are clearing and he’s walking on his own, but I know that roofies can linger in the system for more than a day if the dosage is high enough. We won’t get much from him.

  Paddy handles the questioning. He’s pretty familiar with Presley and he’s met Robin once or twice, but he’s got a far better perspective on the situation than I do. Presley doesn’t say anything I don’t already know, and I’m not surprised to hear the last thing Robin remembers is accepting a drink from a bartender.

  Paddy jots a note. “You remember who it was?”

  Robin hesitates.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him. “We’re just trying to find out what’s going on. You’re not in trouble.”

  He has yet to look at me. I feel a surprising urge to comfort him, but that’s not my place. We’re barely acquaintances. Even so, guilt knots in my chest at the thought of what might have happened to him. He lives under my roof. I should have protected him.

  “I do not know her name,” Robin says quietly.

  “One of the girls,” Presley says. “Do you remember what she looked like?”

  Robin clutches Presley’s hand like a lifeline. “She had long hair that was white and blue. She wore a white dress.”

  “That’s Tequila Mockingbird,” Presley says. Paddy raises an eyebrow before writing it down. “Her real name’s Cheyanne. I don’t know her last name.”

  “Any chance you know where she lives?” Paddy asks.

  Presley shakes his head. “But she should be working tonight. Wednesday is Ladies’ Night.”

  Paddy’s other eyebrow pops up.

  “She goes both ways,” Presley says in response.

  Paddy’s phone buzzes. He checks it, gets to his feet, and waves me over. “I got a text from Whale,” he says, quiet so Robin and Presley don’t hear. “They’ve got a lead on Benny’s source. It’s a woman.”

  “Did they see her?”

  “Nothing useful, but she met him in the alley behind the library.”

  “The alley where we found Sonny’s body.”

  “One and the same.” Paddy moves further from the steps and I follow. “There’s more. After seeing Robin last night I had the lab fast-track Sonny’s tox screen, looking for roofies. They found ‘em. Enough to knock him on his ass.”

  “Shit. So it is a murder.”

  I glance back at Robin and Presley as they disappear inside the cathedral. I feel relief, as if the former sanctuary can somehow shield them from Sonny’s fate. I don’t like how close they are to this.

  Paddy follows my line of sight. “You better tell them to keep away from the Speakeasy til we get this sorted out.”

  I nod, turning up the walk. “I’ll tell them to stay here. Stay inside.”

  I’ll tell them to stay safe.

  WHEN WE pull up to the precinct the media is out in full force on the steps again. There’s a moment where I wonder why they’re so interested in a dead bouncer, and then I remember. It’s funny how it comes and goes like that. Like one minute I’m floating peacefully on the surface and the next I’m being dragged under. Right now I’m almost grateful for Sonny’s death. It gives me something else to think about.

  One more day.

  I duck out of sight as Paddy pulls into the parking garage. He flips the bird at the clamoring reporters and mutters under his breath. It’s been hell for him too, especially since comparisons to the Garrison started.

  We head inside the precinct and trudge up the narrow stairs to the fourth floor. I hear Josie long before we reach the office.

  “—unbelievable. Completely unbelievable.”

  The office door stands open, as always. I push it against the wall for good measure. “What is?”

  Our teammates are leaned against the cluster of desks, waiting for us. Josie’s red curls bounce as she shakes her head.

  “The new guy we’re saddled with. Junior detective Scarlett. Dixon sent him on our stakeout last night. He complained for two hours straight while we watched the reporter, and then when the tipster showed up, he jumped out of the car like he was going to walk up and ask her for ID.” Her expression turns sour. “I had to make a big scene to get him out of there without blowing our cover, and
by the time we were back on point both our marks were gone. Unbelievable. You’ve never seen anyone so dumb. I mean, this guy is—”

  “Josie,” Whale says quietly, and when she wheels on him, hands on hips, he glances at me almost imperceptibly and shakes his head. Josie looks at me too, then back at Whale.

  “What?” she demands. She turns to me again. “Do you know him? Don’t tell me you like that little—”

  Heat creeps up my neck and I can’t hold her gaze. Her eyes widen.

  “No way. You mean Scarlett’s the one who…”

  The rest goes unsaid, though she may as well have screamed it. Whale clears his throat awkwardly. Silence crowds in.

  “I’m sorry, Mordecai,” Josie says at last. “I didn’t mean to…”

  I shrug. She may not have had the name, but it’s not like she didn’t know. Half the force knew, or at least had heard the rumor.

  Josie’s tone shifts from apologetic to incredulous. “I can’t believe Shapiro would assign him here after—”

  “He wasn’t supposed to be here until tomorrow,” I say. “We weren’t supposed to overlap.”

  “But he has to work with us, and she had to know we’d hate his guts on principle, even if he wasn’t incompetent. Why she’d put him here—”

  “Is a mystery for the ages,” I finish, eager to change the subject. “Going back to your stakeout last night, before Scarlett blew it. Did you get a good look at the tipster?”

  Josie rolls her eyes. “We would be so lucky. She was standing in the shadows. Really all we saw was the silhouette.”

  “She was shorter than the reporter,” Whale supplies. He taps long fingers against his narrow chin. “I’d put her around five-six, one-thirty-five. Unfortunately that’s the best we’ve got.”

  “We’ve got a description of a potential suspect,” I say. “A girl with white and blue hair. If you’ve got the security footage from the library we can try and spot her.”

  Whale copies the digital surveillance file for all of us and we get to work. We give ourselves a wide buffer on either side of the estimated time of death, but more than an hour later we’ve got nothing to show for it. There’s no sign of Sonny, or Cheyanne.