by Karen Rose
“I hope whoever is unlucky enough to be your sparring partner is wearing a heavy-duty cup.”
“Stainless steel even.” And she laughed out loud at his predictable wince. “Good night, Lucas.”
Thursday, October 6, 6:25 P.M.
Steven sat alone in the conference room, staring at the board. A map held pushpins indicating the clearings where Lorraine’s and Samantha’s bodies had been found, the houses where the three missing girls had lived, the schools they’d attended. The churches in which they’d worshiped.
Mike’s parish held only two pins. Steven had been relieved to push a third pin marking the location of a small house where the Rahroohs gathered to worship with other Hindu friends. Even if Davies hadn’t surfaced with his picture of Parker, Sandra’s theory would have been put to rest. Mike hadn’t known Alev Rahrooh. Thank God, he thought, tacking three new photos to the board.
Samantha Eggleston’s body. Stabbed fifteen times, blade placement making a pattern very similar to the new tattoo on her bald scalp. Which Kent predicted they would find.
Alev Rahrooh, bright and smiling in her cheerleader picture. A copy of her picture, actually. Her parents hadn’t wanted to give the original to Steven. It was the only recent photo they had, that they’d been able to afford. They’d given it only after Steven promised he would personally ensure its safekeeping. The original lay in an envelope on his desk. He’d return it to the Rahroohs tonight.
And finally, the third photo, Rudy Lutz, a.k.a. William Rudolf Parker.
“His hair color is similar to the sample from the Clary clearing,” Sandra said from the doorway.
“Not good enough according to Liz,” Steven said, turning to look at her. “We’ll need a hell of a lot more to be able to support bringing him in, especially since we’re not even supposed to know his sealed record exists. What’s new, Sandra?”
Sandra didn’t come any closer than the doorway. “Not a lot. Where’s your new friend?”
“Davies? He’s in a visitor’s cubicle, making some calls back to the West Coast.” He paused and asked again, “So what’s new, Sandra?”
She looked up at the ceiling. “I checked into the . . . individual we discussed yesterday.”
“And?”
She met his eyes. “And you were right. The night Lorraine went missing he was with twenty-five other priests at a seminar on church finances.”
“And the night Samantha Eggleston was taken?”
“Giving last sacraments at Wake Medical Center. I’m sorry, Steven. I needed to check.”
“I guess I should be grateful for death and taxes,” Mike said dryly from behind Sandra and she jumped, turning red up to her hairline. Awkwardly, she turned to face him.
“Father Leone. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you knew I was asking about you.”
Mike gestured to the table. “These things tend to get out. After you?”
Sandra shook her head. “I was just leaving. I’ve got to get home to my kids.” Still dismayed, Sandra looked from Steven to Mike. “Father, I tried to be discreet. I hope I haven’t made any trouble for you.”
Mike sat down. “Nothing I can’t manage,” he said, but his eyes didn’t back up his words.
Sandra nodded stiffly and left, closing the door behind her. “I was in the neighborhood,” Mike said softly when she’d gone. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
“No. Of course not.” Steven took the tack out of Rudy’s picture and slipped the photo into a folder. Mike was innocent, but Steven still needed to run a clean investigation, which meant keeping all leads confined to his team. “What brings you to my neighborhood?”
Mike regarded him soberly. “The Egglestons asked me to bless Samantha’s body but the ME said he wasn’t finished with her yet. We’ll have to wait until her body’s released.”
Weariness hit Steven square in the chest and with it a sadness that was a palpable ache. “I don’t want to imagine what her parents are going through,” he said, joining Mike at the table. “But I am.”
“You feel it for all of them, don’t you? The sadness I see in your eyes right now.”
Steven pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d had a headache all day. “I do. I don’t want to. I try not to. But every name in every folder that comes across my desk is a person that belongs to somebody’s family. It never seems to end. So, how bad is it, Mike?”
Mike looked away. “How bad is what?”
Steven leaned forward to catch Mike’s eye. “How badly did we tarnish your reputation?”
“I’ll live. I have a few people calling me, asking if it’s true. More are calling the bishop’s office to ask if it’s true. I’m not blaming you, Steven.”
Steven sighed. “Good. But you know I would have done it anyway.”
“I know. It’s what makes you a good cop.”
“That’s special agent to you,” Steven said, his heart momentarily lightened by the praise.
“That’s why I came by,” Mike said quietly. “To tell you I would have been angry if you hadn’t checked me out. I want the man who killed those girls, Steven. I want him to . . .” Mike’s voice wobbled and he stopped. Cleared his throat. “I want him to suffer for what he did.” He closed his eyes. “I never saw Lorraine’s body, but I glimpsed Samantha’s on the ME’s table. I’ll never forget that sight as long as I live.” He opened his eyes and in them Steven saw anguish. “I have never felt such hate,” he whispered. “I want whoever did this to suffer like Sammie suffered. Worse.”
Like Alev’s suffering right now, Steven thought, then pushed the thought from his mind. “I don’t know that there is much worse, Mike.”
“How do you stand it?”
“Like you stand all the suffering you see. One day at a time. Sometimes an hour at a time.”
Mike stood up, tugged on his robes. “Well, I need to go. It’s Thursday. All-you-can-eat night at Sal’s Pizza. You want to join me for a slice or two or twelve? The beer’s cold.”
Steven smiled wearily up at his best friend, grateful to have him. “Will you believe me if I say I’d like nothing better? But I’d like to get home tonight. I haven’t seen Nicky since Monday night and I still haven’t squared things with Brad.”
Something flickered in Mike’s eyes at the mention of Brad.
“What?” Steven asked, hearing alarm bells ring in his head. “What do you know?”
Mike shook his head. “Go talk to your son, Steven. He needs you.”
Steven watched as he left the room, then turned back to the board to look at the photo of Samantha Eggleston’s mutilated body. She’d needed him, too. Just like Alev needed him now. Pretty soon he’d have to install one of those number machines like they had at the deli counter.
He had to make it stop. He had to catch whoever was doing this. God willing it was Rudy Lutz and they just had to make sure they knew where he went, what he did. That would be the only way they’d save Alev. And the countless other girls Rudy Lutz had yet to victimize.
And there were his own kids, Steven thought. I have to fix my kids. Hell, he had to see his kids.
And there was the small matter of Jenna Marshall. At this point, he just hoped she’d still speak to him when he finally got time to apologize. Whenever that would be.
Thursday, October 6, 7:30 P.M.
“You’re not concentrating tonight, Jen.”
Jenna picked herself off the floor and pulled at her gi. She looked up at her sensei who stared down at her disapprovingly. “I’m sorry, Mark. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“Well, leave it outside. Your concerns have no place on the sparring mat. You’ll get hurt.”
Jenna rubbed her sore hip. “I already am. You caught me good.”
“I caught you napping,” Mark snapped. “You’re supposed to be demonstrating technique, not volunteering to be the first-aid dummy.”
Jenna looked at the rest of the students lined up behind them. Mark was right. She owed more to the students than she’d been giving toni
ght. Classroom vandalism, juvenile delinquents, Brad and Steven Thatcher aside. “Point taken.” She held herself rigid. “I’m ready now.”
Mark shook his head, his frown softening from frustrated to worried. “No, you’re not. We’ll try again later.” He motioned to a boy standing at the end of the line. “Bill, you’re up. Take five, Jen.”
Chastised, Jenna walked to the water cooler and aimlessly she watched cars drive by until one pulled into their parking lot. Her stomach clenched. Lucas’s car. No. Whatever it was... Just, no.
Dread made her immobile. She could only stand and watch as Lucas made his way across the parking lot, his normally bronzed face whiter than her gi. He pushed the door open and stood silently before her, his throat working frantically.
“Casey,” he whispered and Jenna felt the room tilt. Blindly she lowered herself into a chair.
Lucas cleared his throat. “She lost control of your car and went off an embankment.”
Bile rose in her throat, choking her. “She’s . . . alive?” He nodded. “Barely. Come with me.”
Thursday, October 6, 8:45 P.M.
Steven and Davies’s follow-up visit to the Rahroohs yielded nothing new. Their telephone records had shown a phone call at nine P.M. the night before. Mr. Rahrooh remembered taking the call. Tears ran down his face as he told them he almost had told the boy, no, it was too late to talk to his daughter. Past house rules for receiving phone calls. But she’d looked so eager. “So beautiful,” he’d sobbed, completely breaking down, and Steven and Davies took their leave.
Steven buckled himself into the Volvo. “I’m done for the day,” he said, completely drained.
Davies set his eyes on a point outside the car window. “Me, too. I’ll need a ride back to the motel. You guys still have my rental car in the impound lot.”
Steven chuckled. One very tired chuckle. “Sorry about that.”
“Well, at least I can say I know how it feels to be on the other side of the mirror. I guess I’m glad the Parkers’ neighbor took her civic duty so responsibly. I just wish she’d done it on Parker.”
Steven steered in the direction of Davies’s motel. “Speaking of which, how did Rudy get out of his house last night to meet Alev? She was in bed when her mother checked on her at eleven. What time were you watching the Lutzes’ house?”
“After I left the search site last night I went back to my hotel room for a few hours sleep. I got to Parker’s house about eleven. William got dropped off by some friends at about eleven-thirty—so I know he was home when Alev was still safe in her bed. I took a break around one or so to fill my coffee thermos and get a burrito from the all-night convenience store. Got back around one-thirty.”
“So he had a half hour to get out of the house.”
“Yeah, that’s how I figured it. Damn coffee addiction,” Davies said bitterly. “If I’d kept my station maybe that girl would be in her own bed tonight instead of where Parker’s got her.”
“And maybe if Mrs. Hitler had claimed a headache on the right night, Adolf would never have been born,” Steven responded. “You can’t change it.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Davies muttered. “Doesn’t make it any easier, though.”
“No, it doesn’t.” The car got quiet as Steven mulled over the day. It was almost Nicky’s bedtime. He punched the numbers into his cell phone and smiled when Nicky answered.
“Hey, Daddy.”
“Hey, baby. How are you?”
“Fine.” There was a beat of silence, then an upbeat, “Aunt Helen made pudding for dessert.”
“Chocolate?”
“Tapioca.”
“Mmmm. Did you save me any?”
Nicky giggled softly. “No, on account of you getting fat.” Steven smiled. If that was the shtick Nicky wanted to harp on, he’d go along for the ride. As long as he could hear his baby giggle. “I am not getting fat.”
“Well, Aunt Helen says we’ve got to keep you fit so you can catch Jenna.”
Steven coughed. “She said that?”
“Yessir. So when y’gonna catch her?”
Steven was speechless. “Honey, I don’t know that I will.” He skillfully guided the conversation elsewhere. “I do know, though, that I love you and wish I were home to kiss you good night.”
“Will you see Jenna tonight, Daddy?”
So much for his skill. In more ways than one. He thought about the last two times he’d seen her. He’d be lucky if she ever wanted to see him again. “Probably not, honey. Good night, baby.”
“Night, Daddy.”
Steven punched END and rolled his eyes. He was going to tape Helen’s mouth shut. But she’d probably find some other way to meddle. Sign language or semaphore or something. He’d slipped his phone in his pocket when it jangled. “Thatcher,” he answered.
“Thatcher, this is Al Pullman. Investigative Division?” Steven sat up straighter. “Yeah, sure, you took Dr. Marshall’s statement on her slashed tires. Did you catch the boys that did it?” He could only hope. It would give them a way to get Rudy in for a DNA sample if he got arrested.
Hey. That was an angle.
“No,” said Pullman, bringing him back. “But Dr. Marshall’s had another incident with her car. I thought you might want to know since . . . well, since you two seemed ...involved.”
The hackles on Steven’s neck had already started to rise. “What’s happened?”
“Her car was vandalized again, but this time they cut her brake line.”
Steven’s heart jolted, as if struck by lightning. Then raced. “Is she hurt?”
“No, but her friend is. She’d let the friend borrow the car for a weekend outing. Her friend lost control going around a curve and went off the embankment. She’s in critical condition.”
Steven had to make himself think. Talk. Drive.
Think. She was okay. Jenna was okay. Alive. “Where is her friend?”
“Wake Medical Center,” Pullman said. “Dr. Marshall is there with her. I didn’t tell Dr. Marshall about the brakes yet. I thought you might want to.”
“Thanks, Al. I will. I have an emergency,” he said to Davies. “I’ll drive you to your motel when I’m done at the hospital.”
TWENTY
Thursday, October 6, 9:10 P.M.
LUCAS LEANED BACK INTO THE SOFA IN THE surgical waiting room. “I feel so helpless,” he murmured. “When are her parents going to get here?”
Jenna looked across the room at Casey’s boyfriend, Ned, who was standing in front of the television in the corner, a completely vacant look on his face. “Ned said their flight gets in at eleven or so. I offered to go pick them up at the airport, but he insisted on doing it himself.”
Jenna stared at the man she’d previously thought to be adolescent and insensitive. And he may have been in the past, but he wasn’t tonight. Ned had taken charge of the situation, signing forms, doing everything Casey needed him to do. But right now Ned’s face was blank.
“He’s gone into screen saver mode, I think,” she murmured, memories of Adam rushing back. All those hours waiting in hospitals just like this one. Sometimes the mind simply couldn’t function past the stress anymore. “I’ve been there.”
Lucas took her hand and entwined their fingers. “I guess you have, honey.”
A wave of reality unexpectedly bowled into her, leaving her shaky. Blinking away tears, she laid her head on Lucas’s shoulder. “She might die, Lucas.”
Lucas put his arm around her. “Sshh. Don’t think it, Jen.” “I can’t help it,” she whispered. She’s all I have left. “I couldn’t stand to lose her, too.”
Lucas said nothing, just pulled her closer and laid his cheek on top of her head.
A woman in green scrubs appeared in the doorway. “Casey Ryan’s family? I’m Dr. Neuss.”
Jenna and Lucas jumped up. Ned turned from the television, slowly, and Jenna saw the look in his eyes she instantly recognized. He truly loves her, she thought. And he believes she will die.
<
br /> Lucas stepped forward. “We’re her friends. Her family’s on their way from out of state.”
Ned stumbled toward them, looking nauseous. “Is she . . . ?”
The woman smiled kindly, but wearily. “She’s alive.” Jenna felt her body sag, grateful for Lucas’s strong arm. “Thank God.”
The woman’s expression became more businesslike. “She’s alive right now. She came through the surgery, but not well. She lost a lot of blood. She has trauma to her head where her skull hit the steering wheel on impact.” She looked from Jenna to Ned. “The air bag in her car didn’t deploy?”
Jenna’s stomach heaved. “It was a classic car,” she heard herself whisper. “It didn’t have an air bag.” Oh, God, came the irrational yet very real realization. This is my fault.
Dr. Neuss looked philosophical. “Well, it might have prevented some of the damage, but then again, who knows? The car rolled down an embankment, so there is quite a bit the air bag wouldn’t have protected her from. We had to intubate her during surgery. That means she’s not breathing on her own right now,” she added, again kindly. “She’s a fighter, your friend. We had to resuscitate her twice, but she fought like a...”
“Like a mama tiger,” Jenna whispered. The tears were coming and she didn’t even try to stop them. “Oh, Casey.”
“Like a mama tiger,” Dr. Neuss repeated, then squeezed Jenna’s arm. “Will you be okay?”
Jenna nodded. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” The words were rote. She may even have believed them.
Dr. Neuss slipped her hands in the pockets of her scrubs. “Well, she’s stable for now. The next twenty-four to forty-eight hours will be critical.”
“Can we see her?” Ned murmured.
Dr. Neuss shook her head. “She’ll be in recovery for a few more hours. Once we get her a bed in ICU, one of the nurses will let you see her on a very limited basis.”
“I understand,” Ned murmured, but looking at his face, Jenna wondered if he really did.
“I’m on call tonight,” Dr. Neuss finished. “Call if you have any questions. And try to get some sleep. The next few days will require you all to be strong.”