A Friend in the Glass (An Auden & O’Callaghan Mystery #3)

Chapter Six

After Jake Brower had been murdered last summer, Rufus had been uncertain of his future as a confidential informant. And as concern for where his next paycheck would come from grew, he’d been transferred with no warning to the care of Detective Weaver of Major Cases. Erik had quickly proven to be Jake’s opposite in every way. He was impatient, foul-mouthed, a habitual ballbuster who never let Rufus get away with even half the shit Jake had turned a blind eye to. But even though they weren’t friends—would never be in the way he had been with Jake—Rufus liked Erik. He’d been solid during the fiasco regarding Rufus’s mother and her killer, Jimmy Sirkosky, and Erik also put up with Sam as being part of the Rufus O’Callaghan care package.

Sort of.

Sam was a civilian, after all, so him being anywhere near a crime scene tended to rub Erik the wrong way. Rufus found that in these situations, for as long as Sam planned to be in New York—and no, Dr. Donna, he didn’t want to address that particular anxiety, let’s talk about some of my other upsetting and intrusive thoughts, thank you very much—keeping interactions between Sam and Erik as brief as humanly possible typically yielded the most positive results. And this one? Rufus had consolidated it to: help, there’s a dead lady here and no, we didn’t do anything wrong.

“Erik said he’s on his way,” Rufus said into the uncomfortable stillness of the room. He tucked his burner into his pocket while watching Sam hover over the dead woman. “Let’s go. It smells like piss in here.”

Sam didn’t move.

“Sam,” Rufus prompted. “Come on.”

“This is our chance,” he said. “Let’s take a look before Erik makes us bounce.”

Rufus raised both hands in a sort of dramatic what-can-you-do gesture. “Take a look at what? She OD’d. Find her wallet, check her ID, but she looks like how Cyber Kim described her. It’s Shareed, I bet, and she made the life choice that mama always warned me about.”

“She OD’d right before she was going to meet us to sell information? She traveled halfway across the country so she could blow me off and shoot up?” Sam frowned and squatted next to the bed, leaning closer to examine the dead woman.

Rufus crossed his arms, aware of his own agitation and defense. “I don’t think she wanted to sell you anything legit, babe.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, she needed money for a habit. Case in point.” Rufus nodded at the body with a jut of his chin.

“So she flew from Georgia to New York City and called me.”

“Maybe she was already living here.”

“But she picked me.”

“Your identity isn’t hidden like mine is. She could have… fuck, I don’t know, read some old news article online, saw your name, found your number in the White Pages, thought you’d be an easy play.”

“Because I’m an obvious mark. Gullible, disposable cash, that kind of thing.” Sam straightened. “Somebody did this to her. What aren’t you seeing?”

“I didn’t say any of that, Sam. Don’t put words in my mouth,” Rufus answered, shoulders now at his ears.

“I just don’t get what you’re not seeing. She called me. She had information on Lew, on Stonefish. And now she’s dead. That’s a pretty simple a, b, c to me.”

Rufus snorted before he could smother the sound. “If she’d been shot execution-style, yeah, I’d be right there with you. Blunt force trauma, sure, someone did her in. But she OD’d. Probably on some godawful shit she bought behind a fucking dumpster. There’s nothing here except one sad woman who won’t wake up tomorrow.”

“Why me? Why Stonefish? Why not some fucking captain who’s sitting on stolen equipment or covering up his buddy’s sexual assault charge? When nobody else believed you that your mom’s killer was active again, I believed you. I don’t get why you’re being so fucking stupid about this.”

Rufus could feel the flush in his chest, his neck, his freckled cheeks. His underarms began to sweat. “I’m not stupid.” He pulled out his phone again, checked the time, put it back. “We’ve got maybe ten minutes, if Erik isn’t driving with the siren on.”

Sam’s posture was stiff. His words were clipped and his gaze locked on the floor as he said, “I didn’t say you were stupid. I said you were being stupid.” He blew out a breath, shook his head, and opened his mouth as though he might say more. Then he shut his mouth again and moved into the tiny bathroom.

Rufus waited until Sam was out of sight before he removed a pair of black winter gloves from his jacket pocket. They were cheap knockoffs of the touchscreen friendly brand and didn’t actually work as advertised. They’d likely disintegrate if they got wet, but they’d been free (lifted from a street vendor in Chinatown) and maybe they’d at least keep Rufus from leaving any fingerprints. He found the woman’s purse easy enough—on the floor near the head of the bunk. It was red pleather, sure, but as far as pleather went, it was nice quality, shiny, with no cracks or signs of wear. Rufus took out the wallet, flipped it open, and stared at the driver’s license for Shareed Baker. Rufus looked from the shitty DMV photo, to the woman, then back at the photo.

It was Shareed all right.

Absently, Rufus thought that even in death, Shareed looked better than the government-issued ID.

Shareed had a debit card, pharmacy card, no credit cards, but in the zipper compartment, plenty of cash.

Rufus hesitated, took out the bills, counted. Just over a hundred bucks in small change. He swallowed his pride, which actually hurt a little, then called, “Sam?”

Sam’s voice sounded resonant against the bathroom tile. “Huh?”

“Come here.”

When Sam emerged from the bathroom, he paused, eyes fixed on the cash, and said, “Shit.”

“There’s more than enough here to buy street drugs.” Rufus held up the wallet. “The wallet and purse are nice. Like, not something she’s been dragging around for twenty years.”

“So she’s not hard up.”

Rufus shrugged one shoulder. “If I was hard up, which I usually am, I wouldn’t carry this much cash on me. I mean, I do, but I buy information, so really, do I even have money?”

After a moment, Sam grunted and returned to the bathroom.

“I’m keeping it,” Rufus called. He tucked the cash into his pocket. “Fuck this day.” That was more to himself.

Returning the wallet to the purse, Rufus crouched and set it back where he’d found it on the floor. He got down on his knees to check under the bed, a habit when rummaging through other people’s lives. There was always good stuff under the bed. Usually porn. Vintage of course, because porn was all online nowadays, only a credit card number away. Not that Rufus paid for porn. Why pay for fantasies when he lived with the real thing?

Momentarily derailed by his own thoughts, Rufus nearly missed the small dark object just out of reach. He wriggled underneath the cramped space to grab… a phone.

Rufus said from under the bed, “I found another goodie.”

This time, when Sam emerged he said, “Bathroom’s a dead end unless you want Vidal Sassoon products. And I realize as I say that that you probably want to take them, so don’t, because you already stole the hotel stuff. What did you find?”

Rufus got himself out from under the bed and held up the phone. “And behold, a dinosaur. A living relic of our past. The Motorola RAZR.”

“Holy shit. Maybe she was hard up.”

Rufus worked hard not to smile as he flipped the phone open. “The days of yore. Remember having to tap three times to get the letter you wanted and fuck if you missed it?” He checked the photos and text history, but nothing. Rufus opened the call logs next and his brows drew together. “She made some calls yesterday. Back-to-back-to-back. Same number.”

Sam took out his phone, copied the number, and placed the call on Speaker. On the second ring, a youngish man’s voice answered, “Javits Center, this is Kenneth, how may I direct your call?”

For a moment, Sam was silent, his expression calculating. “I’m sorry, I was given this number for…” He let his voice trail off. “I can’t remember the actual name, I’m sorry.”

Kenneth, eager to please, jumped in. “Well, let’s see. We’ve got our signature New York Winter Show, the MoDe US Expo, Habitat for Halibut, and, let’s see, the Northeast Regional Franchise Convention.”

“It must be MoDe, although I have no idea what that stands for.”

“More Defense for a Safer United States, I believe is the full title.”

“That’s it,” Sam said. “The event is still running?”

A note of doubt entered Kenneth’s voice. “It began today, sir. Are you sure—”

Sam disconnected the call. “She didn’t just come here to talk to me. And she didn’t just come here now because the timing was convenient. She called the Javits how many times? And she made a third call this morning from the cybercafé. It all ties together somehow, and it got her killed.”

“You think the State killed a woman who prefers pleather and flip phones because they believe she’s trying to sell Uncle Sam’s secrets?” And then Rufus’s gaze cut to the hotel door as it creaked open and he said, “Oh. Hi, Erik.”