“Me and Erin,” Lindsey told her, “once we friend request you. Accept us, Mom. Don’t ignore the request. Maybe Reese could be your friend. Grandma too.”
“Your grandmother is on Facebook?”
“Don’t look so shocked,” Erin admonished her, typing something in under the ABOUT section. “Grandma is on Twitter too. We tweet all the time.”
“I barely know what that means.”
“Facebook means we can message you and post pictures to your wall and check in at places, so you’ll know where we are. And you can, too, so we’ll know where you are,” Lindsey explained.
“Can’t we just text each other?”
“You don’t look at your text messages until you go to bed sometimes,” Lindsey said. It was true; Lauren hated her cell phone. She carried her work phone during the day and often left her personal one at home. She figured anyone who had to get ahold of her would know how to reach her.
Giving in on the social media stance made Lindsey and Erin feel better about having to go back to school. They said they’d feel more attached to her, which was a generational thing, Lauren knew. They felt most connected through technology, which Lauren thought was sad. That’s why she’d held off for so long, depending on their Saturday three-way calls to stay connected. She prayed social media wouldn’t end those conversations, but she knew she had to embrace social media somewhat to stay close to her girls. Consoling herself with the fact she’d be able to spy on her daughters—even if it wasn’t really spying if you and your friends put your whole life on the Internet anyway—Lauren finished setting up her account and accepted her first two friend requests: Lindsey Riley and Erin Riley.
8
Erin left first, crying and still wanting to cling to her mom. Lauren’s dad stood sentry in the background, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, ready to drive Erin to the airport. “I’ll be home next week,” she told Lauren. “As soon as my last class lets out on Wednesday. I’ll be back.”
“I know, honey. I’ll be fine.” Lauren kissed her daughter’s forehead, trying not to show the full ache of separation that washed over her every time either of her daughters left her.
Lindsey took off first thing the next morning, on Friday, exactly one week after the attack. “Listen,” Lindsey brushed back her blond hair, so similar to Lauren’s, “I’m only leaving because Reese is coming to live with you. If you kick him out, I’ll drop out of school to stay with you.”
“You two are unbelievable.” Lauren looked from Lindsey to her partner. Reese was conveniently lounging on one of the chairs. “Ganging up on me. Hitting me where you know it hurts.”
Reese shrugged and pulled his baseball cap down over his eyes. “We can’t help it if you’re stubborn and we have to resort to drastic measures.”
“He only stays until I go back on full duty, which I intend to do within a month.”
Reese snorted from under his cap and feigned sleep. Kissing her mom on her forehead, Lindsey’s eyebrows were knit together in frustration. “Don’t be difficult, Mom. I’ll be home for dinner next Thursday, checking up on you. I mean it, you better be good and do what Reese says.”
“I’ll try.” Lindsey knew it was the best she was going to get out of Lauren.
Putting a smile on her face, Lindsey brightened, “See you soon. If anything happens, I’ll be on the next plane home.”
Watching her daughters leave was more painful than the chest tube. Her mom, dad, and sister all left that same day, right after Lindsey, echoing the Thanksgiving reunion speech and threats to come live with her if she didn’t behave herself. As stressful as seeing her mom and sister usually was, this time it had been different. The realization of your own mortality tends to dull the edges on old grudges.
With no one left to sit and stare at her but Reese, Dr. Patel was encouraging Lauren to get up and walk the halls now that her tube was out and she was “healing nicely.” Lauren waited until Reese went home to take a shower before she attempted to waddle the hallway dragging her IV bag along with her. She hated the hospital gown, hated the slippers, and hated the tubes up her nose most of all, so she pulled those out before she took her stroll.
A cop was still assigned to guard her door. That day it was a young guy she’d never seen before, sitting in a hard-backed plastic chair, playing Candy Crush on his iPhone. Looking up as Lauren managed to slide out the door with her apparatus in tow, he gave her a smile. “Hey, Detective. I’m Roger Weeks. I work out of the Delta District.”
He stood up, stuffed his phone in his shirt pocket, and stuck out his hand. She noticed his uniform shirt was pressed and neat, the way a rookie’s always was. The pleat lines in his pants were so sharp you could cut a finger on them. I wonder if he still lives with his mother, Lauren thought as she waved him off with her free hand.
“You’re fine. I just need to take a walk. I’m only allowed to go as far as the nurses’ station. You sit. Play your game.”
“Whatever you want,” he replied, sinking down in the chair, eyeing her like she was a zoo animal finally allowed to roam the grounds.
He looks like a baby, she thought, stepping carefully down the hall, using her IV pole for support when needed. I’m literally old enough to be his mother. Maybe I should offer to iron his pants. Make myself useful.
The hallway in front of her was clear except for an empty hospital bed propped against the wall. She stuck her hand under one of the sanitizing dispensers, covering it in foam, then rubbed them together. Force of habit, she thought, these places are so nasty with germs. Up ahead she could see some activity at the nurses’ station. Her two favorite nurses, Anna and Juan, were bent over paperwork while Kent, ECMC Public Safety, was staring at the computer in front of him on the desk.
“Hey, chica,” Juan called when he saw her making her way toward them. Today he was wearing scrubs with happy green aliens all over them. “Slow down, this ain’t the Indy 500.”
“Are those mine?” Lauren motioned towards a huge pink and purple bouquet of flowers twice as wide around as she was. A white ribbon was tied off in an elaborate bow around the glass vase stuffed with stems.
Anna pushed them forward so Lauren could see them better. “Your partner said he would grab them on his next run home. Not enough room in his car.” She gave them an admiring glance. “I have to say, these are the best ones yet. And you’ve gotten a lot.”
Juan plucked the card from the little plastic trident stuck between the blooms and held it out to her. “Go ahead. Who are they from? The president?”
Lauren shook her head with a smile. “Cut it out, Juan. You’re going to make me blush.”
“That’s why we call him Don Juan,” Anna joked as Lauren struggled to get the card out of the tiny envelope.
Printed in neat black block letters was: GET BETTER SOON. DAVID SPENCER XOXO
Lauren dropped the card on the floor and looked around. “When did these get here?” Lauren demanded. Shooting her good arm out, she slapped her palm to the wall to steady herself. Kent looked up from his emails, startled.
Both Anna and Juan came around the nurses’ station at the sudden change in her demeanor. “What? What’s wrong?” Anna asked as Juan grabbed her on her good side and held her up, easing her to the station desk.
“Did you see who left these?” Lauren had Anna by the front of her scrubs with one hand.
“It was a kid,” Anna told her, gently trying to break her grip. “I thought he might be one of your daughters’ boyfriends. Good-
looking, nineteen or twenty. He was here a half hour ago. He wanted to see you, but he wasn’t on the list.”
“He said okay and asked if he could leave them for you.” Kent stood up. “Is everything all right?”
Waving at Kent to sit back down, her voice dropped an octave. “Help me back to my room.” She let Anna go and hooked her arm around Juan.
“What’s the
matter?” Juan pressed. “Was that kid the one who hurt you?”
“No,” Lauren told him as he guided her gently down the hallway. “Not me.”
A year ago, Lauren had made a mistake. A huge mistake. One that almost got her killed in her own backyard. She had agreed to help with the defense of a now twenty-year-old man who had been charged with murdering the beautiful wife of a wealthy local business owner. As the case dragged on she began to have doubts over David Spencer’s innocence. David developed an unhealthy fixation on Lauren, at one point causing her to storm out of the holding center after he caressed her hair. His lawyer, Frank Violanti, insisted it was just the hormones of an incarcerated teenager, that David’s boundaries had been eroded by the stress he was under.
Lauren should have known better, but truth be told, her need to stick it to her ex-fiancé, Joe Wheeler, who was the arresting officer, clouded her common sense. After her first divorce, she thought Wheeler had been the kind of strong-willed man that would be good for her and her young daughters. She couldn’t have been more wrong. After she finally dumped him, he’d transferred from the Buffalo Police Department to suburban Garden Valley, where she’d had little to no contact with him over the years, right up until he’d arrested David Spencer for the murder of Katherine Vine.
Lauren had taken so many physical beatings from that man when they were together, she wanted to prove to him she was stronger and better without him. Joe hadn’t liked that. He’d punched her in the mouth, knocking her to the ground at David’s arraignment. She hadn’t told anyone in authority about that at first; she hadn’t wanted anything to interfere with David’s trial. Lauren had needed to see Joe beaten in a courtroom, to feel the humiliation of an acquittal in his first big arrest and be the cause behind it.
Her underestimation of Joe Wheeler’s level of hatred toward her could have cost her her life. Their tumultuous relationship finally peaked when she caught him sneaking into her backyard, and Lauren had no doubt what he had been planning to do to her. But without an overt violent act, Joe had only gotten arrested for trespass and harassment, the legal equivalent of parking tickets.
She’d managed to get Joe Wheeler suspended for stalking her after the trial was over. He’d had no choice but to plead guilty to the harassment in Buffalo City Court, but his departmental charges were still pending. He was about to lose his job. Maybe.
Had Joy Walsh given Wheeler the once-over yet? Did Garden Valley cops wear the same type of boots as Buffalo cops? Lauren didn’t think Wheeler would risk sneaking into headquarters, not to steal the Murder Book. She couldn’t think of any reason for him to take that.
Lauren shouldn’t have let her pride dictate her actions. She knew that. She shouldn’t have let her hatred for Wheeler trump her common sense. She should have given David’s lawyer her retainer back and walked away. But she didn’t, and when the jury read the verdict of not guilty, she was positive that not only had David Spencer murdered Kathrine Vine, but that he had also killed his girlfriend, Amber Anderson, whose body was found decomposing in the woods south of the city on the last day of the trial.
Lauren had been monitoring David Spencer over the last twelve months. Keeping tabs. It hadn’t reached the point of obsession, more like a constant vigilance on her part. Even Reese didn’t know how closely she was tracking him because she kept it at a distance from their regular case load. She never confronted David, hadn’t spoken a word to him since they walked out of the courtroom, had had no direct contact at all. As the months stretched into a year, she had begun to slack in her surveillance. He had kept out of trouble, out of the public eye and, perhaps most importantly, away from her.
And now this, a visit to her hospital room. She had no explanation for what his motive could possibly be. Lauren knew one thing for sure: David Spencer was dangerous. Even when he was playing nice. Hell, especially when he was playing nice.
Lauren had Juan and Anna get her settled back in bed, then swore them to secrecy about the flowers. “Give them to your mom, throw them out, just get rid of them now.”
“You sure you don’t want me to tell your cop friend outside?” Juan was trying to untangle her lines.
“And interrupt his video game? I trust you and Anna to protect me more than that kid.” Lauren struggled to get the tubes back into her nose.
“I did take karate lessons in seventh grade.”
“And for that, Juan, I am truly in your debt. Just make a note on the visitors list that if a David Spencer shows up again, don’t accept anything, and call my room right away.”
“Will do, but is this guy someone we should be worried about?” Anna asked.
“I don’t think so. It’s a bit complicated, is all.” There was too much to explain and not enough wind left in her lungs. “Just don’t tell Reese. I’ll handle it.”
“Get some rest, chica.” Juan propped her pillow behind her back. “I’ll come back and check on you in a little while.”
“Just don’t karate chop me.”
Juan made a double-strike motion for her with a goofy look on his face. She managed to crack a phony smile for him as they walked out the door even though her stomach was twisted in knots.
Damn David Spencer.
He was the last thing she needed complicating her life. Grabbing her cell phone off the table next to her bed, she turned it over in her hand. Part of her wanted to call Frank Violanti and tell him to keep his creepy little client/godson on a leash. But the sane part of her knew that any contact with Violanti was poison and might, in some mysterious way, prolong her stay in the hospital.
Her smart phone showed she had 123 unopened texts and 452 emails. Some of them were from her ex-husband, Mark, and three were from a cousin who wanted her to follow up on his divorce case. Chucking the phone back on the table, she tried to take a deep breath and relax. Her private investigations would wait. And so could Mark. If she played nice and followed directions, Dr. Patel had told her she could be home early next week. No good adding drama to the mix at this point in the game. I can be patient, she thought as her phone dinged to report another incoming text from some well-wisher. More patient than whoever attacked me, because when I get out of here, I’m going after him hard.
9
By the time Reese got back from delivering the pizzas and flirting with the nurses, Lauren had managed to calm herself down. The last thing she needed was Reese going off to find David Spencer and losing his temper on him. It wasn’t David Spencer who stabbed her; she knew this, and she wouldn’t let him become a distraction from the person who did. She’d take care of David herself when she got out of the hospital.
“Can you have pizza?” Slinging a pizza box across the small table by the window, Reese flipped the top up to reveal half a pie: extra cheese, extra sausage.
“I don’t think I’m allowed to have that.”
Reese made a grunting noise as he stuffed a slice in his mouth, making sure to chew with it open for added effect.
Lauren’s lip curled in disgust. “I can actually hear your arteries harden.”
“This is so good.”
“Don’t they miss you at work?”
He tried to lasso a ropey piece of cheese hanging from his mouth using his tongue. “Nope,” he told her when he successfully inhaled the cheese. “The commissioner has made you my assignment.”
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done. I do. I don’t think I would have made it through all this without your help.” The sincerity in her voice stopped Reese’s pizza-fest cold. That was not how their relationship worked. Lauren insulted him, he insulted her, all was right in the world. “But you don’t have to stay here. You’ve done enough for me.”
“One: you can never do enough for a friend.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin and picked up another slice. “Two: I just told you that the police department made you my job for now. And three: you are not the boss o
f me, so sit there and shut up. I’m trying to enjoy my food. You should actually eat something sometime. You probably love getting fed by a tube.”
Watching him attack the second slice was like watching a wolf devour a deer. “You know what? Take the sausage off that small piece for me.”
A huge smile spread across his face as he plucked the meat from her pizza.
“Did you wash your hands?” she asked as he handed over the goods.
“Probably not.”
She bit into the warm, gooey cheese. “I figured.”
10
The police department had made no progress on her assault when Reese wheeled her out of the Erie County Medical Center to a waiting patrol car on Sunday. With only four days until Thanksgiving, Lauren had begged to be released, promised she’d be faithful in her follow-ups, and sworn she’d take it easy while following her doctor’s orders. Dr. Patel finally gave in, and Reese notified the chain of command so a proper police escort could be arranged from the hospital.
Lauren took in the sea of faces surrounding her as Reese slowly pushed her wheelchair to the waiting police vehicle. A line of cops had formed on either side to keep the swarm of media back. There was a leak somewhere in either the police department or the DA’s office—had been for a while—and Lauren was positive that whoever it was had made sure to give the press the exact time of her release.
Reporters called out questions. Bystanders filmed her with their cell phones. Look at me, she thought bitterly as she tried to fake a smile, I’m the dumbass who managed to get beaten and stabbed inside police headquarters! Cameras and microphones filled her vision as she got into the backseat of the chief of E-District’s Chevy Tahoe.
Reese climbed in next to her as Benny Hughes twisted around in his seat to greet her. “It’s good to see you, Lauren. You really scared us there for a minute.”
The Murder Book Page 4