That’s when it happened. Maggie saw it. She felt it. The doctor’s posture changed, the rhythm of his breathing, his face. Everything shifted. There was something. Behind his eyes. And suddenly Maggie wanted to run, run so badly she had to consciously keep her feet planted.
“I can’t help but feel we got off to a rocky start in there.” He smiled. “I’m sorry. My wife says I can come on a bit strong.”
That’s not true, her mind hissed. Fight back and aim low.
“Not your first marriage.” The words flew out of Maggie’s mouth and the spell was broken, the balance of power shifted again.
Galen unconsciously fingered the ring on this left hand. “No.”
“Not your second either. Third marriage, but the longest one.”
“Very astute.”
“And judging by the way you’re coming on to me and how you were eyeing our waitress,” Maggie said, “you weren’t exactly monogamous in any of them, were you?”
The doctor’s smile was slow in coming. “I appreciate beautiful women. That doesn’t mean I’m not faithful to my wife.”
“Then why were you married three times?”
“Am I being interrogated?” he smiled.
“No,” Maggie said, feeling the balance return. “Just giving you shit, Marcus.”
A slow intake of air released suddenly with a dark, dirty laugh. “Look, if you’d like, we could stop somewhere… for a drink. Talk. I’m sure you have more fascinating stories.”
“And your wife wouldn’t mind?”
“My wife will be getting in late tonight. And even if she wasn’t, I said a drink and talk, not a hotel room.”
“Really.” Maggie’s voice was ice. “I must’ve heard wrong.”
The doctor waited, waited for Maggie to give in, but she didn’t. She didn’t even flinch. He generally didn’t have to work this hard. Marcus Galen gathered himself together for a new assault. He knew how to appeal to women, even women like Maggie Quinn.
“You’re not stupid.” His voice was liquid heat, running from his mouth and onto Maggie. He moved closer. “I’m not stupid. You know this could be…”
“Hey!” The voice was loud, tough. “You okay?” Rayney was out of the car and heading for Maggie. Head down, fists closed and ready. The door was left open, the lights on inside.
“Look punk…” Galen turned to confront the young man. He was a good six inches taller than Rayney. It wouldn’t be much of a fight. Suddenly, a hand popped the doctor in the chest, knocking just enough wind out to stop him.
“That’s my ride,” Maggie said, her eyes pushing Galen back further than her punch.
Rayney’s hand was pulled back ever so slightly, just in case it was needed. The three stood in silence until Galen smiled.
“Of course. My mistake.” He took a card from his breast pocket and handed it to Maggie Quinn. “If you should change your mind. I’d really love to talk to you. About your work. Just talk.”
Maggie paused, studying Galen’s face. He was hoping she wouldn’t take the card. Hoping he made her feel uncomfortable. Vulnerable. That way he could feel like he won. Maggie smiled, took the card and shoved it in her pocket. Before Galen could say anything, she and Rayney were in the car.
“You want me to…”
“Just drive,” Maggie said. She needed to get home. She needed to work.
Chapter Thirty-One
“I need more,” said the dark artist.
Kurt peppered a swarm of alien bugs. “You’re not listening. I don’t have anything else. My boss isn’t in the loop anymore.”
“Can you get to whoever is? I mean, you do have friends.”
Kurt chuckled. “Yeah, and I want to keep ‘em.”
“Listen, this is hot. I sold three thousand copies in Japan alone.” The artist grimaced as he drank the pale beer. “Now my customers want more. I need to keep them happy.”
“Look, the guy who works Harley’s office won’t do shit,” Kurt said. He knew Terry. Straight as an arrow even before he started working with Harley. He was a fucking Puritan by now. “And he’ll probably blow the horn if he figures out what you’re doing.”
“What we’re doing, man,” the dark artist sneered. “You’re in it as deep as I am.”
“Really? Then I should be getting a bigger cut,” Kurt grinned.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Rayney was in the shower, so Maggie rolled out of the hide-a-bed and answered the phone.
“I need to hear what you’ve got,” Tierney barked.
“Now?”
“In an hour.” The chief sounded concerned. “Can you come in?”
No, Maggie couldn’t.
“Walker wants to see what kind of progress our high-paid consultant has made.”
“Press breathing down his neck?”
“And the mayor.”
“Okay.” She tossed the phone down and looked at the clock. Nine a.m. and she hadn’t closed her eyes or turned off her brain.
“You need to sleep,” Rayney told her after dinner the night before. It was a command, not a suggestion. “You’ve been working at night, working during the day. You need to sleep.”
“I will,” she promised.
“I’m setting my alarm. If you don’t have your ass in bed and asleep by seven, I’ll know.”
“I’ll sleep.”
And Maggie meant it. If she didn’t, Rayney would tell her father and Tierney might pull her from the case. That couldn’t happen. She needed to work. But by three in the morning, Maggie forgot about sleep, about Rayney, and about the dark. She was walking down a more disturbing path. She needed to call Dublowski, needed to let him know what they were up against, but no explanation could stop Rayney from pulling the plug on her at ten after seven. No phone. No computer. No nothing. Just sleep. Now there was no time to talk to her partner. She had to see the chief and Walker. No one was going to be happy.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Marcus Galen reached for his leather bag and headed for the door.
“Hey, come here. Sorry I got in so late last night. It was a good seminar, good audience. You must’ve been exhausted. You were dead to world.” Rebecca smiled. She pulled Marcus close and kissed him. “Mmmmm. You smell good this morning.”
“Thank you.” Marcus checked his watch.
“It’s new, isn’t it?” There was an edge to his wife’s voice that Galen didn’t appreciate. She had probably seen the bottle of cologne in his bathroom.
“I bought it while you were out of town.” He smiled and disappeared out the door before Rebecca Harding could respond.
The doctor’s wife fumed after him, but it was too late. Marcus Galen was in the car and gone before she could get any words out. Stomping back into the house, Rebecca went to her husband’s bathroom and poured the entire bottle of Creed down the drain, then threw the bottle against the wall. After crying for an hour, she drove downtown to replace the cologne before her husband returned.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“You gonna be okay?”
It didn’t look like it. Maggie was more pale than usual with sweat beading on her upper lip. Rayney couldn’t tell just how much her hands were shaking because they were flat on the car seat, keeping her body upright.
“I’ll be fine.” Maggie didn’t bother trying to smile. Rayney wouldn’t buy it anyway.
“I can go in if you want.”
“No. I’m good.”
“Don’t let them fuck with you, okay.” He reached out and touched Maggie’s hand. Like water, the warmth poured in, filling her hand, then her arm, her shoulders and chest, spilling into her legs until her entire body was warm and her throbbing nerves were calmed.
“Okay.”
By the time they reached Wentworth Avenue,
Maggie had herself tightly knotted into a single piece. Barely hesitating as she got out of the car, the detective had her cop walk on as she approached the building. Head up, shoulders square. Walk with purpose. Look like you know where you’re going even if you don’t. Don’t look like a victim and you won’t be a victim, her dad always told her. And Maggie would never be a victim. Determined, focused. A force to be reckoned with. She slapped the door open.
Rayney smiled as he watched from the car. The guys inside better watch their collective asses. Maggie Quinn was not getting fucked with today.
“My daughter is not herself.” Rayney remembered the words of Paddy Quinn, his employer. It was the first of three interviews. All took place in the small visitor’s room at Stateville. Rayney was damn glad he cleaned up his act before he wound up in an orange jumpsuit.
“She needs someone to push her,” the old man told him. “It won’t be easy. Maggie is not an easy person. She’s like her mother. Stubborn. Strong.” Rayney remembered the soft look on Paddy Quinn’s face when he mentioned his wife. “She’s going to push you every way she can. Don’t let her. And don’t go easy on her. You’re easy and it’s all over. You’re easy, she dies.”
Antoine Rayney didn’t know how to be easy. At fifteen, Tomeka Rayney was thrown out of her parent’s house because she wouldn’t tell them who got her pregnant and she wouldn’t get an abortion. Her mother’s cousin, Ruby, took the young woman in. Auntie Ruby understood Tomeka’s situation. She lived through it herself. Unfortunately, there was no one to help Ruby, so DCFS took her baby away. That wasn’t going to happen to this little boy. Not Antoine. Auntie Ruby would make sure of that.
Then it all ended on the steps of their apartment building. Nine at night on a hot and humid Saturday. No one had to work the next morning, so they had freeze pops on the grass near the street. Antoine had orange, his favorite. Auntie Ruby had grape. Mama had cherry. A car drove by and everything changed. Antoine’s mama pushed him down, but not before a bullet hit his back. All he remembered after that was sirens and voices and wheezy breathing. Someone pulled his mama away and put him in the ambulance. No one else made the trip.
And no one came to get Antoine Rayney in the hospital, so DCFS took him. Good thing Ruby was dead. It would’ve killed her to know Antoine met the same fate her son had. Nine foster homes later and Rayney was on his own. Like a lot of kids, he always remembered his stay in the hospital and the people who helped him. That’s what he wanted, so he got his practical nursing license. His case worker lined up a job on the graveyard shift at St. Helen, a psych hospital.
When Rayney first saw Maggie Quinn, she had just been transferred from Northwestern and was in restraints. He’d never seen cuts like that. Deep and long. She meant business. A detective, a homicide specialist. That was enough to push anyone over. Especially in Area One. Then her daughter died. Rayney knew what it was like to lose family, but to lose your kid. Hell, it would’ve destroyed his mama, too.
That first night Rayney heard Maggie’s screams and ran to the room, turned on the light. She was wild-eyed, shaking. He sat and stroked her head like his mama did when he was sick. That’s all he could think to do. It was enough. Until he reached for the light switch. Maggie screamed and thrashed, trying to break free from the straps and ripping open a section of stitching. The on-call had to come in and re-sew two inches of her right wrist.
After that, Rayney made sure the lights were always on, that Maggie always knew someone was there, someone cared about her. Her husband came a few times, but then he just gave up. The only person who visited was Simon Katz. Every Tuesday and Friday night. Always after visiting hours. No one seemed to care. After a few months of waiting for improvement that never came, Katz announced that Maggie’s father was bringing her home and she would need live-in care. More time out of Rayney’s life in exchange for more money than his bank account had ever seen. But by now, it wasn’t about money. They were a family. He and Maggie.
In the Violent Crimes office, all eyes were on Maggie Quinn as she passed through the doors. Word was out early that she was coming in and anyone who knew her name wanted a look. Let them, Maggie thought. Just whistle in the graveyard and keep moving. She snapped her gum and pushed back her shirt sleeves. If they wanted a look, they might as well get the full fucking picture. Maggie didn’t pause to say hello to the Boys. None of them were speaking to her anyway. She just focused on the door. Her goal. Stay focused, ignore everything that clutters the way. Ignore the stares. Ignore the chatter. Ignore them all. They didn’t matter. Getting to the door mattered. Finding a killer mattered. Nothing else held any value.
“Thanks for coming down,” Tierney said as he met Maggie halfway, sweeping her past the men and toward his office.
Nick stumbled into the office in time to see Maggie disappear with Tierney. He overslept. He and Cheryl had a scorcher of a fight and he was up seething most of the night. Nick pushed the argument out of his head and focused on Maggie Quinn. What was she doing here? Quinn was supposed to call him if she had anything. Now she was strolling into the chief’s office and he was left outside.
Walker arrived a few moments later.
“Superintendent,” Tierney said as he waited at the door, “Thank you for coming down.”
“My pleasure, Deputy Chief,” Walker said. “I’m anxious to see what your consultant has.”
Maggie stared at the table as she watched the superintendent who sat just at the edge of her periphery. Twenty years in the service and none of them on the street. And now he managed one of the largest police departments in the country. Talk about your rabbis downtown.
“What’s he doing here?” Nick asked nervously.
“You heard the man, sport. They’re talking about your case,” said Art Weinstein.
“Yeah, looks like we don’t need detectives anymore. Just consultants,” sneered Halverson.
“Quinn didn’t look bad.” Phil Gillette spun in his chair. “She didn’t look bad, did she, Artie?”
“She didn’t look good either,” Weinstein said solemnly. His partner didn’t even say hello to him. He couldn’t blame her. Art dropped Maggie just like everyone else had. He never visited. Never called her. He didn’t deserve a hello. He didn’t deserve anything.
Maggie took a sip of water as the two men waited. Just don’t fuck up. It was her mantra for the day.
“There is a strong possibility we’re looking at two killers.” She made the decision early to just cut to the chase.
“Phillips had two killers?” Walker asked.
“Melinda Phillips was killed by one assailant. Sarah Dougall was killed by another. Probably the same man who is responsible for Nancy Cramer and Brittany Rosenberg.” She threw the chief a look. He wasn’t smiling.
“Jumping to conclusions, aren’t you, Miss Quinn,” Walker said coldly.
“It’s a theory based on evidence and data. The same thing Quantico would provide.” That’s it, drop the name so he remembers why he’s paying you. “What you do with it is up to the department.”
“Of course,” the superintendent nodded as he drew doodles on this note pad.
“The nature and extent of Phillips’ injuries point to an unorganized killer. The body shows signs of severe trauma around the head and torso. The bruise pattern on her back along with the abrasions on her legs and arms indicate she was probably dragged up the stairs. Unconscious or semiconscious.” Maggie spread out the autopsy photos as Walker recoiled.
“As you can see, the lacerations are crude. It appears as though there is some ripping of tissue, rather than cutting, indicating the assailant lost control during the attack.”
“How do you know that?” Walker rubbed his chin.
“He beat her to a pulp. Basically ripped her chest open and threw her heart against a wall. I’m not sure what part of that sounds controlled?”
“The rib cage is badly crushed indicating she may have sustained some sort of trauma before the mutilation. My guess is he fell on her. Probably after he dragged her up the stairs. We’re not looking at a big man. He was probably drained, lost his balance, landed on her.”
“And this is supported by the autopsy?” Walker asked Tierney.
“No,” the chief said. “A second autopsy was requested to confirm this information, but the body had already been released.”
“And cremated,” Maggie said coolly.
Walker stared at the photos for a moment. “If it’s not in the autopsy report, how can you confirm it?”
“The photos and a second ME reviewed the autopsy tape.”
“Who?”
“Ed Harley.”
The superintended set his jaw. He didn’t like Harley. Didn’t like his attitude. A know-it-all. “And that’s it? You have nothing else?”
“That’s all there is regarding this case,” Maggie said, trying to keep her jaw loose. “Sir.”
“It’s nothing,” he said heatedly. “John, we were expecting real headway to be made.”
Maggie watched the chief drop his head. He was hurting today. Probably didn’t take any pain medication so he could stay sharp for the meeting. Tierney shouldn’t have bothered. Even with a handful of pain pills in him, the man was still Walker’s superior.
“This is very disappointing. Very. I don’t like making negative reports about my men to the mayor, but…” the superintendent continued, “well, John, you were responsible for this investigation.”
“And you were responsible for releasing the body prematurely,” Maggie said, staring at Walker. “The initial autopsy was a wash. Your officers needed a second look and they didn’t get it because you were thinking more about PR than solving this crime.”
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