“Bloody scrubs in a hospital. Hmmm. Very unusual. Give me a call when you can connect the scrubs to both Galen and the victim.”
“The scratches?” Tierney asked.
“Galen says his wife did it.” Weston smiled. “During a sexual encounter they had earlier that evening. She confirms.”
“And the bruises?” the chief pressed.
“That’s what she says.”
“Bullshit,” Dublowski shouted. “They’re lying.”
“Prove it,” Weston replied. “And he’s saying that search warrant was obtained through questionable means.”
“We presented the situation, the judge issued the warrant,” Tierney said. “There’s nothing questionable about that.”
“Really?” Weston turned to the chief. “Well, I have someone who’s saying names were tossed around to encourage the judge to issue that warrant.”
Dublowski was about to speak, but Tierney grabbed his arm. “I don’t know who your source is, but they’re wrong. And if you don’t believe me, bring them in this room and have them say the same thing to my face.”
Weston knew better. Pavlak was the one who suggested it. Galen was sure the mayor or superintendent might have helped the warrant along. With the harassment issue, the State’s Attorney’s office had to watch its ass.
“Look, Chief, there isn’t enough here to justify the arrest. I think I’ve mentioned that one or two times before. I’m sick and tired of seeing Marcus Galen trotted in. We in the State’s Attorney’s office prefer cases with evidence and you have none. Considering the very real possibility of harassment charges, I would like to believe you and your men feel the same way.” Weston stood up. “I don’t think we have anything else to discuss.”
Tierney was silent.
“And, Detective, if I were you, I’d make sure you were chasing after the right man.”
“I am,” Nick said between clenched teeth.
“I hope so,” Weston said, “or someone’s going to have a lot explaining to do.”
Tierney stood. “Thank you, Counselor. I think we get the message.”
Carly Weston smiled and was gone.
“You heard the lady, Detective,” Tierney said with a loud sigh. “Let him go.”
“But Chief…”
“Let him go.” A firm hand landed on Dublowski’s shoulder. “We need more, so we’ll get more. Let him go.”
Rebecca wasn’t driving to South Wentworth again. Pavlak could drop her husband off this time. He had the gas money for it. Her husband wouldn’t be happy when he got home, but tough shit. She had done her time at Area One. There were other things going on in her life. A seminar in Los Angeles at the end of the week. A radio appearance.
The door slammed. It wouldn’t be the only loud noise tonight.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Marcus said. “Telling my lawyer to drive me home? I’m not at a Bulls game, Rebecca. I was being held at a police station.”
“I know. It’s not the first time,” his wife said, her jaw firm.
“Then what the hell…”
“I’m tired, Marcus. I’m going to bed. And the next time you need an alibi, look somewhere else.” She stared at him for a moment. “Who gave you those scratches? Emergency surgery, my ass.”
The door slammed behind her.
This whole thing was becoming too much. Why didn’t Quinn just leave him alone? The man she lived with was killed in her own house. Maggie Quinn should not be a problem. Not anymore.
Chapter Forty-Six
The second night without Rayney, Carmen made soup and fresh bread after it was confirmed that the lab had everything it needed. The food probably smelled and tasted wonderful, but Maggie didn’t notice. She had a few sips of soup, then a small piece of bread. She knew she should eat more, but she saw Rayney everywhere. In the bowl. On the tray. In the window.
While Carmen did dishes, Maggie paced. She had to do something. Occupy her time. Work. She pulled up the numbers Buddy sent her. Two names were of particular interest. Hilary Logan and Kristen Musser. Marcus Galen’s former wives. She dialed Logan first. No answer. Maggie had better luck with his second wife.
“No, I haven’t talked to Marcus since the divorce,” Kirsten Musser said coldly. “The asshole.”
The two women talked for well over an hour. Kristen Musser was an investment counselor. She and Marcus met at a party, hit it off and were married a couple months later.
“Then the jewelry started. Bracelets, necklaces. A lot of earrings. Always after we had a fight.”
“Which you always had after he was out late.”
“Emergency surgery,” Kristen grunted. “At first I believed him, then I started checking with the hospital. He was never there.”
“Did you call him on it?”
“Hell, yeah. Before we were married, he treated me like a queen. Anything I wanted, I had. We’d spend hours in the bedroom. The guy couldn’t keep his hands off me,” the woman paused. “After that ring was on my finger, it was like I was nothing. I know he was fucking other women. A lot of other women. I gave him a choice. Shit or get off the pot. He got off the pot.”
The woman was no Rebecca Harding. That was certain.
“Did you ever meet his first wife?” Maggie asked.
“Yeah, the bitch,” Kristen said. “God, she had Marcus wrapped around her little finger. Even after the divorce.”
“No shit,” Maggie said. “Did she work?”
“A neurosurgeon,” Kristen answered. “You’d think it would be a good match. You know, head and heart. I guess not. She used to call a lot, even showed up at the house a few times. Marcus finally had a restraining order put on her.”
At midnight, Carmen said good night and went upstairs to Rayney’s old room. Maggie sat alone in the library and waited. No word from Dublowski. Nothing from Tierney. Had her dad told them to stay away? Did he tell them she was too sick? Was that what happened after Erin? Paddy Quinn told everyone his daughter was too sick for company. Unable to see anyone in her condition. No, Maggie told herself. Her father wouldn’t do that. Dublowski was just busy. No mistakes. He was taking his time and doing the job right. She hoped.
The dark was gathering strength and mass. Maggie had to fill the space. How? She was bottomless, everything just tumbled down and away, never stopping, never filling her. After Richard discovered Maggie on the bedroom floor with the bloody X-Acto lying in the bathroom sink, it was Rayney who rescued her. Rayney who sat and talked to her. Maggie couldn’t remember what he said, but she knew someone was there. That it was important she break free and swim to the surface.
Now Maggie was alone. After Erin died, it took so much darkness to fill the space inside, so much darkness to nail her soul to the ground. A slow, weary breath of air escaped her body. So little light and so much space. How could Maggie keep the shadows away? It didn’t matter. She just needed to do it. What was the letter tonight? She couldn’t remember, so she just started at the top. Ave Maria floated into the room on a quiet, haunting cello.
A for Alone.
For Agony.
For Antoine Rayney.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Dublowski was into his second twenty-four hours since the murder with no progress and no Quinn to help. He had strict orders. Maggie was out of the picture. End of story. Keeping her in the loop wouldn’t help the case or her.
His phone rang.
“Did I wake you up?” It was Maggie.
“No, just working.”
“Any progress?”
“We’re waiting for the lab.” Dublowski took a sip of cold coffee. “I’m not sure what we’ll get from the scrubs. Galen bleached his hands and body. Any DNA we might’ve gotten is fucked.”
Of course, he did, Maggie told herself. He must’ve been covered in
blood. Like any good crime geek, Galen knew bleach would taint the DNA results.
“It doesn’t matter,” Maggie said. And it didn’t. “So what next?”
“Go at it from the victim’s end,” Dublowski said.
“Right. Rayney was AB negative.”
“We don’t know Galen…”
“A positive,” Maggie said quickly. It was one of the first things she found out about the doctor. The blood on the piece of broken window at Pershing was O. Too bad she couldn’t use that.
“So, the lab’s pulling all the scrubs with the same blood type, then we can do a DNA match,”
“Get anything with bleach on it, too,” she added. “We might be able to pull together enough circumstantial.”
“And we tie this shit to Galen with what?”
“He was scratched. His blood is on whatever he wore. Probably his skin, too. You got his blood. You got the victim’s blood. You got a case.”
“DNA’s going to take a while. Pavlak’s already trying to get the scrubs thrown out.”
“There’s no trial yet. He can’t have diddly thrown out.”
“He says the scrubs were in the garbage in an unsecured location. He’s also questioning our ability to link his client.”
There was a long silence.
“You let Galen go.” Maggie’s voice was barely audible.
“Weston’s office wouldn’t keep him.”
Nick heard the gum snap through the receiver. “Fine. Run her through the scenario. If Galen’s blood shows up on scrubs with the victim’s blood, that’s a link even the State’s Attorney can’t ignore. It’ll give you enough to arrest the son of a bitch and Weston enough to shut down Pavlak.”
“Galen’s wife said she was the one who scratched him. When they were…” Nick paused and cleared his throat. “…together.”
“Sure, she’s covering for him. That’s why Galen married her. She’ll do anything for him and he knows it,” Maggie said. “Trust me, there’s nothing going on in that bedroom. She’s too pissed at him. Let’s wait and see what the lab comes up with. It might give you enough to get the truth out of Rebecca Harding. If she thinks her husband really did kill those women, she’ll talk. She loves him, but she doesn’t love him that much.”
“Okay.”
There was a long, tired silence.
“There’s something else,” she said.
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying.”
Silence.
“Your wife.” Dinner and the Hilton never happened.
The detective didn’t answer.
“I’m sorry, Nick.” And Maggie was. Sorry about everything.
“Look, I gotta get back to work.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll nail him.”
The young man hung up.
They would find the evidence. They would convict Galen. No ifs. No maybes. Maggie couldn’t handle those. Not now.
“I’m going to bed.”
The voice caught her by surprise. Maggie looked up and saw Antoine Rayney standing in the doorway like he stood for so many nights.
“Good night,” Maggie answered. It was habit more than anything.
She closed her eyes and looked again. Rayney was gone. Of course, he was. He would always be gone. Maggie stepped over to the door and looked out.
Something was in the living room.
Near the front door.
On the floor.
Rayney. In a pool of blood. His chest split open. Heart in his hands.
“Leave me alone,” Maggie said, closing her eyes again, saying a small, private prayer. When she looked, the body was gone.
A sound.
Maggie jumped.
Scratching.
At the windows.
“Leave me alone,” she repeated firmly.
Silence.
Maggie checked the clock. Six more hours till the sun came up. Another long night.
Chapter Forty-Eight
There was a giggle. Behind her.
She spun.
Another. In front.
She spun again.
All around. Everywhere. The darkness closed in too quickly and Maggie was alone. Air was squeezed from her lungs as the black smothered her.
A light.
She ran.
A sound.
Another laugh.
Maggie tried to push it back with her mind, tried to focus.
The dark was clawing at her ankles. Gnawing her joints. Damn it. She had to move. She couldn’t wait. Maggie was alone. Her foot hit the door. The light flooded the room as Maggie’s heart stopped.
The young man lay on the floor, his eyes open, staring at nothing.
His chest split open.
Heart in his hands.
He was there and he wanted to finish the job. He wanted to finish Maggie.
A laugh.
She spun to face the shadows.
Behind her.
She spun again and caught a glimpse of a blue nylon jacket disappearing into the darkness.
She followed it.
Out of her house.
Into the street.
The blue jacket was slowing down.
She started to close.
The dark laughed again as it reached out to grab her. Maggie pushed harder, escaping the shadows. Her hand reached out, reached for the blue nylon that was only a foot in front of her. She caught a pinch of fabric as the blue nylon melted, becoming powder blue scrubs. Bloody, powder blue scrubs. The man’s shoulder jerked it out of her hand. Maggie’s face hit the asphalt. She slowly raised her head.
Someone was there.
A child. Erin.
Beside her stood Rayney. His body whole again. Antoine took the little girl’s hand.
Maggie opened her mouth. “Don’t!”
Both looked at her. Both opened their mouths to speak. Then the dark was all around them, pulling Erin and Rayney in, into the street, into the ground.
She ran to them. Ran to help them.
Pull them out.
Pull them to her.
Something grabbed her from behind.
“No!” She turned.
It was Marcus Galen.
His powder blue scrubs were covered in Rayney’s blood. The surgeon smiled and was gone. Maggie ran, chasing him, chasing them all.
Until the darkness took her down.
Down into the dark pit.
Ripped her flesh.
Snapped her bones.
Took Erin and Rayney.
Maggie woke up, soaked in sweat and hoarse from screaming after only four hours of sleep. She’d make it up later. She couldn’t sleep again. She couldn’t dream. Not again. Not so soon. Her waking hours were almost as excruciating as sleep. Every minute was a battle. Every moment, constant focusing and refocusing, pushing away images of Rayney as they flashed before her. His chest open. Blood everywhere.
The phone rang and Maggie jumped. Dublowski. It was Dublowski. Calling with news. They had the evidence. The DNA proved it. They had Galen. She lunged for the phone before the third ring.
“How are you?”
“Fine?” Maggie’s voice was flat.
“Are you eating?” asked Paddy Quinn.
“Yes.”
“Are you sleeping?”
“Yes.” There was an uncomfortable moment. He knew she was lying. Maggie felt it. “I’m trying.”
“Good.” Paddy Quinn’s voice was gentle. “Listen, you might have a witness. Just got in the other day. He’s been bragging about seeing one of the girls cut up.”
“Which one?”
“The last one. Murphy.”
“What’s the guy’s name?”
“Ballantine. Bobby Ballantine. Small time dealer. Cooks a little.”
Finally a witness. That, with the material evidence, and the case was in the bag.
“When can I see him?” Maggie’s throat was dry. The words barely got past her lips.
“You need to tell Tierney.”
Silence.
“You tell him or I tell him.” Paddy Quinn waited for his daughter to respond. What he wouldn’t give to be out there with her.
“I’ll tell him.”
“Good,” Paddy said. “Set something up with Joe. He can get you in if that’s what Tierney wants.”
“Okay.”
After Maggie hung up, she didn’t call John Tierney. She didn’t call anyone. Instead, she made a list of questions for Bobby Ballantine. And when she was done, Maggie checked the clock. Still early. She needed to walk. If she was going to face a witness, she needed to be strong. That meant exercise. Rayney would insist. It also meant eating and sleeping.
For the last two days, Maggie slept only when she could no longer keep herself awake. She ate only when she was about to pass out. A part of her, the part that heard Rayney’s voice, kept telling her to eat, so she tried. But the smallest nibble seemed to fill her stomach. Two sips of water was all she could stand. Carmen cooked glorious meals, but she never yelled at Maggie to eat. She didn’t make Maggie get dressed. She didn’t make her put on her shoes or brush her teeth. Maggie forced herself to do those things, forced herself to listen to Rayney’s voice in her head. She had to if she was going to catch Galen.
Maggie tried to find a small corner of peace in the library. Would there ever be a restful night again? Would she ever sleep without dreams? Wake refreshed and eat breakfast in the morning? The idea seemed ludicrous. Maggie Quinn would sleep in the morning with the sun shining for the rest of her life. She would always be tired and always eat breakfast in the afternoon. It didn’t matter. Only one thing did.
The letter. What was the letter for tonight, Maggie wondered? She lost track. G? Gory. Guilty. M? Morose. Melancholy. It didn’t matter. Maggie grabbed a disk and shoved it in the player. The music would fill her. It would drive the dark away and keep her safe. The music and the light.
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