Watch Your Back

by Rose, Karen

  ‘I agree,’ she said. ‘So the first guy was waiting for me to appear—’

  ‘Or for Clay to appear,’ Joseph said, ‘anticipating following him to you.’

  She nodded. ‘Also agreed. But the first guy got spooked when he saw the two dead cops and took off. If the second guy did follow us to Culp’s, he either left and came back to Clay’s, or never left and just hid from all the law enforcement. I don’t think he followed Hyatt.’

  ‘It wouldn’t make sense for him to do so, if he was waiting for you and Clay,’ Joseph said. ‘Which means he followed you the whole way. Even when you stopped at CVS.’

  Clay frowned. ‘How did you know we stopped?’

  Joseph shrugged. ‘I found the drugstore bag in my Escalade and checked the receipt before I entered it all into evidence. I had to take your gym bag, too.’ The look he gave Clay was apologetic. ‘So I stopped by another CVS on my way here and bought you new stuff. It’s in Grayson’s Escalade.’

  Clay felt his cheeks heat, knowing Joseph had found the condoms he’d bought when the Fed checked Clay’s gym bag. But this wasn’t the time for personal embarrassment.

  Stevie had looked up, her cheeks pale but her eyes grimly steady. ‘He waited while you went into the store, Clay. He could’ve shot me then. Joseph, can you look at the store’s security tapes? See if the Tahoe was nearby?’

  Joseph took out his phone and sent a text. ‘I put one of my team on it. I’ll let you—’

  Abruptly the ER went quiet. The sniper from the State Police had been taken up to surgery minutes before and the remaining activity had been clustered around Skinner, but now the medical staff turned from Skinner’s stretcher, shoulders sagging, feet dragging.

  Clay’s heart skipped a beat. Oh no. Oh God, no.

  ‘Damn,’ Stevie whispered. ‘Just . . . damn.’

  Joseph bowed his head wearily. ‘I need to go. You two, just stay alive. Please.’

  From the corner of his eye, Clay saw Joseph walk away, but his gaze was fixed on the body on the other side of the ER.

  ‘Clay?’ Stevie murmured.

  He didn’t look at her. ‘He was a husband and a father. And a good cop until he got shot two years ago. Now he’s dead. How can I not feel responsible, Stevie?’

  She tugged at his arm. When he didn’t move, she put her hip into the effort, surprising him enough so that she was able to turn him around, so that he faced her and not the dead cop’s body. She reached up, cupped his face in her hands, and pulled until he looked down and met her eyes.

  ‘He was a junkie, Clay, and that had nothing to do with you. He made that choice. He might have been a good husband and father once, but he ceased to be when the drugs became more important than his family. And he stopped being a good cop the instant he told Rossi where to find me and Cordelia. If you hadn’t hidden us . . . If we’d actually been in that safe house, we’d be dead. If that made Skinner feel guilty enough to take his own life, then so be it. Call me harsh and unfeeling, but I’m not going to cry a single tear for him.’

  Clay’s jaw hardened even as he drank in the feel of her hands on his face. ‘You’re absolutely right.’ Skinner wasn’t the victim here. He’d willfully disclosed the ‘safe’ location of a fellow police officer. Another human being. And a child. ‘I didn’t think.’

  Her eyes softened. ‘You’re tired. So am I. It’s been an intense two days for both of us. Let’s go rest. Recharge for a few hours. Then we’ll figure out what to do next.’

  He leaned closer, resting his forehead against hers, and she didn’t back away. ‘Okay.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Baltimore, Maryland, Sunday, March 16, 6.15 P.M.

  Sam Hudson hated the morgue on a good day. This was not a good day – for him, for the department, or for the MEs. Especially not for the cops lying inside with tags on their toes.

  He’d been aware that cops had been shot. It was all over the news, but he’d been in a fog all day. The deaths of his fellow cops hadn’t seemed real, but that changed the moment he stepped into the morgue. There was a level of tension he hadn’t felt on any of his prior visits.

  He stopped at the front desk, manned by a security guard. ‘I’m Officer Hudson,’ he said, showing his badge as he was dressed in street clothes. ‘Can I speak with Dr Trask?’

  The guard looked mildly surprised. ‘She’s on maternity leave. Won’t be back ’til next year.’

  Sam frowned. ‘I knew she’d gone out, but I thought maternity leave was only eight weeks.’

  ‘She’s taking unpaid leave so she can be home with the baby until his first birthday. She’s brought him in a time or two.’ The guard smiled. ‘He’s a cute one.’

  ‘I’m sure he is,’ Sam said, trying to sound . . . normal. ‘Is Dr Mulhauser here, then?’

  ‘He’s retired. New chief’s named Quartermaine. He’s in the back with all the assistant MEs.’ The smile faded to a sad kind of fury. ‘They’re all doing exams. We got a full house.’

  ‘I heard,’ Sam murmured. ‘I need to pull an autopsy report. It’s really important. Is there anyone here who can help me?’

  ‘I’m sorry, but the person who pulls reports has gone home for the evening. If you leave the information, someone can pull it for you when the hubbub goes down.’

  ‘I can help him.’

  Sam turned to find a dark-haired, very curvy Latina beauty in her late twenties walking down the hall from the back. She was zipping her jacket, a gym bag slung over one shoulder.

  The security guard’s smile returned. ‘Ruby, you’re off the clock aren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah. And it’s about time,’ she said with grim relief. ‘This has been one of the longest days we’ve had in months. What can I do for you, sir?’

  ‘This is Officer Hudson,’ the guard said.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Sam said quietly. ‘You’ve put in a full day. I can wait.’

  He didn’t mind waiting. He’d waited for over an hour in the parking lot outside, trying to convince himself to come in. He could wait a little longer to read what was sure to be very bad.

  ‘I’ve retrieved the bodies of four cops today,’ she said, ‘and I feel like shit. Helping a live cop will make me feel better. Come with me.’ She led him back to one of the offices, pointed to a chair while she dropped into the one behind the desk. ‘ID number?’

  Sam slid his badge across the desk. ‘My ID.’

  She studied it for a moment. ‘Who do you need to look up, Sam?’

  ‘I don’t have a name. He’s a John Doe. But I have the police report number.’

  ‘That’ll work.’ She typed like a pro, her long, red nails flying over the keys. She was going to give him the report. It would tell him the truth.

  Sam didn’t want to think about the truth. Knowing the truth was coming was making him sick to his stomach. He focused on her red nails instead. ‘May I ask you a question?’ he said.

  ‘Unless it’s my weight, knock yourself out.’

  A small smile tugged at his lips. ‘How do you handle the bodies with those long nails?’

  She paused, wiggling her fingertips as she admired her hand. ‘They’re fake. Press-ons. I put them on when I leave, take them off when I come in.’ She sobered, still staring at the nails that had little rhinestones imbedded randomly, making them sparkle. ‘I guess it’s my way of distancing myself from what I’ve seen during the day.’

  ‘And maybe keeps people from asking you about it once you’ve left here.’

  She nodded. ‘Exactly. People can be weird about those of us who work here.’ She hit another key on the keyboard with a flourish, then reached for the printer. ‘Here it is.’ She read the page she’d printed. ‘Not much here. If you have any questions, call tomorrow. We’ve got five cops back there – one from last night and the four we brought
in today. Plus two civilians from that restaurant sniper yesterday afternoon. Nobody’s in a chatty mood.’

  ‘You are,’ he said quietly.

  She looked a little ashamed. ‘I guess I am.’

  ‘I didn’t mean anything bad. It’s how you cope.’

  She shrugged. ‘Maybe. This exam was done by Dr Fremont. He retired about three years ago. He’s still local and loves to help out. Keeps him off the street and out of the bingo parlors.’ She handed him the report. ‘Hope this helps your case.’

  ‘It will, thank you.’

  ‘Why did you want to look it up?’ she asked.

  ‘The gun that killed this man was recently found. I just wanted to see what was what.’

  She nodded. ‘Well, you got what you came for.’ She turned off the computer and gathered her bag. ‘I’ll walk you out.’

  She was quiet until they came to where they’d go their separate ways. ‘Who is this John Doe to you?’ she asked. ‘He means something to you. I can tell.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he answered truthfully. ‘Thanks.’ He got in his car, waited for her to get into hers. When she drove away, he went the other direction, stopping at a Starbucks. He went in for a cup, just to take off the chill. Because he was colder than he’d been in a very long time.

  Once he’d added cream and sugar and done everything possible to put off the inevitable, he sat down to read. Part of it he knew. Mid-forties, Caucasian. Bullet hole to the back of the head. Time of death estimated at mid-March, eight years before.

  The timing was right, dammit. He’d hoped it wouldn’t be. He’d hoped the death had occurred in January or April or even the previous Halloween. Any time that was not mid-March. But it was. Still, just the timing was right didn’t mean it was his father.

  So how’s the weather in Egypt? With contempt for his near desperate denial, he searched the text for unique features, tattoos, anything to tell him that this man was not his father.

  Shit. The victim was missing his appendix. So was his father. But then, so were millions of people. Doesn’t mean a thing. The victim’s femur had evidence of a very bad break that had probably occurred when he was a child.

  Sam’s father had taken a bad fall sledding as a boy. He’d walked with a limp until the day he disappeared. Same leg. Just a coincidence.

  There were autopsy photos attached. He didn’t want to look. Didn’t think he could.

  Knew he had to.

  Steeling his spine, he flipped the page. And forgot to breathe. The first photo was a close-up of the victim’s forearm. It was the remnant of a tattoo. Suddenly Sam was ten years old, cowering on the floor as that forearm came down, the leather belt the man gripped cutting into his skin. The tattoo was a bald eagle, one wing the stars, the other the stripes on the flag.

  He’d focus on that eagle whenever his father would bring out the belt. He focused on it now. Only about a third of the tat remained – the eagle’s head, a little of the stars, a little more of the stripes.

  John Hudson was dead. I killed him. I killed my father.

  Slowly Sam rose, pushed his chair under the table, threw his untouched coffee in the trash. He folded the report, slid it into his coat pocket, got into his car and drove about five blocks.

  Then he pulled into the deserted parking lot of a high school, staggered from his car, and fell to his knees, throwing his guts up.

  I killed him. I killed my father. How could he tell his mother? He couldn’t. It would kill her.

  I’m finished. I’m done. No more police department. I’m going to prison.

  The retching finally eased and he hung there on his hands and knees, drawing deep, shuddering breaths.

  ‘Do you know now?’

  He was surprised to hear the woman’s voice behind him. He recognized it right away. It was the Latina ME tech who’d pulled the report.

  A tissue appeared in front of his face, held by long red nails.

  He remembered that her name was Ruby. He took the tissue, wiped his mouth. ‘What?’

  ‘You didn’t know who the victim was when I gave you the report. Do you know now?’

  ‘What are you doing here? Did you follow me?’

  ‘I did. My date canceled.’

  ‘So you followed me? Please. Just leave me alone. Go home.’

  ‘I considered that, but I have a sink full of dirty dishes and four-day-old pizza in the fridge. I didn’t want to go home. Plus, you looked green around the gills when you left the morgue.’ She sighed, her voice going from light to very serious. ‘I was worried about you, Sam.’

  ‘Thank you. Truly, I . . . appreciate it. But I really need to be alone right now.’

  ‘Why? Because you just threw up? Honey, I pick up dead people for a living. I have seen a helluva lot worse, trust me.’

  Unbelievably, a chuckle rose in his throat. ‘Your date canceled on you, really?’

  ‘Yeah. Imagine that.’

  ‘It’s hard to.’

  Her hand came into his field of vision, those long red nails sparkling in the lamplight. ‘Come on. You can’t stay here. This is a bad neighborhood. You could get mugged.’

  Again he chuckled. ‘I’m a cop, Ruby.’ But he took her hand and let her pull him up. ‘You need to get home. So do I.’

  She shook her head. ‘Who’s the John Doe, Sam?’

  He closed his eyes. ‘God. I can’t say. I can’t.’

  ‘All right. Come on, let’s get some fluids in you. You puked up half your water weight.’

  Feeling like he was walking across a surreal landscape, he let her lead him to her car. She popped the trunk. A moment later she was handing him a bottle of mouthwash. ‘Rinse first.’

  ‘You keep mouthwash in your trunk?’

  She plunked a hand on her hip, those red nails extending like claws. ‘Were you not listening, papi? I pick up dead people for a living. That’s a taste that gets in your mouth and will not go away. And nobody wants to kiss me after that.’

  He found himself smiling as he spit the mouthwash onto the grass next to her car. He took the bottle of water she offered and chugged half of it down at once, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Thank you. Really. You’ve been kind when you didn’t have to be.’

  ‘That’s kind of the definition of “kind”, isn’t it? If you have to be kind, then it’s coercion and therefore not truly kind.’

  He blinked. ‘Yeah. Okay. I think.’

  She studied him in the lamplight. ‘You got someplace to be tonight, Sam?’

  ‘No.’ He couldn’t face his mother and he didn’t want to go back to his place. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Then come with me. We can listen to some music and you can figure out what you’re going to do with what you just found out.’

  ‘What about my car?’

  ‘Lock it up. It’ll probably be here when you get back. The drug dealers in this neighborhood have much nicer cars than this. They’ll likely leave yours alone.’

  Somehow he ended up in the passenger seat of her car, buckling himself in. ‘Ruby, how do you know I’m safe? I could be an evil person, planning all kinds of terrible things.’

  She started her engine. ‘Are you?’

  ‘No.’ He frowned. ‘At least I don’t think so.’

  ‘Good. If that changes, be sure to let me know.’

  He was shaking his head when she pulled into traffic, a small smile on his face. A small smile that quickly faded when reality set back in.

  I killed my father. He’d dreamed of doing it so many times. Every time the bastard hurt his mother. But I never would have done it. Never could have done it. Except it looked like he had.

  Wight’s Landing, Maryland, Sunday, March 16, 7.00 P.M.

  Tanner St James’s kitchen was full of chatter and
wonderful aromas when Stevie and Clay walked in. The aromas lingered, but the chatter abruptly quieted, six pairs of eyes staring at her.

  Tanner stood at the stove, wearing an apron that said ‘Kiss The Cook’. At the table were Cordelia, Paige and Grayson, and Emma and her husband, Christopher. Below the table were two dogs – Peabody lying at Paige’s feet and Tanner’s dog Columbo at Cordelia’s.

  They’d just finished dinner, and based on the clean plates in front of each one of them, it had been tasty. Stevie’s stomach grumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  Emma was the first to speak. ‘You trashed my cashmere sweater, didn’t you?’

  Stevie wore a BPD T-shirt for the second day in a row, the turtleneck she’d borrowed from Emma having been taken with the evidence of the shooting. Luckily, the ER doctor who’d restitched her arm had noticed the hickey and loaned her some makeup to cover it up.

  Stevie shrugged, keeping her voice light. ‘Yep. I’d feel bad, but I told you I’d ruin it. You loaned it to me with full disclosure.’

  ‘Mama,’ Cordelia asked in a small voice, ‘why are you wearing that thing over your shirt?’

  Stevie pulled at the Velcro tabs that held the flak jacket in place. Joseph had left the vests on their seats in the SUV. Given the events of the day and that her thin Kevlar armor had been taken along with the turtleneck, she’d been grateful for the gift. ‘It’s just a precaution, honey. I promised you I’d be very careful and this is me, keeping my promise. So, looks like you guys are having a party. I hope there’s ice cream. I could really use some chocolate.’

  Grayson jumped up and pulled out a chair. ‘Sit. It’s time to rest for a while, Stevie.’

  ‘I slept in the car,’ Stevie said, taking the seat he offered, putting her next to Cordelia. She kissed the top of her daughter’s head, acutely aware that Cordelia hadn’t been soothed by her explanation of the flak jacket. Should’ve taken it off in the garage. Stupid mistake.

  ‘No, she didn’t.’ Clay took the seat on Cordelia’s other side. ‘Your mom was pretending to sleep, just like you do.’ He reached over the table, hand extended to Christopher. ‘You’re Emma’s husband. I’m Clay.’