Symphony of Bones by L.T. Ryan (most romantic novels .TXT) 📗

features?” Mannis asked. “Did you see his face? His hair? Any tattoos or scars?”

Cassie shook her head, but she did them the justice of closing her eyes and exploring the images that were forever seared into her brain. “The shooter was wearing a dark coat. It was like I was inside him, seeing everything from his perspective. I couldn’t see his face, just his arm, his hand, and the gun.”

“Was there anything in the background that might identify this person?”

“No.” Cassie opened her eyes. “Sorry. No reflections or logos or cars. Just the alleyway where you found him.”

“That’s okay. Thank you for doing that.” Viotto turned to Mannis. “What’s your take?”

Mannis had the wherewithal to shoot her an apologetic look. “I like you, Ms. Quinn, even though I have a lot of trouble believing what’s in that file. But I know a lot of the people who’ve signed their name next to yours. They’re professionals. Hardened agents. They don’t take their jobs lightly, and neither do I. I can’t pretend to understand what you do or how it works, but at the very least, I’m choosing to believe it means we have more work to do before we wrap this case up.”

Cassie turned to Viotto. “And you?”

“I don’t understand it either, but I believe what you’re saying is true. This hasn’t sat right with me since Detective Davenport arrested Mr. Lewis.”

“It all happened so fast.” Cassie shook her head. “You’d think someone who’d just killed another person would at least be trying to lie low.”

“That’s part of it.” Viotto looked at Mannis before he spoke again. When his partner gave him a curt nod, the younger agent continued. “The other part is that Mr. Lewis is adamant the police confiscated that gun months ago.”

“The gun used to kill Connor?”

“The same.” Viotto shrugged. “There’s a record of Lewis being brought into the station, of local authorities taking some weed off of him and letting him go in exchange for some information, but no record of them taking a gun off him. And there are no weapons registered in his name.”

“He is a convicted felon,” Mannis added, “so he wouldn’t be able to purchase a gun legally. Although, that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t find a way around that.”

“So, he’s lying?” Cassie asked.

“I don’t think so.” Mannis sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “But there’s no way to prove otherwise.”

Cassie’s detective brain was kicking into high-gear now. “Is there any reason they would take his gun and not make note of it?”

“Only if they’re terrible at their jobs.”

Some officers were, but Cassie wouldn’t say that out loud. “Would they really have taken his gun and not arrested him in exchange for information?”

“Depends on the information.” Mannis checked the file. “Lewis had some insight into a pretty big shipment of drugs that was about to change hands. It all depends on whether the locals cared more about that than nailing him to the wall.”

“Ms. Quinn,” Viotto said, leaning forward, “we would appreciate your insight into this case. I’ve read that it works best when you’re able to touch or be in close proximity to the evidence?”

“That’s correct.”

“Would you be interested in helping us? I wouldn’t want to take you away from your family.”

Cassie had promised herself she’d hear what the agents had to say, that she’d tell them what she knew and be on her way. She wasn’t ready to leave the case behind, and she could tell herself it was because she knew she’d be able to help them further, but the truth was she didn’t want to go home and face her family just yet.

“It’s no problem.” She smiled at the two agents. “What’s the next step?”

Viotto clapped his hands and stood up. “Let’s go introduce you to Detective Davenport.”

26

Mannis led them to Detective Davenport’s office. It was a short sixty-second walk, but the unfamiliar station meant Cassie couldn’t remember which way was out by the time they reached his closed door. The older agent paused with his knuckle raised to knock.

“Any questions before we go in there?”

“What kind of person is he?”

Mannis shrugged. “He won’t take you seriously. It’s not personal. He’s got an ego, but he puts in the work. Can’t say I like him, but can’t say I don’t respect him, either.”

“He sounds charming.” She squared her shoulders. “But nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

Mannis nodded and knocked. When a voice called from inside, he pushed through the door and made room for the other two to step in behind him. Cassie closed the door behind them, giving herself a few seconds before she had to bear the detective’s scrutiny.

The office had no bells and whistles. Davenport’s desk and chairs were standard-issue. The walls had no decorations, and there were no photos of his family anywhere in the room. Stacks of papers and empty coffee mugs littered his desk. Cassie thought she could smell the faintest trace of cigarettes in the air.

Davenport looked up. He was around Mannis’ age, but life had been crueler to him. Wrinkles lined his face; his eyes were dark and cold, and his stubble did not appear to be intentional. The bags under his eyes looked like bruises.

“What can I do for you, gentleman? I’m on a time crunch here.” His drawl was light, like he had maybe grown up elsewhere. He spotted Cassie. “And who’s your friend?”

Mannis took the lead. “This is Cassie Quinn. She’s a consultant for the FBI.”

“Oh yeah? What kind of consultant?” He returned to his paperwork. “Do you study the bugs that come crawling out of people’s mouths? Sorry, but Grayson didn’t have any. We found him too fast. I’m afraid you’ve wasted your trip.” He waved her off without even looking up. “Bug people. I’d rather just put in the legwork.”

“No, I don’t study bugs that come crawling out of people’s mouths.”

“Then what is it you do, Ms. Quinn?” The exasperation in his voice was not well-concealed.

“I’m a psychic.”

Cassie swore the entire room froze.