His brow was tight with concern, and Hailey assumed it was for Mackenzie, too, though Hailey didn’t recognize him. Perhaps whatever worried Jamie had spilled over, onto him.
John, of course, was put off that she’d had to come back to work on a Sunday. He would have felt differently if it had been the Dennigs’ case.
If she was working on what Jim wanted her on.
Though Hailey didn’t recognize the man, he could have been a cop. Seeing Jamie with someone made Hailey realize how little about herself Jamie revealed. Watching the two of them, Hailey had no idea if they were cousins, or lovers. Jamie’s softer side had emerged a few times these past days.
“Have you been in there yet?” Jamie asked.
Hailey shook her head. “Just going now. Nurse said she might not be able to talk.”
“But she’s conscious?”
“Yes.”
Jamie blew out her breath and opened her coat to take it off.
Hailey had started to turn when she spotted the dark stains on Jamie’s shoes. She’d seen enough dried blood to recognize it. “What’s that from?”
“Someone attacked Barney last night.”
She glanced at the man. “Who?”
Jamie shook her head. “Barney’s the dog—my dog. Someone cut him up, then rang my doorbell at about one in the morning.” She turned back to her friend. “This is Tony. He’s—” Jamie stopped.
“I’m visiting.” He stepped back, pointed to a chair. “I’ll wait here.”
Leaving Tony, the two women walked down the corridor in silence. Hailey was thinking about the dog attack. First Hailey, then Mackenzie, then Jamie’s dog.
“It could be the same guy,” Hailey said.
“I should’ve warned you guys when I thought I saw Marchek,” Jamie said.
“You didn’t know.”
“I should’ve known,” she said through closed teeth. “I sure as hell know what he’s capable of.”
Had he been going for both of them in one night? Or all three? “You really think it’s him?”
Jamie hesitated. “Maybe. After we were in his house, he’d be angry. I can see him coming after us.”
Hailey repressed the shudder that ran up her spine. The two of them stopped in front of room 1027. Hailey knocked. No one answered. Jamie slowly pushed the door open.
Before Hailey could enter, the beep and whoosh of noises assaulted her. Too many machines. She wanted to leave, to run. She imagined her dying mother. Jamie was right behind. No choice but to go forward. Hailey sucked in a breath, forced a step into the room.
Mackenzie lay on the narrow bed, covered by a thin, white, cotton blanket. One slender arm rested at her side, pale against the ugly, green hospital gown. The other was bent and covered in a thick, white cast. The head of the bed was tilted up six or eight inches and Mackenzie faced the window.
She was too young to be a cop.
Christ, how had they let this happen to another rookie?
Mackenzie turned toward them. As her face came into view, the air swept from the room. Hailey had to steel herself from stepping away. She blinked hard, fighting back emotion as she moved closer to the beautiful woman she’d met only two days before.
Tears streaked Mackenzie’s cheeks. Her left eye was swollen purple and black. It looked like a rotting plum crushed on her face. Lacerations covered both cheeks, and her top lip was swollen and cut. White butterfly sutures crisscrossed her scabbed cheeks. Black stitches laced her lower lip.
Mackenzie let out a guttural noise like hello, but her lips didn’t move.
“Oh, Christ,” Jamie said, moving to the far side of the bed. She took the rookie’s hand and perched on the bed. “Jesus Christ, Wallace.”
Hailey moved closer, too, but Mackenzie faced Jamie.
Jamie was crying. Tears falling down her cheeks, she made no move to stop them. “I’m so sorry. Jesus, I’m so fucking sorry.”
Mackenzie’s one eye blinked and her tongue came out to catch a stray tear. She shook her head. Her words were slow, but discernible as she said, “Not. Your. Fault.”
Hailey exhaled in relief. Mackenzie recognized them. She was speaking. It was good news. She would recover.
But when Jamie turned back, her frown deepened. “Like hell it’s not. It’s completely my fault.” She stopped talking, but Hailey could tell the retribution continued in her head.
Jamie caught her eye, stared up at the ceiling, and inhaled deeply as though trying to bottle back some of the emotion that had come uncorked. “Did you get a look at this guy last night? At all?”
“A flash of dark hair,” she said, licking her lips. “Curly.” Mackenzie hesitated. “Left-handed,” she added, then motioned for her water.
“Sounds like Marchek.” Hailey lifted the cup and put the straw to Mackenzie’s lips.
“Was it him? Would you recognize him?” Jamie pressed.
“Maybe,” Mackenzie said.
“It wasn’t random,” Hailey said. “I can’t stomach a coincidence this big.”
Jamie brought the focus to the attack. “Are you up to talking about it?”
Mackenzie nodded.
Jamie watched her. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“Okay. Walk us through it. When did you first realize he was there? How did he sneak up on you?”
Mackenzie told the story, stopping every few minutes for water. Hailey held the straw to her lips. Jamie never let go of her hand, urging her to go slow, to take a breath.
Hailey had never seen Jamie like this. At first, she’d thought the patience was all about her own guilt. But, as she continued, Hailey realized Jamie knew what it was to be a victim. Had she been raped?
Mackenzie blinked, a new herd of tears crisscrossing her cheeks. “Warning,” she whispered.
“What?” Jamie asked.
“It was a warning.”
“A warning. What kind of warning?”
Hailey and Jamie stood on either side of the bed as Mackenzie spoke. “He said, ‘Tell her one of her own is a killer.’”
“One of her own,” Hailey repeated. He was talking to her. He had to be. The killing was her case. Natasha’s killer was a cop. They were looking for a cop. Christ, maybe it was Scanlan.
“‘She better listen this time. It’s one of you,’” Mackenzie added. “That’s what he said. ‘You better listen.’” She broke down when Jamie rubbed her hand.
Hailey replayed the words. She better listen this time. She. Did he know who she was?
Mackenzie started to speak again but Hailey stopped her. “It’s okay. You’ve given us enough.”
Mackenzie shook her head. “One more…”
Hailey waited. Her stomach knotted.
“He said…” Mackenzie took a breath through the tears. “‘It’ll be like the inspector that asshole killed,’ he said.”
Jamie remained silent. When she finally spoke, her voice seemed to catch in her throat. “He saw something that night—the night Natasha Devlin was killed. More than just her getting out of the car. He knows who killed her. That bastard knows.”
“Or, he’s bullshitting us,” Hailey suggested, quietly.
Jamie stared at her hands, shook her head. “No. He likes to brag. He has power now. He has something we want, something he knows we need desperately.”
No one spoke for a minute.
“Shit,” Hailey finally whispered.
“But a cop?” Mackenzie croaked.
Jamie and Hailey exchanged glances. Neither spoke. Hailey wanted to believe Marchek was screwing with them. The confirmation that a cop had killed Natasha was unsettling. “How did he find Mackenzie? Why her?” she finally asked.
Jamie paused, glancing at Mackenzie without answering.
“Jamie?” Mackenzie pressed.
“Yeah,” Hailey continued. “I’m the name on the case. You, I understand. But why Mackenzie?”
Mackenzie furrowed at Hailey. “He attacked you, too?”
Jam
ie glanced at Hailey. Turned to Mackenzie. “There have been other incidents. We appear to be the focus for him—whoever he is.”
“He’d obviously seen Natasha that night,” Hailey said. “We know that from the picture, so maybe he saw you too, Mackenzie. He probably found that exciting. The murder of a beautiful woman, then, that you were there…”
Mackenzie shifted against the sheets.
Hailey moved the pieces around in her head. “If a cop killed Natasha, how was Marchek there that night? Coincidence?”
Jamie shook her head. “I’d bet he followed Devlin. He hoped to catch her alone, but she was busy with her other men.”
Hailey considered that Natasha might have been raped that night if someone hadn’t killed her. Christ. “The photograph,” she whispered. “Marchek took a picture of Natasha with Scott Scanlan. Maybe he assumed Scanlan was her killer.”
Jamie shook her head. “I thought about that. It doesn’t work. He knows the identity of who killed her.”
“How do you know?” Hailey asked.
“Because Marchek followed them to her office. He left a perfect fingerprint on the sign with her name.” She looked up at Hailey. “That is his way of taunting us. He has something we want and he’s not going to give it up.”
No one spoke for a minute.
Hailey broke the silence. “How do we work it from here?”
“I don’t know,” Jamie confessed. “But if it was a cop who killed Natasha—Scanlan or someone else—then we have no idea who we can talk to, because the killer most likely has access to the case.”
Hailey considered that. “There’s you and me.”
Mackenzie made a sound. She raised the hand that wasn’t in a cast and pointed to herself. “Me,” she said.
“No way,” Hailey said.
“You’re going to be out of commission for a while, Wallace,” Jamie told her.
“After.”
Jamie focused on Mackenzie, but Hailey saw her raise a brow.
“I could use the help,” Hailey said.
Jamie met her gaze, nodded. Hailey knew they were both thinking Mackenzie might be safer if she weren’t on patrol for a while.
“She could help,” Jamie agreed.
“I’ll talk to Captain James about getting you a temporary stint in Homicide.” Hailey turned to Jamie. “That okay?”
“Perfect,” Jamie said.
“But nothing goes outside us. Not until we know who we’re homing in on,” Hailey said, directing the comment to Mackenzie.
“Or until we can nail Marchek on the rapes and force him to tell us who he saw,” Jamie agreed.
Hailey thought about what Mackenzie had been through. Jesus Christ.
But Jamie was right about something else, too—they were going to nail this bastard. She prayed they could do it before someone else ended up in this place.
Or worse—down in the basement where they stored the cold bodies.
Chapter 26
Jamie didn’t leave the house Sunday afternoon. She made calls to every member of the Rookie Club who had been at the dinner the other night and every woman on the scene the morning after Natasha was murdered. She gave each a modified version of the truth, which included Mackenzie’s attack and Barney’s incident and warned them each to be especially careful. She left messages for the ones who weren’t home. The few she spoke to hadn’t taken her warning as seriously as she would have liked.
How could they?
If a cop worried about every threat, she would never leave the house. A cop’s job was to put herself in constant danger. The fact that Jamie thought the risk was higher today than usual didn’t mean she was right.
A meeting was called for first thing in the morning to discuss how to proceed, both with the case against Marchek and with Natasha’s murder investigation. In the meantime, Jamie prayed the tail on Marchek was enough to prevent another rape. God, she wanted this case to be over.
Seeing Mackenzie this morning had only made things worse. Damn it if she didn’t look like shit. At least the doctor thought they’d release her in the morning. They wanted to keep her another night because of the head injury.
On the way home from the hospital, Jamie and Tony stopped in to pick up Barney from the vet. He circled the floor until he found a comfortable spot to lie down.
He appeared to be favoring his right leg, but the vet was confident he’d recover.
Barney had been the lucky one.
All of Jamie’s victims were recovering. According to one of the local trauma psychologists, Emily Osbourne had come in for counseling. The subject matter was protected by patient confidentiality, but Jamie was always relieved to hear that victims were seeking help. Emily’s father left Jamie a message at least once a day. Her mother had called the rape crisis center for resources on therapy. Jamie had also followed up on all the call-in tips the department had gotten.
She had nothing to show for the effort.
At half past four, Tony entered the living room juggling her car keys. “I thought I’d pick up some fixings for chicken parmesan.”
She sat up. “I’ll come.”
“Don’t,” he said. “I can do it. I know where the store is.”
Jamie didn’t want to go, yet she felt responsible for him. What would he do if she didn’t come? Get drunk again? Total her car with him in it?
“You need some smokes?” he asked.
She shook her head. Stopped. “Okay, a couple Marlboro Lights—hard packs. And get something sweet—some of that Phish Food or something.”
“Fish food?”
“You know, Ben and Jerry’s. Ice cream.”
“Never heard of it, but I’ll find it.”
The door clicked closed and she sat up, suddenly anxious. She ran to the door, pulled it open. “Tony.”
He looked back, a half smile on his face. It was the expression of a kid about to be let out on his own.
Don’t call him back. Don’t do it. “Please be careful, okay?”
“I won’t scratch the car, I promise.”
Jamie shook her head. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about the car.”
He turned with energy in his step.
She stepped back into the house, watched him go, knowing it was the right thing to do. At the computer, she signed into the chat room and exchanged a few brief messages about the case in Chicago. After knowing someone had been online, posing as her, it felt weird to be there—exposed—and she signed off after a few minutes.
When the doorbell rang a few minutes later, Jamie assumed it was Tony.
She pulled the door open and said, “You have a key—” She halted midsentence.
Tim stood on her doorstep.
“Sorry. I thought you were—” She shook her head.
“Can I come in?”
Jamie hesitated. Looking at Tim, she didn’t feel angry. She realized it was the first time since she’d found him with Natasha that anger wasn’t her first emotion. “Okay. For a few minutes.”
“Thanks.” Tim followed her to the kitchen. She could feel his gaze stop on Tony’s shoes, which sat inside the back door.
“You want some coffee?”
“That would be great.” He sat down and traced the wood grain on the table. Watching him, she had a vision of them lying in bed together, Tim reenacting a car chase with his fingers on the pillowcase. When had things gone wrong? She could never find the exact moment.
“How are you?” she asked.
“I’m not back to work yet. I went by and there’s a bunch of picketers in front.”
“Picketers?”
“Protesting my release.”
Jamie poured two cups and sat down. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “It’s my own fault.”
Jamie thought about the question that had bothered her from the start. “Why did you move her?”
He met her gaze, shook his head. “She looked asleep—a little pale, maybe, but not dead.” He turned the coffee cup in his hands
, stared down at it. “I’d been hit on the head and I came to a little dizzy. When I saw her, I picked her up instinctively. I knew she was hurt. I didn’t get far before I realized…” He stopped, blinked.
She could see the emotion in his eyes and had to look away. She took a drink of coffee, felt the liquid burn her tongue.
“Maybe I knew she was dead and didn’t want to accept it,” he added quietly.
Maybe she should have asked more questions, but she couldn’t. She already knew Tim had slept with Natasha before she died. That was enough. Plus, the murder wasn’t her case.
Jamie didn’t know what to say, couldn’t find the words.
They sat in silence for a few minutes before Tim stood up. “Thanks for letting me talk, Jamie.”
She started to stand, but he stopped her. “I’ll let myself out.” Then, before she could stop him, he leaned down, kissed her on the cheek, and was gone.
She started, her cheeks flushing.
And then, she felt a rush of anger. How dare he kiss her just when she was starting to have a life without him?
But it was Tim.
Jamie dumped the coffees in the sink and stared out the window, trying to discern exactly how she felt. The anger was gone. The very absence of it felt so foreign. She wasn’t sure she could say it felt good.
The anger was easy.
This—forgiveness—this was hard.
Upstairs, she showered, lingering under the scalding water. She tried not to think about Tim. Or about Marchek or Scanlan or Tony. When she emerged, she glanced at the clock. Forty-seven minutes had passed since Tony left—not nearly enough time to get groceries and get back, especially on a Sunday.
Her throat closed. She ignored it, found the pack of cigarettes on the floor by her bed. As she walked across the room, she shook one out. She opened the window and lit the cigarette, curling back into the chair. It was cool outside and she set the cigarette on the edge of her table to grab a sweatshirt off the floor and pull it over her head. She retrieved the cigarette and inhaled with a hissing Darth Vader sound, exhaled.
The muscles in her neck loosened and she focused on a spot at the back of the yard. On the other side of the house, cars passed in the distance, too far to hear. The room was quiet, except for the whine of the wind through the open window.
The Rookie Club Thriller series Box Set Page 18