M for Mozart. The Requiem poured into her ears, through her body. Maggie waited to be filled. Instead, like a discarded lifeboat, her body couldn’t hold the sound. The music ran out as though every inch of her was riddled with holes.
Maggie wanted to crack a window and let air in. There was certainly none in the room. The dark sucked it all out. But she couldn’t bring herself to even approach a window.
“Time to wake up.”
She spun around and saw Rayney sitting on the couch. His shirt red with blood. His face drained of life.
“You aren’t real,” Maggie said between clenched teeth.
Rayney’s laugh filled the room, joining with the dark as they chuckled together.
“Go away,” Maggie said, closing her eyes. She opened them.
Right in front of her face.
Rayney.
His breath, foul like a week-old summer popper.
Maggie closed her eyes, stepped back. “Go away.”
Something on her lips.
Rayney.
Kissing her.
Maggie pulled in further, pulled in to the empty space. To the edge of pitch black. He wouldn’t come here, Maggie told herself. Not here. Everyone was afraid of this place. Even Rayney.
She opened her eyes and he was gone.
Maggie started for the couch. No, he had been sitting there. Not the couch. The recliner. He hadn’t been in the recliner. She crossed to the leather Morris chair in the corner and was about to sit.
Blood.
The cushion was covered in it.
“Leave me alone!”
Maggie turned away. A moment of peace. Just one. That’s all she wanted. The dark was growing. Ebbing, flowing. Not long, it whispered to her. Not long at all. Maggie paced. If she kept herself moving in the light, the shadows couldn’t catch her. They couldn’t stop her. Not if she kept moving.
“Okay,” said the dark artist as he leaned into the machine, trying to get Kurt’s attention. “You get this guy’s tape. The guy who got split open at the cop’s house…”
“How do you know about that? It hasn’t even hit the papers yet.”
“You’re not my only connection, Baskin. Everyone’s talking about it. They think it’s him. He did it. You get that tape and I’ll triple the price.”
“No way, man,” Kurt shook his head. “I know the cop. I won’t do it.”
“You know her. The crazy chick.” The dark artist couldn’t keep his feet on the ground. “Ah man, could you get me in the house? You know, with a crew. Could you do that?”
“Jesus, you’re like a fucking tick.”
“Business. It’s just business.”
“I thought it was about art?” Kurt said as he swallowed the rest of his beer. “Isn’t that what you told me. ‘Showing the brutality of crime. The reality of violence. Breaking new ground.’ Some shit like that.”
“Yeah and the public is eating it up.” The dark artist leaned in again. “Come on. Nab this one tape and you’ll be set for a very long time.”
The money would be nice, but Kurt couldn’t do it. Not to Maggie. Jesus, right in her own house. And after her kid died, too. The last thing she needed was to stumble across that autopsy tape set to Miami Vice music.
“Baskin, don’t choke on me. Not now.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Kurt said and walked away.
Maggie paced for six hours, then collapsed on the hide-a-bed as the sunlight spilled in. Time to sleep. That’s what she promised herself. Sleep. But the dark was waiting in the folds of the sheets. She tossed them to the floor. Blackness in the seams of the mattress. She rolled away from them. Everywhere there was the smallest amount of shadow, the dark oozed in and waited.
What if there was no DNA? Maggie’s mind whirred as she chose to focus on the only thing that could rip her away from the shadows. What if none of the blood matched? What if someone fucked up? What if Dublowski blew it? What if she did?
Bobby Ballantine. There was still Bobby Ballantine.
Maggie grabbed the phone and dialed frantically. It was early, but Joe would answer. Joe always answered. Her foot fidgeted. Maybe he wouldn’t this time. What had her father told him? Maybe Paddy Quinn told Joe to keep her out. Because she never called Tierney. Because she lied to her father and he didn’t like liars. Maybe he told Tierney to shut her down, keep her away from the case. That’s why Dublowski hadn’t called. They all wanted her out. They wanted to keep Maggie from the truth. Her mind stopped spinning when the guard got on the line.
“Yeah, Maggie,” he said. “I can get you in. Only for a few minutes, though.”
“I’ll be there this afternoon. About two or so.”
“I’ll have him ready.”
There wasn’t much time. Sleep would have to wait until later. A nap. Yes, she’d have a nap in the afternoon after they had Galen in custody. That’s when Maggie would sleep. After Galen was put away.
Chapter Forty-Nine
When the guard led him in, a woman was already sitting at the table. Who was this chick? She sure as hell wasn’t on his visitor’s list. Whoever she was, she looked like she was either strung out or needed to be. Bobby Ballantine was expecting his lawyer, hopefully with some good news. That babe who was sliced and dumped. He intended to use what he knew to buy himself out of a little time. Too bad the fucking Public Defender didn’t believe him.
“Yeah, what do you want?”
Maggie looked up at him. “Information, Bobby. About Angela Murphy.”
“You a cop?”
Maggie shook her head.
“Lawyer?”
“Nope.”
“So who the fuck are you?”
Maggie shifted in the seat. “What do you know?”
The man smiled. “Depends on what I get?”
“You get to put a killer in jail.”
The man snorted. “Yeah, well, I done my good Samaritan work for the year, so fuck off.”
Maggie wanted to reach out and slam the guy’s head into the table. That would get her message across. But Joe was watching. She couldn’t, not if she ever wanted a favor again. If the guy came out bruised and Joe was the guard who brought him, the shit would hit the fan. Instead, she leaned against the table. “I need information about the killing you say you witnessed.”
“Yeah, and I need a new apartment, honey. Go see who you can fuck to get it.”
She stood up fast, too fast. Maggie reached across the table. The dark roared from the corners, from under the table, from the small shadow Ballantine’s ear cast against the back of his neck. Dark. Everywhere. It laughed. And so did Ballantine. And behind him was Rayney. Busting a gut. Laughing with them all. With Ballantine. With the dark. With Marcus Galen. The man in the blue jacket.
For a moment, Maggie felt like she just stepped off the Tilt-A-Whirl. She saw Ballantine laughing. The little prick. The little fuck. She lunged at him, but an arm came out and pulled her back.
“Time’s up,” Joe said firmly.
“Just a few more minutes,” she pleaded.
Joe Zimmerman saw the wildness in her eyes. This wasn’t Paddy Quinn’s kid. Not the girl he watched grow up. Not the cop. This was someone else.
“No. We’re done today,” Joe said.
“Yeah, honey, we’re done.” Ballantine puckered up and blew her a kiss. As Joe led him out, he was laughing. He and the dark.
“There’s no match on the blood from the scrubs. Nothing from his nails. Zilch,” Bosco said. The old man blew his nose in a handkerchief, then stuffed it back in his pocket.
“Run it again,” Nick said.
“It’s a waste of time.”
“Run it again.”
“Look, I know you want to find something. Hell, so do I. But when
I tell you there’s nothing, there’s nothing. No AB negative anywhere and I got stacks of shit I need to process.”
“Run it again,” Dublowski said as he flew out the door. His cell phone rang before he had taken five steps. “What?”
“We’ve got a problem.” It was Tierney.
Maggie sat on the hide-a-bed, barely able to hold herself up as the night closed in. Just make it through, she told herself. Make it through one more night. So she could nail Galen. Ballantine was a wash, but they still had the bloody scrubs. They still had evidence. She just had to make it through the night. Nick would come through. He would have the evidence. Maybe. She couldn’t sleep when she got back from Stateville, so she called Dublowski. He didn’t answer. He was hiding something. Something was wrong. Maggie’s father phoned, but she pretended to be asleep so she didn’t have to lie to him again. Joe probably told him everything anyway. It didn’t matter. Nick would have the evidence. Galen would go to jail and Maggie would finally sleep.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, girl?”
Maggie couldn’t look. Rayney would be there. Standing or sitting someplace and she just couldn’t. There was no strength left. None. So Maggie simply wept. Not in sadness, not in frustration. She wept because there was nothing else she could do.
When the dark was finally driven back by the sun, Maggie collapsed on the hide-a-bed. Carmen brought a cup of pills and a glass of water. The night took a steep toll, still the old woman tried to smile as Maggie swallowed the pills. In a little while they would lull her, calm her enough to just touch the edge of sleep and send her chasing the man in the blue jacket.
Then the phone rang.
Maggie had it before the second ring.
“Yeah, can I come over later?” It was Dublowski.
“What is it? What do you have?”
“We’ll talk when I come over. Maybe around noon or so.”
“Okay.”
It was about Galen. Dublowski probably wanted to surprise her. Tell her he was locked up. They would celebrate. Go out to lunch. She would eat and then she would sleep.
“You should lie down,” Carmen said.
“Someone’s coming over.”
The nurse shook her head. “You need to sleep.”
Maggie needed a shower. To get ready for Nick. No, a bath. There was plenty of time and she hadn’t had one in… well, a long time. She went to the downstairs bathroom and ran the water. A bath. A warm, relaxing bath. Erin loved baths. Baths with lots of bubbles. Bubbles. Maggie would have bubbles, too. Half a bottle went into the tub and a white froth immediately rose. She tossed aside her sweat pants and t-shirt and noticed the hair on her legs.
A razor. She needed a razor. But where? Rayney, of course. Carmen packed his things. Maggie dashed upstairs, past the closed door of the guest room to her own bedroom. It felt completely foreign to her. Had she actually slept in this bed? With Richard? She wanted to lie down, but couldn’t. She needed to find the razor.
Maggie searched every room until there was only one remaining. The doorknob still felt hot when she turned it. The curtains were open and sunlight poured in, touching every corner, hitting the four-poster bed and illuminating the unicorns on the bedspread. Maggie stepped in and breathed. Erin. It still smelled like Erin. Her hands reached out, touching everything she could. The dresser, the clothes inside. The clothes that smelled like Erin. She took a pair of purple pajamas from the drawer. Placing them on the pillow, Maggie crawled into bed and wrapped her arms around the nightgown as though the red-haired girl was still inside them.
A deep breath. The smell of Erin. Of her daughter. She took another and another. As she closed her eyes, something moved. Near her. As clouds passed over the sun and shadows filled the room.
“Mommy.”
“Yeah, baby.” Maggie felt the purple pajamas rise and fall as they breathed together. Mother and daughter.
“I’m hungry.”
“Me, too.” Maggie smiled and she snuggled close. “What should we have?”
“Oatmeal.”
Yes, they would have oatmeal. In front of the TV. As they watched cartoons. Suddenly filled with warmth, Maggie opened her eyes, ready to see Erin beside her on the bed.
The dark snickered.
The empty pajamas lay on the pillow. Still Maggie waited for her daughter to come back home. The clouds moved on and sunlight filled the room again. When the little girl didn’t return, Maggie opened the box at the end of the bed and found what she was looking for.
The bubbles were mostly gone by the time she stepped into the tub. The water magnified the scars on her forearms. Maggie stared at them until she shivered and had to run more hot water. The sleeping pills were making it hard to concentrate. She couldn’t remember why she was in the tub. Who was watching Erin? Was she at school? Did Rayney make breakfast already? Oatmeal. She could smell it. Maggie closed her eyes and inhaled slowly.
The truth slapped her just as she was about to drift away. No, there was no oatmeal. No Rayney. No Erin. They were dead. There was just Maggie. In a bathtub. With a razor. Rayney’s razor. The blade was wet and glistening. It looked new and very sharp. As sharp as an X-Acto knife. Maggie closed her eyes and let the water hold her. She was so tired, so very tired.
Something made her eyes open.
The water was red.
With blood.
Her blood.
Maggie raised her arms. The cuts were fresh and deep. Blood pumped out of her and into the tub, but she didn’t panic, didn’t scream. She just watched the warm, red liquid spill out and mingle with the bubbly water. When the bloody stream finally stopped, Maggie closed her eyes. So this was it. This was how it ended.
No. There was still Galen. She had to make Marcus Galen pay. Maggie’s eyes snapped open and the water was soapy, not red. Her arms were healed, not sliced open. Maggie splashed water on her face, took the razor and pushed the blade against her leg.
Nick Dublowski arrived in time for lunch. Carmen brought a tray with sandwiches, ice tea and potato salad to the library. Maggie came in a minute later. She wore make-up, but it couldn’t hide the obvious.
“There is a pie in the kitchen for desert. I’m going out to confession, Miss Quinn. I will be back in an hour. Will you still be here, Mr. Dublowski?” The woman looked at Nick. It wasn’t a question. She was hoping he would keep an eye on Maggie so she could talk to God, clean the slate.
“Sure, I’ll be here.”
“Take your time,” Maggie said.
“An hour,” Carmen repeated.
Nick dug into the food. He hadn’t had anything homemade since Cheryl left. “Eat. You’ll feel better,” he said between bites.
Maggie swallowed a bite of potato salad. “So what do you have?”
The detective didn’t answer.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s the scrubs. They’re taking new samples.”
“What happened?”
“Look, Maggie, there were no matches. No AB negative blood on anything.”
Maggie suddenly felt dizzy. “He had to leave something.”
“Nothing. It was clean.”
“Fibers? Maybe he was wearing clothes underneath. Ask Harley what he was wearing. You could match the fibers…”
“We’re trying everything we can.”
“Get a warrant. Get it, match the fibers and…
“We’re checking everything, okay!” Nick tossed the sandwich down. “We’re up shit creek, Maggie. The superintendent gave us a week. After that, he’s turning Rayney’s case over to the Third.”
“He can’t do that,” she said.
“Walker thinks we’ve got the wrong man. He says we’re wasting time and resources when we should be working on the cases in our own area.” Dublowski rubbed
his eyes. “Weston’s even working on him to let the State’s Investigation Bureau take over Murphy and the other cases. Says we’re overextended and there may be, and I quote, ‘a conflict of interest situation.’”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Doesn’t matter. No one wants a harassment suit and that’s what Weston and the superintendent think they’re facing.” Nick was tired and frustrated and wasn’t sure they had the right man.
“It’s Galen,” Maggie said firmly.
“We need something solid.”
Maggie got up and started pacing. Her head spun. What next? She knew why Dublowski had come. Ideas. He needed ideas and she had none. All of her best were used up, ground into the dirt by Marcus Galen. No evidence. No witnesses. No nothing. The son of a bitch met her at every turn and she had nothing left. Her brain couldn’t wrap around any of the facts, any of the details. It was all just one big, bloody mess that was impossible to wade through. Exhausted, Maggie finally stopped moving and leaned against the wall.
“I can’t remember how it’s supposed to fit together. I can’t see it anymore. I can’t see it.” Suddenly, Maggie’s fist flew out and struck the wall. “I can’t see anything.” She kept pounding. “I can’t see anything!”
Dublowski took her by the arms. “Listen to me. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay. It’s not okay,” she cried. “None of this is okay.”
Maggie tried to hit the wall again, but Nick kept a firm hold. “Stop it,” he said. “Now.”
Her body slacked. There was nothing left, not even tears. Maggie Quinn was empty. Her lungs strained as she demanded them to fill, then release. It reminded Nick of his grandma in the hospital before she died. Forcing air in and out. Willing her heart to beat. Exhausted.
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