See Jane Die Part 73

The information officer sat at his desk, looking sleepy. '"Morning," she said.

He grunted a greeting without looking up. She made the corner and the bank of elevators. A car waited, doors open. She glanced at the clock above them. Six-thirty. Right on schedule.

She stepped onto the elevator. Evidence room was located on five. She pressed for that floor, then combed her fingers through her hair, acknowledging fatigue. Since their impromptu picnic Sat.u.r.day night, she and Jane had done sixteen years' worth of catching up.

She had told her sister about Mac. That they had become lovers. That she was falling for him. Hard.

That maybe he was the one. Jane had been happy for her.

The elevators doors slid open; she alighted the car and turned right.

The evidence room was manned by one officer, a uniform. He looked half asleep. "Hey, Sam. Pulled

another graveyard?"

'"Morning, Detective. Yeah, lucky me. What're you doing in so early?"

"Catching up after a few days off. Need to check out a piece of vidence with the Vanmeer investigation.

A videotape."

He nodded. Slid her a clipboard and pen. "Sign."

While she did, he crossed to his computer terminal and began apping in the keywords. He paused,

frowning. "It looks like it's out."

She stopped mid-signature, stomach dropping. Not the prose-cution, she prayed. If the prosecution had it, they were out of luck. "Are you certain?"

"No...wait, there we go. Got it. Be right back."

Heart thundering, she watched as he disappeared into the bowels of the evidence room. He reappeared,

tape-tucked into a neatly labeled plastic bag-in hand. He spun the clipboard around, checked that she had entered both the item and her name correctly, then handed it over.

"I'll have it back in a jiffy."

"No hurry. Besides, I know where to find you."

He hadn't meant anything by his words; they struck her as omi-nous, anyway. Her captain would crucify her if he found out what she'd done. She wondered what she'd do if he fired her. Go back to school? Try private security? Throw herself on Jane's mercy?

"You sure do." She flashed him what she hoped was an easy smile. "Have a great day."

She made her way back to the elevator. Ten minutes had pa.s.sed.

Perfect. She stepped onto an elevator car, rode it to three, then alighted. She made her way past the

graveyard and into the Crimes Against Persons division.

Kitty had arrived. She sat at her desk, breakfasting on a cup of coffee and a powdered doughnut.

"You're early, Detective," the woman said around a bite of the doughnut.

"Mmm. Mac in yet?"

"Haven't seen him." The woman thumbed through a stack of messages and handed her several.

"Mondays suck."

Stacy looked them over. Her captain. The coroner's office. Several from the family of a victim. She

stopped on one from Benny Rodriguez, a Vice officer she had worked a joint investigation with a couple of years back. What, she wondered, did he need?

She pocketed the messages. "Captain in?"

"Nope. Early meeting with the chief. It'll be a couple hours."

"Thanks. I'll catch up with them later." She started toward her desk, then stopped and glanced back at

Kitty. "Look, my sister's coming in to give a statement. Let me know when she gets here?"

"Will do."

Stacy went straight to the interrogation room. She slipped the tape into the machine. As soon as she did,

her cell phone rang.

It was Kitty. Her sister had arrived. "Send her to interrogation three."

Stacy met her at the door. Jane looked uneasy. Frightened even. That wouldn't set off any alarm bells, a

visit to the police always brought out the best in folks.

Stacy closed the door behind them, then leaned against it, standing guard. "Tape's ready to go. Just push Play." Jane did. She watched the segment in silence, then rewound and watched again. That done, she stopped the tape and looked over her shoulder at Stacy, obviously excited. "It's not him."

"You're certain?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He doesn't own a hat or jacket like that."

"That means nothing. He could have bought both expressly for the murder, then discarded them."

Her sister winced. Hard words. But true. "Ian doesn't hold himself that way. Doesn't move that way."

"What way?"

"I don't know how to describe it."

"Play the tape again. Show me."

"Look, she said. "At his shoulders. The way this guy's hunched in his jacket. Ian's holds himself erectly.

It's one of the things that attracted me to him." On the tape the elevator stopped, the doors slid open; the

man stepped out. "There, too," Jane said, pointing. "Ian moves elegantly. Fluidly. This guy...I don't know,

swaggers. Like a jock."

Stacy narrowed her eyes, studying the image, working to recall Ian's image, the way he walked, moved. She couldn't.

"I'm sorry, Jane, but-"

A knock sounded at the door. Stacy signaled Jane to turn off the player. When she had, she cracked open the door. It was Mac. Dammit. She was deep into it now.

"Hey," she said, swinging the door wider.

"Hey to you, too. What're you doing in so early?"

"Playing catch-up." She forced a smile. "What about you?"

He didn't answer, his gaze moving past her to Jane. '"Morning, Jane."

"h.e.l.lo, Detective."

"Call me Mac."

Stacy saw the speculation in his gaze. The slight furrow of his brow as he s.h.i.+fted his attention to the video

machine. He looked at Stacy once more. "What's going on?"

"Jane was just leaving."

"Really?" He looked at Jane. "Kitty said you were in to give a statement."

Jane went white. Stacy stepped in. She didn't want to outright lie-but she couldn't tell the truth. "I didn't

see any need for one. What do you think, Mac?"