Critical Pursuit

by Janice Cantore

  Brinna nodded. “I have faith in me. That’s always been all I’ve needed. My mom took me to church until I was thirteen and then she said I could choose. Church never did for me what it seems to do for you and my mom. I can understand O’Reilly not wanting to go anymore. I’m not sure how you want me to help him.”

  “It still amazes me—” he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin with one hand—“that after what you went through as a kid, you don’t believe in God. You’ve been on the job a few years now. You’ve seen firsthand what we deal with. Don’t you find your rescue even a little miraculous?” He held his hand up, thumb and forefinger a few millimeters apart.

  “We went down this road when we were partners.” Brinna drummed on the table with both hands. “You and my mom sound like you read from the same script. I don’t believe there’s a God who led Milo to me. If I did believe that, then I’d have to believe that same God lets hundreds of kidnapped kids be murdered every year. Why would I want to believe in a God like that?”

  “Why not believe that God rescued you for a reason? Maybe so you could do what you’re doing now?”

  Brinna sucked in a breath, Ben’s words reminding her of the strange conversation with Milo. With people like her mother and Ben pushing God stuff, Brinna couldn’t fathom Milo being on their side.

  “I was rescued by Deputy Gregor Milovich, a good cop who followed his instincts. Period. I don’t believe in God or miracles. Now—” she spoke matter-of-factly, with no rancor, and stood, glancing at her watch—“I have to get to work.”

  “Okay, okay.” Ben rose from his chair. “Just be patient with Jack, please. There’s a good cop in there under the grief. Don’t give up on him too soon. As a favor?” His tone pleaded a bit but Brinna was not offended or annoyed. Ben was being a good friend, she decided.

  “I’ll do what I can. I’ll follow my instincts.”

  16

  BRINNA HURRIED back to the station and dressed for work. Without her K-9 unit now, it made more sense to dress at work rather than home. It felt strange climbing into an itchy wool uniform after wearing her cotton K-9 jumpsuit for two years.

  “At least I haven’t put on weight,” she mumbled as she zipped her trousers. Once finished, she double-checked her reflection in the mirror. Her dark-brown hair was cut short enough to stay off her collar and thick enough to stay where she put it. She glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes to roll call and no Maggie.

  Maggie’s absence was only a brief distraction because Ben’s words still echoed in her mind: “Why not believe that God rescued you for a reason? Maybe so you could do what you’re doing now?” She’d heard that argument before, from her mother. It didn’t surprise her that Ben thought the same thing. What still muddled her thoughts was Milo.

  As she stared at her reflection without really seeing it, the question she knew she’d never get an answer to blazed through her mind: If there is a God, why does so much bad stuff happen? Why did Milo want to find such a God? Shaking her head, she pushed the questions away and snapped the leather belt keepers on her Sam Browne.

  Maggie or no Maggie, it was time to head to the squad room, not ponder the existence of God. Maggie would probably roll in at the last minute.

  Brinna wasn’t even certain what Ben wanted from her concerning Jack O’Reilly. She stopped in the break room and purchased some Life Savers, the disturbing thoughts about Milo and Ben leaving a bad taste in her mouth.

  Her assignment was to bring Jack up to speed on new procedures in patrol, not heal his hurts. Jack had sixteen years under his belt to her five. Neither of them were rookies. And she fully expected the man to carry his weight.

  Brinna slid into the squad room ten minutes early. Rick was already there.

  He lifted his chin in greeting. “Seen my partner yet?”

  “Nope. I’m sure she’ll be along shortly.”

  “She told me about you being partnered with O’Reilly. Know what you’ll be working yet?”

  Brinna nodded. “Sarge is putting us in a wild car.” As an all-city backup unit, they wouldn’t have an assigned beat to patrol. Brinna was about to ask Rick if he’d seen O’Reilly, but Maggie’s breathless arrival as she jogged to her seat, still pinning her hair up, interrupted the question.

  “I wondered why you weren’t in the locker room.” Maggie spoke with hairpins in her mouth. “Awfully early . . . A little excited?”

  Brinna didn’t rise to the bait. “Those of us with short, manageable hair don’t need twenty extra minutes to make ourselves presentable.”

  Maggie grunted and took a seat. The rest of the watch filed in and Brinna found herself searching for O’Reilly.

  “By the way—” Rick tapped her on the shoulder—“I saw O’Reilly in the locker room. Shiny new vest and uniform.”

  “Who cares about the uniform,” Maggie gushed. “What’s he look like shirtless?” She shot Brinna an evil grin.

  Brinna snorted. “Settle down. All I care about is how he handles his end of the unit.”

  “Like you’re a nun or something. He may be a nut, but he’s gorgeous; enjoy the view.”

  Brinna turned her attention to the front of the room. Sergeant Eddie Klein walked in and checked the clock. There were two minutes left till four o’clock. He took his seat and studied paperwork in his hand.

  While the second hand ticked through the final minute, Jack O’Reilly strolled into the room and took an open chair near the door.

  Brinna regarded him for a minute as the sergeant began the meeting by reading some current in-service training.

  O’Reilly kept his eyes on Klein. Brinna had to admit that Maggie was right. The guy was handsome. With his dark-red hair in a tight crew cut, he reminded her of Damian Lewis in Homeland. He wore a neat mustache and had a build like a jock, with broad shoulders and trim hips. Her gaze wandered to his hands and noted that they appeared strong and calloused.

  As she tore her eyes away from him, she decided he did fill out the uniform nicely. Sighing, she tuned in to the sergeant and wondered if she was paying too much attention to Maggie.

  Klein read each assignment. Brinna and Jack would be unit 4-Frank-8, a generic wild-car designation. When everyone was dismissed to log in to service, a couple of older guys walked up and greeted Jack.

  “Want to meet for dinner?” Maggie asked as Brinna stood.

  “Sure, as long as you promise not to drool on my partner.”

  Maggie stuck her tongue out and Brinna chuckled. “That’s grown-up.” She dodged the slap and caught O’Reilly before he left the room.

  “Hey, Jack O’Reilly, I’m Brinna Caruso.” She held her hand out and for a minute didn’t think he’d take it. When he finally did, the grip was firm and the shake brief.

  “I guess we’re partners for now. I hear things have changed a lot in the years I’ve been out of patrol.” He smiled, but there was no warmth in it.

  “Things around here change on a daily basis.” Uneasiness smacked Brinna like a baton thrust. O’Reilly’s eyes were so empty. They weren’t cop eyes. They weren’t dead. They were empty. They were a victim’s eyes—a lost and hopeless victim’s eyes. A shiver went through her.

  “I’ve already got a car,” she said as she turned to the door. “Ready whenever you are.”

  “I’m ready,” he said. “At least as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  She waved for him to follow, and together they walked up the stairs and out to the parking lot. All the while Brinna wondered how she could spend ten hours working with a partner who had Stephen King–character creepy eyes.

  17

  MONDAY AFTERNOON into early Tuesday morning was generally a quiet time to work. The weekend had ended and people usually slid passively back into the workweek. But as she and Jack headed for their vehicle, Brinna listened to the busy radio traffic of the day units and knew tonight would be an exception.

  “Here’s our sled.” She tapped the back of a black-and-white. “I’ll pop the trunk so you can store your k
it.” She opened the driver’s door and hit the trunk release. Then she took a seat and waited for Jack to join her. She clicked on the mobile data terminal and let the computer boot up.

  Jack climbed into the passenger seat after a few minutes. He sighed and nodded toward the MDT screen. “We use the same password here as in the station?”

  Brinna shrugged. “Same. We might have access to more searches for the car than when you were in patrol, but that’s all that’s different.”

  “I hope that’s all.”

  “Well, it’s still the passenger officer’s job to operate the MDT, so you’ll have plenty of time to catch up on any changes.”

  She started to point out all the buttons he was likely to utilize during the course of the shift—the 10-97 button when they arrived on scene, the 10-6 button when they stopped for investigation, the 10-8 button when they were clear of a call, and the emergency button if they were in trouble—when he held up a hand.

  “Hey, I’m not a keystone cop. I do know how to use a computer.”

  “Just trying to help.” She rattled off the identification numbers to her radio and the car. He’d need to enter them all when he logged the unit on.

  As she watched him work, face illuminated by the glow of the computer, he seemed at ease with the keyboard. Hopefully he’d slide into every other aspect of patrol as well.

  Jack met her gaze with those vacant eyes after he’d entered the needed numbers. “I’m ready to hit the in-service button.”

  Brinna gave the go-ahead sign with a wave of her hand.

  Right off the bat they were assigned to assist on a domestic violence call. A day unit already on scene requested another unit to stand by while paramedics assessed the victim.

  Brinna made a left out of the police lot and headed for the address given. On her mind was what the dispatcher said regarding the call. Neighbors reported a loud, violent fight. The victim stumbled out into the courtyard bleeding and begging for help.

  Jack interrupted her train of thought with a question. “Aren’t you the girl they gave the search-and-rescue dog to?”

  Brinna cast him a sideways glance. “I’m the cop who earned the right to work with the dog, yeah.” The edge in her voice was unmistakable, but O’Reilly didn’t seem to notice.

  “They took the dog away from you because you got some bad press?”

  “They didn’t take Hero away. They just reassigned me until things calm down.” She stopped at a signal and turned to regard Jack.

  “Did you shoot a juvenile?” he asked.

  “Yeah, one that was at least six feet tall who shot at me first. Haven’t you read the papers or listened to the news?” Brinna focused on the road again. “Hester Shockley got involved. She has microphone radar; she finds one everywhere she goes.”

  Jack harrumphed. “I don’t get the paper or watch the news. I’m just trying to determine how you feel about this partnership. I’m guessing you don’t want it any more than I do.”

  “No, I don’t. Nothing personal, but I like working with my dog.” She jerked the car to a stop at the dispatch location. “But we both have to live with it, so I expect you’ll carry your weight.”

  Brinna threw the car door open and headed to the apartment complex, not waiting for Jack’s answer.

  * * *

  Everything was just too tight.

  Jack squirmed to get comfortable in the stiff new Kevlar vest and rigid Sam Browne gun belt. Compounding the physical discomfort was the situation he now found himself in—working patrol with someone who didn’t want to work with him.

  He watched Caruso do a job he’d handled with equal grace six years ago but now felt as inadequate to perform as someone who was deaf, dumb, and blind.

  Six years ago radio traffic was like a second language to him. Now it sounded like gibberish. The computer was one bright spot. No different from his desktop. But he couldn’t do police work only on the car computer.

  The knowledge that Caruso didn’t want to work with him rubbed his ego as raw as the stiff wool shirt collar rubbed his neck. Everyone had wanted to work with Jack O’Reilly. He was a cop’s cop. Who was this female to think he wasn’t a worthwhile partner?

  Finally starting to feel comfortable when they arrived at the dispatch address, he relaxed. What does it matter? he wondered. What does anything matter? He followed Caruso to where paramedics tended the victim, and every step of the way he wondered why he even bothered. There was no Vicki waiting at home for him.

  He’d never imagined her loss would hit him so hard all over again. He was so sure patrol would be his salvation now. But as he watched Caruso talking to the handling day unit, it felt as though he were detached from the situation, viewing everything from above but not actively involved.

  * * *

  As Brinna reached the crime scene, she forgot Jack. The young woman on the gurney took her breath away. Her face resembled raw hamburger, and while the paramedics tried to assess her condition, her breathing rasped and rattled.

  “What did he beat her with?” she asked the day guy, an officer named Nugent.

  He pointed to a wooden figurine of a horse, stained with what appeared to be blood, on a bench next to him. “That. Might be a homicide. Not sure if she’ll pull through; medics are having a hard time stabilizing her for transport. Thanks for rolling.” He waved his hand around the apartment complex. “We’ve got a ton of neighbors to interview and a large scene to secure. I guess we’re thin all over the city. It’s just the four of us right now.”

  Brinna contemplated the courtyard and all the people watching the police activity. Jack was standing to one side, out of the way, but not jumping in to help. Nugent’s partner had a roll of yellow police tape, and he was stringing it around the perimeter of the courtyard crime scene.

  Children hung over the railing staring at the bloody victim. Brinna felt sick to her stomach, not wanting the youngsters to view the carnage.

  “Where is the suspect?” Brinna asked, needing a task.

  Nugent shrugged. “Not sure. When we got here, the victim was in the courtyard bleeding to death.”

  “Where’d the 911 call come from?”

  “Well, a couple neighbors called in, but the first one came from her apartment.” Nugent pointed across the way to a first-floor apartment with its front door open. “It was an incomplete. No one said anything. We figure she dialed and then stumbled out here. He’s probably in the wind.”

  “Right. I’ll check it out. If this turns into a homicide, the apartment will need to be sealed and photographed.” Brinna left Nugent and walked toward the open door. Jack followed, but she paid him no mind.

  Once inside the apartment, it was easy to see a battle had taken place. The TV was busted, the couch overturned, and broken picture frames and glass littered the floor.

  “What’s in here?” Jack asked from the doorway. “I thought Nugent wanted us to talk to wits.”

  “A hunch, that’s all. Why don’t you go talk to wits?” Brinna didn’t turn around. She continued through the apartment. Something was nagging; she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  Milo always says trust your instincts.

  She heard water running. Turning left into the bathroom, she saw the top of a man’s head sticking out of an overflowing tub of water.

  “In here,” she called out, rushing to the tub. She grabbed an arm to pull the man’s face out from under the water and stretched to turn the water off. He’d cut his wrists across the veins, so when he’d lost consciousness, the hands had flopped down and stopped the bleeding.

  As she struggled with the deadweight, she wondered where Jack was and called out again. “O’Reilly, in the bathroom.”

  Grunting, she grasped the man under the armpits and pulled him backward, out of the tub. He scraped his hip on the shower door, but she figured that was the least of his worries. Once he was on the bathroom floor, the wrists began to bleed again.

  Brinna cursed and grappled with her handheld. “4-Frank-8, a
dvise Boy-5 I have a second subject in the apartment and I need medics.”

  Grasping the hands of the limp form in front of her, she curled them inward and applied pressure to stop the bleeding, then pushed the man’s stomach in with the back of his hands. Water poured out of his mouth, and in a second he began to cough. After that he began to breathe, sputtering at first, without regaining consciousness.

  “What the—?” Nugent appeared at her shoulder.

  Turning, she spoke to Nugent, keeping her hands clamped on the unconscious man’s wrists. “This must be your suspect.”

  “We were so tied up with the victim, I never . . .”

  “Could happen to anyone. Just make sure the medics get in here.”

  “They’re on the way.”

  “Great. Seen my partner?”

  Nugent shook his head. Just then the medics arrived. Brinna apprised them of the situation and moved out of the bathroom to let them do their job.

  She lassoed her anger and walked out to the car to get some antibiotic wipes from her kit. There’d been no time to put gloves on, and she had the creep’s blood on her hands. Where in the world was O’Reilly?

  18

  WHEN JACK AND BRINNA had reached the apartment and she told him to go talk to witnesses, he did.

  It was the one thing Jack was sure of. He wasn’t going to follow Caruso around like a puppy.

  Jack approached an elderly couple. “Hi, did you two see what happened?”

  The woman nodded. “Will Adrienne be okay?”

  “Uh, I don’t know. She’s on her way to the hospital.” He pulled out a brand-new pocket notebook, the leather cover stiff in his hands. He plucked the pen from his shirt pocket and promptly dropped it on the ground. As he bent to pick it up, he fought the uncomfortable feeling of being out of practice. When he looked back at the couple, he realized they didn’t seem to notice. Their faces were a study in concern for the victim. And when they looked at him, he saw trust in their eyes.