Sam rubbed his head and nodded. “I thought maybe I was too.”
The ambulance pulled up to her, and the two techs came running.
Sam motioned to the boy first. “Something happened with my brakes and I swerved to miss him. I wasn’t sure if I hit him. He seems startled but not hurt. Still, I want someone to take a look.”
One of the techs knelt beside her with a medical kit. “Your head okay?”
Sam frowned and touched her forehead. She felt warm, thick blood. “It’s fine. It doesn’t even hurt.”
The tech returned his attention to the boy. “What’s your name, buddy?”
The little boy looked at her, and she nodded.
“Mason.”
“Okay, Mason, does anything hurt?”
He pointed at his tummy again.
The second tech brought a wooden board, and the two of them lifted Mason onto it.
“I’m okay here,” the first tech said. “What’ve you got in the car?”
“I think it’s a shoulder injury from the impact,” Sam explained. “It’s my nephew. He was wearing his seatbelt.” She crossed the street more carefully than the first time and pulled open the passenger door.
Rob opened one eye and smiled. “I always knew men were better drivers.”
The tech laughed and Sam rolled her eyes. “I’m Chad,” he said.
“Rob,” her nephew answered.
“I hear you’ve got a sore shoulder.”
Sam stepped back as the tech went to work on Rob. Her pulse no longer racing, she found her cell phone and started to page Nick. She added the numbers 911 to the end of her page and her cell phone rang less than a minute later.
“What’s going on?” he said when she answered.
“I’ve had a car accident. The front of the Caprice is pretty well smashed. I need someone to tow it to the station, and I want a mechanic to look at the brakes.”
“What the hell happened?”
She felt herself start to shake and fought it off. “I don’t know. One minute I had brakes and the next minute I didn’t.”
“Is anyone hurt?”
“No. I almost hit a kid, but I think he’s fine. I think we’re all okay.” But we could’ve died, she thought. She couldn’t get herself to say it out loud.
“I’ll get someone to come get it. Where are you again?”
She repeated her location. “I’m going with Rob to the hospital. He’s hurt his shoulder, so they’re going to need to do some X-rays. Call me when someone’s seen the car.”
“I will. Keep me posted on the shoulder, too. That’s one of my star players.”
She smiled. “Right. I almost forgot.” She started to hang up when she heard his voice again. “What?”
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, letting her breath out. “I think we’re fine. But something’s wrong with the car.”
“I don’t care about the car.”
“Thanks, Nick. We’re okay.”
“You be careful.”
Sam rode in the back of the ambulance with Rob on one side and little Mason on the other. She’d spoken to Mason’s mother and assured her that Mason seemed fine, if in shock. The tech hadn’t found any signs that he had been hit, but they were taking him in for routine X-rays anyway. His mother would meet them all at the hospital.
They pulled in at the emergency entrance and Sam could see Mason’s mother, pacing frantically. When the ambulance doors opened, Sam called the woman over, confirmed again that everything was fine and watched as they wheeled Mason inside, his mother with him. Sam followed Rob into X-ray and tried to wait patiently while the nurses paged a doctor to assist them.
Two hours later, she’d given her statement to a police officer who looked vaguely familiar, and the doctors had confirmed that Rob didn’t have any broken bones. Little Mason was fine, too. The doctor had put a suture on her forehead where she’d apparently hit something in the accident, although she swore it didn’t hurt. They put Rob’s arm in a sling.
Exhausted, Sam took Rob’s good arm and the two of them walked out of the hospital.
“What happened to the brakes?” he asked when they were outside.
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“You think someone did that?”
She met his gaze. His eyes were cool and serious, and he looked older than he was. “I’m not sure, Rob.”
“Mrs. Austin, you look like you’ve had an accident.”
Sam looked up to see Derek’s physical therapist coming through the hospital parking lot. She ignored the use of the boys’ last name. “Hi, Patricia. Just a little fender bender,” she explained awkwardly.
“Everyone’s all right?”
“Fine, thanks.” Sam forced a smile and looked toward the cab waiting at the curb. She just wanted to go home. “Good to see you.”
“Derek’s doing great, by the way.”
Sam turned back. “I’m glad. Thanks.”
The physical therapist said something Sam didn’t catch.
Sam turned back. “I’m sorry?”
“He’s doing really well,” the PT said again, waving as she ran off.
Sam opened the door of the cab and let Rob climb in first. “Two thirteen Oak Tree Road,” she said, leaning back in the seat, exhausted.
Chapter Twenty-two
Gerry stared at the newspaper article about Eva Larson’s death. Seeing Sam Chase’s name in print, he felt famous. It made him feel more alive than he had since he’d left prison. He stared at the picture of little Becky and then read the page three times before his eyes settled on the final line.
Funeral services for Becky Larson, age 8, will be held by her grandparents this Friday at 4P .M. at St. Stephen’s Cemetery in Concord. Donations in lieu of flowers can be sent to the National Center for the Prevention of Child Abuse.
He tucked the newspaper into his pocket and headed for the cemetery.
Gerry entered the cemetery from Cloverdale Avenue and walked down the winding road toward the spot where Becky Larson was to be buried. The rolling green hills were a stark contrast to his tiny plaster-and-concrete apartment and the dirty streets where he’d been lately. He felt the fresh air hit his lungs and suddenly thought of the farmland where he’d grown up. He gazed at the single road that wound like a gray snake through the green landscape with its scattered tombstones.
He’d planned his arrival so the ceremony would already be in progress. He would just happen upon it. That way, if someone noticed him, he would say he was just taking a walk. Plus, no one had ever said he couldn’t come to the cemetery.
He paused at the top of the last hill and he squatted next to a concrete angel statue, pretending to pull weeds. The angel’s wings were spread, its face pointing to the sky, its hands holding a small plaque that read “Kristen L. George, March 3, 1967–June 24, 1973.” Barely six years old. Six years old was almost his favorite age. He pictured little Kristen in his mind.
Standing up slowly, he looked down the hill at the small gathering at Becky’s funeral. He wished he had a pair of binoculars. Then he could’ve sat right there and seen every detail. But he could never afford anything like binoculars. He moved twenty feet down the hill and sat down beside another tombstone.
This one was for an old guy, but if he sat right beside it, he could see Becky’s funeral perfectly between it and the tombstone next to it. A group of about twenty were gathered around a tiny pine coffin. He figured it was about a hundred feet, probably a safe distance. Several adults in the front were dressed in black. There were a few children in the group, but most were hidden behind adults.
Shifting, he concealed himself behind the two tombstones. It would be hard for anyone at the funeral to spot him. Peering between the two tombstones, he spotted Sam Chase. He wanted to go and talk to her, but he knew he shouldn’t. Soon, but not yet. He was starting to enjoy being out of prison and thought maybe he wasn’t ready to get caught again.
Sa
m was looking around, so he was careful to pretend to be looking down while he watched her. She was wearing black pants and a black sweater, standing in the sun. But she didn’t look hot.
He liked to watch her. He’d seen her once at her house, and he’d followed her to the office twice. He liked seeing her dressed up for work. The first time, he’d even been able to get into the building. He loved the way she looked over her shoulder, checking around like she was nervous. He wondered if she sensed him and wished he could talk to her. He saw the kid in her when she was nervous, and he liked it. Her skin had freckles like a little girl’s, and he longed to touch it. Would she have soft skin like a little girl? Soft, he thought, wondering if he’d ever get to find out. She straightened her back, looking confident. Maybe he would go to her office again tomorrow.
He wiped his brow and continued to pull weeds around the tombstone, making a little pile on one side.
Sam scanned the cemetery, and for a second he thought she saw him, but then she turned her back. Gerry saw a little girl in a gray cotton dress standing at the edge of the group. She had dark hair that hung down her back in snarled clumps. He pictured her in his mind, lying still almost like she was sleeping. Poor Becky.
Then he went back to studying the little girl in the gray dress. Restless, she shifted her weight from side to side. He felt himself grow hard watching her.
With a quick look around to make sure he was alone, he continued to watch her. She didn’t stop moving, swinging her arms as she danced around. She was about six, he decided. Through his pants, he rubbed his hand against himself, pretending it was her shifting against him. Vanessa, he called her. She looked like a Vanessa.
A man grabbed Vanessa’s hand and pulled her to him, holding her to his leg and shushing her. Gerry wished it was him shushing her, holding her to him. He pushed himself up against one of the tombstones, rubbing his erection on the hard, cold stone and pretending it was little Vanessa. For a second he felt guilty. He stopped and looked around, but no one was there. He tried not to look at Vanessa, to keep his eyes off her, but he couldn’t.
Unzipping his pants, he gripped himself in his hand. He thought about leaving DNA evidence, but he couldn’t stop. Seeing her wiggle like that was too much. He kept his head down and pretended to be pulling weeds, watching Vanessa from the corner of his eye. No one seemed interested in him. He pulled and pulled, imagining it was little Vanessa’s hand instead of his own. Wrong, wrong, a voice in the back of his head screamed. But he couldn’t help it.
Soon, her face in his head, her little hands all over him in his mind, he released in a wave of hot pleasure. Clamping his mouth shut, he held himself back from screaming.
Then, snapping back to reality, he looked around nervously and quickly zipped himself back up.
He had the urge to get up and run, but he made himself sit and pull more weeds. He piled them on top of the spot he’d made, not allowing himself to look at Vanessa anymore. He couldn’t be doing that.
Despite his self-chastising, he felt more relaxed than he had in months. It was like a vacation. He got to enjoy himself, and with the help of Sam Chase he could go home whenever he was ready.
Chapter Twenty-three
Nick forced a smile for the camera as the photographer struggled to keep the boys lined up on the infield. The sun burned their eyes and sweat pooled beneath the polyester jerseys.
“Last one, guys. Stay with me,” the nervous, gangly man said.
The team ignored him.
“Hey,” Nick yelled to Brooks and Jenkins, who were screwing around in the front row. “You guys keep it up and it’ll be laps for both of you.”
The boys groaned and settled down.
The photographer gave him a grateful smile and snapped two more photos. “That’s it.”
Nick relaxed his mouth and rubbed his jaw. He hated pictures. He waited for Rob to extract himself from his friends, anxious to be on his way. He hadn’t seen Sam in four days, and he looked forward to having an excuse to stop by.
At the sound of his name, he turned to see Mrs. Brooks coming toward him. He waved. A divorcée, Ellen Brooks had tried more than once to get his attention romantically. He’d done his best to spurn her advances in a friendly fashion, but the last time he’d found it nearly impossible to dissuade her and he’d stooped to lying about another relationship. He thought about Sam. Maybe it wouldn’t be a lie this time.
“I saw the bit about you in the paper this afternoon,” she said. “Sounds like a dangerous case.”
Nick frowned. “What bit?”
She smiled and touched his shoulder, as though she was picking lint off his team shirt. “You know, the copycat case: that woman up at Mt. Diablo, and the other in Martinez. It was on the front page of the afternoon paper’s Metro section.”
Anger twisted his gut. The media hadn’t been involved in any of the cases. The victims had been low-profile women, the locations far enough apart to keep it out of the news. How the hell . . . ?
“I’ve still got the paper at my house, if you didn’t see it,” she offered.
Just then Rob joined them. “Hi, Mrs. Brooks.”
Mrs. Brooks patted Rob on the back. “Nice playing. Where’s Jay?”
Rob pointed to the field. “I think he’s getting his mitt.”
“Your mom see the paper today?” she asked Rob.
Rob shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with Sam being called his mom.
Ellen looked back at Nick. “She’s mentioned in the article too.”
Nick nodded, ready to get out of there. He didn’t have his pager on, but there was no doubt that if the case had hit the media, his captain would want to hear from him. Damn reporters.
“What article?” Rob asked.
“Just something about this case we’re working on.”
Rob looked confused. “What case?”
“It’s nothing—”
Ellen touched Nick’s chest again, and he could see Rob’s eyes on her. “I wouldn’t call murder nothing.”
Nick backed away without comment, though he didn’t miss the disappointment in her gaze. “We should get going, Rob. ’Bye, Ellen.”
“ ’Bye, Nick, Rob.”
Rob followed him toward the car. “What’s up with her?”
Nick shrugged.
“She likes you. Are you going to go out with her?”
Nick met Rob’s gaze. “No. I’m not interested in Mrs. Brooks.”
“Who are you interested in?”
Nick raised an eyebrow and put his arm around Rob as they started toward the car. “What makes you think I’m interested in anyone?”
“Not even Sam?”
“Has she mentioned me?”
“Not really. I asked her about it, though.”
Nick pressed Rob for information. “And?”
Rob shrugged.
“You’re not going to tell me what she said?”
Rob looked smug. “I think she likes you.”
Nick exhaled. “How can you tell?”
Rob shook his head. “It’s not easy.”
Nick laughed and unlocked the car door. “I’ve got to stop and buy a paper. That okay?”
“Sure.”
Using his car phone, Nick dialed his captain’s number. Cintrello picked up on the first ring.
“It’s Thomas.”
“I’m glad you called. All hell’s breaking loose.”
“You see the article?” Nick asked.
“What article?”
“The afternoon paper—some article about the case. I haven’t seen it yet. I just heard from someone here.” He paused and frowned. “What hell’s breaking loose?”
“Chase’s fingerprints.”
Nick looked at Rob from the corner of his eye. Though the boy was looking out the window, Nick knew he was listening. “Say that again?”
“The evidence I told you about—it’s confirmed. Her prints were on the batteries in a flashlight found at Eva Larson’s home near the body.”
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It didn’t make sense. Sam had been the one to suggest they dust the batteries. “What about the eyelids? I heard there were prints there.”
“Yeah, there were. I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“Have you matched them to anything else?”
“Yeah, smart-ass—the print on Walters.”
“And that doesn’t belong to the special agent, am I right?” he said, trying to keep Rob from knowing he was talking about Sam.
“Doesn’t matter, Thomas. The light came from her car—standard issue. She was there, and the shit’s going to come down heavy on her.”
“Captain—”
“Not a word to anyone, Thomas, especially Chase. I’m confiding in you because I need you on this case. But if it gets out, I know who leaked it.”
“You’re wrong, you know. You should be looking for whoever’s print was at both scenes.”
“We’ll know for sure within twenty-four hours.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means she’s under surveillance, Thomas. For the next twenty-four hours while we run the rest of the evidence, check and double-check. If you’re lucky, it’ll all just go away. But I’m not holding my breath. The undersheriff doesn’t want to chance another victim with no alibi for Agent Chase, so I want you on her, too. Twenty-four hours. Stay inside, make something up. Or stay outside, I don’t care. But you stay on her.”
“No way. You’re asking me to—” He noticed Rob and shook his head again. “No.”
“Watch it, Thomas. I’ll yank your badge faster than you can backpedal your ass out of it. This is a direct order from the undersheriff. He gives it to me and I give it to you. Spend the night with her, if you haven’t already.”
Nick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was disgusting. He also knew Cintrello was about the most stubborn son of a bitch he had ever met. He didn’t respond. He didn’t have anything to say that wouldn’t involve insulting his superior.
“Do we understand each other, Thomas?”
Nick slammed his fist against the steering wheel.
Rob jumped, and Nick touched his shoulder and shook his head in silent apology. He thought about the evening he and Sam were supposed to have with his family tonight, trying to keep Cintrello’s insinuation from tainting it. “One night?” he repeated.
(2002) Chasing Darkness Page 18