Jamie hobbled back into the hallway where Steckler stood, watching Gavin go by. The two men said nothing to each other. Then, Steckler was by her side, helping her into a wheelchair.
“I’m going to patch her up again, and then she has to stay off this leg for at least a few hours,” Steckler told Vich. “I swear, I’ll strap her down myself if I have to.”
She listened as Steckler and Vich talked about her as though from a dream. The ding of the elevator, the odd flighty sensation in her stomach as they rode back down. Then, she surrendered. To the pain and exhaustion, and she let herself fall deep into sleep.
Epilogue
Ten days later
Z’s pace slowed as they walked through the jail halls. Jamie was in no rush either and, with her crutches, she was slow anyway. She couldn’t compare her own emotions to what Z was feeling, but seeing this boy who looked so much like Z, whose life was only a single degree separated from her son’s, was excruciating. What would she have done differently if she’d known about Jacob when she adopted Z? That, although Z had no living siblings, he had a cousin who had been left behind when Z was adopted. She might have saved Z, but, in the process, she had unknowingly contributed to Jacob’s failure. Could she have done something differently? Would she have?
The prosecuting attorney, Colin Burch, was standing outside the door of the interview room. At least six-three, he smiled easily for a man who spent his life with a front row seat to the grimmest side of humanity. “Hi, Jamie.”
“Colin. I appreciate you letting us talk to him.”
“Don’t take too long, okay?” Colin nodded to Z as they entered the room.
Jacob looked younger than he had three days before. The orange jumpsuit he wore was big around his shoulders. His hands were cuffed through a lead loop on the surface of the table in front of him. A can of Coke rested between his palms, the outside of it dented as though it were empty and had been there awhile.
Z pulled out a chair and sat across from his cousin. Jamie watched the two boys. Nine months older than Z, Jacob would be tried as an adult, though he was so clearly just a boy.
The resemblance was striking. She had found out that Michael Delman and his sister Tanya were twins. Jacob and Z might easily have passed for brothers.
“You doing okay?” Z asked.
Jacob shrugged.
“I’m sorry,” Z said. “That I left you. I should have come back for you.”
Jacob shook his head. “You was a kid.”
“But I knew what it was like down there.”
Jacob raised his hands, the handcuff chains clanking against the steel loop. “Guess this was always where I was headed.”
Neither boy said anything.
“We’ll be here,” Jamie told him.
Jacob’s eyes were hooded, less angry but distrustful.
“During the trial and after,” she continued. “Whatever happens.”
“It’s true,” Z said.
“You’re Z’s family, Jacob,” she told him. “That means you’re mine, too.” For better or worse.
Jacob began to cry. Jamie crossed on her crutches and put her hand on his shoulder as he dropped his head and sobbed. “I’ll see you soon.”
Leaving the two boys, Jamie entered the hall and drew a deep breath. Colin was waiting. Vich was there, too. She turned back to the interview room door. Z needed her, but he also needed to begin the process of closure with Jacob. That was not something she could do for him. More and more, he would have to maneuver through his life without her constant involvement. That might be harder for her than for him. Jamie made her way toward Colin and Vich.
Vich put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “How you holding up?”
She said nothing and knew Vich understood. She was grateful for him. One of these days she’d have to let him know. Finally, she said, “He’s so much like Z.”
“Yes, and no,” Vich reminded her.
“Okay, but he’s a kid. They say that the brain isn’t fully developed to make good choices until we’re twenty-five. And yet, we try them as adults as young as fourteen or fifteen.”
“Some of them need to be treated as adults, Jamie,” Colin said.
“I don’t think this kid’s one of those, Colin.” He said nothing, so she went on. “I know this case is going to get a lot of press, but most of that is because of Gavin Borden. What Jacob did was run. Gavin Borden killed Stewart and Shambliss. Borden threw his own daughter down the stairs and hit that girl with his car, left her in the road… Don’t make Jacob pay for that.”
Vich cleared his throat as Z walked toward them. Jamie leaned into her crutches. “Bye.”
“It was good to see you, Jamie,” Colin told her. “I heard what you said about the boy.”
“Thank you, Colin,” she said.
She caught up to Z, who had stopped in the hall.
Vich joined them and the three walked out of the jail. Z shaded his eyes against the bright sunlight. “Damn, it’s dark in that place.”
Neither Vich nor Jamie said anything. Probably they were used to the dark.
“I’ll let you know if there’s any news,” Vich told her.
The ride home began in silence. This last week they had talked so much. One on one, and with Z, and with a counselor, too. She had been sure Tony would be angry at her for keeping her suspicions from him, but he hadn’t judged. She kept waiting for it to come up. For the anger to come. So far, Tony was mostly distraught for what Z and Jamie had gone through. Or, perhaps he was thinking of how it would be to leave them in a few weeks.
Despite all the talk, there was so much to say, so much unanswered. Tony and Jamie had done most of the talking at first. They were both trying to let Z initiate conversations, giving him the opportunity to talk when he was ready. Tony had been gone the night before for training in Sacramento. He had surely spent the drive time thinking, so there would be more to talk about tonight.
Plus, today was Z’s first day back at school. So far, he hadn’t said much. It wasn’t awful, but she gathered it hadn’t been easy either.
Z reached over and opened his backpack, pulling something out.
“Homework?” she asked.
“Not much.” Z pulled out an envelope. “They gave me the decision on next year’s scholarship.”
Jamie could tell from his face it was bad news.
“They didn’t renew it.”
He stared out the window. “Says I showed… questionable decision-making, inconsistent with the high moral standards at City Academy…” That he could repeat it verbatim meant he’d read it multiple times.
“What do you think that means?”
“I withheld information that could have assisted in a police investigation. Maybe I could have saved some of those people.”
Staring out the window, Z traced his finger along the edge of the door handle. When he first lived with her, he would sit at the kitchen counter up on his knees because the stool wasn’t tall enough and trace the faint swirl of the porcelain. Lost in thought, he might spend an hour that way. These days, he almost always had a phone or some other device in front of him.
“Maybe,” Jamie said.
Z waited for her to continue.
“Jacob’s family. You protect family.” She waited a beat. “I’m guilty of it, too, Z. When I thought you were involved, I—” She stopped.
“You lied.”
She studied him. “I wasn’t totally honest.”
He continued tracing along the door. “Because I’m family.”
“Because I’m your mom, Z,” she said.
He stopped tracing. “You’re not mad?”
“Oh, I’m mad as hell,” she said. “But I’m not mad because you protected Jacob. I’m mad because you didn’t trust me enough to tell me.”
Z started to talk but Jamie raised a palm to stop him. “Some of that’s on me. Tony and I haven’t been the most united front lately. His move has been tough, and we haven’t done a great job talking it
out.”
“And Jacob’s a kid,” Z said. “That’s what you told that lawyer.”
“He’s a kid who will probably be tried as an adult, Z.”
Z exhaled a long breath.
“There’s no going back from what he did,” she continued. “And in some ways, there’s no going back from what you did either. At least, no easy way. You put yourself in danger—not only physical danger—which you did also, but the danger of being implicated in Jacob’s crimes. We’re lucky they’re not going after you as an accessory.”
“He didn’t hurt Charlotte!” Z argued.
“But he didn’t come to the police either. He had a responsibility to Charlotte to tell the police what happened. We might have homed in on Gavin Borden a lot sooner.” She thought about her own actions. She was as guilty as Jacob. Worse because she was the officer sworn to duty. If she could go back, she tried to imagine doing something different, not yielding to the mother over the police officer. No. She would fail again. She reached out and touched Z’s leg. A grown-up’s leg on the boy she still saw as a child. The push and pull of letting your children grow up. “From now on, Z, there are no secrets.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t just mean this stuff,” she went on. “I mean all of it. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”
“I’ll tell you,” he said. “I wish I’d told you about this. It was awful, keeping the secret.”
“I know the feeling,” she said.
“It made me sick to think about it sometimes,” he went on. “All the things you and Tony didn’t know.”
She remembered all the times she’d been sick to her stomach from hiding the truth. “You’ll know better next time,” she told him. “And so will I.”
A Budget moving van was parked in the driveway when they arrived. The sight of it took her breath away. A moving van. Tony was really moving. Her exhaustion felt heavier as she pushed her door open and got out on one foot. Z brought her crutches around and waited as she hobbled into the house.
The smell of barbecue filled the kitchen. Tony was at the stovetop, sautéing onions.
“I thought you weren’t getting home until midnight or something,” Jamie said.
He shut off the stovetop and crossed to them without speaking. He gave Jamie a long hug and then Z.
“We saw the truck,” Jamie said. “So, you found a place and you’re moving already?”
“Come sit down,” Tony said.
Jamie crutched her way into the kitchen and sat up on one of the stools.
Tony set her crutches on the floor by the door and crossed behind the bar where he filled three glasses with sparkling water. He set one in front of Z and one in front of Jamie then lifted his own. “I want to propose a toast.”
“A toast?” Z asked.
“Really, Tony? This isn’t maybe the best—”
“I got an apartment,” he said.
“That’s great,” Jamie said flatly.
“Yeah, Tony,” Z agreed.
“It’s on C Street.”
“Is C Street good?” Z asked.
“Yeah, Tony, it’s not like we know Cincinnati,” Jamie agreed.
“That’s okay,” Tony said, clinking his glass against hers. “It isn’t in Cincinnati.”
“What do you mean?” Z asked.
Tony smiled. “It’s in San Rafael. A little over a mile from here.”
Jamie didn’t move. “What about the job?”
“I kind of decided that I like the one I have,” Tony said. “And I really like where it is.”
Z heaved a sigh. “Really? You’re not moving?”
Jamie’s tears flooded down her face. “You’re staying? You’re not moving?”
Tony came around the counter, and Z slid off the stool to hug him. “I couldn’t leave my family,” he said. “But I thought it was time I got my own place. It has two bedrooms, Z, so you’ll have to come decorate yours.”
The two men embraced. Really embraced. Z was teary, and Jamie was crying outright, up on her stool, her crutches out of reach. “You guys.”
The two of them turned to her, sitting on her stool, waving her arms. “She’s stuck,” Z said, laughing.
“She’s like a turtle on her back,” Tony said.
“That is not nice,” Jamie told them.
“Should we help her out?” Tony asked.
“Probably,” Z said with a wide grin.
“Poor Jamie.”
“Get over here,” she said.
The two men moved to her, and she held one under each arm. Her guys. Her family. Her bizarre, untraditional family. Her perfect family. “Thank you, Tony.”
“It’s no—”
“Tony,” she interrupted. “Thank you. Thank you for staying.”
“That’s what family’s for.”
And it was. This was her family. But it was growing, too. Vich was like family. And Jacob. She would take in Jacob, too. Whatever that meant. He was her family, too, and you didn’t let go of family. Ever.
Author's Note
The first person I would like to thank is you—the reader. Thank you for reading this book and for following the Rookie Club stories. While we’re at it, thank you for every book you’ve ever read. It is the greatest gift you can give an author like me. Without you, there would be no books, and what a terrible world that would be.
If you have enjoyed this book, please consider taking a moment to leave a review on Amazon or elsewhere. Reviews and recommendations are vital to authors. Every good review and every recommendation for one of my books helps me stay hunkered and warm in my basement, doing what I love best—writing dark, chilling stories.
If you haven’t already claimed your free short story, you can do that here. To learn more about the Rookie Club or my writing, please visit me at www.daniellegirard.com.
Now, please turn the page for a preview of Exhume.
Excerpt from
Dr. Schwartzman Series
Preview: Exhume
Chapter 1
San Francisco, California
Dr. Annabelle Schwartzman threaded her half-circle number-five suture needle, the kind normally used in orthopedic surgery. Pinching together the edges of the Y-incision she’d made an hour earlier, she began the process of closing the victim’s chest.
The chest and torso had been badly burned, and the fire left the skin fragile. Since there wasn’t going to be an open casket, the standard protocol was to use staples to close the incision. Schwartzman preferred sutures. Staples were effective but seemed too industrial. The sutures were slower, and she enjoyed these last minutes with the victim, the time to fully process the death before contacting the investigator.
Both the intensity and the reward of the medical examiner’s job were in being the final voice for a victim. Schwartzman was the last person to have access to the body, the one who decided if death was from natural causes or at the hand of another. It was intense and quiet work, the hours spent studying each piece in a puzzle that needed to be worked out.
In medical school, many of her peers chose specialties in order to interact with patients—gynecology for the joys of birth, or pediatrics for the children.
But those jobs came with sadness, too. Fetuses didn’t always make it to full term. Children developed diseases and died.
As an ME, Schwartzman interacted with patients in the most intimate way—limitless in the depths she could go to diagnose a death. For many, forensic pathology would seem like an impossible choice. For her, it was the only one. People chose medicine for the heroics—to cure disease, save lives. In forensic pathology, there were no heroics. Just unanswered questions.
The overhead light shut off. She waved her arm in the air to trigger the motion sensor. After 7:00 p.m., the lights automatically turned off after ten minutes. The halogen in the corner crackled angrily as it flickered on and off before settling into a solid glow. The hallways were dark, the room silent.
Some of the depart
ment’s other medical examiners worked with loud music, but Schwartzman appreciated the silence. One reason she enjoyed being in the morgue at odd hours.
She had been heading home from a dinner with some women from the police force when the morgue called to her, left her energized, ready for work.
She didn’t go to the morgue because there was work—the work was always there. What she loved about the morgue was the space. The smell of the grapefruit lotion she used after she’d washed up and before she donned gloves, the vinegar scent of the clean instruments and table.
She always smelled these before the body.
The girls’ night out with her coworkers on the force had given her a chance to talk to Homicide Inspector Hailey Wyatt, to get to know her away from the crime scenes they had worked together. Schwartzman had surprised herself by opening up about Spencer.
How long since she had done that?
Melanie in the last year of medical school—six and a half years ago—that was the last time she’d allowed herself to get close to someone.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Hailey. Glad u came tonight. See u tmrrw.
Schwartzman smiled. She had felt a growing closeness. They might become friends.
Spencer kept her isolated, certainly while they were married but even after she’d escaped. He had planted the notion that he was always close—confiding in someone was offering a key that might be used against her.
Dinner hadn’t felt that way at all. It was a relief to get her truth out there—a man she hadn’t seen in more than seven years was stalking her. He’d made her believe her mother was in the hospital. Had managed to elude building security at her apartment and deliver a bouquet of yellow flowers. A color Spencer loved and she despised.
But he was a fool to think he could get to her.
Everything to Lose Page 30