by CJ Lyons
“Anything?”
“Narrowed it down to twenty-seven with addresses in the county. But,” she added in a triumphant tone, “only eight of those have records. So I’m starting with them.”
He frowned, disappointed. Reminded himself she was new at this. “You’re on your way to interview them?”
“Thought I’d start with the ones in the city, work my way out.” She sounded excited. Until he let the silence lengthen, waiting for her to see the error of her ways. “I should have told you first.”
“But you didn’t because you knew I’d say going to interview a potentially violent subject alone is a bonehead idea. And then you’d accuse me of treating you like a girl instead of a cop or some other baloney. Let’s just cut to the chase. You pull over at the first restaurant you see, call Krichek and invite him to join you, buy him lunch for being such an idiot. Then together you work your way through the list. Forward it to me and make sure you keep dispatch informed every step of the way. Is that clear, Officer?” He stressed her rank, knowing that it would rankle.
“Yes, but—”
He wasn’t sure whether to be impressed that she was actually standing her ground or irritated. “Look, even I’m stopping what I’m doing to join Ray on an interview. You seriously think he whined or complained about not being allowed to go alone? Two pairs of eyes are better than one and you want someone who has your back, just in case.”
“Yes, sir, I understand.” Harper sounded contrite. “But have you ever eaten with Krichek? Or ridden with him after? The man has some serious digestive issues, is all I’m saying.”
“And that, Harper, is your cross to bear. Next time you’ll think twice before going off alone.”
“Yes, sir.” She sighed.
An elderly man wearing a pink volunteer coat entered with a large manila envelope, handing it to Sara. There was a note attached to the top.
“Harper?” he added before he hung up. “Good work.”
“Thanks, boss.” He could feel the smile in her tone. “We still going after Balanchuk? Or are you waiting to see what we come up with on motorcycle guy?”
Luka was torn. He needed to check out Cochrane first. With his assault on Leah this morning, he had already proven himself to be a volatile subject, making him a higher priority.
“For now, focus on the motorcycle.” He hung up.
Sara handed Luka the envelope. “All identifying information has been redacted, the lawyer said to tell you,” she said, reading the note. “They say if you need more, you need a court order and to go through their office not ours.” The lawyers sounded offended, as if Luka had been trying an end run around the law. But how could he know he needed a court order before knowing if there was anything to look for? Besides he really didn’t have the time or manpower to waste if this didn’t pan out.
He gave her a kind smile. “Thanks. I’m hoping I won’t even need these, but I really appreciate the help.”
She didn’t smile in return. Instead, she looked worried. “Do you really think—I mean, could someone Leah took care of have done that to her husband?”
Luka could only shrug in reply.
“But if someone is that obsessed,” she continued, “is Leah… is she safe?”
Twenty
After Jericho was out of sight, Leah paced the short hallway, feeling like a caged animal. She’d spent these past twelve hours locked into small prison cells: the ER exam room, Emily’s room on peds, and now this forty-foot corridor. At least her cages were getting bigger. Thank God, because she needed to move, to think.
But no matter how fast she strode, counting floor tiles, forcing her breathing deep from the belly, she couldn’t escape the face of the woman Luka had shown her. Ian had betrayed her. He didn’t love her. He’d found someone else, younger, prettier, someone who could give him everything Leah couldn’t.
Ian was going to leave her.
Hours spent together, Ian drawing the pretty, much younger woman—what else had they done? Jericho said she was naked in the drawings…
Touch the wall, pivot, twenty-three steps back, one, two, three, four…
She pulled up abruptly, a flash of red stealing her attention in the otherwise featureless wall. A tiny plastic box at eye level. Inside, no toy prize but the fire alarm. Pull in case of emergency.
Leah stood, frozen, entranced by the simple yet bold instructions. Emergency? She was the one who came to life when there was an emergency. She was the one everyone looked to to take charge, wade through the chaos and do what had to be done to save lives.
Ian was going to leave her… Ian already had left her. Ian was gone. Forever.
The emergency was long over—she’d missed it, clueless, oblivious. She remembered last night, how she’d smiled, cradling his roses, practically skipping down the garden path he’d shoveled and salted for her return home. How she couldn’t wait to see what his surprise was—or to climb into bed, press their bodies together in a way that no one could ever, ever divide.
Was Jericho trying to force her off-balance? Was it some kind of police technique? Except… Jericho had seemed almost reluctant, sorry to show her the picture of—what was her name? Katrina. Trina. Pretty name, pretty girl.
Leah slid her fingers over the transparent fire alarm cover. It was secured only by a flimsy latch, designed to avoid accidental alarms. She toyed with the latch; the cover popped open. She could pull the alarm. Empty the building, create chaos for the entire hospital, patients and staff and visitors rushing into the freezing streets, their robes and white coats too thin for the February wind, milling around waiting for someone to tell them everything was safe, everything was all right, their lives could go on…
The thought made her want to smile, but she didn’t. All her life she’d defined herself by being left behind. First, the little girl trying so hard to be good, to be no bother at all, to even be the caregiver, waiting for her mother to finally, for once, stay. Then the eleven-year-old who had no idea how to be a child being raised by a childless woman, always playing catch-up, pretending how to act like a kid like all the others who had real mothers and never quite succeeding.
College and med school, no time to figure out who she was, she was so determined to prove to the world that she belonged there, that she was worthy. And then, Ian. Who never cared how awkward and out of step with the rest of the world she was, who’d loved that about her instead of loving her despite it, who let her take control when she needed and who let her cling to him when life overwhelmed her.
Had he betrayed her?
She felt guilty even thinking the question—as if she were the one betraying Ian by questioning his loyalty, their love. She touched her fingers to her wedding band. The gold felt cold, as if his absence had drained it of life.
If she couldn’t believe in Ian, who could she believe in? Ian had taught her how to love; he’d taught her how to be loved. Was it all a lie?
No.
Leah’s fingers were on the fire alarm’s lever, poised to pull it. Carefully, avoiding touching the alarm again, she pushed its plastic cage back into place, secured it. Then stood back. Who was she? She didn’t need to even ask the question; she knew the answer: she was Emily’s mother.
She pivoted, marched back to the observation room, lips clamped tight, voices in her head locked away in a cell as tiny as she could imagine, ready to get to work.
When she entered the narrow, dark space, it was empty. On the other side of the glass Jessica was leading Emily through some basic cognitive behavioral therapy. Emily, always one to enjoy the attention of an adult, talked a lot—but without actually revealing her true emotions, Leah noted. Too much like her mother that way, guarded. From Jessica’s gentle prodding, it was clear she saw it as well.
As she waited, Leah scrolled through the missed messages on her phone. Well over a hundred now—so many people whose lives Ian had touched, pouring out their love and sympathy. Her chest tightened as she read, thinking of Jericho’s accusations.
Emily’s voice drifted to Leah from beyond the glass. She was describing her “happy place” to Jessica as she taught Emily a relaxation exercise. It sounded exactly like Nellie’s lavender gardens. They’d lived at Nellie’s house a short time before Nellie died. Emily had only been a toddler at the time. Did she still remember Nellie’s old farmhouse, the fields of lavender surrounding it, the large rose garden that perfumed the air?
Her phone buzzed. The hospital operator. Leah answered. “This is Dr. Wright.”
“Why won’t you answer my calls?” came Ruby’s voice. “I’m here, but they won’t let me upstairs.”
Leah froze. Her finger hovered over the phone, ready to disconnect.
“I was glad you called me,” Ruby said, her tone tentative as if she, like Leah, had no real idea what to say.
“I wasn’t calling you,” Leah snapped, her anger pushing her beyond social niceties. It’d been a long time coming—twenty-three years to be exact. “Do you remember what you told me when you left me at Nellie’s that last time?”
“You were blubbering, wouldn’t let me go. I pushed you away, just so I could get out the door. You started shouting that you hated me.”
“And what did you say, Ruby? What piece of worldly advice did you give that sobbing little girl who wanted her mommy?”
Ruby was silent. Leah could almost imagine the faraway look that would overcome her mother, eyes looking up and to one side, gazing into the heavens, searching for a convenient lie.
“What did you say, Ruby?” Leah’s voice rose. Something she usually never let happen. Anger pushed people away. But she’d already lost Ruby long ago, so who cared?
“I told you to get used to it, that everybody leaves. But they leave faster if you’re a snotty-nosed brat instead of being—” Ruby’s voice broke. “Being a good girl.”
And there it was. Leah blew out her breath, her fist closing, nails digging into her palm. The moment that had shaped Leah’s life.
Maybe Ruby meant to teach her how to lose people. Maybe it was some warped kind of blessing, preparing Leah for this moment, this terrible, awful moment that was now redefining her entire life. But what eleven-year-old Leah had learned was that it was only if she was good enough, only if she swallowed her anger, never showed fear, played the part of the “good girl,” only then could she maybe, maybe hope that the people she loved would stay.
A hysterical laugh itched the back of her throat, begging to be set free. Everything Leah had learned her entire life, how to swallow her emotions, play the role others wanted, it was all a lie. Because no one stayed. Not Ruby, not Nellie, not Ian.
“I was never good enough,” she said. “Not for you.” She emptied her clenched fist. “Not for anyone.”
“Leah, honey, no. I was wrong. Please, Leah, I heard what happened.” Ruby’s voice came over the phone as if from a distance. “Let me help.”
“No.”
“You never let anyone into your heart, never can be big enough to forgive…” Ruby’s words faded into static as Leah gazed through the glass at Emily.
Her touchstone. Just like Ian. And Nellie. The three people she’d loved who’d loved her back… now down to one. Emily.
“Don’t call again.” Leah hung up. What had ever possessed her, calling Nellie’s house? A moment of weakness she already regretted. The last thing she needed was Ruby back in her life.
No. What she needed was answers, beyond the vague reassurances the police gave her. She needed somewhere safe for herself and Emily. Blinking, she glanced around the empty observation room that had witnessed so much tragedy over the years. What was keeping her here? Nellie was gone, Ian was gone, Ruby no longer had any claim to Leah or her life.
Her phone was filled with friends and neighbors offering to help, offering shelter, but she couldn’t allow anyone to take the risk. Even though the killer knew Emily couldn’t identify him, there were still men like Cochrane out there. No. It was up to Leah to protect her daughter. She’d need money. Could she use their credit cards and access their bank accounts or had the police frozen them? Her credit cards and debit card were at the house, so she couldn’t even try with the hospital ATM.
She began making a list. Get the car, get any cash and cards from the house. Checkbook, that too. Withdraw all the cash she could, cash was invisible. And then… go. Take Emily and just go, far away from here, far from the feeling of someone always watching her, away from the pain and the memories and everyone’s expectations of how Leah should act, what she should say.
But where?
The door opened and Leah startled, almost made a noise but stifled it. Jessica. Leah glanced through the glass. Emily was playing with the doll house, her hair flattened from the EEG cap Jessica had removed.
“She did great,” Jessica reassured Leah. She glanced at the clock—over an hour had passed. “Natural resiliency—she’s still going to have some rough patches, especially at night.”
“But no more drugs?” Leah asked. Sedatives had their place but came with the risk of side effects.
“No. I think it’s best if we let nature take its course. Why don’t you take her back upstairs? I’ll stop by this afternoon and we’ll do a session in her room.”
“Thanks, Jessica. I know how disruptive this was for your schedule and I really appreciate your taking the time.”
“Leah. Please know that everyone wants to help in any way they can. Seriously, call me. Anytime. For Emily—or if you need to talk.”
Tears stung as Leah blinked them away. She nodded her thanks and dragged herself through the door to retrieve Emily.
Leah paused outside the interview room, staring at the door handle as if puzzling out how to open it. She slumped against the tile wall, the too-bright overhead lights making her brain buzz. No child should ever have to face what Emily was going through. And yet, she was also so very proud of how brave Emily had been as she answered Jessica’s questions. Finally, she gathered the strength to open the door and face her daughter.
Emily ran up to her, her expression filled with concern beyond her age. “Did I get it right, Mommy? Did I do okay? Are they going to catch the bad man now?”
Leah crouched low and gathered Emily’s body into hers. “You did great. I am so proud of you. Daddy would be, too.” God, it was so damn hard to remember to use the past tense—nothing about Ian felt like it was past. Nothing. “You were a huge help.”
Emily hugged her back, but it was a half-hearted, distracted hug. Leah stood and took her daughter’s hand. Together they walked through the security doors leading out of the CIC and back into the main corridor of the hospital. The ubiquitous hospital smell of vanilla air freshener competed with the hunger-pang-inducing perfume of French fries wafting from the cafeteria. The hall was filled with busy people intent on important, life-saving errands; visitors wandering, their gazes blank with overwhelm; gossiping staff heading toward the cafeteria and their breaks. They all wove their way around Leah and Emily seemingly without noticing them, a river of humanity parting around a tiny island of desolation.
“Ready for that ice cream?” Leah asked Emily. It was past time for lunch and hey, ice cream had calcium and protein, right? Besides, Leah wasn’t shooting for mother of the year here, she just wanted to see Emily smile—a real smile—if only for a few minutes.
Emily shook her head, looking over her shoulder as if searching for someone. “No, thanks. Not without Daddy. He knows how to get the sprinkles just right.”
They walked toward the elevators. Emily was dragging, obviously exhausted by her session with the Jessica. Leah picked her up, balancing her on her hip, despite the fact that Emily’s legs were getting long enough to tangle with her own. Rate she was growing, Leah wouldn’t be able to hold her like this much longer. The thought made her hold on tighter.
“Want to watch more cartoons?” she asked.
Emily shook her head again.
“There’s a ton of toys in the playroom,” Leah suggested as they c
limbed into the elevator.
Emily shook her head. Leah hit the button for the pediatric floor.
“Hungry? We can get lunch.” Leah hated the hint of desperation that crept into her voice. Five minutes out from therapy and she felt like Emily was drifting away again, lost to her fears and the memories of last night. Despite her own instinct to run, Leah realized she couldn’t. Emily’s needs came first.
Emily shook her head. Then she laid it on Leah’s shoulder.
“What do you want, then? You can tell me, honey. It’s okay.”
“Didn’t I do good enough for Daddy to come back?” Emily’s breath echoed in Leah’s ear like distant thunder. “Where is he? I want Daddy.”
So did Leah. Except… had either of them ever truly known the real Ian?
Twenty-One
Luka made his way to Jefferson Cochrane’s address across the river. Once he drove over the bridge, he was in rural farmland and thick forests that climbed up and over the mountains. The founding fathers’ dream of a sprawling metropolis had never quite come to life, so almost a third of the city’s population lived across the water, still inside Cambria City boundaries, despite the fact that all semblance of urban life ended at the river.
The farm was less than three miles from Cochrane’s place. If Ray wasn’t at Cochrane’s when Luka arrived, he promised himself he’d head over to Jericho Fields and check on Pops, if only to relieve the nagging anxiety and allow himself to better focus on his case. Until he moved in with Pops, Luka had never appreciated how much freedom he’d enjoyed, never worrying about family matters encroaching on his attention or interfering with his work. How did people with families do it? He made a note to ask Ray, who on wife number three had finally seemed to get it right, raising two kids.
Luka had no idea why or how but here he was staring down forty and somehow his job was all he had. After Cherise, women had come and gone, but none of them stuck around long, tired of his inability to commit to coming home on time for dinner, much less a long-term relationship. But now there was Pops and suddenly instead of his only worry being late for Sunday dinner and withstanding the withering wrath of his grandmother, Luka found himself responsible for another man’s health and wellbeing. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it, it was damned hard work, caring for an old man set in his ways, suffering from grief, depression, high blood pressure, and diabetes. Chasing criminals was much easier.