White Night

Chapter 30

Ross was late this morning and showed up looking like crap, pale skin and dark circles surrounding eyes that were avoiding hers.

Connors probably didn't look much better, having spent half the night icing her leg until it was workable. Her gait was no worse than normal this morning, but the pain was distracting—nerves constantly chattering at her brain, stealing her attention, making everything twice as hard.

Banner ran the plates on the car from the night before. It was reported stolen a few hours before their run-in with Marco's attackers. Uniform had found it early that morning, burning brightly in a Bronx suburb.

The attack last night confirmed that the killer didn't know the identity of the second victim, not if they were trying to get the list of names from Angelo Garcia.

Detective Tejo approached. "Found something interesting in Mrs. Weston's financials."

"What's that?" Ross asked from behind her.

"The café was barely getting by for twelve months, and then about four months ago they started making money."

"Maybe business turned around," she responded.

"But it's the amount it jumped, a steady $2k a month for the last four months."

She turned to Ross. "When did John Weston's cash deposits start?"

"About four months ago." He rubbed his brow.

"So what the hell was Weston into?" she asked, stretching her leg under her desk.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. It was Janey.

"Got something for you," Janey said, then hung up. Small talk wasn't one of Janey's strengths.

She turned to Ross. "Janey wants to see us."

He nodded and moved ahead, then waited for her.

"Keep looking into Mrs. Weston. Check if any of her phone records cross over with Weston's," she directed Tejo, who nodded.

Whether in a foot pursuit, trading blows with a perp twice his size, or exchanging gunfire with a suspect, Tejo's face retained the same calm, stony focus. On rare occasions, he broke into a smile that creased his face from top to bottom and she couldn't help but smile too. The fact that he was smiling meant the world was okay for a while.

Ross was still waiting for her to walk ahead of him, his eyes focused on her lower half. Her leg was day-to-day, and she knew the captain had asked Ross to advise her of Connors' fitness for duty, but she wished he'd be more subtle about it.

She stood from her desk and walked ahead of him. Her hitch was the same, no better, no worse.

As they entered the morgue, Weston's body was already on the table.

"Got good stuff for you guys today," Janey said cheerfully. "Cause of death was GSW to the head, although the shot to the neck would've killed him in minutes anyway."

John Weston's head appeared intact, except that his left eye was missing. Janey rolled his head further to show them the exit wound, a mass of bone, blood vessels and small peaks of pink brain matter rising through the red.

"Caliber?" she asked Janey.

".22 at close range."

"A .22 did that?"

"Close range," Janey repeated. "Going through the eye meant the bullet hit less resistance because it wasn't slowed down by the skull on the way in."