Baby Jane Doe

He pressed the Talk button. “Masterson.”

“Detective.” The woman at the other end of the line breathed a sigh of relief before slipping into a more familiar clipped and confident mode. “It’s Shauna Cartwright.”

“Ma’am.” His initial surprise at hearing her voice gave way to a misplaced pleasure, and more quickly to irritation. Shauna Cartwright had no reason to call him, except for business. And the only business they had in common was the damned paperwork for yesterday’s robbery/homicide. He’d barely had a chance to scribble his notes, much less get them typed up. “If you’re looking for my report, tomorrow’s the earliest I’ll be able to get it to you. And that’s working on my own time.”

Working off the clock certainly wasn’t unheard of in his profession, but it would be damned annoying if he had to give up this particular evening to satisfy the boss’s demands. Not that Eli had anything more momentous planned than dinner with his sister Holly. But Holly was the one person with whom he could commiserate over their baby sister’s plight.

After yesterday’s hearing, complete with Jillian’s sullen mood and accusatory glares, he and Holly would have plenty to hash out. Tough love sucked. But coping with an addict like Jillian had destroyed the whole warm-fuzzy-family thing among the three siblings long ago. While Jillian detoxed without any outside contact for two weeks, Eli and Holly needed to do some healing themselves.

Unfazed by his surly tone, the commissioner asked, “Can you come by my office this afternoon? I’ve already cleared it with Captain Chang. He gave me your direct number.”

Running the request past his supervisor ensured cooperation, if not eager anticipation. Nothing like being master of his own destiny. Eli nipped the sarcasm and checked his mental calendar. “I can swing by about four-thirty if that’ll work for you.”

“That’s fine. I’ll have Michael take my last meeting.”

“That anxious to get my report? Or are you going to lecture me about not following the chain of command again?”

Her volume dropped to a throaty whisper. “Please. I’d rather not discuss it on the phone. I need to see you.”

Cryptic. Her hushed plea carved a delicate pinhole in Eli’s defensive armor. Commissioner Cartwright hadn’t struck him as a woman of mystery, but he couldn’t help but be intrigued.

An image of the murdering Mr. Trench Coat’s nearly opaque lenses trained down the barrel of his rifle toward Shauna Cartwright blipped through Eli’s memory.

Forget intrigued. Tension twisted a knot at the back of his neck. “I’ll be there at four-thirty.”

BY QUARTER PAST FOUR that afternoon, Eli was sinking his oxfords into the plush silver carpet on the top floor of KCPD headquarters. The receptionist at the center of KCPD’s administrative offices had offered him a seat, but Eli preferred the view at the row of windows facing into the heart of downtown Kansas City. At least he could see people moving outside.

KCPD’s limestone tower wasn’t the tallest building on the skyline. Originally built in the 1930s, the interior had been in a continuous state of refurbishing for the past six years. But it wasn’t the new decor or updated technology or even the row of commissioners’ portraits staring at his back from the long hallway that impressed him. It was the eerie quiet about the place.

There was an ominous weight to the air, a stuffy silence that lacked the relaxed comfort of a library or the creative intensity of a classroom of students taking a test.

Every floor in every precinct building he went into was a bustling hive of activity and purposeful noise. Machines. Conversations. Energy. Even the Internal Affairs division where he was based boasted more movement and warmth than this stylish tomb. Talk about your ivory tower.

It wasn’t just the uniformed officers and security gates at each entrance that made the top-brass offices feel cut off from the rest of the world. The sound-dampening choices of carpeted cubicle walls and lined drapes played their part in the silence. As did the closed doors and deserted hallways. Even with the sun shining outside—deepening the reds and golds on the trees in the park below him—Eli felt isolated.

Waiting for his appointment with the commish was a bit like being summoned to the principal’s office. Or going down to lockup at two in the morning to bail out a sister who was so zoned on booze and coke that she didn’t even realize she’d been arrested.

Eli breathed deeply, trying to dispel the tension that particular memory triggered. He pulled back the front of his suit jacket and fingered the phone on his belt. Maybe he should call the treatment center to check up on Jillian. She wasn’t allowed any personal calls during an initial probationary period, and then had to earn the privilege after that. But he could talk to one of her counselors or a nurse to see how she was settling in.

“Detective Masterson?”

Contenting his hands with rebuttoning his jacket instead of reaching for the phone, Eli greeted the receptionist with a nod. The steel-haired woman whose desk plaque had identified her as Betty Mills handed him a paper cup filled with coffee. Tepid from the feel of things. Bitter sludge that had sat in the pot all day from the whiff he got.

He still offered a polite “Thanks,” not because the woman seemed to expect it or that he looked forward to drinking her gift. But a perverse sense of irony had him wondering if kindness could soften the plastic smile she wore like a badge on her stiff expression. Nope.

“It’s inspiring to be in the company of such fine men, isn’t it?” Betty stated with awed conviction.

For a split second, Eli thought she was speaking in figurative terms, looking down at the miniature men and women outside—some in uniform, some in plainclothes—exiting down the concrete steps or entering the building for the start of their shift. But then he noted the angle of her gaze, toward the back wall and the row of portraits.

“There’s a lot of history there,” he agreed, wondering if her assessment included the commissioners who’d served in the 1920s and 1930s when there’d been suspicion of corruption among several government officials in Kansas City. But thoughts of corruption reminded him of Joe Niederhaus and soured what was left of his amiable mood.

“I’ve served with seven of them, you know. Either in the secretarial pool or as administrative assistant.”

And he’d bet she’d worn that same smile through each administration. “You’re very dedicated.”

“I still miss working with Commissioner Brent. He was destined for fine things. Loved his sense of humor.” Miss Plastic Face got humor? “Now it’s all trapped inside him. But I know he’s working hard to come back to us.”

“I hope he recovers his health. I hear that rehabilitative therapy after a stroke is tough.”

Betty straightened Brent’s portrait with tender care, though Eli hadn’t seen anything out of place. “He’s a fighter.”

The telephone buzzed on her desk and she left to answer it. Oh yeah, if she was in charge of the mood up here, no wonder it felt like such a mausoleum.

“Commissioner Cartwright will see you now.”

Eli dumped his untasted coffee in the trash and strolled toward the bank of closed office doors. “Thanks.”

But he paused when one of the double cherrywood doors opened and his I.A. supervisor, Garrett Chang, stepped out. Not the worst surprise of his life, but not a particularly good one. His captain’s dark, almond-shaped eyes instantly sought him out and flashed a warning. Eli’s mood shifted into grim. “This isn’t gonna be good, is it?”

Chang shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”

This had to be about something more than a late report. Was one of the two dead men from the bank the cousin of a wealthy benefactor? Was someone suing the department? Was the lady commish p.o.’d because he hadn’t jumped the instant she gave an order? Well, he damn well wasn’t going to stand by while innocent…

“It’s not what you think, Eli.” Chang knew how his mind worked. “Whatever conspiracy theory is running around inside that head of yours, I promise, reality will be worse.”

I’d rather not discuss it on the phone.

That vague sense of protective concern returned to mellow his temper as he remembered Shauna’s call. Suspicion hardened him against the new, unknown threat. “What’s wrong?”

Shauna Cartwright appeared in her doorway and answered the question herself. “Better let me tell him, Garrett.”

“Right.” Captain Chang stepped to one side, looking first to the commissioner, then Eli. “If there’s anything I can do—for either of you—let me know.”

The commissioner smiled, momentarily distracting Eli from his supervisor’s mysterious offer. “Thanks. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

Chang took her outstretched hand, then reached over to shake Eli’s. “Be good.”

Was that a mind your manners or a do your job warning?

Garrett Chang departed without clarifying anything, and Eli began to feel the frustration of a man condemned to punishment for a crime he knew nothing about. Shauna Cartwright was no immediate help, either. She instructed Betty to hold her calls, gave her permission to leave at five o’clock, then ushered Eli into her office.

Though the decor in here was as uptown as the waiting area outside, soft touches of color added a subtle feminine warmth to the conference table and informal sitting areas. And was that…? Eli frowned at the nearly inaudible strains of a disco ballad playing from the suite’s hidden speakers. Go figure. No canned elevator music or talk radio. There were signs of life in the ivory tower, after all.

But the lock twisted into place behind him, canceling out the unexpected sense of welcome.

The commissioner circled in front of him and held out her hand. “Thank you for coming.”

Like he had any real choice. “Commissioner—”

“Shauna, please. In private, anyway.” The jolt of her smaller hand sliding against his proved as surprising as her choice of music had been. She tightened her grip to keep him in place long enough to inspect the bandages at his temple. “I see you opted for the scarred and rugged look instead of sensible stitches.”

“I’ll live.”

“I have no doubt you’re a tough one.” She led him to the sitting area, and then walked around her desk to a small kitchen area at the back. “May I get you a cup of coffee?”

The real thing? Or more of that stew Betty had served? He must have broadcast the questions telepathically because she grinned and pointed toward the door. “Betty may be as efficient as the U.S. Army, but she can’t make coffee worth a damn. She insists she makes it the same way my predecessor, Commissioner Brent, always liked it. Makes me wonder if he dumped it down the sink and brewed his own when she went on break, too.” She turned away to pour two mugs without waiting for his answer. “How do you take it?”

Apparently, there was no hiding a kindred caffeinated spirit. “With cream.”

Though a sager suck-up would have asked a polite question about how the previous commissioner was recovering from the series of strokes that had incapacitated him, Eli dumbly watched the graceful movements of Brent’s replacement.

Nice. She opened a tiny fridge beneath the counter and pulled out a carton of the real thing, whetting his taste buds in anticipation. Very nice. Regions south of his belt buckle stirred with a heated interest of their own as she bent over to replace the cream, and her navy gabardine skirt pulled taut across her backside.

Boss, Eli reminded himself, blinking and turning away.

His eyes fell on the computer printout with his name in bold print at the top, sitting at the center of her desk. That cooled his jets. She’d been checking up on him, reading the scattered commendations and more numerous complaints in his file, no doubt. How many partners had he gone through since Joe Niederhaus? Chang had finally given up trying to make him play well with others. The boss lady probably had something to say about that.

His gaze strayed to the pictures on her desk. Seth Cartwright with his arm around an attractive young blonde who shared a striking resemblance. The commissioner with a sopping, pony-sized Labrador retriever near a lake. A more formal photo of the commissioner, sandwiched between Seth and the same blond woman piqued Eli’s curiosity further. Though there was no older man in any of the photos, no wedding ring on the hand that clutched the dog, there was no mistaking the sense of family in those photos. Eli had little in common with her world.

Maybe once. But camaraderie, teamwork, laughter, trust—those had been missing from his life for a long time. Since the tragic death of their parents, Jillian had turned to drugs. Holly had turned to work. And Eli had just turned…inward.

“Eli?”

He jumped like a rookie at the sound of his name.

“Sorry.” She stood at his shoulder, close enough for him to smell the fragrant brew from the mug she pushed into his hands. Close enough to smell something more enticing than the coffee itself.

“Thanks.” Eli hid his interest with a swallow of the beverage that burned his throat.

“Do you have any family?” she asked, glancing at the photos with a loving smile.

“Two sisters. You?”

“Two children. Seth and Sarah. Twins. Three, if you count Sadie.” She reached over and stroked the dog’s picture. “She’s the only one still at home.”

“Is there a Mr. Cartwright?”

“Yes. But we’re divorced.”

Damn. His pulse should not be racing any faster. Had to be all the caffeine in his system. “Sorry to hear that.”

Soft green eyes sought him out over the rim of her cup, gauging the sincerity of his condolence. “It’s his loss.” The green eyes shuttered and she turned away, showing more willpower than Eli’s sorry hormones could when it came to breaking the unspoken tension simmering between them. “It’s my children’s loss, actually. Austin has chosen to be a part of our lives only when it’s convenient for him.”

Her gaze was focused on the pictures again. No, they were focused toward some memory from the past, Eli thought.

“He could have been a good father if he wasn’t such a…”

Such a what? Eli felt his body shifting forward, drawn to the sorrow that shaded her voice. But perhaps he had only imagined the vulnerability that had softened her posture. Because there was steel in the set of her shoulders when she turned to face him, and there was business in her smile.

“We have more important things to discuss. Have a seat, Eli.” Oblivious to his misguided interest in her, the commissioner gestured to a sofa. “May I call you Eli?”

“In private.” The smart remark was out before sense could stop it.

Instead of putting him in his place, she laughed. “Touché.”

Eli unbuttoned his jacket and opted for a straight-backed chair at the conference table before he relaxed his guard any further and completely screwed up what was left of his day and career. “So, why am I here? I believe your exact words were I need to see you.”

“I like a man who’s direct.”

“I like a woman who’s direct.”

With a decisive nod, Shauna set down her mug and retrieved an unmarked file from her desk. “Just so you know, I’ve cleared this with Captain Chang.”

“Cleared what? Is this about yesterday?”

“As a matter of fact, I asked him to lose any paperwork regarding your involvement in yesterday’s shooting. For now, if anyone asks, we’ll say the incident is under investigation. We can throw speculation onto the guards or even myself as the shooter.”

Eli’s gaze narrowed as she returned. “I’ve got nothing to hide. Taking down Mr. Trench Coat was a clean shoot. My report will say as much.”

“Taking down Richard Powell was a hell of a shot. KCPD has had him on their person-of-interest list as a hired gun for several months now.” She circled the table. “But forget your report. I need you on the job, not confined to a desk. As far as anyone outside this office knows, you weren’t even at that bank yesterday.”

“Why the cover-up?”

She pulled out a chair and sat across from him, concentrating for a moment on placing the file folder just so on the table in front of her. But there was no hesitation in her expression when she looked up at him. “What I’m about to ask of you won’t be easy. It won’t make you very popular with your colleagues.”

He inclined his head toward her desk. “You read my file. Does it look like popular matters to me?”

“Deep down inside—somewhere—it matters. That’s why I’ve hesitated to recruit anyone for this assignment.”

Ignoring the compassion she offered and denying any truth to her insight, Eli laced his fingers together and leaned onto the edge of the table. “What’s the job, boss lady? What do you need me to do?”

He’d wanted direct. “Are you familiar with the Baby Jane Doe murder case?”

“I’m a cop and I live in Kansas City. So, yeah, I’m familiar enough.” Relieved to have something to focus on other than the way Shauna Cartwright seemed to see a lot deeper beneath the skin than he liked a woman to, Eli eased back in his seat. “Murdered African-American girl. About a year old. I’ve heard the grisly details in the locker room. The body found separately from the head. Tossed in the dump. My sister’s the M.E. who did the autopsy. There was no sign of sexual trauma, though the COD was physical abuse. Poor kid was too young to have dental records or fingerprints to ID her. I’ve followed the news stories. How people were keeping their own kids locked in at night, how they blamed the department for taking so long to arrest anyone. I know the D.A.’s office is hashing out the preliminary motions for Donnell Gibbs’s trial right now.”

“So you are familiar with the case.” She sighed wearily, as if the details were far too familiar, maybe too personal, for her. “My first priority when I took over for Edward Brent was to put together a task force dedicated to the investigation. Actually, it was Edward’s idea, before his first stroke. He was afraid of civil unrest. Lynch mobs. Untrained citizens arming themselves against a child-killer. I organized the plan, selected the investigators and put Mitch Taylor in charge. The task force gave me Donnell Gibbs.”

Eli nodded. “Now the city’s calmed down, the killer’s on trial and we’re all heroes here at KCPD again.”

“I want to reopen the case.”

A beat of silence filled the room.

“Are you nuts?” Putting Donnell Gibbs on trial for Baby Jane Doe’s murder had finally staunched the wound that had hobbled KCPD for more than two years. Even Eli could sense the city’s massive sigh of relief. “Shauna, you can’t—”

“I’m reopening the case.” She ignored his accusatory slip of decorum and pushed the file across the table, offering Eli the most unpopular job in all of Kansas City. “And I need a man like you to do it.”

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