Bree checked her notes. “No. Ronnie’s aunt lives here. The last time he was arrested, she bailed him out. Then he skipped on his bail, and she was out a thousand dollars. I’m hoping she knows where he is and holds a grudge.”
The previous week, a nurse had been beaten, raped, and strangled on her way home from the night shift in the ICU. A Laundromat surveillance camera had caught the killer dragging his victim into the alley where her body had been found. In less than twenty-four hours, the killer had been ID’d as Ronnie Marin from North Philly. Ronnie had a rap sheet as long as the Schuylkill Expressway.
Bree had been working her way through Ronnie’s known contacts. So far, she’d found no sign of Ronnie, and no one had admitted to seeing him.
Dana had been out sick for the past week and was catching up with the investigation. She pulled the blue Crown Vic to the curb behind a pile of snow as tall as the vehicle. “Remind me what Ronnie’s last offense was?”
“Robbery.” Bree scanned the dark street but saw nothing alive. In the trash alley that ran next to the home, black ice shone in the glare of a streetlamp. “He did eighteen months. Before that, vandalism and simple assault. He’s only been out for two months.”
Bree turned the dashboard computer to show her Ronnie’s mug shot.
“A quick progression to murder,” Dana said.
“Nothing teaches a criminal to be a better criminal like going to prison.”
“Maybe Ronnie left town.”
“I doubt it. All his connections are here. This is his turf, and he’s worked hard to be a BFD in his neighborhood.”
Dana shrugged. “What do we know about the aunt?”
“Ronnie’s aunt is fifty-seven. She’s worked for the same commercial cleaning company for the past eighteen years and has no criminal record.”
“Can’t pick your family.” Dana paused, her face reddening. “I’m sorry, Bree. I didn’t mean anything by that.”
In the four years they’d worked together, Dana had never brought up Bree’s parents’ deaths, though Bree had heard plenty of whispers behind her back from other cops in the division. But then, when your father murdered your mother and then killed himself, you had to expect people to talk about it.
“It’s all right. I know it.” And Bree had mostly come to terms with her own family’s past long ago, at least as much as anyone could under the circumstances. She’d also made tragedy and violence a permanent part of her life when she’d become a cop.
Whatever. She’d had more than enough therapy as a kid. She was done with it. After she’d turned eighteen, she’d decided to stop analyzing herself. Some damage left a permanent mark. There was no changing that. She’d shoved her childhood into a dark corner of her memory and moved on. At thirty-five, the last thing Bree wanted was to drag those memories into the light.
She stepped out of the vehicle. Frigid wind whipped along the icy street and stung her cheeks. Despite the cold, she unbuttoned her black peacoat for better access to her weapon.
Coughing, Dana joined her on the cracked sidewalk. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her knee-length parka. “Damn, it’s cold.”
Just after the new year arrived, an Arctic blast had frozen Philadelphia solid. The cold snap had persisted, nothing had melted, and the week-old snow had grown gray and dingy. But then, city snow was pretty only until the following rush hour.
Bree skirted a patch of shiny black ice. “You should go home when we’re done here. You sound like a dying seal.”
“No way. I can’t stare at the walls of my crappy apartment for another day.” Dana cleared her throat, then pulled a cough drop from her pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it into her mouth. “My mother keeps stopping by. Hovering and shoving soup at me all damned day. I’ve been taking the meds, and the doc says I’m no longer contagious. It’s time to get off my butt and back to work.”
“What are you going to do after you retire next month?”
“I don’t know. My cousin wants me to work night security for his flooring store.” Dana paused on the sidewalk to hack.
“Because everyone wants to work the graveyard shift in their retirement.”
“Right?” Dana coughed again.
Sighing, Bree waited for Dana to catch her breath. When she’d finished, Bree led the way up three cracked concrete steps. A white wrought iron railing edged the stairs and stoop. Bree and Dana automatically flanked the doorway as best they could to avoid standing dead center and knocked on the door. When no one responded, Bree knocked louder.
Footsteps sounded inside, and a tiny middle-aged woman answered. Bree recognized Ronnie’s aunt, Maria Marin, from her driver’s license photo. Her complexion was sallow and wrinkled, and she wore her dark brown hair scraped into an unforgiving bun. At eight o’clock on a Tuesday evening, most people would be settling in for the night. Mrs. Marin would be getting ready for work.
Bree lifted the badge she wore on a lanyard around her neck. “I’m Detective Taggert, and this is Detective Romano.”
Dana nodded. “Ma’am.”
Mrs. Marin’s dark eyes went wide, and her mouth puckered before she smoothed out her features. Fear? The skin between Bree’s shoulder blades itched. Dana shot Bree a side-eye. She’d seen it.
Is Ronnie inside? Or is Mrs. Marin simply afraid to talk to the police?
Bree glanced over Mrs. Marin’s shoulder but didn’t see anyone. “We’d like to talk to you about your nephew, Ronnie.” Bree lowered her voice in case the neighborhood had ears. “May we come inside?”
“No.” Mrs. Marin shook her head, fear flashing into her eyes again. Her gaze shifted hard to one side, as if she was trying to see behind her without turning her head. Is Ronnie listening?
Bree persisted. “Have you seen Ronnie in the past few days?”
“I don’t have to talk to you.” Mrs. Marin took a step backward and prepared to close the door.
“No, ma’am, you don’t, but your nephew killed a woman.” Bree wasn’t giving anything away. Ronnie’s photograph had been shown on the news the previous night. “Every officer in the city is looking for him. It would be better for Ronnie if he came in with me willingly.” Bree let the implication hang that surrendering to her would be safer for Ronnie’s health.
Ronnie had committed a vicious murder. His face had been caught on a surveillance video. Clearly, he was no criminal mastermind. The PPD was going to find him. Given his established stupidity, Ronnie would resist and/or run.
Mrs. Marin hesitated for two seconds, then shut the door in their faces.
Dana stepped off the stoop. Rock salt crunched under her boots. She coughed, covering her mouth. “He’s in there.”
“Yep.” Without looking back, Bree walked toward the car.
Dana paused on the sidewalk. “We can’t prove he’s inside.”
“Nope.” Bree inhaled. The cold air bit into her sinus passages. “Let’s pull around the corner and see if we can get a line of sight on the back door. Knowing we found him is going to make Ronnie want to bolt ASAP.”
“We’ll need another unit to watch the front door.”
They stepped into the vehicle and called for backup. Then Dana drove around the corner and parked alongside an overgrown hedge at the mouth of the alley that bisected the block. The alley was full of shadows, but they could see straight down the middle. Each rowhome had a tiny cement patio enclosed with various types of fencing. Chain link was prominent. But each back door was raised three steps high, and Bree had a clear visual of each rear exit. Most units had lights above their doors. Mrs. Marin’s home was the third from the corner. Bree had barely located her unit when the back door opened, and a head poked out. Ronnie surveyed the neighborhood.