satin and silk, their hair upswept, their makeup sparkling. A quinceañera, Anise thought with distraction. The teens forced Kenneth and Anise apart for a moment before he found her again and took her elbow, laughing as he did so. “What a crowd…”
“Listen, Kenneth, while you were in the restroom, your phone rang. You said you were expecting a call and I thought it might be Brittany so I answered it, but maybe I shouldn’t have….” She handed him his phone then hesitated. She didn’t even know how to explain.
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know.” She licked her lips and relayed the conversation. “Whoever it was was very upset.”
To her surprise, he blew it off. “I’ve got an unhappy client. She hasn’t paid her taxes in four years and she refuses to understand why I can’t get the IRS off her back,” he explained. “It’s not important. She calls me all the time and threatens to do stuff.”
“She sounded serious this time.”
“She is,” he grinned.
“Aren’t you worried?”
“She’ll get over it.” He paused and gave her a rueful smile. “It’s not like she’s getting a divorce or something.”
“Oh, Kenneth…” Anise rolled her eyes at his drama. “You’re going to be fine. In fact, you’ll be better off without me. Let’s just say goodbye—”
He put a finger against her lips, his eyes turning dark, the noise of the people around them fading as they stared at each other. “Don’t say it, Anise. Please… I don’t think I can handle it if you say goodbye.”
His plea stunned her. He sounded genuine.
“Just let me kiss you, okay? Let’s leave it at that. I won’t ask you for anything else, I promise.”
Without waiting for her answer, he pulled her to him, his embrace as warm as it’d ever been, the scent of his aftershave bringing with it memories she didn’t want. Their lips met just as a crack rang out.
A second later, Kenneth slumped against her. Puzzled by his actions, Anise struggled to stay upright but he weighed too much and they both went down, Anise crying out as she hit the sidewalk, her ankle twisting beneath her at an awkward angle.
She didn’t understand what had happened until she saw the blood.
DANIEL BISHOP STEPPED through the front door of his two-bedroom apartment just as the phone on his belt began to ring. One of the rookies had slipped a bright red plastic cover on it the day before and Bishop couldn’t peel the damned thing off. It looked like a phone a working girl would carry, but for the time being he was stuck. He yanked the phone off his belt, stared at the display, then cursed as he read the number. But he answered it.
“Bishop.”
“We got a body downtown, corner of Smith and Rusk streets.” Rudy Castillo sounded bored. “White male, DOA, name of Kenneth Capanna. He was an attorney so don’t screw anything up. The uniforms are waiting. Wits on site.”
The cop shop was so close his captain could have jumped out his window and landed in the intersection he’d just named but Bishop didn’t point that out. Investigators who did things like that ended up getting even more calls. “I’m on my way.” He pivoted then found his progress blocked by Blanco, his eighty-five-pound yellow Labrador.
“I’m sorry, buddy.” Bishop bent over and stroked the animal’s head. “I got a dead lawyer off Smith. I’ll call Brenda for you, okay?”
The dog seemed to sigh, which Bishop took as an exasperated okay. Opening his front door, Bishop called the girl down the street who walked the dog when Bishop couldn’t. She agreed to take him out as Bishop climbed back inside his Crown Vic. The seat was still hot as he started the engine. It was May in Houston. Everything was hot. The city had already had more murders than it had had by the middle of last year and there didn’t appear to be an end in sight. Every HPD cop Bishop knew had more cases than he could handle.
He put the car in gear and headed out. Twenty minutes later he reached downtown, lights from half a dozen cop cars bouncing off the offices and restaurants and bars that lined the busy area. Parking as close as he could, Bishop flashed his gold badge at the uniforms guarding the perimeter. They lifted the tape and let him in. The jagged gasps of a crying woman cut through the warm night air. She sounded out of control and he winced.
“Who’s bawling?”
Jackie Hunter lifted her head as Bishop spoke, one camera in her hand, two more strung around her neck. She snapped another picture of the body stretched out on the sidewalk then answered. “One of the waitresses is grief-stricken. Apparently they got real close when she took his drink order.” The crime scene tech used one of her cameras to point south of where they stood “That’s the widow.”
A fancy upholstered chair had been hauled out of the restaurant and set in front of the valet’s stand. Between the milling cops and frightened witnesses, the woman who occupied it looked as incongruent as the chair itself. Ivory skin, auburn hair, an ethereal air… Except for the splash of red that stained her white jacket. She should have been in a church, Bishop thought unexpectedly, frozen over the altar, her hands crossed over her chest. He’d never seen anyone sit so still. Especially at a murder scene.
When their husband was dead on the ground ten feet away.
He filed away the image for future examination. “Who was the responding?”
Hunter flapped a hand toward a group of uniformed officers huddled beside the curb. One of them lifted his head at the movement and peeled away from the others to come toward them. He was a rookie named Carter and he did good work. Shaking Bishop’s hand, the cop briefed him quickly.
“Witnesses?” Bishop asked when he finished.
“Too many to count,” Carter said. “But none of them saw a thing.”
“Drive-by?”
“No one noticed a car. Lot of folks milling around, though. Shooter could have disappeared in the crowd and no one would have caught it.”
Bishop glanced at the high-rises around them. “You checked out those offices?”
“Doing it right now.”
They went over a few more details then Bishop nodded toward the redheaded woman. “I understand that’s the widow.”
Flipping through the small notebook he’d been consulting, the younger cop read from his notes. “Anise Borden. Self-employed. 6789 Seventeenth Avenue.”
“I thought you said they were married.”
He looked up from his notes. “They are…or were, I guess I should say. But she uses her name. She’s some kinda artist.”
“What else?”
“That’s it.” Carter dropped his voice. “I took a statement from her but maybe you can make more headway. It was ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and not much else. She couldn’t have plugged the guy herself since she was standing right beside him but she’s an icicle.”
“Is
