She was pale and attached to a dozen wires and tubes, but her heartbeat was steady on the monitor next to the bed. Nice and strong and steady. He took her hand and held it for the allowed five minutes. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
Two days later, Louisa sipped water from a straw while Detectives Jackson and Ianelli asked her gentle questions. Conor took the cup from her hand and set it on the wheeled tray.
“Zoe really killed three women just to eliminate Isa as her academic competition?” Louisa shifted her position and winced.
Conor put a hand behind her back to support her weight while he adjusted her pillow.
“Not exactly.” Jackson sighed. Since the case had come to a conclusion, disbelief and disgust were etched deeper in the lines on his already-craggy face. “She was used to getting everything she wanted. Her parents gave up their lives to educate her. She was always the number-one student in her class. She’d never been turned down for anything. Until she didn’t get the Pendleworth grant. But it was clear when we interviewed her that she got off on the whole thing. So what started out as a plan to get the Pendleworth grant escalated as she developed a taste for murder.”
“I can’t believe it.” Louisa let Conor fuss. Frankly, the pain in her chest made her more than OK with him taking care of her. “She was so smart, so talented.”
“Don’t forget crazy.” Jackson stuffed a piece of gum into his mouth. “She put her smarts to use, that’s for sure. She planned this entire operation down to the smallest detail.”
“The cops at the museum found some other personal stuff of hers hidden in the museum storage rooms. Looked like she’d been sleeping there since she went ‘missing.’ We also found three small trinkets, one from each of the dead girls, in another box. There are fingerprints all over them. Plus notes, schedules, and observations about both of you and the three murder victims. She had a laptop and an air card. Apparently, she holed up in the museum attic like the Hunchback of Notre Dame,” Ianelli explained. “So by the time we got your second text from the house in Camden, we already suspected it was Zoe.”
Isa’s body was found at the house marked by the third star on Zoe’s map.
“I am totally creeped out.” Ianelli shivered. “That is one evil girl.”
“I can’t believe she did the things she did to those girls.” Louisa was still reeling from the discovery that Zoe was behind the murders. The medication was numbing her emotions as well as her pain, which was fine with her.
“She grew up on a farm,” Ianelli said. “She’d slaughtered plenty of animals. She’s physically strong.”
“Who was the second victim?” Conor asked.
“A runaway who’d been hanging around the university. Zoe picked her because she fit her basic physical description,” Jackson said.
“I still can’t wrap my brain around it.” Conor shook his head.
“She’s been pretty cooperative in questioning,” Ianelli said. “She also stole an ID from an employee out on leave and bought a stack of general admission passes to the museum to gain access in the daytime. She’d mapped out every surveillance camera. The guards’ patrols were very routine. Working around their patrols wasn’t difficult. Since she routinely helped coworkers with their computers, she knew several people’s passwords and logins. She’d stashed changes of clothes in the apparel storage room, including a pair of coveralls from the cleaning service, and borrowed wigs from the museum’s collection to use as disguises.”
“What will happen to her now?” Louisa shivered. Conor tugged the white blanket up to her chin, took her hand in his, and rubbed her cold fingers.
“I’m not sure whether they’ll play innocent or insane.” Ianelli shoved his hands into his pockets.
“She’s not insane.” Jackson unwrapped a piece of gum. “And the evidence is piling up.”
Louisa tried to concentrate, but the pain was reaching a crescendo. She wanted more answers before she tapped her morphine drip. “What about Professor English?”
Jackson’s jaw sawed on his gum with determination. “He’s up on charges, just not for murder. We’re not sure how that will pan out. English didn’t sell or distribute his home movie collection. The DA has to prove the girls weren’t aware they were being filmed. Isa and Riki are both dead. They have to identify the other girls and get them to testify. The professor had dozens of videos on his computer, and it seems like he used grants and the teaching assistant position as rewards for sex. In the past twelve years, he’s never had a male TA. He could end up serving a couple of years. Most likely, the case’ll drag out until nobody cares.”
“His career is over, regardless.” Conor was watching her, his eyes intent, as if he could sense her increasing level of pain.
“Apparently, Isa was the one who found the camera,” Jackson continued. “She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to lose the grant or her position as TA with her PhD right around the corner, or risk getting caught up in an ugly university scandal at that time, so reporting the professor was out. She found the videos on his computer, copied them, and went to Heath for advice. Heath had been chatting her up while he was dating Zoe. Heath is the one who suggested blackmail as revenge. Isa was angry enough to agree. Heath took care of the process, and they split the money. They’d already milked the professor out of twenty grand and had no plans to stop.”
“She opted to use him instead of being used by him.” In a way, Louisa thought that was apt. She took a deep breath, and pain cleaved her in two like a magician’s saw. Conor put the morphine button in her hand. She pressed it. If there were any other loose ends, she’d have to hear about them another day. The medication slid through her veins, smoothing and blurring all the sharp, painful edges.
“Zoe saw the video on Isa’s computer.” Jackson’s voice faded.
“What happened to Hector?” Conor asked.
Jackson shook his head. “He didn’t make it.”
“We’re looking for Louisa Hancock,” a woman’s voice said from the hallway.
Dread contracted Louisa’s muscles and amplified her pain. She fought the drug’s effects and the vulnerability they produced.
Conor put down her hand. “I’ve got it.”
Conor walked out of Louisa’s room. A thin, older woman in an expensive-looking dress and coat clutched a small purse with manicured fingers. Next to her, a guy in a suit glanced around him. He looked worried. As he should.
Conor’s feet took him to the desk. “Excuse me. You’re looking for Louisa?”
The woman sized him up and arched a snooty brow. “What I’m doing here isn’t any of your business.”
“You must be Aunt Margaret,” Conor said. He shifted his gaze to the blond man. “Does that make you Blaine Delancey?”
“Yes.” Blaine tugged at a cuff. “And you are?”
Conor punched him dead center in the face. Blood spurted across the pale gray linoleum. Blaine fell backward, landing on his ass on the floor. With a stunned blink, he covered his bleeding nose with a hand.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” He climbed to his feet.
“Oh my goodness.” Margaret rushed to Blaine’s side and pushed tissues into his hand. “Someone call security.”
Conor jabbed a finger in the air. “I know what you did.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Blaine pressed the tissues against his nose.
“I know what you did to Louisa.” Conor enunciated the words individually. “In the boathouse.”
Blaine paled, then shook off his shock. “Everyone in here saw you assault me.”
The detectives stood in the doorway.
“I didn’t see anything.” Detective Jackson shrugged. He back-knuckle tapped his partner on the arm. “Did you see anything?”
“Nope.” Ianelli crossed his arms over his chest. “I was checking my e-mail. Sorr
y.”
“Margaret.” Blaine put a hand on her shoulder. “I hope you’ll excuse me. Obviously, I’m not wanted here. I’m going back to the hotel.”
“Wait, Blaine. I’m Louisa’s next of kin. I have the right to make her medical decisions.” Margaret cast a steely eye over Conor. A woman accustomed to getting her way. “I don’t know who you are, but no one else gets in to see her except me. You don’t need to leave, Blaine. They do.”
“Aunt Margaret.” Louisa’s voice was weak but clear. “I’m fit to make my own decisions. You may come in. Blaine can go to hell.”
Margaret hesitated before walking into the room with unsure steps.
“I think you’d better sit down,” Conor heard Louisa say.
Blaine took the cue. Grabbing a fresh pile of tissues at the nurses’ station, he walked toward the exit with hurried steps.
Jackson pushed away from the doorframe. “We’d better go.”
“What are you going to do about him?” Conor jerked a thumb toward the elevator doors, which had just closed with Blaine inside the car.
“We found a traffic camera with a decent view of Broad Street in front of the Ritz.” Ianelli’s mouth twitched. “Old Blaine was right behind Dr. Hancock when she took her spill into traffic. Now let’s go.” Jackson headed for the elevator. “I want to keep him in sight. Soon as he crosses back into Philly, he’s ours.”
After the cops left, Conor turned an ear to Louisa’s door. She and her aunt were talking in hushed tones. He leaned on the wall and waited. Fifteen minutes later, Margaret exited. She blew past Conor without stopping, her chin high, her mouth tight, angry tears shining in her eyes.
He went back into Louisa’s room, expecting her to look worn. Instead, her expression was lighter. “Are you all right?”
“I am.” Her voice and eyes were blurry. “She stands by Blaine. I decided I don’t care. I told her never to call me again.”
“Good for you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out her pearls. “Oh, I forgot. The nurse gave me these when you first came in.”
“Would you hold on to them for me? They were my mother’s. I don’t want them to get lost.”
“I will.” He squeezed her hand lightly.
Her body relaxed, and her voice faded.
Conor picked up his book from the bedside table and sat in the chair next to the bed, prepared to keep watch. The threat to Louisa’s life was over, but she’d need time to recover.
35
One week later
Louisa opened her eyes. For the first few minutes she was surprised she was in her apartment. Sunlight streamed into the bedroom onto the dog lying next to her. A three-inch row of stitches tracked Kirra’s pink belly. Louisa put her hand inside the plastic cone and scratched her head. The dog sighed.
“Are you all right? Do you need anything?”
She turned her head. Conor sat in an oversize chair he’d brought in from the living room. A book lay open on his lap. He hadn’t left her side since he brought her home the day before.
“I’m fine.” She shifted. Pain surrounded her rib cage, shortening her breaths, but she was content. Home, with her man and dog, was enough for today.
“Maybe you should have stayed in the hospital a few more days.” He moved to the side of the bed and helped her adjust her pillows.
“No.” She’d had quite enough of needles and tubes and IVs. “It felt so good to sleep in my own bed last night.”
“I’ll bet.” Conor eased his weight onto the edge of the mattress. He patted the dog’s flank. Her tail stub wagged.
“Are you sure you can stay here all the time? Don’t you have to work?” Louisa reached for the glass of water on the nightstand.
Conor picked it up and handed it to her. “No. Jayne’s fiancé is back. He’ll fill in for me. I’m here until you’re both back on your feet. We’re hiring a new bartender, so I’ll be cutting some of my hours back on a permanent basis.”
Sipping through the straw, she settled back on the pillow. “How’s your apartment?”
“The remodel is going to take at least a month.” His hand rested on her thigh. “I was hoping I could stay here until it’s done.”
“You can stay here as long as you like.” Forever would work for her. She squeezed his hand. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He leaned forward and kissed her, then brushed a stray hair off her cheek. “Do you want me to close the curtains so you can sleep?”
“No. I don’t want to sleep.”
“You look exhausted.”
She glanced at the clock. “How can I be this tired? My biggest feat for the day was walking to the bathroom a couple of times.”
“Don’t push yourself,” he said. “The nurse is coming at three. If she gives you the all-clear, you can take a shower.”
“Oh my God. I want to wash my hair more than anything right now.”
“Then you should rest up.” Conor stood. “How about some lunch?”
Louisa sniffed. Her stomach rumbled with the first twinges of hunger since she’d been shot. “What’s that smell?”
“I put chicken and vegetables in the slow cooker this morning.”
“I have a slow cooker?”
“No. I borrowed it from Jayne.” Conor laughed. “What do you want for lunch?”
“Could I have a grilled cheese sandwich?”
“Coming right up.” He handed her the remote control. The phone in the kitchen rang as he walked out. “I’ll get it.”
She flipped channels and stroked the dog’s head. Her gaze drifted to the flower arrangements on the dresser and tables. The yellow-and-white daisy display on the nightstand was from April. Dr. Cusack had sent a pastel spray of roses and carnations. There were several more from her museum coworkers, plus flowers from Conor’s family and Damian. She had lived in Philadelphia for just a few months, but she’d already made a home here.
“Do you like this apartment?” she called to Conor.
Conor came through the doorway with a plate in his hand. He gave the bank of windows overlooking Rittenhouse Square a pointed look. “What’s not to like?”
“I’m thinking about buying it.”
“Just don’t tell me what it costs.” He set her lunch on the nightstand, took her arms, and eased her more upright. “My head might explode.”
“Deal.” After a week of liquids and hospital food, the grilled cheese was the best thing she’d ever eaten.
At the sound of the doorbell, Conor ducked out of the room again. More flowers?
Conor poked his head in. “Louisa, do you feel up to some company?”
She swept an automatic hand over her limp hair. Dry shampoo was no substitute for the real thing.
“You look beautiful.” Conor stepped aside.
Louisa gasped at the figure in the doorway. Her father wore the usual: beat-up work boots, a ragged sweater, and jeans, his face prematurely lined from depression and alcohol. Under a sloppy, unkempt mop of gray hair, green eyes stared at her. They were the same shade as her own, the one physical trait he’d passed on to her. No one would accuse Ward Hancock of being a slave to fashion. She let out her breath with a rush of pain and put a hand over the thick wad of bandages under her sweatshirt.
Conor looked over her dad’s shoulder. “You all right?”
She nodded.
He walked to the bed and carefully lifted Kirra in his arms. “I’ll take the dog for a limp around the park.” He planted a kiss on her lips before leaving the room. After the door closed behind Conor and Kirra, her father walked to the side of the bed. He pulled Conor’s chair closer and sat down hard. His gaze raked over her. Angry lines tightened around his mouth.
“I missed you,” she said.
His mouth opened and closed. A line furrowed between his brows as if he were searching for words.
“I can’t believe my daughter was shot and didn’t call me.” His voice was steady with no trace of a slur. Was he sober?
“I’m sorry, Daddy.” Guilt swamped Louisa.
“No. It’s not your fault.” Leaning forward, he took her hands between his and stared down at them. “The fault is all mine. I’m sorry. For everything.”
“You haven’t—”
“Louisa, when your mother died, I didn’t handle it well. I didn’t handle it at all. I used my work and scotch to put the whole situation out of my head. I didn’t want to think about it. About her. About living without her for the next fifty years. The rest of my life felt so . . . long.” He sighed. “Every time I looked at you, I saw her. You made me remember, and I was too much of a coward to face it.”
A tear rolled down Louisa’s cheek. Her throat clogged with the salt of sorrow. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about.” He glanced up at her, his eyes moist.
She should have called him. “How did you find out?”
“Conor called me right after you got out of surgery last week. I almost flew here that day, but I wanted to clear up a few things first.”
Yes, work. Always his number-one priority. Disappointment pressed on Louisa’s chest, as painful as her stitches. At least her gunshot wound was healing. “I’m sorry to drag you back to the States. I know you love Stockholm.”
His head snapped up. “Oh no, I didn’t mean that. I took a leave of absence.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m staying.” His smile was sad. “I’ve been a terrible father for a long time. I can’t make it up to you. That’s impossible. But I can do better. I sure as hell can’t do worse.” He looked away. “I’m not being entirely honest. I bottomed out last spring. Seeing you so sad . . .” He looked down at his hands and cleared his throat. “Anyway, instead of staying here and helping you, I rushed back to Sweden. I drank for a week straight. I showed up to a lecture drunk. The dean pulled me aside and suggested a leave of absence. I haven’t worked in three months.”
Midnight Betrayal Page 28