by CJ Lyons
Instead, he was greeted with a pile of sodden trash and dead leaves that perfectly matched his mood. The downspout that fed into the corner and the gutters it was connected to had finally surrendered and overflowed. Someone had cleared the sidewalk of the debris by sweeping it all into the corner, over the tiny flowers. The irony of the blue skies above and the dead mud smothering spring’s hope below was not lost on Luka. He could only hope it wasn’t a harbinger of his own fate.
By the time he reached Ahearn’s office on the fifth floor, he was three minutes early for their meeting. But when he opened the door to the conference room, he was the last one to arrive. Ahearn sat at the head of the table, a videographer was setting up her camera in one corner, the ADA was to Ahearn’s right, while McKinley sat on his left, both using the seat beside them as coatracks, leaving Luka a seat at the far end of the table, as if in quarantine.
“Are we waiting for anyone?” Ahearn asked. “Your union rep or attorney?”
“No, sir.” Luka took his time removing his coat, folding it over the chair back, and retrieved his notes and laptop. Finally, after enough time had passed to make it clear that he was here because he wanted to be here, not because of any summons from on high, he sat down.
“Now then,” McKinley took the lead, “why don’t you start at the beginning and tell us about your involvement with Cherise Sumner.”
Luka took a deep breath, held Cherise’s image firmly fixed in his mind, and began. “She was my fiancée. She died our senior year of college. We were both undergrads at Bucknell in Lewisburg.”
He kept to the facts, reciting everything he had told the police seventeen years ago, only this time he maintained an emotional distance, as if he were an objective observer rather than the man whose life had been shattered and put back together, with missing pieces never to be found again. He hated knowing that the killer wanted him here, wasting his time, wasting everyone’s time, distracting them all from the real work at hand. All he could hope was that his team was having more success.
“Sir, we should be focused on finding her killer—the man who sent the photo of her ring,” Luka said.
“We as a department are absolutely focused on finding your fiancée’s killer,” Ahearn answered. “As are the Lewisburg police and the state police. But, in this room right now, our focus is on damage control. Finding any weakness or flaws that could be used against us once this becomes public.”
Meaning weakness or flaws in Luka’s story and his actions handling Trudy’s case.
“It’s our job to plug those holes before they can hurt the case we’ll be eventually building against the killer,” the ADA added in a slightly kinder, gentler tone.
“Continue,” Ahearn ordered.
Luka finished giving them the background on his and Cherise’s relationship. McKinley turned things over to the ADA. She grilled him relentlessly, comparing his answers to the statement he’d given the Lewisburg police seventeen years ago. When she was satisfied that he hadn’t changed his story and couldn’t catch him in any contradictions, Ahearn waded in, meticulously combing through the police report as well as the coroner’s findings.
“You knew she had a history of depression, but not that she’d stopped taking her medication?”
“Correct.”
“But you were living together. How could you not know?”
Luka stifled his flinch. Ahearn couldn’t know it, but he echoed the exact words Cherise’s father had flung at him when the officials closed the case as suicide. At the time Luka had still been fighting for them to keep it open, investigate it as a possible homicide. But there’d been absolutely no evidence to suggest foul play or anyone else’s involvement, leaving the blame for Cherise’s death to fall on Luka.
Before Luka could respond, there was a knock on the door and Krichek poked his head in. “Just to let you know, sir,” he said, not specifying which superior he was addressing, “Dominic Massimo failed to show up for his interview. He’s not at his hotel, his car is gone, and his cell phone has been turned off. He’s in the wind.”
Thirty
It had been years since Leah had stayed up most of the night talking to anyone other than Ian. When she had finally crawled into bed, her brain was spinning with all the various ideas she and Luka had generated for the case. It had felt good to be useful—and hopefully it had helped Luka not feel as frustrated about being sidelined. He’d sent his team a list of possible avenues of investigation. It seemed that police work wasn’t all that different from medicine. Create a list of possible diagnoses, eliminate what you could, start testing for the rest. But then came the most difficult part: waiting for answers.
Which made her think of their other mystery, the one she could maybe solve: Risa’s medical symptoms. She finally closed her eyes, diagnoses dancing in her mind, and created a list to check Risa’s records against. All those abnormal but contradictory lab tests. What had been missed? Could Risa be self-harming? The ipecac Jack had found would cause some of her symptoms but not all of them. Was she fabricating the rest?
Leah had tossed and turned all night. Her arm kept searching out the cold, empty half of the bed—Ian’s side, that until a few nights ago had been filled by Emily’s warmth. Finally, she curled up in the center of the bed, hugging a pillow, and drifted off.
Only to be awakened when a girl-sized planet spun off its axis and hurled itself onto Leah. “Daddy’s back! Daddy’s back!” Emily shouted gleefully into Leah’s ear, first one then the other. Her palms squished Leah’s cheeks between them as she bounced on Leah’s chest. “Mommy, he’s back, he’s here! He found us!”
Leah slit one eye open and grunted in response. Emily’s face was pressed against hers, nose to nose. She blinked and rolled Emily off her so she could breathe. “What?”
“Daddy. He’s here.” Emily was kneeling beside Leah but still managed to bounce the bed hard enough to rock the headboard into the wall. Then she peered at Leah. “Wait. You already knew.” She tugged at Ian’s ring hanging from Leah’s neck. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
Her mind still blurry, Leah clasped Emily’s hand holding the ring. Oh hell. She should have seen this coming. “Honey—”
“Mommy, he’s here. I saw his computer on the table and then he brought my computer and my iPad and my Xbox back, too. It’s like Christmas all over again.” More bouncing. Leah caught Emily by the waist and drew her into a tight hug. Emily traced Leah’s cheek and lips with her finger. “Mommy, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you happy? Daddy’s back. Now we can all go home,” she continued in a singsong voice. “Now everything can go back to the way it was.” Leah remained silent, hugging Emily even tighter. Emily’s face softened and Leah felt her fantasy slip away in the way her body went slack.
Still Emily tried one last time. “Daddy’s home and we don’t need to cry anymore…” Finally her tears choked her, and she flung her arms around Leah’s neck, sobbing into her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, baby. We talked about this, you know Daddy’s not coming back. Not like it was.”
“But I saw—”
“I stopped by the old house. The police returned your computers, so I brought them here. I was going to tell you, but you were already asleep when I got home.”
“We built a fort. I dreamed Daddy came and helped. He likes Nate. Says I’m lucky to have a friend like him.” She rubbed her nose in Leah’s hair. “I miss him,” she whispered. “I want him back. Why’d he have to go away and die?”
“I miss him, too, pumpkin. But he’s always here. You know that.” Leah shifted Emily’s weight until they were face to face once again. “Daddy is here.” She placed a palm on Emily’s heart. “And here.” Her other hand went to her own heart. “Forever.”
Emily raised her own hands to cover Leah’s and nodded solemnly. “Even if I can’t remember sometimes? Even if I can only see him in my dreams?”
“No matter what. He’s never leaving you.” But Emily was right, it wasn’t fair to her not to have
more reminders of her father in plain sight, even if every time Leah saw a picture of Ian, it shattered her heart all over again. Be strong. For Em. That had to be her mantra. She could break down and deal with her own emotions later. Like after Emily went to college or something. But right now, Leah was all Emily had. She couldn’t let her down. “Tell you what. I’ll try to go over to the house today and bring back pictures of Daddy. Then you can decide where they should go.”
Emily nodded at that. “Can I come? I miss our old house. I want Huggybear and all my other animals and my PJs—the softy, soft ones with the pretty ballerinas. And I need—”
“Honey, I don’t think you can come. Besides, you’re grounded—Luka told me what you did to those boys and what you said to Ms. Driscoll.”
“But they were picking on Nate. They stole his great-great’s army medal. They’re bad guys and bad guys need to go to jail!” Her indignation had her bouncing again. Leah decided this wasn’t the time for a lesson on the nuances of dispensing justice—not with her daughter’s tears still wet on her face.
“We’ll talk about it later. Right now, I need to shower and wash your boogers out of my hair, and you need to go be a good hostess to your guest. You remember what that means?”
“Let Nate play any game he wants, don’t fight over toys, and he gets to choose what he wants for breakfast first, even if there’s almost no Sugar Loops left and only one piece of cinny bread.”
Leah sighed. She’d meant to stop at the store on her way home last night. One week on the job and she was already failing as a working single mom. “Make me a list. Two of them. One for what you want from the house and one for shopping. I’ll be down to help you with the spelling in a few minutes. Okay?”
Emily bobbed her head and jumped off the bed. “I’m gonna show Nate my tablet with the games Daddy and I programmed.” She was out the door, a blitz of bright color and motion.
Leah sighed. She needed to do better. It was just so hard—as if gravity was weighing her down more than the rest of the world. Most mornings she could barely make it out of bed, had to force herself to shower and brush her teeth. But she did it. And she’d keep doing it. For Emily. But if the hours she’d put in yesterday were any indication, then this new job might not be the solution she’d thought it would be. Unless she limited herself to only the administrative aspects—but then she’d be miserable and surely would bring home her frustrations to Emily as well. She needed to learn how to create a balance—one that tilted toward Emily, no matter what. After all, it wasn’t as if she was a detective or would actually find a killer. Her job was simply to advise. To facilitate. That was all.
She’d just finished getting dressed, her hair still wet as she pulled on jeans and a fleece top—the sun might be finally shining, but it was still March and they’d be lucky if the thermometer made it past fifty—when her phone rang. It was Jack O’Brien.
“Leah? I’m sorry, I know it’s Saturday, but I didn’t know who else to call and Risa won’t let me take her—” His words tumbled over each other, he was so agitated.
“Slow down, Jack. What’s wrong?”
“It’s Risa. She’s been sick all night. I’ve tried everything, I don’t know what else to do. Could you come over? Please?”
Leah blew out her breath. “Is she awake? Can I talk with her?”
“She hasn’t slept at all. Vomiting and nausea. I’ve gotten sips of electrolytes into her, so I don’t think she’s dehydrated—not yet. But I just—” His voice broke. “It just never stops. I can’t—she can’t take much more. She’s in so much pain, she tries to hide it, but I can tell. I just… I don’t know what else to do. I’ve tried everything.” Jack sounded close to tears himself.
“Keep up with the fluids, small sips every few minutes. If she gets worse before I get there, promise me you’ll call an ambulance. I’m on my way.”
Thirty-One
When Leah reached Risa’s apartment she had to show her ID to an uniformed officer before he let her get close enough to knock. It was Jack who opened the door. “She seems better now,” he said as he led her into the living room. “No more vomiting, at least.”
Leah paused, observing her patient. If this was “better” then she wished Jack had called sooner. Risa was pale, shaking so badly that she had to hold her mug with both hands, and sweat stained the T-shirt she wore over a pair of leggings. She raised the mug to her lips but instead of drinking from it, she spat into it, then wiped even more drool from her mouth with a washcloth. Finally, she seemed to notice Leah standing there, holding her knapsack containing her medical gear.
“I told him not to call you.” Risa’s voice was flat with fatigue. She closed her eyes and curled up in the chair. “I’m fine.”
Leah approached her, glancing into the mug Risa clutched, then at her patient. Despite her vomiting, Risa’s lips were moist—in fact, she seemed to be swallowing frequently. “Headache?” Leah asked.
Risa simply nodded, her eyes still closed. She raised the mug and spat again.
“Does that happen often? The spitting?” Leah tapped the mug and Risa looked at Leah wearily. Her eyes were red, her pulse strong but rapid as Leah closed her fingers around Risa’s wrist.
“Sorry.” Risa set the mug on the table beside her. “I know it’s gross, I can’t help it.”
“Excessive salivation, it’s a pretty specific symptom.”
“It’s new, only happened a few times,” Risa mumbled.
“Not yesterday when I saw you,” Leah said. “You weren’t as sweaty then either.”
“Yesterday was more like usual—the medicine works better when it’s like usual.”
“Zofran,” Jack volunteered. “The doctor gave it for her nausea and it usually helps the headaches as well.”
“Not so much this time, but whatever it was, I’m feeling better.”
“Any diarrhea? Or just the nausea and vomiting?”
“No diarrhea. The vomiting stopped, but I’m still nauseated.”
“When did it start?” Leah asked.
“The nausea hit her a little bit after dinner,” Jack answered.
“Later than that,” Risa said. “Dom had already left, right? At least I think so.”
“What did you have for dinner?”
“The pasta you saw me making—we all had it,” Jack said. “Dom and I had wine, Risa just tea.” He stopped. “Risa, I opened the wine and poured it, I remember that. But I didn’t get you your tea.”
“Dom got it for me.” Risa frowned as she saw Jack’s expression close down.
“Of course he did.” He turned to Leah. “You know how I said I thought there was a pattern to Risa’s episodes? She gets worse every time Dom visits.”
Leah blinked. Did he seriously suspect Dom of poisoning Risa? “Risa, is that true?”
“What? No. You’re both crazy. Dom would never—”
“Why?” Jack snapped. “Because he’s your friend? Because he’s stuck by you when you stopped taking all those high-paying dangerous assignments and the money stopped flowing in? Don’t you get it? He’s not your friend, you’re his money-maker and that’s all he cares about.”
“But I said no to those jobs before I got sick,” Risa protested.
“So maybe he’s punishing you for it. Or is using your illness to turn you into a spectacle he can cash in on. I don’t trust him.” It was clear this was an argument that Jack had been building to for a long time. “I don’t think he’s good for you. There. I said it.”
“You think—” Her eyes went wide. “No. Why would Dom want to hurt me? How does that benefit him at all?”
“It’s that damn book. If you’re sick that’s one more publicity angle to help him sell it.”
Risa shook her head. “But it’s because I’ve been sick that I haven’t been able to finish the book. You can’t have it both ways.”
“Hang on,” Leah interjected, feeling like a referee. “Let’s slow down and focus on Risa and what’s happening now. The sym
ptoms you have today fit a few toxins—”
“Toxins?” Jack’s voice rose to near shouting. “You mean poison—”
“Wait, wait.” Leah let her voice rise to match his but then lowered it. She took a deep breath and he followed. “Let’s think this through. If Dom—or anyone—did this, then they either brought the toxin with them or they found it here. Any pesticides, bug sprays, plant sprays in the house?”
“No,” Risa said. “I’m not good with plants.”
“There’s that mold killer stuff for the bathroom,” Jack said. “Would that—no, different chemicals.” As he calmed down, his expression cleared. “You’re thinking organophosphates or carbamates, aren’t you?” Leah remembered he was an environmental chemist. “No, nothing like that in the apartment. Besides, it would need to be a commercial product, like what professional landscapers use.”
“Landscaper?” Risa sat up straight. “Like the man killed in Indiana?”
“The man missing in Indiana,” Leah corrected, Luka’s voice in her head. She wondered if, with him off the case, someone would still be following up on the search. She hoped so. “Another possibility is nicotine. Do either of you smoke?”
“No,” Risa said. Then she let out a long exhalation, her shoulders sagging. “But Dom vapes.”
“Wait.” Jack crossed into the kitchen, returning with a small trash can. “I saw something—” He rummaged through the garbage, then held up a tiny cartridge. “I think this is his.”
Too bad Jack had just put his own prints all over it, Leah thought, knowing Luka would be frustrated at that. “Risa, how about if we go to the ER and get you tested?”