Justifiable Page 2

  He would not survive another Detroit.

  Biddy wheeled off the interstate and zigzagged along surface streets.

  Riley let go of his mental wandering to grab the passenger door handle and brace himself. “Can we make the press conference on time and in one piece?”

  Biddy ignored the jab, maneuvering the van’s steering like a NASCAR driver on holiday. “How come that new DA bitch calls a news conference at nine anyhow? She knows we all covered the killing last night and halfway into breakfast. What’s the damn rush?”

  “What? You think she cares if you get another hour to snuggle your wife?”

  “Sore topic,” Biddy grumbled. “One more weekend working and I’ll be snuggling a six pack on the couch.”

  Riley had no advice to offer. He didn’t have baggage. Not after divorcing a woman who had thought her wedding vows were optional. Add that to becoming a social pariah three months back, and demand on his personal time had fallen off significantly.

  His new motto had been an old saying years ago – a rolling stone gathers no moss. Damned lonesome existence, but one where he wouldn’t get his balls nailed to the wall by a divorce attorney’s Mont Blanc pen.

  Biddy slid around the last corner, catching the curb with his rear tires and jarring Riley’s teeth. He slammed their “Nuz You Can Uze” van into the press parking lot at the courthouse with ninety seconds to spare.

  There wasn’t a parking space to be had.

  Undeterred, Biddy jumped the curb and parked on the sidewalk. He slapped his NEWS CREW AT WORK sign on the dashboard and piled out of the van.

  The rear doors squealed open and slammed shut as Riley reached the back bumper.

  Biddy chortled. “Hope they take the two grand out of Lehman’s yearly bonus.”

  “Two grand?”

  “Annual parking fines.” Biddy stumbled and almost dropped the camera and a bundle of equipment he juggled.

  Riley grabbed the tripod.

  Biddy’s lurid curses should have melted the snow banked around the sidewalk. “All this just to hear the DA’s latest dribble about Philly’s tourism image.” He turned a hard glance loaded with challenge at Riley, impatience loaded with a hair trigger holding it back. “You got a plan?”

  Not one that would make Biddy happy. “I’m giving Van Gogh one chance to tell me why that body was placed on the judge’s front lawn. I’m betting she’ll blow us off. That’s all I need to break the story I have in mind.”

  Had the murder been a message for the judge?

  Or someone else?

  Hell, he had a slew of questions everyone should be asking. Such as why the killer had placed the body with hands crossed as though posed for the morgue.

  And why the killer had called Riley instead of the police.

  Chapter 3

  Riley set an urgent pace down the sidewalk to City Hall’s front door, careful not to lose his footing on the icy surface. If he did take a header, chances were Biddy would pause first to inspect the tripod he carried for damage then check Riley for a broken bone.

  Covering several quick steps, he reached the door first and waited for Biddy to knock the snow off his boots.

  His cameraman belonged to NABET and Riley was a member of AFTRA and both were broadcasting unions. No anchor had to carry equipment for his photographer, but Riley showed any camera staff the same consideration by helping with equipment regardless of his position. Biddy wasn’t social to begin with, but in a show of mutual respect he’d told Riley early on, “If you ever get turned in for union violations, you can bet your ass it wasn’t me who dropped a dime on you.”

  Riley’s kind of guy, especially Biddy’s “get the job done and screw the rules” mantra. Cutting edge news reporting meant scars on occasion. Just part of the job if a person did it right. You had to put it all on the line to get to the facts.

  At least, that’s what Riley had believed until...

  Shit. Focus on today. The next five minutes. Now.

  Biddy passed through the open doorway and headed for the elevator. He mumbled in a tired voice, “Another suck assignment.”

  “Trust me. This beats the hell out of missing child assignments.” Riley snapped his jaws shut. Breathe. He shook his head to clear his mind and stop the backward fall into a black mental hole. Get your shit together.

  If he wanted to prove everyone wrong who had declared his career over, he had to stick to reporting news...and keep a lid on his temper.

  Three major network affiliates in ten years.

  His foster dad had called him passionate.

  Others called him a hot head.

  Riley called it cutting through the crap to find the real story. Especially with murders.

  The chatter in his brain gave way when a cacophony of voices reached him. Press conference. Briefing room up ahead.

  Got it.

  Riley walked forward, eyes level. He banged Biddy’s tripod on the door jam outside the press briefing room where the commotion picked up volume. Slowing, he pulled up short at the entrance.

  Newsies already packed the pressroom. All four of the camera slots positioned at the front of the room were taken.

  Three slots had cameras set up to roll.

  That fat slob and newspaper muckraker, Henry the Whore, occupied the fourth position.

  Henry weighed about three hundred pounds, smelled like last week’s ashtray, and loved to piss off TV people. He’d probably been sitting there, holding court until the press conference and disappointed he hadn’t had a chance to screw with someone.

  Henry had splashed a damning print article the first week Riley took the anchor desk for WNUZ, alluding to the dangers of allowing some in the media to go unchecked.

  And here the newspaper pig sat in the spot reserved for Riley and Biddy, making it clear whose chain Henry wanted to jerk. Biddy might be a surly partner, but he was loyal to people who helped him. When someone at the station had shown Biddy the scathing article Henry had written, he’d looked as though his fist might go through a wall.

  Same way Biddy looked right now.

  Riley ground his jaw. He had to deal with the blowhard or face another slam in the rag Henry wrote for. Normally, he didn’t care what the hack wrote, but with everything riding on renewing his contract with WNUZ in a week, Riley didn’t have time for battling on multiple fronts.

  Before he could decide what to say or do, a wink of bright color down the hallway snagged his attention.

  The sexy investigator for the District Attorney’s office, Kirsten Willingham Massey, stood in a doorway two offices away speaking to someone. And wearing another snug business suit. Today’s outfit was a nice silk number in Corvette red. She hooked a lock of chin-length black hair behind one ear and tapped an unpolished fingernail against the doorframe.

  Exotic and unapproachable. Riley had heard both terms used to describe her. He’d tried to interview her once, but she’d seen him coming. The look of disgust she’d given him right before she vanished into the closest office made it clear she wasn’t a fan of the media.

  Or maybe just of him.

  As if she’d felt his eyes on her, Kirsten Massey turned her head slowly for a brief glance his way, paused, assessed, then dismissed him with a curt flick of her chin.

  He looked down at himself. What? Where’d she come off dismissing him out of hand?

  An “uh oh” sound whispered through the press conference room, yanking him back to the present problem. When Riley turned around, Biddy had already dropped his camera and lens bag, heading for the newspaper pig. Tossing the bag strap over his shoulder, Riley stepped forward and lifted the camera.

  “You’re in our spot, Henry.” Biddy glared the rest of his thoughts, but to his credit he’d been semi-polite in spite of a short night’s sleep.

  Henry answered with a pissy shrug.

  No survival instincts in that gene pool.

  As a former Navy SEAL, Biddy wasn’t boasting or joking when he said, “Move your fat ass or I’ll
move it for ya.” He took another step toward Henry.

  Biddy got the same shrug...no, it was worse.

  Henry chuckled.

  Big mistake. Riley took a step inside the room to diffuse the situation, but he didn’t move fast enough. For all Biddy’s bulky muscle, he moved with the lithe speed of a panther and cupped both hands under Henry’s sweaty armpits. He hoisted the pig and walked him backwards like a rag doll with shuffling cartoon feet.

  Then let go.

  Henry stumbled. Momentum took over. When his feet lost traction, the only thing to slow his backwards velocity was a forty-plus-year-old window with a thick wood frame.

  If his ass went through that window it’d make one hell of a splat on the sidewalk four floors below.

  But even Henry’s elephant butt couldn’t break glass that thick. Right?

  Henry’s body slammed the window.

  A loud crack rent the air.

  DA Investigator Massey marched into the room with an arm full of files just as Henry’s grimy nails started dicing window trim like a carrot through a Vegematic.

  She took in the scene with a horrified gaze.

  The room froze. Wood cracked and splintered.

  Chapter 4

  Shedding camera equipment, Riley dove toward Henry. The window cracked again and every newsman in the pressroom made the sound of sucking air and scrambled to help, but Riley and Biddy were closest.

  Riley grabbed a handful of belly fat as the big man kept sliding out.

  Dammit. He hooked his fingers through Henry’s belt, planted his boots against the wall and stopped the fall. Barely. Biddy clutched a handful of loose skin that might be Henry’s neck, which he used to help haul him back to safety.

  Henry wheezed and coughed. His face glowed heart-attack red, wimpy hair scattered in all directions. Steam should be coming out of his ears to match the snarl he turned on Biddy and Riley. “I’ll...see you bums...in court – ”

  Useless threat.

  “ – and tonight’s paper.”

  Bigger threat.

  Riley swung around, calculating damage control as Henry stomped out. That’s when he noticed that every newsman in Philly – except him and Biddy – had the episode on tape.

  Investigator Massey stood with one hand clutching file folders and the other fisted at her hip. The imperturbable calm she wore like a new accessory fractured with a hint of anger in her jade-green eyes.

  Biddy’s chest heaved twice more, an adrenalin rush clear in his sharp gaze, then his eyes quieted with realization of what had transpired. His shoulders drooped. He mumbled, “She’s going to kill me.”

  Riley felt for the guy. Biddy wasn’t talking about the hot DA Investigator standing with chilled silence between them and the door to the hallway. His cameraman would have to explain to his wife how he got canned with Christmas a too-recent memory and credit card debt eating up every free penny already. Trouble like this piled on marital problems and laid the groundwork for a nasty backlash.

  But from the way Biddy talked about his wife, she at least cared for the cameraman and not just his paycheck.

  She hadn’t married with ulterior motives the way Riley’s ex-wife had.

  Biddy thumped Riley on the shoulder and cocked his head at the DA’s stuffy male assistant who rushed into the room apologizing that DA Van Gogh had been called away. Oblivious to what had just transpired, he handed everyone a typed press release about the most-recent murder in Germantown.

  “Don’t that figure?” Biddy shook his head. “Freakin’ DA don’t even show after what we went through to get here.”

  Riley scanned the sheet. Sally Stanton, the thirty-two-year-old welfare mother of a five-year-old boy was found dead of a single gunshot wound to the forehead. An APB for the woman had been issued just hours after she delivered her child to the hospital then left before police could question her. Police believe the victim was killed in a different location, then moved to the upscale area just off Germantown Avenue. Police were interviewing neighbors from where Stanton lived in the Northern Liberties neighborhoods, searching for a possible boyfriend or family member connected to what appeared to be a domestic violence crime.

  Not a word about the body being on the judge’s lawn. Or any note of questioning the judge’s connection to this death.

  Or that Riley had been the one to inform the police of the body’s location.

  The omission about the phone call worked in Riley’s favor. Did Van Gogh know he’d been the one to tip the police on the body? That should have been in the police report.

  Didn’t matter. He knew the score. DA Van Gogh hadn’t been called away at the last minute. She just wanted to get her name in the press without having to actually answer a question.

  The mayor’s narrow focus for the past year had been tourism for the city and schmoozing industry. He painted all the trashy-looking problems with a brush dipped in happy colors and stuffed the dirty laundry down the garbage chute rather than deal with it. Van Gogh needed the backing of Philadelphia’s favored mayor for any hope of climbing the political stairway. She’d belt out any song that favored the mayor.

  What about the DA Investigator? Would Massey bury her head in the political sandbox and play nice to keep her superiors happy?

  The pressroom emptied on a trail of snickering and jokes.

  Didn’t it figure? With the press conference over, the Henry debacle had just become bigger news than the dead woman on a slab in the morgue.

  Riley moved toward his cameraman, but Massey intercepted him with indictment riding her frown.

  So she finally wanted to talk to him?

  “You two might be up on charges by the time Henry gets to his office.” Honey coated her steel voice, but what Riley heard beneath all of it was money and education. Her backbone straightened to the point someone could use it to iron a shirt.

  “You know I kept Henry from crashing out the window.” Riley crushed the worthless press document in his clenched fingers.

  What the hell did he care what she thought?

  What anyone thought?

  “Might not sound that way on the news tonight.” She arched one graceful black eyebrow that dared him to argue.

  “I’m well aware of how something insignificant can get blown out of proportion in the media.” Like turning today’s event into an unprovoked altercation.

  “Must have been something to it. Henry left before he got the press release.”

  “What press release?” Riley waved the crumpled paper in one hand. “You calling this a press release? Van Gogh could have emailed it.”

  Embarrassment colored her cheeks for just a second. “Things come up that can’t be avoided. Just the nature of the business.” Massey shoved a lock of hair off her face in a feminine motion he’d find sexy as hell if not for the irritating holier-than-thou attitude clinging to her rigid control. “Isn’t there enough violence to report without having to manufacture more? Trouble seems to follow you, Walker.”

  Riley’s insides clenched at an obvious reference to his problematic history...and Detroit. So what if he had a rocky background? He never proclaimed himself a saint. Far from it.

  And Detroit was none of her business.

  He’d seen that closed expression too many times on others unwilling to hear the truth or taking his silence as an admission of guilt, like when he’d been threatened with jail time for defending himself as a teen. Jasper had stepped in and offered to take Riley into his home.

  Riley had faced plenty of prejudiced you’re-an-asshole looks over the years and answered every one with the patent stick-it-where-the-sun-don’t-shine smile he broke out now.

  “Thanks for the quote, Investigator Massey.” He nodded at Biddy who sidled up to him with his camera running. “This will play far better than that dribble the DA had printed up.”

  “What quote?” Massey stilled. Her confident mask flickered with confusion.

  “I couldn’t agree more about the violence in the city,” Riley
continued. “If the mayor paid less attention to opinion polls and tourism, maybe Philly PD could get enough financial support to do something about nightly murders in low-income areas. Of course, that would involve showing a sliver of interest in what happens to women like Sally Stanton – ”

  “The Stanton case is being reviewed.”

  “ – and not brushing off her death as domestic violence when she was killed in one place and her body moved to Judge Berringer’s front yard. Want to comment on that?”

  The investigator kept her chin tilted up and her voice neutral, acting unaffected by his assertion. “The details of this case are not open for discussion.”

  “Maybe this case should be open for discussion.” Riley should be more worried about the story and finding out if this mess with Henry was going to affect his contract, but all he could see in his mind right now was Sally’s dead eyes stuck wide open in terror. “Maybe the mayor should show as much interest in the crime rate as Philly’s tourism.”

  Massey’s fingers made indentions in the files she held. “The mayor is concerned about any loss of life, but he’s also dealing with the highest unemployment rate in this city’s history. Bringing jobs to Philadelphia is critical to those out of work. Just because you can pull a job out of your hat anytime you want – regardless of how you performed at your last position – doesn’t mean the average citizen has that luxury.”

  Riley bit down on the retort he wanted to fling, determined to keep his temper locked tight until he got out of here. He tried to glare her into silence.

  Didn’t work.

  She continued her canned statements in that same righteous tone. “As for the Stanton killing, we give every case equal treatment – ”

  That lit up his bullshit meter.

  “Be serious.” Riley shouldn’t care, not about a woman he didn’t know or a city he’d held no attachment to three months ago, but since returning he’d been amazed at how much the police accomplished with antiquated equipment and a dismal budget. “Sally Stanton was murdered and dumped on a judge’s lawn.” He shook the paper. “Not a word about investigating that in this joke you call a press release. What about Judge Berringer? What’s his connection?”