“Yeah,” Maggie said. “I’m sure that’s why he did it.”
“Come on, time for bed.”
Maggie went to the library.
“No work,” Harley scolded.
She didn’t answer. Inside the library, the hide-a-bed was neatly made up. Fresh sheets to welcome her home. Maggie tossed off her shoes and lay down.
“This is where you sleep?”
She didn’t answer.
Carmen brought a tray with soup and tea for Maggie and a sandwich for Harley. “You need to eat.” The woman’s voice was stern. Almost like Rayney’s. Her father must’ve given Carmen new instructions. Be a hard ass. It worked once.
Maggie ate without a word of protest. If she was going to catch Galen and stay out of the hospital, she needed to eat. And sleep. The soup went down quickly. She didn’t care or notice what kind it was. The tea also disappeared. That was the only purpose food served now. It gave her strength to stay out of the hospital. To continue her work. There was no oatmeal. No ice cream. No cornbread. There was simply food. It sustained Maggie as sleep did, so she could finish her job.
“Are you really going to be okay?” Harley asked.
“Yeah, I am.”
The ME looked at her. “You know, there’s this doctor on the south side. No bullshit. You’d like her.” He waited for a response. There was none. “I can stay till you fall asleep.”
“That’s okay. I’m fine.” And she would be. She wasn’t going back to the hospital and she wasn’t letting Galen get away.
“Call you later?”
“Not necessary. I’m good.”
Maggie watched Ed Harley walk out the door. There would be changes. From now on, she relied on no one, needed no one. She would put no one in danger again. She was in control and the first order of business was getting strong. She had let Galen get what he wanted. That would never happen. Not again. Maggie opened the desk drawer and popped out the false bottom her father often used. Sleeping pills. Stashed for a rainy day. Well, today was a regular torrential downpour. Maggie took one, thought a moment, then another. She washed them down with a glass of water.
“You shouldn’t be taking those.” Rayney’s voice echoed in the room.
Maggie walked by without pausing and stretched out on the hide-a-bed.
“You better give me those pills or I’ll reach down your throat and get them back.”
She turned away. Rayney wasn’t real. He was dead. Like Erin. Like her mom. They were all dead and couldn’t be standing in her library. It was a clever trick, but it wouldn’t work this time.
“I swear, I’ll reach right down…”
“Fuck off,” Maggie said to the dark.
The two sleeping pills combined with the medication from the hospital knocked Maggie out for nine hours. It wasn’t the best sleep, but it was sleep. She dreamed, of course, but she didn’t scream. When Maggie shook herself awake it was night and the lights were on.
“You need to see your father,” Carmen said as she served broth, Jell-O, and saltine crackers.
Maggie nodded.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Paddy Quinn barely recognized his girl. She hadn’t been to see him since Rayney was killed. He prepared himself for what might walk through the door, but he wasn’t prepared for this. Was this what she looked like after Erin died? Was this all that was left?
“You can’t see Ballantine anymore,” the old man said. “And I want you to step away from this case.”
Maggie’s heart banged against her throat. “Look, I was tired. It was stupid. I… I just passed out. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You haven’t been fine in a while.”
So there it was. Her father’s judgment finally out in the open.
“There’s a place north of Elgin. You can live there. They have a staff to help.”
Maggie didn’t respond. She wouldn’t go back to a hospital, no matter how cleverly it was disguised. She didn’t need “staff” to help her. She would do many things before she would do that.
“Everyone is concerned.” Her father’s voice broke.
They were more than concerned. They were scared. It was in Harley’s eyes. Dublowski, too. Would she try it again? Would she succeed this time? Would they all be too late? Maggie rubbed her eyes and cleared her head.
“This place is good. You’ll get better there.”
“No,” she said, looking her father in the eye. “I won’t.”
“Maggie…”
“No. A room. Medicated out of my mind. And forced to sit in idiotic therapy sessions with some tired old bastard who wants me to be thankful for all I have. None of that will help.”
“Listen, you can’t be alone. It’s for…” Quinn’s father began.
“Look, old man, if you think putting me in some ‘home’ will keep me safe, you really don’t know me.”
Maggie had never talked to her father like that before. Never. She’d been angry at him. Frustrated with him. Every once in a while, she hated him. But this. This was different.
“I don’t want to lose you again.” He laid his hand across hers, across the bruise the IV left.
“Then don’t stand in my way.” Maggie pulled away. “If you don’t let me finish this, if you tuck me away someplace just so you can sleep better, you will lose me. Completely. And that is a promise.”
Paddy Quinn stared at his child. She didn’t waver, but neither did he.
“You need to take care of yourself,” the old man finally said.
“I will.”
“If you don’t, I’ll cut you off from Ballantine.”
Maggie nodded.
“And you won’t be hearing from Tierney. Period. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
“There will be rules and you will stick to them.”
“Not a problem.”
“I love you.”
Maggie nodded and left.
Her father’s rules were pretty straightforward. Three meals and two snacks every day. Back to the Clean Plate Club, an organization she rejoined voluntarily the previous day. Eight glasses of water, tea or Gatorade every day. All medication must be taken in full view of Carmen who, of course, also dispensed it. Thankfully, no therapy sessions.
At least ten hours of sleep in whatever increments possible. After she met the ten-hour goal for two weeks, she could cut back to nine hours, then eight. If at any time Maggie failed to meet her sleep quota, she was back to square one. Bribing Carmen crossed Maggie’s mind until she saw the expression on the woman’s face after a mild stab at manipulation. Even though there was no room for compromise, there was ample opportunity to fudge the data. Wake up an hour earlier, go to bed an hour later. Pretend to sleep while Carmen was napping, then finish work and hop back in bed before she woke up again. It wasn’t difficult and Maggie didn’t mind.
The rules let Paddy Quinn believe he was helping his daughter. The old man needed that and Maggie needed to work. If Paddy Quinn pulled the case out from under her, put her away someplace, she was completely screwed. So, for now, Maggie played along and let her father feel like an integral part of her recovery.
The real rules she lived by were also fairly straightforward. A mandatory seven hours of sleep every day. No negotiation allowed. Seven hours was the minimum necessary to function, think, and stay out of the hospital. She had to accumulate an extra four hours during each week. Thirty minutes of exercise every day with a one-hour workout every third day. She hit the treadmill and weight machine for the short workouts and walked with Carmen in the neighborhood for the longer ones. Vitamins and protein drinks supplemented the food Carmen constantly served her. The sooner Maggie looked healthy, the sooner her father would let her go.
There was no personal contact with Marcus Ga
len allowed because of the restraining order. Courtesy of Judge Winnick, Pavlak’s ace in the hole. The guy could be bought with dinner from Wendy’s, but Galen probably offered more. The order stated she was allowed no closer than 500 feet. Not a problem. Maggie could do a lot at that distance.
Which lead to the final rule. Nothing was sacred when it came to putting away Rayney’s killer. That was why Maggie ate. Why she slept. Why she outwardly obeyed her father’s orders, while inwardly plotted her own course of action. She would use any means necessary to nail Marcus Galen. He had pushed and now she was ready to push back. Hard.
Chapter Fifty-Three
It was a beautiful day. No more police. Rebecca was in Los Angeles. And Maggie Quinn was gone, but certainly not forgotten. Marcus deserved a round of golf. He called a few friends, but no one was free. The price of conventional jobs. He would finish out eighteen, have a leisurely dinner at the club, then head home. The house would be quiet until the weekend when Rebecca returned.
The woman at the desk, Sheila, was unusually quiet as he checked in at the country club. Usually, she chirped niceties and flirted with the surgeon. Maybe she wasn’t feeling well. Marcus wrote it off as he headed for the locker room. Tim Wendell was about to hit the green.
“Tim, sneaking in eighteen?” Marcus smiled.
“Yes,” Wendell said, his voice cold.
“Need a second? It looks as though the rest of the world has to work today.”
“No, I’m with friends today.” And he was out the door.
Odd, Wendell didn’t have many friends. He was a decent investment broker, but short in the personality department. Not the shiniest penny in the bank either. Marcus opened his locker and a slip of paper fell to the floor.
He recognized the photo immediately. It was from the Tribune. A social event he and Rebecca attended last fall. Beneath the photocopied clipping was a list of names. Nancy Cramer. Brittany Rosenberg. Angela Murphy. Antoine Rayney. Dead. Courtesy of Dr. Marcus Galen. The dates of his arrests were listed along with the details and his booking photo.
Quinn. It had to be Maggie Quinn.
And now everyone was watching him. In the club. On the course. Marcus Galen felt eyes following him, heard whispers as he walked. Dinner at the country club was out of the question, so he went home.
“I don’t care if there’s no way to prove it, Morris. I want it to stop,” Galen yelled into the phone. “Quinn is clearly behind this.”
“Of course I’ll check it, Marcus. But I’m just letting you know unless someone saw her do it, unless there’s some sort of evidence, there’s nothing you can do. You just have to ignore it.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“I’m sorry, Marcus.”
“I’m not paying you $400 an hour to be sorry.”
Maggie couldn’t keep her leg still as she waited. Earlier, she palmed her medication. Had to stay frosty. Couldn’t afford to look weak. What the hell was taking so long? Maybe he refused her visit. She couldn’t blame him. Chow was one of her earlier mistakes. Not really a mistake. The man deserved to be in prison. Unfortunately, he was there for a crime he didn’t commit. Maggie knew it. Chow knew it. The knowledge ended there.
The door opened.
Brian “Chow” Mosely was a big man. Almost six-five. His head was shaved and he had that lean, angry look Maggie remembered. What she didn’t expect was the warm smile resting on his chin.
“Detective Quinn. Oh, sorry, Mrs. Quinn.” He shook his head, feigning sincerity. “Wrong again. How about just Quinn? I heard you killed yourself.”
“I missed.”
The convict laughed as he sat. “Guilt weighs you down, messes with your karma. You need to rid yourself of that which burdens your soul.”
“Drop the bullshit. I’m not the parole board.”
“No parole for me. I’m still following appeals. Some day the truth will be known.”
“It’s known. That’s why you’ll rot in here.”
“You must want something from me,” he smiled. “I can tell by your pleasant demeanor and flattering ways.”
This time Maggie laughed.
“So what do you want and what will you give me?” He folded his hands and waited.
“I want you to give someone a little personal attention.”
“Really? Sounds promising.” The man let the words slip from between his lips. “How personal?”
“I need him softened up and I don’t have time for dinner and a movie.” Maggie snapped her gum and stared at the man across from her. What the fuck was she doing? She was nailing Rayney’s killer. By any means necessary.
The big man ran his tongue over his teeth. “What about your daddy? Can’t he help you?”
“He is.” Maggie leaned close. “You help me, he helps you.”
Chow licked his lips. He didn’t like Quinn’s look. She was on his turf and should be sweating, but the bitch was ice.
“I can get you a piece of the store.”
Unconsciously, his hand brushed across the scar near his eye. “How big a piece?”
“Your own counter.” Maggie hoped her father would give it.
Being cut into the prison’s black market was a gift very few received. Chow didn’t ask any questions. He knew better. Paddy Quinn was the storekeeper and you don’t fuck with the storekeeper… not unless you can take him. After his last plot was uncovered, Chow spent the better part of a month in the infirmary. He fucked with the storekeeper and lost.
“Who’s the lucky boy?”
“Bobby Ballantine.”
Deep laughter filled the small metal room. “Man, you are really fucked up if you can’t even nail a two bit hustler like Ballantine. What’d he do? Sell a nickel bag to your mama?”
“He has something I want,” she said. “And I need to be sure he’s ready to share.”
Chow stared at Quinn. She wasn’t the same person who sent him to prison six years earlier. She was good enough then to nail him for a crime he never committed. The detective was pregnant and there was a softness to her, a vulnerability. Now she was like a machine.
“How’s your kid?” he asked suddenly.
Maggie didn’t flinch. “Dead.”
Chow knew about the detective’s daughter, knew about her time in the nut house. Everyone did. “Yeah, too bad. I was planning on paying her a visit when I got out. See what kind of young thing she was.” Quinn should’ve been at his throat. Maybe just another little nudge. “Get a little piece,” Chow pushed, “if you know what I mean.”
Snap. The sound of the gum echoed. “Then I saved you a trip, didn’t I?”
The heat that made the detective fuck-up was gone and what Chow saw in its place scared the shit out of him.
“Okay.” He feigned a yawn. “Got nothing better to do. Tell your daddy to get me set up.”
“First, Ballantine. Fast.”
“Not a problem,” the man smiled. He looked at the detective long and hard. “So why me?”
Maggie snapped her gum again. “You’re good at your job.”
Walking down the corridor toward the exit, Maggie’s knees buckled. She leaned over to catch her breath. Then, just as she thought all was right with the world, the shakes hit her. Shit, she hoped Carmen was still in the car and not tailing her. Maggie couldn’t afford to go back to square one. There was a bathroom down the hall. She could make it.
Four pills went down fast with water from the tap. Maggie splashed more cold water on her face and waited. Waited for the medication to take hold. Waited for her body to stop shaking. Shadows reached out from below the sink and wound around her leg.
“Not today,” Maggie said between clenched teeth. She looked in the mirror. She would get through today.
There was one more stop to make. Maggie checke
d her watch. Enough time for the medication to kick in. Enough time to wipe the sweat away. Enough time to convince her father his rules were working.
Paddy Quinn smiled. His kid looked a hell of a lot better. She was eating. She was sleeping. She was taking her pills. Still, something was missing. Something he prayed for at every mass. A little peace. Not a big request considering what Maggie had been through.
“You look okay,” he smiled.
“Yeah, I love you, too.”
The old man paused. “You’ve been listening to Carmen?”
“She’s almost as much of a pain as...” Maggie stopped. They hadn’t really talked about Rayney’s murder. “She’s good.”
“How’s Dwyer?”
“Too many pills.” Maggie stretched out in the chair. “His answer to everything. Another pill.”
Old Man Quinn nodded, noticing her glazed eyes.
“I need to think,” she said. “This much medication makes that… hard.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
Maggie nodded. “I need something from you.”
Paddy Quinn was quiet. Never once in all her life had his child asked for anything from him. Not like this. Not straight out. Like she just had with the medication, she would plant the idea and wait for his offer.
“What?”
Maggie paused. “Toss someone a bone. Not a big one. Just enough to make life a little more interesting.”
Paddy Quinn was silent. It had to be Ballantine. She was softening him up. Priming the pump. “I’ll see to it.”
Maggie nodded to her father, unable to look him in the eye. “Thank you.”
“Who is the man?”
“Brian Mosley.”
Chow. The man his daughter put in prison years ago. The man who tried to have him killed and now carried a nice assortment of scars as a reminder of that mistake.
“And what is he doing for you?”
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