Dropping the T-shirt, she turned and walked up the stairs to the door without a word.
"Emily," Paul called, but she didn't answer. Let him come after her, the bastard. Or better yet, let him be a coward and leave her stuff at the door.
Her key shook in her fist as she shoved it in the door and turned it. Without a backwards glance, she grabbed her bag off the step and stormed past Kyle and into her apartment.
"You okay?" he called after her, but she didn't risk answering. She was not okay. She was not at all okay.
The front door banged shut. Paul had a key. It was probably somewhere in that box with the rest of the stuff he was giving back, now that he was dumping her.
She let herself into her apartment and slammed the door behind her, securing the chain before crossing to the smaller of the two bedrooms.
She locked the bedroom door, too, and dropped face-first onto the bed. She screamed into her pillow, tried to get it all out—the anger, the hurt, the fear. Then, turning on her side, she pulled the pillow into her arms and cried into it, wishing she'd never come back from Connecticut, that she'd never come out to San Francisco at all, and certainly that she'd never met that asshole Paul.
When the doorbell rang, she sat up and wiped her face. No way would she let that jerk see her cry.
When she got to the door, she heard talking.
"I don't think she wants you around, man."
She peered through the peephole and saw Paul turn to stare at Kyle.
"Who the hell are you?" Paul asked.
"Kyle," he said as though it answered everything.
Emily actually smiled.
Paul looked furious. "You don't know shit, buddy. Why don't you get lost?" He knocked on the door again, and Emily jumped away from the door.
"I think you should leave her alone," Kyle repeated. "She didn't seem that thrilled to see you."
Paul spun around, walked toward Kyle. Kyle didn't back off.
"I told you to get lost," Paul said.
Kyle shook his head. "I don't think so."
Paul charged Kyle, but Kyle was ready. He stepped aside and grabbed hold of Paul's shirt, shoving him across the foyer.
Emily yanked the door open, heart pounding.
Both men turned to look at her.
"This asshole—" Paul started, pressing his palms against his shirt as though to iron it with the heat of them.
"Just leave, Paul."
Paul's mouth dropped open. "What?"
"You heard her, Paul."
"You bitch. You were cheating on me? With a handyman?"
Her stomach clenched. She opened her mouth to stop him from going, but instead she just crossed her arms and shrugged.
Furious, he turned to the door. Then he spun back, finger raised. "You owe me a cell phone, Emily."
She shrugged again. "Bill me."
With that, he was gone.
The momentary rush she felt emptied like water from a cracked vase. She'd let him go, she thought to herself. He was going anyway, another part of her said.
Just then she looked up and saw Kyle, still standing on the other side of the foyer.
He motioned to the door. "I thought maybe he was the one who—"
"He's my boyfriend." She forced a smile. "Was."
Kyle studied the floor. "Jesus, I'm sorry."
She shook her head. "Don't be. It was over anyway." She hesitated, not sure what to say. "Thanks again," she added as she turned back to the apartment.
"Uh, Emily?"
She turned.
"I know it's too soon..." Kyle said, eyeing the floor. "But would you like to get a coffee sometime?"
She frowned. "It's—" She searched for the words. Too soon. It was too soon.
"It's too soon."
She nodded. "Yeah."
"Shit, I'm such an ass. I'm sorry."
"No, I mean yes. A coffee would be good. But slow, you know?"
He grinned. "A slow coffee?"
She smiled back. "Yeah."
He nodded and she saw a glint in his blue eyes she hadn't noticed before. "A slow coffee, it is."
With that, she returned to her apartment, closed the door, oddly more at ease than she had felt since the attack.
Chapter 33
Jamie stood over the bed of the latest victim and watched her chest rise and fall in a drugged sleep. Around them, hospital machines whooshed and beeped. One dripped fluids, another measured her heart rate, and a third controlled her breathing. Her right arm was covered in a bent cast, her left was heavily bandaged. Bruises covered her skin like flowers on wallpaper. Her face was the shade of a plum, her eyes barely lines in the swollen mass. Goddamn.
Jamie sank into the chair, dropped her head to her hands.
Hailey had come and gone. They'd met with the victim's husband. He'd shown them a picture of his wife from his wallet.
Jamie had heard the quick intake of breath from Hailey's lips. The woman had brown wavy hair, cut in a bob, brown eyes. She was attractive, athletic-looking. There was no doubt that she and Hailey had similar features. Looking back at the woman in the bed, Jamie pictured Hailey Wyatt.
The only good that had come from this was that the captain had approved additional surveillance on Marchek. A team had already been dispatched. Undoubtedly he would behave until the surveillance was called off again. She also had no doubt that she had to catch him before then. The escalating violence had left a woman close to dead. She could not let it get to that point.
Just then, Jamie heard the door behind her open. She stood, expecting the woman's husband, and saw Bruce Daniels.
He nodded to her, walked to the bed. Shook his head. "Christ," he muttered, looking at the victim.
Jamie turned without a word and crossed to the door.
"Vail."
She looked back, hand on the knob.
"If you need any support on this—any at all—you call me. We've got to get this guy."
She watched the glassy passion in his eyes. He, too, saw Hailey Wyatt in the woman in the hospital bed.
She stood outside in the cold and smoked a cigarette, trying to calm herself before she got in her car to drive home. Her cell rang and she answered it with a curt voice, tired of all the shit. "Vail."
"It's Roger. I'm down at the lab. I've got a match on the dirt from Marchek's boot."
"You matched it to the soil from my yard?"
"No."
Jamie frowned. "What then?"
"There are some similar elements, but the soil from your yard was much richer in sulfites, commonly found in potting soil. The dirt from Marchek's boot was nearly five percent clay."
"Clay?"
"It's consistent with landfill," Roger explained. "It contains more unnatural elements than other soils. I confirmed it with the ph, which is 5.2, too low for potting soil."
"Landfill," she repeated.
"Right. And where do you find landfill in San Francisco?"
"Anywhere there's dirt, I'd guess. But there isn't much of that in the city. It's mostly cement." She paused. "And I'd guess the park's dirt would be more consistent with potting soil."
"Right. Anywhere else you'd find landfill?"
Jamie thought for a moment. "Roger, if you know the answer, why don't you tell me?"
Roger laughed. "Because it's more fun for you to get it. Plus, it confirms my reasoning."
"So you've ruled out undeveloped land."
"Right. There's nothing anywhere near Marchek's place that's not developed."
"How about a renovation?" Jamie thought out loud. "If someone was taking a house down in the area, they'd hit landfill." Jamie gasped. "The crawl space."
Roger chuckled. "There you go. That was my guess."
Jamie turned and paced. "Shit. That's genius. He's hiding stuff under his building." She started to hang up. "You're the best, Roger. I've got to get a car out to his place."
"Call me if you find it and I'll send out a team," Roger said.
"Will do."
>
"Oh, one more thing, Jamie."
"Yeah?"
"We matched the polymers on Tim's head wound."
"What was it?"
"It's the plastic used in the bases of trophies. The company is out of Ohio—Dayton Trophy Company."
"Do you know if that's where the trophies came from the night of the awards dinner?"
"It is. I left a message for Hailey Wyatt, but I thought you'd want to know, too."
She nodded. "Yeah. This is good, Roger. Thanks."
"No problem."
Jamie hung up and dialed Hailey's line. She answered on the second ring. Jamie quickly told her about the soil sample from Marchek's boots.
"Meet at his place?" Hailey said.
"I'll be there in twenty. And you heard about the trophy?"
"Yeah. We're getting together a list of who won an award that night. I'll send it over as soon as I see it."
Jamie headed for her car. Her cheeks flushed, adrenaline rushed around her brain. For the first time in longer than she wanted to consider, Jamie felt close.
Marchek had screwed up and they were going to nail him.
Please, God. Let them nail him.
She couldn't bear the thought of him on the street one more day.
* * *
Jamie arrived at Marchek's and parked behind the patrol car they'd sent to handle surveillance. When she got out of the car and flashed her badge, the officers walked toward her.
"No sign of your guy. We've been waiting for him."
"He's not working today?"
"No. According to the store, he's off today and tomorrow."
Jamie nodded, the sick sense of dread rising in her gut. "Keep an eye out. I'm going inside."
The officers nodded and returned to their vehicle.
Jamie made her way into Marchek's place and began to look for access to the crawl space. She checked the closets and searched for any hidden doors, but there didn't appear to be any access from inside. As she came out his front door, she ran into Hailey.
"Find it?" Hailey asked.
"Not yet. There's no crawl space access from his place."
"First place we lived in San Francisco, the crawl space was just off the garbage room," Hailey suggested.
Jamie nodded. "Let's try that."
Down the hall from Marchek's front door, they found the disposal room. It was a tiny space, filled by two huge flip-top garbage bins. A metal vent hovered above one where people on the upper floors could dump their trash. It would slide down the vent and into one of the cans.
"How about that?" Hailey said.
Jamie followed her gaze. Behind one of the cans was an opening, maybe two feet wide by sixteen inches high. Hailey pulled the trash can aside and Jamie shone her flashlight into the dark hole.
"It's the crawl space, all right."
Jamie got down on her knees and climbed through the hole. On the other side, the space was large enough to stand. "You coming?"
She heard Hailey groan, but soon Hailey joined her. Each using her flashlight, they scanned the space for anything Marchek had hidden. They split up. Jamie went left around a thick cement pillar she guessed was footing for the stairwell. She could see the other lights flickering behind her.
"Scream if you see anything," she called out.
The space was cool and moist and the thought that Marchek might be there gave her the chills. She shook them off, returned to the hunt. A mound of dirt blocked her view of the far corner. She had to crawl across it to continue.
Just then she heard Hailey call out.
She turned back and scrambled across the dirt, half crawling, half running.
Hailey stood over an old metal meat locker. Padlocked closed, the locker had been mostly buried. Only four inches stood above the surface.
Jamie motioned Hailey back and, using the backside of her Maglite, she smashed the lock. It didn't break. She drew her gun and aimed it at the lock. "Stand back."
Hailey moved behind her. Without any other eye protection, Jamie slipped on her sunglasses and fired at the lock. The steel dropped open.
She found a pen and used it to remove the lock and lift the top of the locker.
The inside was neatly organized. A pile of straps lay carefully coiled beside a box of powder-free latex gloves. There were towels, a pair of heavy work pants, tennis shoes, and a dark sweatshirt. Jamie lifted what looked like a pillowcase and found a hood. Jagged eyeholes stared back at her and she imagined Emily Osbourne's fear.
"Oh shit," Hailey whispered.
Jamie turned.
There, taped to the open lid, was a series of photographs and personal items. Jamie recognized a candid shot of Shawna Delman, coming out of the police station. Beside it was one of another victim in her police car. But the one she knew Hailey was fixed on was a photograph of Mackenzie sitting on the steps of her apartment, a drink in her hand. Beside it was a card that read "Cafe Baby Cakes Frequency Card." On the card were four small daisy-shaped punches. Next to each photo was a similar memento. A Blockbuster card with one of the victim's names, an insurance card issued to Shawna Delman.
Jamie looked up at Hailey. She placed her hand on the other woman's arm and said nothing. There was nothing to say that would erase the fear that Marchek had instilled in them.
Taking him off the streets would help. That, at least, would be a step.
Baby steps. At least she was moving forward. That had to count for something.
Chapter 34
With back-up en route, Hailey agreed to stay with the evidence while Jamie initiated the search for Marchek. Roger would come to start processing the locker, but they all knew it was plenty to make an arrest. Jamie wanted to be there when they brought him in. Takedowns were rare and when they came, she savored them. Jamie also didn't like the fact that her surveillance team hadn't seen Marchek in the eight hours since they'd called in additional surveillance.
Besides, there wasn't much to go home to. Tony had taken Zephenaya to Sacramento to meet his temporary foster parents. They'd even taken Barney along for the ride. For some reason, Jamie didn't look forward to going home to the empty house. She didn't let herself consider that it would soon be permanently empty again. She'd have Barney, she thought.
On a whim, Jamie decided to work one last piece of the puzzle before turning in. She knew she could bring Zephenaya in to ID Scanlan as the man who had knifed Barney, but she might be able to get confirmation without having to drag Z through more crap.
She called the main desk and was relieved to get her favorite clerk, Shirley.
"It's Vail."
"Hey, you. How's it going?"
"I've got a question about Scott Scanlan."
Shirley grumbled. "I got ten minutes before dinner. Don't ruin my appetite."
"Don't worry. I'm looking to nail him."
"Then I'm your woman."
Jamie laughed. "What can you tell me about his partner?"
"Hell. I thought you were going to make it tough. Hang on."
Jamie heard the phone drop to the desk, then the background noises of Shirley working. Shirley had never mastered the hold button. She came back a minute and a half later. "Name's Dave Priestley. He came out of the academy in June."
Someone spoke behind her and Shirley paused. When she returned, she said, "Teresa says he's the youngest of three brothers. They're all in blue."
Three cops. That was a good thing. "You have a number for him?"
"Sure do." Shirley rattled it off and Jamie wrote. She thanked Shirley for the help and told her to grab dinner a few minutes early.
"If only I worked for you, Ms Vail," she said, laughing.
Jamie dialed Priestley's number and immediately heard the recording of his voice. After the tone, Jamie said, "This is Jamie Vail. I'm an inspector in the Sexual Assault Unit. I have reason to believe you were on my property at 129 Payne in San Rafael last Saturday night with Scott Scanlan. I'd like to speak with you about that evening. I don't believe you were committi
ng a crime, and I'm confident we can straighten this out if you call me directly."
She left her cell phone number, paused, and added, "If you decide not to call me back, you'll be treated as an accessory in any investigation I conduct." The threat sounded full of wind. It was. She wouldn't be conducting any investigation. It wasn't in her jurisdiction, for one. For two, she didn't do that kind of investigation. That would be someone like Daniels, if the deputy chief didn't nip it in the bud.
But since Dave was a new cop, with family pressure, he might just call and come clean. It was worth a try, anyway. Worst case, she'd get scolded by her captain and she'd have to bring Zephenaya into it.
She glanced up at the clock and tried to decide whether to stay. It was almost eight and she was tired. When the call came, she'd see Marchek behind bars—that was all that really mattered. The warrant was in process, and she'd put in a request to release an APB on Marchek.
She drove home slowly, smoked. She blew the breath out into the dark, clear sky and listened to classic rock on KFOG. Sang out loud. The sense of redemption at nailing Marchek was almost as intoxicating as a drink of scotch. She sang along with Mick and Sheryl Crow and Norah Jones and pulled into her driveway at a quarter-past nine.
A patrol car sat in front of her house. There was one at Mackenzie's house and Hailey's as well. They weren't taking any chances. Jamie rolled her window down and waved. The officer waved back.
The house dark, Jamie opened the garage door and pulled inside. The light clicked on and she scanned the garage for signs of anything strange. Saw nothing. She punched the button to close the door behind her.
As she started to get out of the car, her cell phone rang. It was Chip Washington confirming that the warrant for Marchek had been signed and delivered and that the APB was out. This was it. She finally had enough to hold the son of a bitch. Bail would be too high. He'd sit in jail. They'd get a conviction.
This was a good moment. Rare. It didn't always work out like this. She opened her phone again to call Hailey, but decided against it. They'd talk in the morning.
Dead Center (The Rookie Club Book 1) Page 22