Cincinnati, Ohio,
Sunday 20 December, 9.25 A.M.
Linnea finished the oatmeal and eggs served by Sister Angela. This nun didn’t have Sister Jeanette’s kind smile. In fact, her face seemed to be set in a permanent scowl.
‘More toast?’ Sister Angela asked, hovering over the toaster.
‘No, ma’am.’ She was full, like she hadn’t been in so long. She’d always lied to Andy when he’d brought her food from Pies & Fries, telling him she wasn’t hungry because she knew he was going hungry to feed her. ‘But thank you.’
They were alone in the shelter. There were masses being said in the church upstairs, the loud blast of the organ shaking the ceiling above her head from time to time. Linnea had been spared attendance when she begged off, citing her own battered appearance. The bruises from Friday night had bloomed, covering half her face in a dark purple that could never be covered by any makeup known to man. Or God, for that matter.
Sister Angela sat at the table. ‘What are your plans today, Denise?’
Denise. ‘I need to make a phone call. But not from here.’
Sister Angela nodded soberly. ‘You don’t want to be traced here. I know where you can make the call. Would you like me to take you?’
Linnea’s mouth fell open in shock. ‘You would do that?’
A small smile bent the nun’s severe mouth. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’
Her gaze dropped to the bowl she’d all but licked clean. ‘I’m not a nice person.’
The nun’s hand, gnarled and twisted with arthritis, came to rest atop hers. ‘We kind of deal in second chances here,’ she said. ‘Would you like to be a nice person, Denise?’
Linnea nodded. She knew it would never happen, that she’d never have the kind of respectability she’d always craved, but if she was gonna die soon – and she knew she was – she wanted to go out doing something good. ‘That’s why I have to make the phone call.’
‘All right. I know where there’s a pay phone.’ The nun dug into her pocket, then dropped two quarters on the table. ‘Although I think calls to 911 are free,’ she said. ‘Do you want me to walk with you?’
Yes. Please. But Linnea shook her head. ‘I’m . . . grateful. I am. But if I’m seen, anyone around me could be hurt. And I don’t want you to get hurt, ma’am.’
Sister Angela’s eyes softened. ‘Those are the words of a nice person, Denise.’
Huh. ‘Maybe you’re right. If I had more time—’ She cut herself off. Dammit.
The nun frowned. ‘What do you mean, more time? You’re young. You have your whole life ahead of you.’
And that’s not much time. But Linnea made herself smile. ‘You’re right. I do.’ She slid the quarters off the table and put them in her own pocket, feeling the scrap of paper already there. ‘Is there a library nearby? I need to use the computer.’ Because she needed to find the ‘–ruber Academy’ and little Ariel’s teacher, Miss Abernathy.
It was possible that Ariel’s paper had been left in the SUV’s door pocket by a child belonging to someone other than him or his thug. But it was also possible that the kid could lead Linnea to his true identity and his address.
‘There’s a library a few blocks away. You’ll need to show your ID to use a computer.’
‘That’s okay.’
‘Because Denise isn’t your real name,’ the nun said softly, with no accusation.
Linnea shook her head sadly. She could give the woman this much. ‘No, ma’am.’
‘Will you tell me what it is?’
‘Yes. When I’ve done what I need to do.’ Somebody needed to know. Linnea wanted someone to remember her name. Maybe someone could get word to Shane.
She started to stand, but Sister Angela grabbed her wrist. ‘Will you come back?’
‘Yes, ma’am. I’ll try, anyway.’
Frowning, the nun took out her cell phone and, grasping a stylus in her twisted hand, poked madly at the screen. ‘It’s Sunday. Library doesn’t open until one o’clock.’
‘If I leave to make a phone call, can I come back inside until the library opens?’
‘Yes,’ Sister Angela said. ‘And I will walk with you. I’ll give you privacy to make your call, but you don’t have to walk alone.’
Linnea opened her mouth to say thank you, but no words would come.
The nun just patted her hand. ‘You’re welcome.’
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Sunday 20 December, 9.35 A.M.
Meredith was trembling in Adam’s arms, her gaze still full of shock, horror, and sorrow. Adam pulled her close, wishing the ugliness in him had never touched her. It was bad enough that he had to remember Paula – her murder and finding her charred body. Now Meredith would have the pictures in her head too.
He sighed. ‘A few weeks after I found her body, I asked Isenberg to take me back, to reinstate me to Homicide, and she did. That’s when the drinking began to get really bad.’
Meredith flattened her hand over his still-racing heart. When she spoke, her voice was controlled. Calm. But her body still trembled like a leaf in the wind.
‘When we’re faced with trauma, we often fall back into the patterns that are most ingrained, usually during childhood. Yours was drinking. Part of dealing – and healing – is learning new behaviors and practicing them until they become the new fallback position.’
‘That’s what my shrink says.’
Her nod against his chest was shaky. ‘Then he’s smart.’
‘She. I see Kate’s doc.’
He felt her smile against his skin, far preferable to her tears, although those had not stopped their constant flow. ‘Dr Lane? She’ll do you right.’ A hesitation. ‘So why did you decide to go sober on January sixth?’
‘You’re tenacious,’ he said mildly, but he kissed her forehead so that she wouldn’t take offense. ‘Don’t you want to go to sleep now?’
She pulled back to glare at him through her tears. ‘Yes. My head feels like it’s a soccer ball in play, but I want this done, Adam.’
‘Right.’ He urged her to snuggle against him again, not wanting eye contact. She complied and he wrapped his arms tight around her. ‘The morning after that first night when we . . . You know.’
‘When we slept together? Yes. I do know. I was there,’ she added dryly.
Yes, she had been. There. For me. ‘I woke up and you were still asleep and so pretty. I just watched you sleep for the longest time, wanting you. You, I mean. Not for sex. Well, yes for sex, because that was amazing, but—’ He stopped himself, his cheeks burning hot.
She patted his chest, taking pity on his rambling. ‘You wanted something more?’
‘I wanted everything – to hear your voice telling me it would be okay and to believe that was true. I wanted to deserve it, because I was so messed up, I couldn’t find my way back on my own. But even messed up, I knew that I couldn’t depend on you for my mental health. That’s not fair to you. And it’s not . . . sustainable.’
‘Good word.’
‘Dr Lane’s,’ he said. ‘I needed to get my shit together, so I left your bed and went right to Isenberg, took a leave of absence. Which went over real well with my family.’
‘Deacon and Dani criticized you?’ she asked disbelievingly.
‘No. Oh no. They were great. They’ve always been there for me. I meant my father. He, um, was not supportive.’
‘Hmm,’ she growled. ‘I see.’
He wasn’t sure she did, but that wasn’t important now. Just get through this. So they could hopefully go on. ‘I tried to get it together, but I kept seeing Paula, kept hearing her.’
‘Not surprising,’ she said gently.
He shrugged. ‘She was always there. In my sleep, when I was awake. I was useless. I hung around my apartment and . . .’ He shrugged again.
‘And drank,’ she supplied, still gentle.
‘Yeah. I missed the holidays. I didn’t even go to my parents’ house on Christmas last year. I was too drunk. And I know it worried my mother and she has a heart condition, so that made me feel guilty. So I drank more. Which made me deserve you even less. It was bad. A vicious cycle. I saw the department shrink and he didn’t help. I couldn’t ask you for any more help. It wasn’t fair to you. You can’t be my therapist or my crutch.’
‘No, I can’t,’ she agreed. ‘But I can support you. I can care about you.’
He hoped so. ‘I got invited to your birthday party by Dani and Deacon, but I couldn’t face them. I’d been horrible to Deacon and . . .’ He drew a breath and took the first plunge. ‘I made Faith lose her job with the bank because I called her boss, introduced myself as a homicide detective, then insinuated she was a suspect. I didn’t think she could forgive me.’
‘But she did. She told me all about it.’
It was his turn to rear back in surprise. ‘She did?’
‘Yes. You suspected her of being involved in multiple murders and called her boss at the bank to verify her employment. That was standard operating procedure, wasn’t it?’
He blinked. ‘Yes, but I thought you’d be mad about the way I did it.’
‘Maybe, but I’m not, because we all knew you were hurting then. We didn’t know why, but Adam, you were obviously the walking wounded. Besides, Faith had two job offers by the end of the following week. I’m glad she picked me. She’s an amazing therapist.’
‘I thought you offered her a job because . . .’ He frowned. ‘This isn’t gonna come out right. But I figured you felt sorry for her.’
She actually laughed. ‘I didn’t know she’d been fired when I asked her to work with me. I only had to watch her with the victims. Plus, you know, redhead solidarity.’ She sobered. ‘What else are you afraid I’ll be mad at?’
He squared his jaw. Next plunge. ‘I drove drunk.’
She met his eyes. ‘Okay. That’s really bad. Was that the night we slept together?’
‘No. That was on your birthday. I’d driven by your house and there were cars parked all over the block because of your party. I almost parked and went in. Almost. I was so stressed out at the thought of seeing everyone who knew I was on mental health leave . . . I got a little buzzed before I got there. Just to take off the edge. I drove around the block a couple times, then my cell rang. If it had been my mom’s number, I wouldn’t have answered. She’d texted and called a few times that day, but I was avoiding her too.’
‘Because she would have known you were buzzed.’
‘Yeah. She’d seen my dad that way for years, after all. But it wasn’t my mom’s number and I guess I was looking for an excuse not to go to your party, so I answered.’
Her expression had grown grave as he’d talked. ‘Who was it?’
‘The hospital. Mom had been texting and calling because she needed me to come over and fix a light bulb. I figured my dad could do that just as easily, so I let it go. But my father had gone duck hunting and so she’d climbed on a chair and . . .’ His throat closed.
‘Fell and ended up in the hospital. How badly was she hurt?’
He cleared his throat. ‘She sprained her arm and needed stitches in her head. The real damage was from a heart attack she had when she fell. I drove right to the hospital, but they’d called my father and he’d just gotten there too. He chased me out of her room. Said all the things he always did, but that time . . . He was right on point. I was a loser and I was a mental case. More than that, I was a bad son. I didn’t want to upset my mom with a hallway brawl, so I left.’ Tail between his legs. He sighed heavily. ‘I went straight from the hospital to a bar and drank myself stupid. And then I drove home.’
She frowned at him. ‘The bartender didn’t take your keys?’
‘Nope. I’m a functional drunk, apparently. He’d just come on shift. Didn’t know how much I’d already had. I’m also a pretty decent liar when I’m drunk. He never suspected. On the way home I . . .’ He closed his eyes, willing the panic away. Next plunge. Just tell her. ‘I hit a kid on a bike. A teenager.’
‘Oh my God,’ she whispered. ‘Was he okay?’
‘Yeah. Because I’m apparently the luckiest bastard alive. When I hit him, he went off the road and tumbled down a hill. He broke his arm.’ He let out a slow breath. ‘I could have killed him, Meredith.’
She gripped his chin, tugging until he opened his eyes and looked at her. ‘But you didn’t, right?’
‘No, I didn’t.’ Thank God. He still shuddered at the dread of what might have happened. ‘I knew the kid. He lives in my neighborhood. Ironically enough, he was as drunk as I was. He grabbed his bike, begged me not to tell his mother he’d been drinking. I was kind of stupefied, you know? In shock and reeling. I said okay and put his bike in the back of my Jeep and drove him home. He said he was just going to tell his mom he fell off his bike. When I got home, I collapsed in my bed and didn’t wake up for almost twenty-four hours.’ He’d been a physical mess. His own stench had woken him. And that lovely little detail he was keeping to himself. ‘I was completely sober, for the first time since Paula. I looked in the mirror and realized what I’d become. My mother might have died. And that kid . . . God. So I gathered all my bottles and poured them all out. Then I found an AA meeting.’
‘I’m so glad you did. Shh,’ she soothed. ‘It’s all right.’
Because he was shaking and hadn’t even realized it. ‘You shouldn’t be looking at me like that.’ Softly. With compassion.
Her lips curved sadly. ‘Then how should I look at you?’
‘With contempt.’ Like I look at me.
She shook her head. ‘Adam, you saw something horrific and you self-medicated your trauma. It’s not an unusual reaction. But it wasn’t good for you. You realized that, and now you’re not doing it anymore. You shouldn’t be ashamed. You should be proud. You know how few people can bring themselves back like that.’
‘And if I fall off the wagon?’
‘Then you get back on. Do you plan to fall off?’
‘No.’ He shuddered at the pictures his mind always conjured, his mother, on the floor, having died alone. And that kid dead on the side of the road, his bike wheels spinning. That wasn’t what had happened. The kid was just fine.
His mother though . . . Her arm and head had healed, but her heart was even weaker than it had been. Her next heart attack might be her last. And whenever that happened, he was going to have to live with the fact that he’d hastened it.
‘I can’t be that person again,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘I’m not that person.’
And maybe, just maybe, he might believe that someday.
A brush of her thumb over his lips. ‘Good. I’m glad.’
And that was the worst of it, he realized, briefly stunned. Those were the worst secrets and she was still here, her words, her touch still gentle. ‘That night last summer, when I came to see you? When we colored?’
‘I remember.’
He did too. He remembered every single second, because he’d been sober as a judge. Leaving her that night had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done and that included giving up the booze. ‘I left your house and called my sponsor. Found a midnight meeting even though I’d just gone to one that morning. I sat in that midnight meeting and promised myself I wouldn’t have any more contact with you until I’d earned my year coin.’
Her hand cupped his cheek and he turned into her touch. ‘Were you ever going to tell me all of this?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ He winced. ‘Maybe? I don’t know. Sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry. I might not have believed the “yes.”’ She was quiet for a long moment. ‘If you need to walk away from me until you get that coin, I’ll understand.’
‘I don’t know if I can,’ he whispered. ‘I need you too much.’
She sagged into him, shuddering out a relieved breath. ‘Good. Because I need you too. I mean, I can get through the next few weeks without you if I must. Papa is here and my cousin Alex is coming from Atlanta for Christmas. Bailey, Hope, and Ryan will be with me too. I wouldn’t be completely alone.’
And why her family was about to gather ranks around her was a question he wanted answered. But that could wait, at least until they’d slept.
She rubbed her cheek against his chest. ‘It’s so much nicer to have you, though.’
And suddenly it was that simple. He could get through the next two weeks without her too. He’d made it eleven months and fourteen days on his own. If he had to, he could finish out the year. But for the next few hours, at least, he wasn’t leaving her alone.
Because she needed him too.
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Sunday 20 December, 9.45 A.M.
Heart thundering, Linnea tugged at the scarf that Sister Angela had wound around her head and face, allowing her to hide in plain sight. The pay phone was outside an old corner store with bars on the windows, but the neighborhood wasn’t all that scary. Linnea had seen far, far worse. Having a nun at her back certainly didn’t hurt.
She lifted the receiver and frowned. ‘No dial tone,’ she said to Sister Angela.
‘Try putting a quarter in first. You should get it back once you hang up.’
Linnea obeyed, but wiped the quarter clean first. She’d have to wipe the whole phone clean when she was finished. Inserting the quarter, she was relieved to hear the dial tone. Fingers trembling, she dialed 911.
‘This is 911. What is the nature of your emergency?’ the operator asked.
Linnea’s throat closed.
‘Hello? Are you there?’ the operator said.
Linnea’s breath wheezed out of her chest and then she felt a hand on her back. Sister Angela, patting her gently. ‘You want me to talk to them, child?’
‘No,’ Linnea managed. ‘I can do it. I need to do it.’ I need to be a nice person. She waited until the nun had stepped far enough away that her whispered words couldn’t be overheard. ‘I’m, um . . . Can I talk to somebody about the shooting yesterday? The one downtown? I have . . . information.’
‘I see.’ The operator’s voice gentled. ‘Let me transfer you.’
‘No,’ Linnea cried out. That would take a while and she didn’t want to stand out here, a sitting duck if the wrong person saw her. She knew her fear was illogical. He couldn’t be everywhere, but . . . he always seemed to be. She dropped her voice back to a whisper. ‘Just tell them that the SUV used in the shooting can be found at Clyde’s Place, at 275 and Beechmont. Tell them . . . to be careful. The person who left it there . . . they bled and they’re positive. For, you know, HIV. Tell the cops to wear gloves. That’s all.’
‘Wait!’ the operator insisted, but Linnea replaced the receiver. The quarter came jingling down and she removed it.
She used her sleeve to wipe down all the parts of the phone that she’d touched, then returned to the nun and handed her the quarter. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome, child.’ The nun’s smile was . . . sweet. Linnea hadn’t seen sweetness there at first.
But I was wrong. I was wrong about so many things. I have to make them right. ‘Can we go back now?’ She had cramps from hell and all she wanted was to lie down and curl into a fetal position.
‘Of course.’ In an unexpected move, Sister Angela crooked her elbow, like she wanted Linnea to take it. So she did. And she and the nun walked back to the shelter arm-in-arm. It was . . . nice. And when they got to the church she didn’t feel quite as much panic as she had the night before. In fact, she felt a spurt of something that felt remarkably like hope. Like maybe, just maybe she’d be able to sit in one of those pews. Someday.
It was a nice dream anyway.
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Sunday 20 December, 9.45 A.M.
Butch rubbed his huge hands over his face. ‘Tell me again why we’re doin’ this?’ He dropped into the shabby hotel chair. ‘The girls make us a shit-ton of money. None of them has even seen you. None of the ones still alive, anyway.’
No, none of them had except for Linnea, and it was really eating at him that she was still out there somewhere, presumably alive. It was like she’d vanished into nowhere.
Even if she were dead somewhere, she was still a major liability.
‘Because Linnea’s face is all over the news,’ he snapped. Luckily, it was her old face, before she’d arrived in Cincinnati. A teenager’s face, round and young. She’d been about fifteen in the photo that the cops had posted all over the Internet as a person of interest.
They couldn’t have gotten the photo from Andy because everything he’d owned was gone, obliterated by the fire. The picture had to have been supplied by Shane Baird. Who, according to his resources inside CPD, had been interviewed, then whisked away to a safe house. Which meant that until he either figured out where that was or until Shane was moved elsewhere, he couldn’t get his hands on the kid either. Which meant he had nothing with which to draw Linnea out.
Butch shrugged. ‘She don’t look like that picture no more. She’s used up. Gone hard.’ He grimaced. ‘Haggard. She was comin’ up on her ex date anyway.’
‘Which was why I picked Andy for the job yesterday. He cared for her enough to want to save her, but nobody else wanted her.’ Even with her rates drastically discounted. So Linnea had become a liability. ‘Which doesn’t really matter anymore. Eventually somebody’s going to recognize her and call the cops.’
Butch heaved a sigh. ‘And if whoever calls in remembers seeing her with any of the girls, the cops will focus in on them as a connection. I get it. But do we have to get rid of them all? Can’t we keep one or two?’
Butch had issues getting women because he was a cruel SOB – but that had been true even before the meth lab fire that had left him with a face only a mother could love. Actually, Butch’s mother hadn’t loved him, either, so that left nobody. Their girls had been . . . unwillingly cooperative partners. If they didn’t cooperate, they experienced Butch’s cruelty firsthand. Just as Linnea had on Friday night.
He drew a breath and tried to be patient, because when Butch got his feelings hurt, he tended to pout. Not an attractive look for him and not a productive mode for either of them. He needed to get this job done. ‘We’ll get you more, Butch. Don’t worry.’
Butch appeared unhappy nevertheless. ‘Can I at least do the deed once more with ’em, before I, uh, do the deed?’
He aborted a laugh, snorting instead. ‘No. You’ll have to make it fast. Three of them are due in’ – he checked his watch – ‘right about now.’
‘And then?’
‘And then we go to the next hotel and do it again.’
Butch rolled his eyes. ‘What a waste. Just sayin’.’
‘We never keep them long. You know that.’ The half-dozen girls who worked the university circuit never lasted more than a year. One or two of them were actual college kids. Most were simply hookers who had looked fresh-faced enough when they started.
Most of them quit on their own. Those who got old and haggard but wouldn’t quit were cut loose by his business manager, Jolee. Most of them hit the streets solo. He didn’t care. None of them had seen him and if they ever threatened Jolee with either violence or exposure, Butch took care of them and nobody was ever the wiser.
But having Linnea’s face all over the news changed that. Somebody was going to recognize her sooner or later.
And with Voss’s account ledgers falling under the microscope of Kimble and Triplett’s murder investigation, it was only a matter of time before his blackmail payments were exposed. Voss wouldn’t have stood up to the strain of interrogation. He liked to beat up women, but sitting under the lights in an interview room? He’d spill details in a hot minute. Which was no longer a problem, thanks to Uncle Mike.
Still, having six women disappear all at once was going to be tricky.
He pulled three capped syringes from his pocket. ‘You ready, Butch?’
Butch scowled. ‘Yeah. Let’s do it. Still say it’s a fucking waste.’
His patience splintered. ‘Yes,’ he bit out. ‘But necessary. Hurry up. I have to be at church by eleven.’
Butch’s expression was the same as when he ate Brussels sprouts. ‘Why? You did the cantina thing last night.’
He snorted again, his impatience evaporating because Butch could always make him laugh. ‘Cantata, not cantina. A cantina is that bar in Star Wars where Han Solo first met Luke and Obi Wan. Today’s just a normal choir thing.’ And an alibi. ‘Get in the closet.’
Butch obeyed, just as the knock came at the door.
He opened the door, smiling at the three women standing on the other side. He didn’t know their names. They matched the photographs sent to him by Jolee.
Jolee recruited new employees, made sure they were trained and showed up where and when they were supposed to. She managed the website through which their clients booked appointments and paid, and she handed out the cash to the girls on payday.
He paid her well and she never seemed to regret selling her body or selling out her fellow classmates. Older than the women she managed, she didn’t hit the field as often anymore. Still, she was a team player when needed. She was to be joining the group they were to meet at the second hotel, taking up the slack left by the disappearance of Linnea.
He was going to miss Jolee. She’d been damn good at her job.
‘You were sent by Jolee?’ he asked. Three nods. One girl smiled back, but the other two looked bored. Well, the two bored ones would have been tagged to be terminated anyway. Employing bored hookers was no way to run a business. ‘Please come in.’
They did, sitting on the edge of the bed when he motioned them to it. The smiling girl appeared to be their spokesperson. ‘We were told you’d be hosting a party?’ She looked around doubtfully. ‘Are we early?’
‘No, not at all.’ With a nod aimed over their heads, he slipped his hand into his pocket and removed the cap from the syringe needle. Butch crept out of the closet, an uncapped syringe in both hands. Ambidexterity was just another one of Butch’s lesser known skills. He could also move surprisingly soundlessly for a huge guy.
Butch jabbed the syringes in the necks of the two bored girls while he took care of the smiling one. Quickly stuffing gags in their mouths, it wasn’t too difficult to hold them down until the sedative took effect.
They searched them, checking their cell phones to be sure they hadn’t told anyone outside their little group where they were going. The hotel was one of the seedy ones where nobody watched what you carried in or out because they did not care, but he wasn’t taking any chances on being captured by surveillance cameras from the local businesses.
‘Let’s load ’em up,’ he said and Butch unzipped the three suitcases they’d brought with them. They hefted the women into the suitcases, Butch manipulating their bodies so that they fit. Butch had seen a six-foot-three college kid stuff himself into a suitcase on YouTube a few years back and this was now one of his favorite tricks.
‘This never gets old,’ Butch said, zipping up the third girl. ‘Like doin’ a puzzle.’
‘So glad I could entertain you,’ he said dryly. ‘Mike’ll be by later to pick up the cars.’
‘Is he gonna need me to ride shotgun?’
‘Probably. Here, give me a hand with this one.’ He grabbed the handle of the largest bag with his right hand as his left arm still throbbed, courtesy of Linnea’s blade. He’d make sure she knew pain before he killed her. ‘This one’s heavy,’ he warned as he and Butch pulled the suitcases from the hotel room to their waiting SUV.
‘Jolee’s been feedin’ ’em too good,’ Butch grunted as he loaded the suitcases into the cargo bay. Once they picked up the other three, it would be Butch’s job to dispose of all six.
By the time the women were dead, he’d be suited up in a choir robe singing Handel’s Messiah. As alibis went, it was a good one. Hallelujah.