families.
The flash of silver from Joe’s car as it rounded the corner and parked seemed bizarrely out of place. Chris’ heart lurched as he caught sight of Joe’s copper curls, and the trim body wrapped in a well-tailored charcoal colored suit called out every dirty fantasy and erotic dream he’d had about the man. He felt a stab of guilt at dragging him out here, soiling him with the debris of a dying neighborhood.
Chris watched Joe tug his jacket straight and strode forward. He didn’t look around and didn’t hesitate, as if the surroundings weren’t any concern. As he got closer Chris opened the door, saving Joe the trouble of getting buzzed in through the flimsy security that protected the building.
"Detective Gagnon," Joe said as he stepped into the entryway. His voice was cold and formal, and it hurt Chris a little, especially because he knew he was responsible for most of the distance between them.
"Mister Hennessey," Chris replied, his tone matching Joe’s before he could change it. "Stephanie's upstairs."
Joe brushed past him and started up the stairs. Chris followed, hands jammed in his pants pockets. It was the only way he could think to keep them from reaching up under the suit jacket and touching Joe. Stupid hands. Stupid jacket. Stupid pockets .
"Any idea who did this to her family?" Joe asked. He didn’t look at Chris as he talked, but his voice echoed through the stairwell and seemed to come from everywhere.
"Maybe. We have some details on a half dozen cars from some witnesses. Got a lot of information on the husband, less on the woman, her family is from out of state. The killer’s done this before, we have a connection to two other crimes, and ties to gangs in the southwest. The guy was careful, forensics didn't find much at all at any of the crime scenes, unfortunately."
The words just tumbled out. Chris wasn't at all sure why he was saying them. Normally he wouldn't. Hell, it was a murder investigation, he really shouldn't be telling Joe anything.
"Got that already? I'm impressed."
Joe’s sarcasm stung, more than it ought to have. "We're detectives. Sometimes we detect things," Chris snapped back.
"Who'dve thought?" Chris saw Joe shrug, shoulders rustling under the suit jacket
Chris chose to ignore it, though it hurt. "Her parents were separated. We're still looking for the relatives on her mother's side. We know who the father is, but we haven't found him."
"He dead too?" Joe asked as they got to the top of the stairs.
Chris snorted. "No, just an asshole. Six months behind on his child support."
Joe looked around. The stairs went up another two floors, but Chris wasn't pushing to go up another flight. This was mostly because he was fighting to not notice how the light material of Joe's dress pants fit his legs. It was such a good thing Joe was wearing that suit jacket. Between the hangover and the dreams he was feeling like crap. Chris wasn't sure how much self-control he had.
"Great," Joe said. Chris' struggles went unnoticed. "Where now?"
"Rec room at the end of the hall," Chris said.
"So who is he? Or can't you tell me that?"
"He's officially our prime suspect. It's not a secret, not for something like this." Chris dug around in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his notebook. His head was throbbing something fierce, and he wasn't thinking that well. He flipped through a few pages, buying time.
"He's Billy O'Malley," Chris said after he found the right page. "A.K.A William J. O'Malley. Sometimes 'Studs' O'Malley. Has a string of priors, mostly DUI or drunk and disorderly."
Joe whirled and stared at Chris. "William James O'Malley? Thirty-five? Five nine, red hair, worthless piece of shit?"
Chris recoiled a
The flash of silver from Joe’s car as it rounded the corner and parked seemed bizarrely out of place. Chris’ heart lurched as he caught sight of Joe’s copper curls, and the trim body wrapped in a well-tailored charcoal colored suit called out every dirty fantasy and erotic dream he’d had about the man. He felt a stab of guilt at dragging him out here, soiling him with the debris of a dying neighborhood.
Chris watched Joe tug his jacket straight and strode forward. He didn’t look around and didn’t hesitate, as if the surroundings weren’t any concern. As he got closer Chris opened the door, saving Joe the trouble of getting buzzed in through the flimsy security that protected the building.
"Detective Gagnon," Joe said as he stepped into the entryway. His voice was cold and formal, and it hurt Chris a little, especially because he knew he was responsible for most of the distance between them.
"Mister Hennessey," Chris replied, his tone matching Joe’s before he could change it. "Stephanie's upstairs."
Joe brushed past him and started up the stairs. Chris followed, hands jammed in his pants pockets. It was the only way he could think to keep them from reaching up under the suit jacket and touching Joe. Stupid hands. Stupid jacket. Stupid pockets .
"Any idea who did this to her family?" Joe asked. He didn’t look at Chris as he talked, but his voice echoed through the stairwell and seemed to come from everywhere.
"Maybe. We have some details on a half dozen cars from some witnesses. Got a lot of information on the husband, less on the woman, her family is from out of state. The killer’s done this before, we have a connection to two other crimes, and ties to gangs in the southwest. The guy was careful, forensics didn't find much at all at any of the crime scenes, unfortunately."
The words just tumbled out. Chris wasn't at all sure why he was saying them. Normally he wouldn't. Hell, it was a murder investigation, he really shouldn't be telling Joe anything.
"Got that already? I'm impressed."
Joe’s sarcasm stung, more than it ought to have. "We're detectives. Sometimes we detect things," Chris snapped back.
"Who'dve thought?" Chris saw Joe shrug, shoulders rustling under the suit jacket
Chris chose to ignore it, though it hurt. "Her parents were separated. We're still looking for the relatives on her mother's side. We know who the father is, but we haven't found him."
"He dead too?" Joe asked as they got to the top of the stairs.
Chris snorted. "No, just an asshole. Six months behind on his child support."
Joe looked around. The stairs went up another two floors, but Chris wasn't pushing to go up another flight. This was mostly because he was fighting to not notice how the light material of Joe's dress pants fit his legs. It was such a good thing Joe was wearing that suit jacket. Between the hangover and the dreams he was feeling like crap. Chris wasn't sure how much self-control he had.
"Great," Joe said. Chris' struggles went unnoticed. "Where now?"
"Rec room at the end of the hall," Chris said.
"So who is he? Or can't you tell me that?"
"He's officially our prime suspect. It's not a secret, not for something like this." Chris dug around in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his notebook. His head was throbbing something fierce, and he wasn't thinking that well. He flipped through a few pages, buying time.
"He's Billy O'Malley," Chris said after he found the right page. "A.K.A William J. O'Malley. Sometimes 'Studs' O'Malley. Has a string of priors, mostly DUI or drunk and disorderly."
Joe whirled and stared at Chris. "William James O'Malley? Thirty-five? Five nine, red hair, worthless piece of shit?"
Chris recoiled a
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