She spun and the shadows almost made her trip.
The laugh.
“You okay?” Rayney asked. Something in Maggie changed. The confidence was seeping away, running into the ground beneath her.
Dublowski saw it, too. “What is it?”
She couldn’t speak.
“What do you see?” Dublowski needed information.
Rayney was close. “What is it?”
“Get someone from County down here. Fast. A cardiac man,” Maggie answered. “He needs to see this before we move her.”
The detective nodded. Ten minutes later, Harley was on the scene.
“Don’t move her,” Nick said firmly. “We’ve got a cardiac specialist on his way.”
“Think she still has a chance?” Harley said. He regretted his words as soon as he saw Maggie. She was staring. Staring into the chest cavity of the woman. When he looked himself, he knew why.
From places under the bushes, near the fences, where the shadows fell, the dark called Maggie. She tried to push it back. He knows. He saw. He saw her dreams. The man in the blue jacket. How? How could he see inside her? How could he know what she was dreaming?
He couldn’t. That was the only logical answer. He couldn’t see inside her. He didn’t know her dreams. Marcus Galen was following her lead and doing his own research. That was it. He was throwing it back in her face. He didn’t get into her dreams, he got into the right file. That was all.
Dr. Amad Singh from County was escorted in by two uniforms. He looked confused. Whatever he was told, it probably wasn’t enough.
“Dr. Singh, thanks for coming so quickly.” Nick held out his hand.
“They said it was an emergency. I have a surgery scheduled in an hour.” The man froze when he saw the body. “But I see, perhaps, I am too late.”
“We were all a little too late.” The detective looked down at the girl again.
“Can you tell us what we’re looking at?” Maggie asked quickly.
The cardiac surgeon bent down and put on a pair of gloves from his bag. Carefully he moved some of the tissue away, looked into the chest cavity. The ribs were snapped and removed so what remained framed the organ within. “Who did this?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Dublowski answered.
Tierney showed up at the scene just after they bagged Angela Murphy. “What did you find out?”
“It’s Angela Murphy,” Nick said. “Mazetti’s Jewelry. Galen knew her.”
The chief shook his head. “Shit. What else?”
“Dr. Singh, here, examined the victim. He’s a cardiac specialist.” Dublowski said, looking at his notes.
“This woman has had a Ross procedure. It’s used to correct aortic stenosis,” said Dr. Singh.
“Obstruction of her heart valve,” Maggie said softly. “Results in a loss of blood flow to the heart.”
“Correct,” said Dr. Singh. “The stenosis can be congenital, caused by other valve or heart disorders or calcification…”
“Or an untreated strep infection,” Maggie mumbled.
“Yes,” Dr. Singh nodded. “The aortic valve is switched for the pulmonary valve. The pulmonary valve is replaced with a donor. Which is what was done here.”
“Jesus,” Tierney croaked, rubbing his temples. “So we’re looking for another body.”
“Maybe.” This time Maggie didn’t have to wait for Dublowski to connect the dots.
“Galen could’ve harvested the valve from a cadaver while he was teaching,” Nick nodded. “Or from a body in one of the hospital morgues he had access to.”
“Even if you’re right, how the hell are we going to track that down. The body could be in the ground by now,” Tierney said.
Dr. Singh bent over the body again. “I’m not sure why the ribs were removed or the heart was repositioned.”
“So we would get a good look,” Maggie answered.
“Anything else we need to know?” asked Tierney.
The doctor shook his head as he looked down at the woman. “A trained surgeon did this. There’s thorough knowledge and advanced surgical skill,” Singh added. “The work is first rate. Very fine stitching. Very good technique.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” said Nick. “I’ll have the officers make sure you get back to County quickly.”
The man nodded and walked away with the two uniforms that brought him.
“Galen’s throwing it in our face,” Maggie said. “Daring us to bring him in again.”
“Well, then, let’s not disappoint him,” Tierney said. “We’ll have enough?”
Maggie Quinn’s mind raced. The donor valve was the key. They could connect it to Galen, Maggie was sure of it. It had come from someone Marcus Galen had contact with and she could prove it. There would be records. Hard evidence. Research, that’s all she needed, and connection with Marcus Galen could be proven. The technique could be compared to Galen’s and that was another connection. If he had no alibi or a questionable one, that was another piece. And he knew Angela Murphy. With the Mazetti connection, they could easily build a case as to why Galen needed the woman gone. Too many coincidences for lawyers and juries to ignore. It would work. Marcus Galen took one risk too many and he was going to get caught. She finally looked at Tierney. “We’ll have enough.”
“Make sure we’re clean on this one. We’re running out of chances.”
Dublowski nodded, then went to make the final check with his team. Harley would do the autopsy in the morning. Maggie stared at the place where Angela Murphy lay earlier. So that was it. Marcus Galen got too confident and hung himself. A small sliver of doubt nudged her brain, but she pushed it back out. Shadows pulled the sun toward the ground. There was nothing left to do except go home.
Maggie stared out the window and into the backyard as night drifted by. She watched the neighbor’s tabby fly over the fence and into her yard. The cat darted up a tree and dark swallowed it. Must’ve been spooked, she thought. There was a cold smoothness against the back of her hand. Rayney held a beer for her.
Beer. She hadn’t had one for so long. The medication amplified its effects. He had to know that. Then she remembered. Rayney didn’t give her the pills and she hadn’t ask for them.
Antoine pushed the bottle toward her again. Maggie took it, then looked into the dark. There was nothing. No movement. No sounds. Nothing. She closed her eyes and took a long drink.
Flashes of bars. The nights out with the Boys when they got the bear and celebrated a good week’s work. The nights the bear got them and the bad guys got away. Nights at home. Richard on the sofa, listening to music as she lay next to him, doing the crossword. His fingers playing in her hair. Maggie’s hand tracing patterns on his leg.
“You’re gonna get him?” Rayney’s voice pushed the memories aside.
“We’ll know better tomorrow,” Maggie said, chewing her lip.
“So what’s wrong?”
The splinter of doubt wedged further into her mind. “Too easy.”
“Maybe the guy just snapped,” Rayney said.
“Maybe… It’s a little early to celebrate. I’m missing something. Something I’m not seeing.” She ran her hand over her eyes. She should be able to sort it out, but she was so tired. Drained to the bottom of her feet. “It’s a lot of circumstantial. I thought it looked good. I don’t know. I can’t see it right now.”
“Or maybe you think too much.” Rayney smiled and clinked his bottle against the one in Maggie’s hand. “What the hell.”
“What the hell,” she echoed the toast and took another drink, then flopped back on the hide-a-bed.
Rayney watched as she tried to get comfortable. He’d been weaning her off the medication over the last few days. Now she was lying down when the sun was gone. Things
were finally getting better.
“Move.” He pushed Maggie over, then stretched out and yawned. “Come here.”
“Are you making a pass or what?”
“Yeah, I love crazy-ass women.” Rayney pulled her close.
Head on the chest, over the heart. Maggie remembered this. Erin. When she was a baby. The rhythmic beating would lull the child to sleep. Maggie closed her eyes and listened to the sound, felt the warmth radiate through her face. She remembered the day Erin came home. The hours of simply holding the baby. Rocking in a chair. The small body draped across Maggie’s chest. Her head turned, ear against her mother’s heart. She remembered how it felt. How it smelled. How hard it was going back to work, leaving her child. Leaving the rocking chair and the hours of closeness. Of peace.
Then that last day. Holding her daughter, head turned, ear against her heart as though the sound might magically bring the little girl back to life. It was impossible to leave the small body in the dark hospital room. So she sat. Sat in the dark with her baby until the sun came up. Until Richard held her back while the hospital staff took the body away.
Life taught Maggie Quinn that nothing good lasted. The bad, however, was like the moon and the stars. Always there. Even if you couldn’t see them. Erin was proof of that. Once the child was gone, there was nothing left for Maggie to do but dispose of the body. That’s all it was, that night with the X-Acto knife securely in her hand. A removal of waste. She looked down at the scars. A simple formality. Her life had ended the day Erin died.
Maggie felt Rayney’s hand run over the raised line on her forearm. The question had hung between them since that first day in the hospital. She never thought about it. It seemed simple enough.
“I was done,” she whispered.
Rayney thought for a moment, then nodded. “It was like that when my mama died. It gets better though.”
“Maybe.”
“You gonna go all gloom and doom on me,” he said lightly.
“Yeah, I’m feeling a little shroudy,” she teased.
“Shut the fuck up.” Rayney held her close.
After his family was dead, Rayney’s case worker told him it was okay to look into the pit. Sometimes you just needed to see what’s down there. But Maggie hadn’t just looked. She went down. And she didn’t just fall, she jumped. With both feet. Willingly.
“You know you got to stop beating yourself up. Got to let it go.” Antoine Rayney pulled Maggie closer, running his hand through her hair again and again. Like his mama used to.
Like Richard used to do, Maggie thought. When they lay together for hours on Sunday mornings. When Erin was born, Sunday mornings stopped. Instead of lying with Richard, she held her daughter, ran her hands through the little girl’s hair, kissed her forehead, caressed the tiny hands. Maggie breathed in and caught the scent of Ivory soap, fabric softener, and her daughter.
“Erin liked this,” she said softly.
It was the first time Maggie Quinn had spoken the child’s name since leaving the hospital. Her muscles relaxed, soaking in the warmth from Rayney’s body. She put her hand over his heart and felt it beat. Watched his chest rise and fall. The closeness of another warm body. It was like sleeping in your own bed after a long trip. She pushed the air out of her lungs, emptying herself completely. Then, in that moment, the impossible happened. Maggie Quinn fell asleep.
Rayney waited until her breath fell into a light, unforced rhythm, then he reached over with his foot and pushed the switch on the power strip. The room was dark and Maggie was asleep. Rayney closed his eyes and listened to them breathe together.
Chapter Forty-Two
Bacon. The smell woke her. The clock said 9:30. Sunlight warmed her face. Sunlight. Morning. 9:30 in the morning. Maggie had slept almost eleven hours. At night. Like normal people. She sat up, thinking maybe it was all just a dream, another game the dark was playing. Her feet hit the wood floor and she paused. No, this wasn’t a dream. She slept. At night. All night. Her body took over and stretched as her lungs filled with morning air.
Bacon.
Breakfast.
Breakfast in the morning, not in the middle of the afternoon.
“Sleep good?” Rayney smiled as Maggie shuffled into the kitchen.
“Yeah.” The last thing she remembered was lying next to Antoine, feeling warm, feeling at peace.
“No dreams?”
Her mind skipped. “No dreams.”
Every night for the last year and a half, Maggie had the same nightmare. Every night… except last night. Last night, she wasn’t crushed by the dark. She didn’t sink into the pit. She didn’t scream. Last night she didn’t chase the man in the blue nylon coat because she already caught him.
Rayney scooped eggs on her plate. Maggie grabbed a piece of bacon, popped it in her mouth, poured coffee for both of them, then sat and opened the paper. It was all one fluid motion. No thought, no control, just unconscious action. This was how every day used to begin. This was normal.
“What time are you getting picked up?”
“Shit.” Maggie forgot about Dublowski. She had less than forty minutes to get ready. Nick would be over and they would go to the autopsy. Angela Murphy’s autopsy. Marcus Galen’s last victim. His last victim before she put him away.
Maggie shoveled the food in her mouth, barely chewing. Rayney didn’t say a word. No reprimand. Nothing. She was in and out of the shower in ten minutes. Jeans, polo shirt, brown leather loafers. Cherry Chapstick. Mascara. This was how the days began. Wake up in the morning. Eat breakfast in the morning. Shower in the morning. Get dressed. In the morning. This was her life again.
Maggie flew down the steps and into the kitchen where Rayney poured her a second cup of coffee. She had fifteen minutes to spare. The two just sat back, drinking coffee and reading the paper.
“What do you want to eat tonight?” he asked.
“I don’t know? Anything.”
“Come on, it’s grocery day.” Rayney got up to clear the table.
Maggie watched. Watched Antoine Rayney, the man who stuck with her through some of the worst parts of her life.
“What?” he asked as she stared. “Got shit on my face?”
This was home. Antoine Rayney was home. Maggie stepped close. Rayney’s hand reached down to push some hair from her face. Without thought, Maggie’s lips brushed across his, lingering for just a moment. It was sweet and warm and alive and Maggie had to remind herself to breathe again.
“Thank you,” she whispered. The silence hung between them for a good, long time.
“So what do you wanna eat?” he said, trying not to smile.
“Steak. With mushrooms,” Maggie said. “And asparagus. And I cook.”
“It’s about fucking time,” he said as he piled the dishes into the dishwasher.
“Asshole,” she said, grabbing his arm.
This time, Maggie’s lips lingered for more than just a moment. Rayney reached for her, held her face, making sure she didn’t leave quite yet.
The doorbell.
“Dublowski.”
Antoine smiled. “I’ll see you later.”
“What do you mean, he’s out?” Maggie’s voice was harsh as the Impala crept through traffic.
“He had an alibi. A pretty good one,” Nick sighed, his eyes were red and puffy with exhaustion. “He was in surgery during the time of the killing.”
“Who says?”
“Everyone in the fucking operating room. And about a dozen students who were watching.”
Bastard. Galen had witnesses. An alibi. She knew it was too easy. “We only have an approximate TOD on Murphy,” Maggie countered.
“Singh said the surgery normally takes eight to twelve hours.”
“That’s a live patient. She’s not getting up,
he can cut and sew as fast as he wants. What about the donor valve?”
“The lab’s working on it.”
“It could’ve come from any of the hospitals.”
“Did you hear me? Marcus Galen didn’t do it.” Nick fired back, irritated. “He was at the hospital for sixteen hours straight. Even if we’re off by a few hours on the time of death, there’s still no way he could pull it off.”
“We’re missing something.” Maggie snapped her gum. “He did it. That’s why he was so fucking bold. That’s why he made sure the murder pointed straight at him. If he had an airtight alibi, we’d drop everything. The bastard’s not stupid.”
“And he’s not guilty,” Nick repeated. “I may not know a lot, but I know there is no way around a sixteen-hour window. Not when Murphy’s time of death falls smack in the middle.”
“There’s always a way,” Maggie said. “He figured it out, so can we.”
“You try it then. Oh yeah, and Pavlak handed over the complete inventory from the jewelry store. Apparently, several pages were misplaced.” Dublowski looked over at her. “And guess what’s on the list?”
“Bullshit,” Maggie said. “Someone’s covering that man’s ass. Swing over to his house.”
“No. No way,” Dublowski said. “We need to get to the autopsy.”
“Don’t worry, you’re not going in. Just drop me, then duck and cover. I’ll only be a few minutes. We can still make it.”
“No fucking way, Maggie. There is no way I’m letting you near that house. Just face it, we’ve been after the wrong guy.”
The look. The look Dublowski never wanted directed at him. There it was, drilling out his brain. “I’ll get a cab,” Maggie said, reaching for the door handle.
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