Mrs. Branaghan answered for Natalie. “Do you remember when I told you a week ago someone was trampling the vegetable garden out back?”
Hannah vaguely did. “Did they do it again?” Ellen was cooing at her father, barely blinking as she stared at him.
“Yes, they did.” Mrs. Branaghan adopted a sly expression. “And I have proof this time.”
Hannah forced herself to look away from father and daughter. “No one doubted you. It’s just there’s not much to be done. We could ask the landlord to put up fencing, but I’ve had trouble getting ahold of him when the heat goes wonky. The guy’s not reliable.”
“I have a phone.” Mrs. Branaghan held up an iPhone. “And I know how to use it.”
Hannah stepped to her side. “Why, you crafty old lady. Let me see.” The three cats wove their way around Hannah’s legs as Mrs. Branaghan handed over the device.
At first, Hannah only saw pictures of Mrs. Branaghan’s thumb, and cats, but then she saw a photo that showed a figure in the back gardens holding a camera. With a long lens. It was at night, so the only lighting was from the streetlights and whatever moonlight there had been that night, but it clearly showed a figure of medium height and build dressed in black pants, black hoodie, and gloves.
Hannah exchanged weighted glances with Natalie. Her friend knew what these pictures meant. “When did you take these? Would you allow me to email these to myself? I want to look at them closer. Have the team look.” If Pepperidge hadn’t already put her on administrative leave, she thought.
Mrs. Branaghan’s face brightened. “I was hoping you’d say that. I want to give this guy a piece of my mind.”
“Hmm.” Hannah knew if this was a picture of who she thought it was, there was a killer trolling the building. “Natalie, I need you to make sure the tenants in this building understand the danger here. They need to keep their windows locked, and their doors locked, too. Best case scenario, it’s a burglar casing the building. Worse case, it’s the man trying to kill me.”
“And I’ll tell the building crime watch.” The old woman clapped her hands, smiling. “This is so exciting!”
Hannah was dumbstruck. “You’re not afraid?”
Mrs. Branaghan scoffed. “Natalie is armed to the teeth and is staying with me, so what’s to worry? I’ve never felt so safe in my life.”
“Staying with you?” Hannah had thought Natalie would be staying upstairs, with her and the baby. In fact, she’d kind of relied on that, hoping a third person in the apartment would serve as a buffer between her and Jack.
Natalie gave Hannah a wry look. “I said I’d bodyguard the baby. Don’t try to get me involved in,” she indicated Jack with a flick of her wrist, “your mess. You know I’m not good with stuff like that.”
Hannah glared at her. “Stuff? Like empathy? Pity?”
Natalie smiled. “Yeah. Like that.”
Hannah emailed herself the photos and then handed the phone back to Mrs. Branaghan. “Jack and I have to go.” He and Ellen were in their own little world. Ellen was gumming Jack’s tie, soaking a good portion of it with drool.
Hannah approached them and pulled the tie from the baby’s grip, and then took her from Jack’s arms. Ellen kept reaching for her father, kicking up a fuss, until Jack pressed his index finger to Ellen’s tiny hand. When her daughter gripped it, Jack’s smile made Hannah wonder if he noticed the moment’s symbolism; Ellen forming a physical connection between the three of them. It was startling, and scared Hannah, because Jack hurt her when he left without a word. Maybe beyond repair. She wouldn’t allow him to do that to Ellen.
“I think she doesn’t want us to leave,” Jack said. Keeping his voice low, he put his hand on Hannah’s back. Without warning, she found herself blinking back tears. How many times had she dreamt of a moment like this? Them, together. Countless. But Jack came back from the dead with baggage. He’d betrayed her trust, damn him. She didn’t know what to think.
Hannah lowered her face until it pressed against Ellen’s cheek, allowing her to hide her emotions behind a brief kiss. She had to walk away, even though separation anxiety told her to stay. “You be good for Natalie and Mrs. Branaghan, okay?” She kissed Ellen’s tiny nose and then lifted her high enough to smell her diaper. “Stinky girl.”
“Is that what I was smelling?” Jack’s complexion reddened and his smile took on a strained quality. “She was making a lot of noise in her diaper, but I wasn’t sure.” Ellen still gripped Jack’s finger as Hannah handed the baby over to Mrs. Branaghan. Only when the transfer was complete did Ellen release him.
“Don’t let Natalie make you change all the diapers,” Hannah said. “I know, deep down, she’s longing to learn.”
Natalie snorted, but otherwise allowed the comment to stand as she took her place back at the window, nudging the drape aside to peer outside. “There’s been no activity since I arrived. I’m bored already and rooting for a carjacking, or a pickpocket, something, anything to make it interesting.”
Jack was wiggling his fingers at Ellen, looking silly and adorable. He was in love with their daughter, and all it took was an introduction. Relief flooded her. “Natalie, I wish you many more boring days as you guard my child. I’ll be back tonight, and if you change your mind about staying with Mrs. Branaghan, there’s plenty of room upstairs.” Hannah lingered, hoping Natalie would take her up on her offer, but her friend made a big show of shuddering, dashing Hannah’s last hope. “Fine.” She left with a parting glare.
She’d be alone. With Jack. All night.
The possibilities were endless and more dangerous to her heart than the killer was to her body, because… Hannah had no defenses against Jack.
Chapter 10
Jack didn’t want to leave the apartment, or his daughter. He had a daughter! Ellen. Hannah walked past him and out into the hall, so he had no choice but to follow, leaving his daughter behind. It was hard to leave her. Painfully hard.
“No wonder you hate me,” he said.
“Pay attention. Mrs. Branaghan found us a lead.”
His first thought was, really? She wanted to pretend that—back in the apartment—didn’t happen? He wanted to confront her, to have it out on the sidewalk, but Hannah was already flagging down the cruiser idling on the street. As they waited for it to drive to the curb, Jack forced himself not to blow up. Had she planned it this way? To drop a bomb—an amazing bomb, but a bomb nonetheless—then make it impossible for him to talk about it? It was cruel. Yet, he had to admit, he did have it coming. Knowing that didn’t make it easier to take, though.
She slipped into the cruiser’s passenger seat and waited until Jack got in the back. “Thanks for picking us up again.”
The patrolman smiled and gave her a flirty look. “I’ll pick you up anytime, anywhere, Special Agent Cambridge.”
Hannah glanced at his nametag. “McCarthy? We have an O’Grady back at the office. And then, of course, there’s Sergeant O’Neil.”
“You like the Irish? I’m second generation. Second generation cop, too.” The officer gave her a blinding smile, so blinding, Jack wanted to dim it with his fist.
“Rein it in, lover boy,” he said.
Hannah said the baby was a secret and for Ellen’s protection had to remain a secret, but then she flirts in front of him. Not cool, Hannah. Not cool. What exactly would lover boy think if he discovered they just left their baby girl at the house? His and Hannah’s baby girl. Just thinking about it made Jack’s heart warm. He was a father. It was amazing and terrifying. It wasn’t something Hannah would ever forgive him for. His heart sank. He figured he should be satisfied she was willing to let him in on the secret.
Staring out the patrol car’s window, he saw none of the Back Bay’s scenery. Released from the thrall of Ellen’s sweet smile, all he saw were memories of fear. His father’s legacy. Damn, Jack didn’t know a thing about being a good fathe
r, and knew less of little girls. Ellen would eventually want him to braid her hair. He’d fail. Sooner or later there’d be some parenting problem he couldn’t Google himself out of.
Hannah was having a party up front, laughing, and winking at McCarthy. It was annoying to witness. He caught her sneaking a peek at him, and realized Hannah was as unsettled as he was, and putting on a show. For whose benefit? His or the wet-behind-the-ears officer driving this patrol car? Hannah held Jack’s gaze as the officer continued to chatter away.
“Jack, Mrs. Branaghan’s lurker was carrying a professional grade camera with a long-range lens. Some of those pictures on the boat were of me in my apartment, and this was not the first time she saw this guy in the backyard. I believe we now have a picture of our perp.”
Which raised the concern that Ellen might not be as secret as Hannah believed. She had to understand the necessity of moving to the safe house now. Hannah scowled at him, as if reading his mind. He saw her waiting for that argument, her retorts locked and loaded. Hannah was a fighter, and this would be a knock-down, drag-out fight for the books, but not right now. No way he could argue effectively with McCarthy in the car. Not and keep their secret.
Ellen. Hannah had effectively boxed him in. Smart girl.
Other than the officer’s awkward flirting and subsequent dinner invitation, and Hannah’s gentle refusal, the drive to New Sudbury precinct was silent. Once they arrived, Jack took her place in shotgun, and waved her inside the building. “I’m going to get my car. I’ll see you inside in twenty minutes.”
He didn’t allow McCarthy to drive off until she was within the safety of the precinct walls. It took him half an hour to return, but it was time away he’d needed to gather his thoughts. He parked the Coupe at the curb, his assigned space, and patted the hood as he walked past. Minutes later, he was barreling into the incident room, intent on pulling Hannah aside to ask questions about Ellen, her future, and where Jack could be involved.
The team had ordered pizza. Pepperidge called out a greeting. Ferguson nodded in his direction, and then turned back to the group hovering around Vivian’s monitors. Jack met Pepperidge halfway between him and his office. Gilroy approached, too.
“I told you to keep her out of trouble,” Pepperidge said. “She almost died on that boat.”
“Won’t happen again.” Jack glanced at Gilroy, who returned his gaze with a noncommittal grimace.
Pepperidge wasn’t placated. “Ferguson! Tell them about the interview with the marina guy.”
“Bolger?” Jack said.
“Yeah,” Gilroy said. “They came up with squat.”
“We’ve released him,” Ferguson said, walking up to the group. “His alibis hold up and he’s threatening to sue.”
Hannah was sitting at her desk, looking fatigued. She pushed her bangs off her forehead, and clipped the rest at the nape of her neck. “He didn’t fit the build of the person in Mrs. Branaghan’s photos anyway. At least we won’t waste any more time on him.”
“We’ve looked at the photos Hannah took on the yacht,” Gilroy said.
Pepperidge scowled at Jack. “When you were gone, I yelled at her about that stunt, boarding the boat without a warrant. I’m sure you had a few choice words, too, but—”
“Yes, sir.” Jack narrowed his eyes at Hannah, who was ignoring him.
“Good. But we can’t count on her to keep herself alive anymore. It will take all of us to do it,” the lieutenant said.
“I’m sitting right here.” Hannah opened a file that rested on her desk, focusing on the pages inside. “Listening.”
“Reining Hannah in is a full-time job, Lieutenant.” Jack was beginning to think it was an impossible task.
“Screw you,” Hannah mumbled, eyes still on the file.
“I’d bench her if I could,” Jack said. It would keep her and Ellen safer, but he knew Hannah would find a way to be involved in the case no matter what restrictions he placed on her, and then he’d lose control of her. His briefing by Charlie Foulkes, who was still at the marina, forced him to acknowledge she’d be safer with him anyway.
Hannah slapped the file closed, and stood so abruptly, her chair skidded on the polished tile. She stepped to Vivian’s desk and peered over her shoulder, noticeably annoyed. After a moment, she frowned, pointing at the tech’s monitor. “Zoom in on that and print it, please.”
“Of you leaving your apartment?” Vivian peered at the monitor, working her mouse.
Pepperidge was scowling, his arms folded as he watched Hannah. “Our guy is going to be pissed he didn’t kill our girl.”
Hannah snorted, though kept her eyes on Vivian’s monitor. “Not as pissed as I am he tried. But we got him to break his pattern.”
That got Ferguson’s attention. “How so?”
“He didn’t kill me.” She smiled ear to ear.
Gilroy rolled his eyes, not amused. “She should be in protective custody. You know that, Benton, and so does everyone else in this room. You’re taking a huge risk.”
And didn’t he know it. “From where I stand,” Jack said, “he’s leading us around by our noses. He somehow predicted you’d find the Teapot, Hannah, or he followed you to the yacht.”
“We need to be smarter than him,” Gilroy said, eyes on Jack. “We need to start predicting his behavior.”
“It’s puzzling, though,” Hannah said.
Ferguson sat behind his desk and leaned back in his chair. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s got you puzzled?”
“She’s wondering why the perp didn’t kill us,” Jack said. “The pictures on the wall in the yacht, the posting of the fourth stanza of ‘Broken Love’ next to them…it was the perp’s handiwork.”
Gilroy nodded. “He’d staged the crime scene, just like all the other crime scenes.”
“So why aren’t we dead?” Hannah said.
Vivian smiled at Jack. “I heard you threw her over your shoulder like a caveman.”
“Not quite, but would you be surprised?” Hannah said, her cheek kicking up. “Where is Deming? I want her thoughts on why I’m still breathing.”
Pepperidge’s gaze settled on Deming’s desk. “I’ve been leaving messages for hours now. Vivian, give Deming another call. The rest of you, figure this out. I want a report on my desk by end of day detailing our next move.” The lieutenant left, unhappy.
Well, Jack wasn’t happy either. Five hours later, he still wasn’t happy. The team had pored over transcripts of interviews, the critical analysis of the poem, photos from the yacht and Hannah’s backyard, and still were no closer to any answers. It didn’t help that all he could do was think about Ellen and when he would see her again.
He glanced at his watch and found it impossible to dismiss his unease any longer. It was 6:00 p.m. and Deming was still AWOL. “Vivian? She answering her phone yet?”
“No,” Vivian said, clearly worried.
“I’ve been calling, too. Nothing.” Gilroy disconnected the line. “I’ve pinged her, but got no signal. Her phone is probably dead; tech hates her.”
“Still…” Vivian said, her brows furrowed with worry.
Gilroy smiled. “Don’t worry about Deming, Vivian. She’s the scariest thing out there.”
Hannah leaned a hip against Ferguson’s desk. Jack joined them, and when his gaze met hers, for once there was no hurt or accusation marring her expression. She was too frustrated, apparently, to allow their personal life to distract her. “We’re missing something. What’s different about me?” she said.
Let me count the ways. “You knew you were a target. The others didn’t.” Jack thought that was obvious enough. “You’re a trained investigator. That matters.”
Gilroy shook his head. “The perp made a mistake.” He was sitting at his borrowed desk, leaning on his elbows, glaring off into the distance.
“What mistake?” Hannah s
aid.
Gilroy shrugged. “When we find that out, we’ll be close to finding this bastard.”
Jack caught Ferguson sizing him up, and from the look in his eye, he instantly knew it had nothing to do with the case. Ferguson wanted to know what kind of competition Jack was for Hannah’s affection. Jack wanted to tell him. To come right out, get in his face, tell the huge guy to back the fuck off, because Ferguson was officially the proverbial wall to Gabriel’s celestial horn. Or rather Jack’s horn. Ferguson couldn’t have her. Hannah was his. Breaking his silence about Ellen was the fastest route, of course. Ferguson would understand that kind of claim. It would be so simple to allow Ellen’s existence to slip, to bring everything out into the open, but Hannah would never forgive him and he was still on the shit list for dying last year. He’d have to be patient with the detective, and hope he didn’t escalate the battle for Hannah’s affections.
“It’s the killer’s first mistake,” Hannah said. “That has to mean something.” She walked to the murder board and taped up a photo of the shadowy figure Mrs. Branaghan’s camera caught trolling her garden behind the brownstone. “I wish we could tell if this is a man or a woman.”
“I sent Charlie and his forensics team to the brownstone,” Jack said. “Maybe they’ll get a footprint. Maybe the guy smokes.” Jack flipped through the list of victims’ characteristics. “First victim, James Twoomey,” he said under his breath, as if for his own benefit. “Male, middle-aged, salesman. Died by mauling.”
Hannah nodded. “Second, Carey Stone, young woman working as an administrative assistant for a staffing agency. Drowning. Third, Harold Zelezny, a retired plumber. Death by freezing. And then there’s me. I was supposed to blow up on a yacht named Teacup. We all have something in common that is not in our files, and it can’t just be our lack of social lives.” Hannah seemed nonplussed. “We need to interview the victims’ families again. Interview the witnesses at the marina again.” Ferguson ran his fingers though his hair and sighed loudly, his frustration equal to everyone else’s. “I know, I know,” Hannah stared him down, “but we’re missing something. The interviews must be a priority. They’re our best bet to find a new lead.”
Catch a Killer Page 13