by Vanessa Skye
But if masochism wasn’t something you voluntarily signed up for . . .
She felt sick wondering how many of her colleagues had ended up screaming for mercy in his room.
She crossed her arms and smiled. “You give me the warrant and I’ll keep your sick little secrets,” Berg replied. “Consider that your fucking incentive.”
He looked momentarily taken aback at her threat before he was able to pull the self-righteous mask back in place. “You have as much to lose as I do. Try again, detective.”
“Please. Don’t kid yourself. I’m only a female detective. You’re a bigwig Chicago judge with an excellent reputation and designs on a seat on the Supreme Court. You have far more to lose than I do, and you know it. Everyone has already heard the rumors that I’m a whore, but what would they say if they knew about your proclivities? The rape. The mere accusation? If I go public with what you did to me, how many more women do you think will come forward to tell their stories?”
He pursed his lips in annoyance. “Fine,” he spat. “I’ll sign it. But you better pray to whatever god it is you worship that you find something incriminating. And I don’t want you darkening my door ever again. Find someone else to exorcise your demons, you slut.”
He signed the paper Berg thrust at him with a flourish, pushed her out of his house, and slammed the door in her face.
Berg and Arena knocked on the door of the three-bedroom Evergreen Park home early the next morning, a swarm of patrol officers behind them ready and waiting.
The house was big—at least twice the size of the cozy family home Elizabeth and Emma had grown up in. And while it was almost perfectly parallel and only three miles west of her parents’ Pullman house, they were worlds apart.
Where the Youngs’ modest family home had been worn but loved, Elizabeth’s new brick house was shiny with fresh renovations—much like the woman herself. The glossy white door and shutters were spotless, the front lawn lush and green with fresh spring growth, and a window box with colorful flowers sat in all its bright glory below the second story double window.
It was an idyllic façade for the monster it housed.
“Detectives!” The monster herself practically squealed as she opened the heavy wooden door. She actually managed to look pleased to see them. “How can I help you?”
She was calm and unruffled in her brand-name-emblazoned workout gear and perfectly tied long, blond ponytail and despite spying the group of uniforms behind them.
Are those hair extensions?
“We have a warrant to search the premises and seize any personal computers and electronic communication devices for analysis,” Berg said and thrust the paper in Elizabeth’s face. “Step aside.”
Elizabeth snatched the warrant, scanned it, and smiled. “I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding, but of course, please come in.”
Berg had half expected Elizabeth to dial the lover she was blackmailing, but she made no move to do so, instead stepping back and allowing the team to enter unimpeded. For the first time, Berg felt doubt over her suspicions.
The warrant only covered the home—not even the judge had been prepared to try and seize the property of a law firm. Berg knew, however, that Elizabeth had moved all her belongings from the old house months ago. The computer that had been in Elizabeth’s old room had to be here.
They all stepped inside.
Berg noted the new paint on the walls and the smell of freshly laid carpet. Not a speck of dust settled anywhere—surfaces gleamed and a vase of flowers sat on the hallway side table next to a spotless bowl of shining keys.
Berg led two officers to what she assumed was Elizabeth’s study at the end of the short, carpeted hallway where they unplugged the shiny new state-of-the-art computer. The wireless keyboard, mouse, and portable backup drive were boxed as well to make the trip to CPD’s IT department for analysis by forensic computer technicians.
“No, that’s not it. Look around for an older one,” she said, checking in the storage cupboard for the old PC that she had first spied in the Youngs’ house—the twin to Emma’s older system.
“I think you’ll find that one’s scrap now,” Elizabeth said from behind her.
Berg whipped around.
“I sent it to the recycling plant several weeks ago. It was old and not very reliable.”
Berg’s heart sank.
“I’m not sure what you thought you’d find, but I can assure you that you won’t.” Elizabeth smiled easily and waved the paper in her hand. “I’ll also be checking the validity of this warrant—so I do hope it was obtained with probable cause.”
The threat was clear and Berg sighed. This had been her only chance, her one shot, and she had blown it—big time.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help, but if you could wrap it up. I have to get to the hospital. As of three hours ago, I have a new baby niece,” Elizabeth said with all the warmth of a reptile.
Berg nodded and went back to rummaging through Elizabeth’s desk, knowing all the while she wouldn’t find a damned thing.
Berg watched the tiny red hand flailing around in the incubator and wondered if her baby’s fingers looked the same, only smaller.
Elizabeth had visited the hospital for a few moments before citing a television interview she had to get to, leaving Berg with Marilyn and Alex. They all crowded around the incubator gazing at the new life inside.
She didn’t know if it was pregnancy hormones swirling around her brain or some kind of latent maternal instinct, but she felt a fierce affinity to the tiny baby and hoped she would survive.
“The baby’s strong,” Alex said, perhaps recognizing the hope on Berg’s face—a hope he shared. “Little Emma Alexandra Young,” he cooed proudly, as if he was the father.
Berg wondered if anyone had bothered to tell Tim Hudson. Probably about as much as they had bothered to consult him about his daughter’s name, if she had to guess. She made a mental note to call him before he found out on the news.
“If she keeps her oxygen levels up, she will only be in the incubator for seventy-two more hours and home with us the week after that!” Alex was beaming.
“That’s great,” Berg said, staring at the tiny, wriggling baby and wondering where home was. “What about her mother?”
Alex didn’t even drag his eyes away from the baby to answer. “Her funeral is on Friday,” he replied, as though he was talking about a distant relative and not the adored daughter who had just given birth and then had her life support unceremoniously switched off.
Berg doubted he had even held her hand as she died, or said goodbye. It was as if all the love Alex felt for Emma had been transferred to her baby. Berg was willing to bet, when it came to Elizabeth, the sociopathic apple with narcissistic personality disorder had not fallen far from the utterly insane tree.
Marilyn, who offered no more substance to the room than a shadow, was sobbing softly in the corner.
Alex shot her a look of irritation. “This is a happy time. A happy time!” he said to her before turning back to baby Emma. “So, Alicia, Elizabeth told me you served her with a warrant today and took her computer?”
“Yes,” Berg said.
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“No, we don’t,” Alex said firmly.
“Alex, please.” Berg knew she was begging at this point, but she was tired of the denials and the game playing and only had one option left—she had to get one of Elizabeth’s parents to give her up. “Look at me.”
He dragged his eyes away from the baby and fixed his vacant, blue-eyed stare on Berg.
“You know what happened in your house. You know what Emma had to deal with as she grew up at the hands of your other daughter. I don’t think her death is all it seems to be. Help me find out, please.”
“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alex said. “The girls had a beautiful childhood and they were great friends. Our family is perfect. Everyone knows this.” He turned back to th
e baby. “Her death was a terrible crime at the hands of a sick individual who is now dead. That’s all there is to it.”
“Please!” Berg tried to reestablish eye contact with Alex and, realizing the futility short of lying underneath baby Emma, turned toward Marilyn. “You’re going to be taking this baby home soon. Don’t you want to make sure it’s safe for her?”
To her credit, Marilyn looked stricken at the comment. She stepped forward to speak, but her husband, catching the movement, silenced her with a single, cold glare.
Over the prior months, Berg had heard the woman’s voice only a handful of times and felt dreadfully sorry for her. She decided to try and get her alone some time, but apart from going to the bathroom, she doubted Alex ever let her out of his sight.
“Of course it’s safe,” he replied stiffly. “She’s in a loving home with loving parents and a loving aunt, and I won’t hear another word to the contrary. You’ve been like a family member to us, Alicia, over the past five months. If you continue down this path, we will have no choice but to cut you off, and anyone supplying you with such malicious information can expect to be cut out of our lives, too.”
The threat was clearly leveled at Hudson, and Berg was glad he wasn’t there to hear it.
“From this moment on, leave Lizzy alone. She’s done nothing wrong. She’s a big celebrity now. Why don’t you take some time to clear your head and get some perspective? I would request that you not attend the funeral on Friday,” he said, going back to his adoration of tiny little Emma.
Berg sighed and left.
It was clear that he didn’t want to face anything that questioned the decisions he had made as a father, and now, as a grandfather.
Berg wondered if people living in denial—those who outright refused to see problems so obvious to everyone else—were actually happy or if their happiness was just as pretend as the rest of their lives.
Fuck knows denial never worked for me.
She left the NICU and followed the signs down to the hospital’s morgue. She flashed her badge at the attendant and asked to see Emma Young’s body.
He directed her to one of the stainless steel tables.
Emma was lying prone on the cold, hard surface, her skin was folded back like a pale leather jacket, and her body cavity gaped open like a bloody cave.
“What’s happening?” Berg asked, alarmed that an autopsy had been deemed necessary.
“Her sister signed the order to donate her organs. She had power of attorney over medical decisions,” the attendant said, shrugging. “They were harvested as soon as the baby was out.”
“Of course she did,” Berg whispered.
While she was a big fan of organ donation, she knew Elizabeth hadn’t donated her sister’s organs out of altruism—it was another way to make her sister worthless in the eyes of her family.
She wondered for a moment if Elizabeth had ordered her sister be raped, or if Buchanan had done that of his own volition.
Ignoring the gore, she looked down at Emma’s pale face. The wounds from the attack had healed, but Berg could still see the scars from the numerous brain surgeries across her scalp where her hair had not grown back. Her face was also scarred and slightly misshapen, but her beauty remained evident, even in death.
“I’m sorry,” Berg whispered. “I’m sorry about your family, and I’m sorry about your murder. Most of all, I’m sorry that I can’t seem to find a way to make your sister pay for what she did to you.” Berg dragged in a deep, shaky breath. “But I promise that I will make sure your baby is safe. I swear it.” Berg covered Emma’s face and body respectfully with a nearby white sheet.
Chapter Thirty
I don’t mean to make you cry,
but this feeling will run right through the night.
And I’ll only make you cry with these feelings.
–Silverchair, “Across the Night”
“We’ve got problems,” Jay said before Berg even had a chance to sit down in the hard wooden chair in front of his desk.
Berg nodded but didn’t respond, filing the comment in the ‘well, duh’ section of her brain. She had known there would be repercussions from the spurious search warrant that had officially yielded nothing.
The computer itself had been a dead end. The technicians had gone over its hard drive, as well as her phone and cell records, going back several months prior to the attack on Emma and found nothing linking her to Buchanan or any evidence of online gaming anywhere. She hadn’t so much as looked up porn or illegally downloaded music. Techs had also taken the computer’s IP address and supplied it to the Realm of Blood legal department in the hopes that it could be matched to a player or any communications at all within the game, but they had yet to hear back.
Jay sighed. “I’ve heard Consiglio’s trying to make a move back into active duty.”
Berg sat back abruptly. She had expected trouble, but this was a complete surprise. “How?”
“Not sure, but McClymont gave me a heads up that he’s sniffing around, looking for a big investigative break to make his case to the brass about reinstating him as chief of detectives. Carla mentioned it months ago, but when I didn’t hear anything . . .” He shrugged. “Anyway, thank God you got that confession from Feeny’s shooter or he’d have been in here demanding our jobs. Of course, that warrant’s another matter. I’m trying to keep it on the down low.”
“Fuck.”
McClymont was the CPD’s superintendent and a long-time family friend of the O’Loughlins. Having worked with Jay’s father before cancer claimed him many years previously, McClymont had a soft spot for Jay and was instrumental in helping Jay and Berg find Leigh. He gave Jay wide leverage to get his job done, not only because he was good at it, but also because he had been the one to tell Jay that his pregnant addict wife, Renee, had succumbed to the overdose they had all known was long overdue. Jay had lost his wife and child in one moment, and almost fifteen years later, he still wasn’t completely over it.
“I don’t know what this means, but it can’t be good for us. Where are your cases at?” Jay asked.
“They’re all okay, except for Emma Young. I still think Elizab—”
“Please, leave it, Berg! You’ve got nothing on her at all except for suspicion.”
“But Jay—”
“I said leave it, and I’m telling you that as your captain!” he shouted. “The last thing we need is another Feeny situation. Especially with Consiglio hovering, waiting for me to fuck up!”
“I understand that, but I have a clear pattern of behavior here! She’s blackmailing her boss at her law firm.”
“Will he testify?”
“No, he won’t even speak to me, but . . . Hudson will testify that he saw bruises on Emma.”
“That could’ve been caused by anything. Anything he says is speculation on his part, and hearsay on ours.”
“Oh, come on!” Berg flung her hands out and rolled her eyes. “We’ve spoken to her colleagues and high school, there’s a clear pattern of manipulative behavior. She fits the profile perfectly of a sociopath with a side of narcissistic personality disorder!”
“I can’t work with just a profile and you know it! Your warrant—which you should never have gotten, by the way—turned up nothing. Plus, she’s got her lawyer boss by the balls, so anything we do, anything at all, is going to have to be one hundred percent above board!”
“Jesus! You’re as bad as her parents. I know she did this. I just know it!”
“Then find evidence,” Jay said as he crossed his arms over his chest and jutted out his chin. “In an appropriate fashion.”
“Jay, come on. You know as well as I do that sometimes the evidence is just not there! But it doesn’t mean she didn’t do it!” Berg was almost in tears she was so frustrated.
“Calm down,” Jay said. “You need to step away from this case. You don’t look well. Why don’t you take the weekend off?” He looked back down at his work.
She needed to tell hi
m and he needed to know. Carla wasn’t hovering over him for the first time in days.
Now’s the time.
“Jay . . .” It didn’t even register that she’d placed her hand over her belly as she looked into Jay’s cobalt blue eyes and wondered if the baby would have them. There was a good chance, as her mother’s were also blue. Berg’s brown eyes had been courtesy of her biological father—the first and last thing he’d ever given her. “I need to tell—”
“Darling!” Carla said, breezing into the office in a cloud of expensive perfume. She kissed Jay and turned to Berg. “Detective Raymond,” she said politely.
“ASA Maroney,” Berg replied, equally polite. She stood—the moment was over.
“Wait,” Jay said as she was leaving. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, fine.” Berg sighed.
“It’s just . . . I saw you get sick again this morning.”
Berg looked at Carla, firmly planted at Jay’s side and refusing to give them even two minutes alone. “Thanks for asking, but I’m fine. It must be a twenty-four hour-bug or something.”
“Okay,” Jay said and Berg left.
Jay sighed. He suspected he knew what was up with Berg, but he didn’t want to admit it to himself, let alone to her.
Before Renee had sunk into addiction, she and Jay had been actively trying for the family they so desperately wanted. Every month it had been the same—Renee asking him if her breasts looked bigger or her nipples darker. Renee getting her hopes up every time she ate some bad shellfish and threw up, and then the crushing lows and alcoholic binges that followed the negative pregnancy tests. Jay recognized the early signs all too well.
He thought back to the day Arena and Berg had both arrived at the office with fresh bruises, and he hoped he was wrong, for Berg’s sake more than anything. In the back of his mind, he hoped he was wrong for another reason as well. A baby would tie her to Arena forever.