Devils Among Us (Devin Dushane Series Book 1) Read online

  Marcy didn’t allow her to finish. “Devin is family to me, and she was family to Greg. She belongs with us.” Tiny little Marcy lifted her chin and set her shoulders as if a force of nature couldn’t move her.

  Mrs. Lumas turned on her heel and walked back toward the group, whispering fierce objections to her sons. She was the matriarch of a large Irish family that had been sending its sons into the police force for generations. Sons. Never daughters. Mrs. Lumas had never liked Devin; she felt it wasn’t safe for Greg to be partnered with a woman, and she clearly held Devin responsible for her son’s death.

  And she’s probably right, Devin thought grimly, but she pushed that thought away. Now was not the time.

  Marcy tucked her arm through Devin’s and turned her huge eyes upward to look her in the eye. Her severe black dress made her eyes an even more vivid purple than normal. “You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.” She whispered.

  Devin knew that was the truth, but it didn’t mean she was where she wanted to be. Especially when she felt the pitying eyes of the mourners upon her as she and Marcy made their way up the aisle. Instead of being tucked away in the darkest back corner, Devin was up front and center. She could have reached out and touched Greg’s casket if she wanted to. She didn’t want to. Instead she concentrated on maintaining a peaceful, bereaved expression while taking her mind as far away as possible.

  As the mass droned on, she flipped through mental images of her childhood in inner-city Richmond. Devin thought about her family’s numerous moves to new apartments, which had also meant new schools in hopes of finding “something a little better.” Buying red, white and blue sno cones at the park by the river on the 4th of July for a quarter, but not buying too many, so they’d have enough money to buy sparklers off the older kids. Studying martial arts with Master Chan in the rickety room above his granddaughter’s Asian grocery story until the plaster dust started falling on the customers and they had to move to the Y. Those were benign pieces of her past she could stand to examine. She didn’t think of her father, and she certainly didn’t think about Greg.

  After the services at the cemetery, there was a reception in the back room of Luigi’s, Greg’s favorite Italian restaurant. It was where he proposed to Marcy and where all the detectives normally celebrated when they broke a big case. Devin was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. Few mourners approached her, which suited her fine. She didn’t want their condolences; they should reserve those sentiments for Marcy. Greg’s mother held court in the center of the room, shooting haughty glares at Devin whenever she could. All of Greg’s coworkers and friends swarmed around Marcy, providing a protective barrier against any of Mrs. Lumas’ unpleasantness.

  “Devin, don’t you want a whiskey? We’re about to do a round of toasts to Greg’s memory.” Alex Denton said. He was another detective in their precinct. He and his partner, Leon, had frequently worked with Devin and Greg, and they’d played a major part in this last operation.

  Devin sighed and pushed off the wall “I’ll take a soda.”

  He frowned and leaned in to whisper, “Can’t you make an exception? Everyone is having Irish whiskey. Mrs. Lumas is insisting on the tradition.”

  Devin cocked an eyebrow at him and smirked. “As if drinking whiskey of any origin would make that woman like me. I’m not making an exception, and Greg wouldn’t have wanted me to.”

  Alex gave up and went to find her a soda. Devin very rarely drank. Her father had spent the last thirty-five years drowning in a bottle, and from the time she was very small Devin had witnessed the devastation alcohol could cause. It was obvious the potential was in her DNA, and she didn’t want to tempt fate by indulging in liquor. So on rare occasions she made an exception, one which had landed her in a casino wedding chapel, but mixing whiskey and grief did not seem like a smart combination. After many rounds of toasts, the group began to break up. They’d toasted to Greg’s joy for life, his dedication to his family, and his loyal friendship. Devin had toasted to his protection of the innocent, his unfailing search for truth and justice, and always having her back—which drew an angry huff from Mrs. Lumas. It was then that Captain Morris pulled her aside.

  “Captain, I know you need my report,” Devin said. “I’ll be in tomorrow to get everything wrapped up.”

  He looked at the floor, not wanting to make eye contact. “I’m not worried about your report. Tomorrow will be fine. I just wanted to discuss your leave.”

  “My leave? I know I’ll need to work a desk until my stitches come out, but I wasn’t planning on taking any more days off.” She hadn’t been in to the precinct since she had been stabbed but knew she had to face Greg’s empty desk and clean his locker out for Marcy.

  “You know for this type of incident the department requires a one month leave and a psych evaluation, and there are extenuating circumstances here.” Not only was Captain Morris not meeting her eyes, but he looked like the collar of his shirt was suddenly two sizes too small. Devin knew he wasn’t giving her the whole story, but she couldn’t tell what he was holding back.

  “The ‘extenuating circumstances’ are exactly why I can’t take a month off. You’re already down a detective. Alex and Leon won’t be able to cover the whole case load, and I need to get back in there. I didn’t really think you’d enforce the leave. Surely you can bend the rules just a little and overlook the one-month requirement. The press is writing our department up as heroes.” In truth, she was the one the press was calling a hero, but she didn’t like that kind of attention.

  Captain Morris was beet red by this point, and his eyes were wild. Delicate conversations had never been his forte. He knew Devin would react badly, so he pulled the band-aid off quickly and burst out the news. “Devin, it’s not a month. It’s a mandatory three-month leave, and my hands are absolutely tied, so there’s no sense in getting worked up here.” His words were laughable, considering he was the one that looked like he was going to drop dead of a heart attack any moment.

  “Three months! Are you out of your ever-lovin’ mind? What the hell am I supposed to do for that long? I was stabbed, not run over by a Mack truck!” Devin looked the exact opposite of the Captain—when she was angry, her sun-kissed skin paled to its natural porcelain coloring, and her chocolate eyes turned black and ice cold with her fury.

  Several officers from their precinct were eyeing the two speculatively, as if they all knew what the conversation was about and they had wagers on just how ballistic Devin would go. She wondered briefly what kind of show they were expecting. Leon probably expects something showy like throwing a chair thru the window and he wouldn’t think I would carry a weapon at a funeral. That’s where Alex knows me better, she could just hear him now. “Are you kidding? This is Devin, church or not, she’s carrying a gun.”

  Now that everything was out in the open, Captain Morris let the details pour forth. “One-month is required leave for an injury like yours sustained in the line of duty. There’s another required for losing your partner in this manner, and the psych evaluations that go along with it . . .” He lost his momentum and faltered before telling her the rest.

  Like her demeanor, Devin’s voice was icy and hard when she spoke. “What about the third month?” She could already sense she was not going to like his answer.

  The captain sighed in defeat and met her eyes once again. “Internal Affairs needs the extra month to complete their investigation.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Investigation of what exactly?” she hissed out.

  “They’re investigating you for alleged excessive force in the death of Ronald Turnsby and reckless endangerment of your fellow officers.”

  The James River Killer had turned out to be named Ronald Turnsby, a mild-mannered software developer who’d spent his days quietly designing foreign language educational software in his cubicle that overlooked the James River and the meandering jogging trail that accompanied it.

  “Use . . . of . . . excessive . . . force?” Her voi
ce was tight as she tried to control her fury, but with each word, her voice climbed higher in both pitch and volume. “I was severely wounded and unarmed. What did they want me to do, tap him on the shoulder and ask him politely to stop shooting the nice policemen? This is crap, and you know it!” She punctuated her tirade by hurling her empty drink glass at the back wall. If anyone hadn’t heard the shouting, they surely heard the explosion of glass.

  “Yes, Devin, I do know it’s crap, but that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t interfere with an IAB investigation. You’re not exactly on their Christmas card list as it is, so you’re just going to have to suck it up and wait this thing out.” It was no secret that Internal Affairs considered her volatile and a risk to the department. They were looking for any opportunity to bounce her into civilian life.

  “It’ll be unpaid leave until IAB finishes their investigation. I’m so sorry, kid.” He left the rest unsaid—that it would a permanent unpaid leave if they found her guilty.

  She dropped her voice and spoke under her breath. “I don’t care about the money. This is just their opportunity to vilify me more than the killer and convince everyone in the department that I’m responsible for Greg’s death.”

  “The Mayor’s office loves the positive press right now. They’ll be on your side, and that carries a lot of power. You just need to sit tight and ride it out. Rest, take a vacation. Lord knows it’s been years since you’ve taken time off.”

  Chapter 3

  After the reception, Devin drove Marcy home and settled her in with her sister, who’d flown in from Chicago for the funeral. After getting Marcy’s assurance that there was nothing else she needed and that she would call tonight if she couldn’t sleep, Devin headed home. Her apartment was in a refurbished textile mill that dated from the 1920s and was located in the trendy downtown area near the river, two blocks off Broad Street.

  She loved the character of the exposed beams and huge gothic windows that over looked the tree-lined street, though this month, she’d disdained its lack of air conditioning. As the heavy steel door closed behind her, she automatically turned the locks and then leaned against the aged brick wall of her entry way. What was she going to do with herself for the evening? Let alone for three months. As she gazed around her living room, her eyes fell upon her gym bag. That was exactly what she needed—to sweat it out. She propelled herself off the wall and across the room. It wasn’t until she was leaning over to grab the bag that she saw her running shoes peeking out, still splattered with blood. They served as a viscous reality check. With her injuries, both physical and mental, she couldn’t possibly work out.

  A cold beer sounded better and better. Fortunately, she didn’t keep alcohol on hand, but she did have a fresh pint of Ben and Jerry’s in the freezer, and that would do nicely. After changing into a tank top and her favorite comfy basketball shorts, she was headed to the freezer when the phone rang. Her instinct was to ignore it. Marcy was with her sister, and her father hadn’t called in ten years. Was there anyone else she really wanted to talk to? As always, her responsible side won out, and she grabbed the cordless phone.

  “Dushane.” Home or working, her phone greeting was always the same, short and to the point.

  “Hey, Baby Girl.”

  Devin smiled despite herself, it was always good to hear from Carter, even if he was her ex-husband.

  “Your timing is perfect. You just saved me from devouring an entire container of ice cream.”

  “Drowning yourself in cookie dough? That’s never a good sign. I guess the rumors are true that you’ve become a human pin cushion for the Richmond PD?” Carter was the only person that could make her laugh no matter how serious the circumstances.

  “For your information, it was a hunting knife, not a pin, and they’re not rumors; it’s bona fide news headlines around here.”

  “I guess that’s why Mama has worked herself into a frenzy going on about how Devin was attacked in the street by a serial killer.” He was trying to keep it light, but she could hear the tension and worry in his voice.

  “Crap. I’m sorry, Carter I should have called your mom. I’m so used to not talking to my parents. It never occurred to me to call her during all the excitement. I’ll call her as soon as we hang up.” Mama Dushane had been like a second mother to Devin since they were in high school.

  “You’d better. She’s beside herself. You know, you might have called me, too. I’d like to know when my wife is nearly murdered in the line of duty.”

  “Ex-wife, Carter. For seven years now. When are you going to stop calling me that?” She tried to sound stern, but it was impossible to be angry at a giant walking talking teddy bear.

  “If you’d just marry me again, we wouldn’t have to have this conversation over and over again, and I’d know that you were safe.” His tone became serious for once. “Are you ok?”

  “I’m fine. The excellent docs at St. Mary’s have me all patched up. And you know you couldn’t give up all your little fans and groupies to settle down with one woman.” She was teasing, but finding out about his affairs and not being hurt by that knowledge had told her their marriage was over. They were meant to be friends, not lovers.

  “I’ll convince you one day.” Though he wasn’t there to see it, she rolled her eyes. He was persistent; she’d give him that. “Mama said somebody was killed. What happened?”

  Devin went through the details for only the hundredth time, but she didn’t mind; Carter and his family were the only real family she had. He was appropriately outraged on her behalf by the IAB investigation, he grieved with her over the loss of her partner, and he had unwavering faith that she’d done what was right and necessary.

  “What am I going to do for three months? I’m going to lose my mind!”

  “Devin don’t worry about it; I’ll send you extra alimony.” Carter’s first instinct was always to take care of Devin, it had been that way since they were in high school and she’d been the only white girl in a three-block radius.

  “Carter, I’m fine. I don’t need any extra money, and you send too much as it is. I just don’t know what I’m going to do with myself. Sit around for three months reliving the whole incident, blow by blow? I will literally drive myself insane. You might as well ship me off to Western State with Grandma Bennett.” Devin’s grandmother on her father’s side had been in Western State Mental Hospital in Staunton, Virginia, for almost ten years before she died.

  “You could come to LA and see me. See the sights, get a tan, slip off to Vegas…” He paused to emphasize the possibilities. “And you could see Tucker while you’re here.” Devin’s baby brother Tucker had been in LA for a few years trying to be a musician, but mostly he was getting busted for petty crimes and drug charges.

  “Uh…no. You’re not getting me anywhere near another casino wedding chapel. That’s all I need—turn this disaster into a catastrophe.”

  Carter pretended to be grievously insulted but couldn’t pull it off without laughing. “Have you seen Tucker recently?” Devin asked. Carter tried to keep tabs on her brother whenever he could and usually had a better idea of where her kid brother was then she did.

  “It’s been about two months. I took him to lunch and told him to call you, but I haven’t seen him since.” He couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice; Tucker had always been a thorn in Devin’s side and had caused her a lot of heartache. She’d essentially raised him after their mother had died, even though she was just a teenager herself and had never been able to keep him out of trouble

  Devin knew better than to ask how much money Carter had given Tucker this time. He wouldn’t let her pay him back and she just worried what Tucker was spending it on.

  “What have you always wanted to do but never have the time for?” Carter asked. “Travel, hobbies, a project? You could go backpacking through South America, grow herbs, take a pottery class, or write poetry, hell, I don’t know!”

  Devin laughed until she cried at his little outburst.
It was a full minute before she could breathe enough to wipe away the tears and choke out an answer. “I was suspended; I didn’t turn into a hippie! Poetry and pottery! Really? Do you want me to start making my own organic granola and weaving blankets from alpaca wool, too?” She doubled over in a fresh fit of howls.

  “Haha, okay, maybe I didn’t think that through. I just meant, what do you never have time for? If there were more hours in the day what would you do?”

  Devin didn’t even hesitate. “That’s easy. If there were more hours in the day I’d work on more cases.”

  “Well, what cases could you work on now? Could you work for a PI?”

  “Ew, no. That’s for retired cops. It would be like you going to play ball in Spain right now.” That was an analogy he could understand. If you loved the sport, you played anywhere you could, but if you wanted a career, you had to be in the NBA.

  “Oooh, I got it!” His voice danced like a little a kid who’d just figured out their Christmas present. “What about looking into your aunt’s murder? You’ve always said you wanted to find out what really happened. Now’s your opportunity. You’ve got plenty of time to dig through everything and do your own investigation.” Carter knew how deep the obsession of her aunt’s murder ran. It had been a tragic turning point for her entire family.

  Devin gave him a most unladylike snort. “I meant I’d look into it when I was an FBI agent, not as a ‘what I did on summer vacation’ project.” She began eyeing her freezer again; the Ben and Jerry’s was calling her name.

  “Why not?” Carter demanded. “Are you planning some exotic vacation I’m not aware of? Tossing back margaritas on a beach in Mexico or sightseeing in Paris? Devin, you don’t know how to vacation. You have to be busy solving crimes, saving lives, doing your whole Wonder Woman thing. Why not do this for you and your family? Give me one good reason.” It wasn’t very often he lectured her, but when he did, he was usually dead on.