Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 7.35 A.M.
Linnea stood behind a tree on the edge of the school’s property, close enough to hear the parents talking to their children, but far enough away that no one noticed her. They were mostly minivan-driving mommies who appeared frazzled, in a holiday-induced hurry, and annoyed that the school hadn’t started winter break the Friday before.
Must be nice if that’s the only thing you worry about, Linnea thought sourly.
The moms would park in the lot in front of the school and walk their children inside, their child’s hand tightly clasped in their own. Some had babies on one hip. All treated their children like they were precious. Something Linnea had never known.
God, she envied those little kids.
She was so absorbed in wondering what their lives were like that she almost missed the dark-haired lady pulling a toddler out of the car seat in a Toyota minivan.
‘Ariel! Sweetheart, don’t dawdle. I have errands to run this morning.’
Linnea’s gaze jerked to the little family – the mama, the little boy, and the pretty little girl, currently dragging her feet. ‘I don’t feel good, Mommy. Can we go home?’
The mother hefted the toddler to her hip. ‘No. You are going to school, young lady. You’ve been acting oddly all weekend. What’s wrong, honey?’
Even scolding, the woman’s concern for her daughter came through. How could this be his family? He was cruel and hateful. The mom seemed lovely and sweet.
‘Nothing, Mama.’ Head hanging, Ariel rounded the van, shuffling her feet.
‘Ariel? Does this have anything to do with your performance in math class?’
Ariel’s mouth dropped open. ‘But how—’
‘Miss Abernathy called me on Friday to tell me that you hadn’t returned the letter she sent home. I was hoping you’d tell me yourself.’
Ariel’s lips quivered. ‘I’m sorry, Mama. I can’t do that math.’
‘Well, we’re not going to worry about it today. Maybe we’ll ask some of the big kids in church if they’ll come help you with your math over the break. What do you say?’
Ariel blinked owlishly from behind her round glasses. ‘You’re not mad?’
‘No. I wasn’t very good at math either. And your daddy wasn’t mad either. Let’s go inside before we turn into popsicles.’
With a giggle, Ariel obeyed, and they walked together, swinging their clasped hands.
Linnea moved as soon as they were out of sight, approaching the minivan with her pilfered antenna, planning to pop the door locks.
But again she didn’t have to. The door was unlocked. What was this with suburbanites? It was like they felt insulated from crime.
Linnea climbed behind the back bench seat, crouching so that her head was out of sight. Minutes later, Ariel’s mommy came back, toddler still on her hip. She quickly buckled the baby into his car seat, then slid behind the wheel.
Linnea ducked and held her breath, not breathing until the woman had started the engine and they were off.
Now what? She could conceivably crawl toward the front if she could roll over the bench seat without being seen, but that seemed unlikely. Or, she could fold down one of the seats and crawl over if she were very quiet. Or . . . She smiled as Ariel’s mommy popped a CD in and choir music exploded from the speakers.
Perfect. Five minutes later, once the woman was on the highway, aggressively singing along, Linnea pulled the release lever for the smaller seat section, caught the seat as it popped forward, and quietly lowered it. Then she slipped from her hiding place, threw herself between the captain seats and grabbed the woman’s phone off the center console.
She had the phone pocketed before the woman gasped in fear.
‘Don’t do anything stupid, ma’am,’ Linnea said quietly, showing her the gun. ‘I have nothing to lose, but I don’t want to hurt you or your little boy.’
‘Wh-who are you?’ the woman whispered.
‘Your husband’s worst nightmare. Just drive to your home, ma’am. And don’t try anything, please. I don’t want to hurt your son, but I will if I must.’
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 8.45 A.M.
Adam joined Isenberg, Scarlett, and Trip at the small table in Isenberg’s office. He’d showered and changed into yet another clean suit in the locker room while Deacon stood watch outside the door. No one came in or out. Deacon was still pissed at him, but there was no cold shoulder. Deacon wasn’t made that way.
Hell, Deacon was actually pleasant to Adam’s father who’d made Deacon’s life every bit as much a hell as he’d made Adam’s, just in very different ways. For now, Deacon was acting as Adam’s personal bodyguard, watching everyone who passed by with suspicion.
Deacon closed Isenberg’s door and pulled the shades at their boss’s request.
‘I told Detectives Currie and Hanson to come at nine and nine fifteen respectively,’ she said, ‘so we have only a few minutes until they arrive.’
‘Why?’ Trip asked.
‘Because we want our ducks in a row before we let those guys in on any more confidential information,’ Deacon said grimly.
Trip frowned. ‘We think they’re involved. Really?’
‘No,’ Adam said. ‘I don’t think they’re involved. I can’t. But . . . I can’t not. Hell, I still can’t wrap my mind around the fact that somebody has tried to kill me twice now.’
Trip’s eyes narrowed. ‘Am I a suspect?’
Adam shook his head. ‘Mallory’s rapist was white. So was the shooter last night.’
Trip’s huff was sarcastic. ‘So being black saved me? That’s ironic.’
Adam winced, wishing he had better words. ‘Well, that and the fact that you would have been only nineteen or twenty and away at college when Mallory’s assault happened and you were at Quantico when Paula was killed . . .’ He blew out a breath. ‘I can’t see you hurting anyone like that, but I can’t see Wyatt and Nash doing it either. I just can’t.’
‘That’s what we’re here for,’ Scarlett said. ‘An objective look at all of this so that we can clear our people and bring them back in.’ She drew a breath. ‘That was a hard video to watch, Adam.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I had to ask you to. All of you.’
Isenberg shrugged. ‘At least we were prepared for what was going to happen,’ she said briskly. ‘In my opinion, the murders of Paula and Tiffany and her mother are linked. Whether it’s the same doer or a copycat, I don’t know. Even if it is a copycat, that you’ve had two attempts on your life in as many days tells me that killing Tiffany and her mother in that exact manner was meant to distract you so that you wouldn’t properly investigate Andy Gold’s murder and link it to Mallory. Who knew about that video?’
‘The guys in our unit. I mean, Nash and Wyatt were next to me when it happened, but the other guys in the bullpen heard Paula’s scream. Or . . .’ He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, his hands shaking. ‘Or her attempted scream.’ It had been a terrible sound.
‘Yeah,’ Deacon said grimly. ‘We know. So the list of people who know about the video doesn’t really help narrow things down. Who knew you’d be at St Agnes’s?’
After telling Deacon, Adam had let Isenberg tell the others why he’d been there. He felt nothing but support coming from Scarlett and Trip, which was making this moment so much easier than it might have been. ‘Meredith and my sponsor. I know she wouldn’t have told anyone. I don’t know if John did.’
‘You said John was saying something in those final seconds,’ Isenberg said. ‘What was it exactly?’
‘He said, “I need to tell you why.”’
‘He’d told someone where you’d be,’ Deacon said grimly. ‘Sonofabitch.’
Adam started to deny it, but found he had to agree. ‘Looks that way.’
Scarlett’s tone was gentle as she asked, ‘Did you ask him to be your sponsor or did he approach you?’
‘He approached me, about a month in. Said cops had to stick together because nobody else understood. What?’ he asked when Scarlett’s expression grew sad.
‘The black SUV was sold to him by Barber Motors, eleven months ago. For a dollar.’
He flinched, the words like a knife in his gut. It was true then. John had sold him out. For a fucking SUV. ‘Same place that last night’s shooter bought his SUV.’
Isenberg sighed. ‘And the same place that burned to the ground around two a.m.’
Adam slapped his hand on the table. ‘You’ve got to be shitting me. Goddammit.’
Deacon, Scarlett, and Trip let out blistering curses of their own.
‘That was my reaction,’ Isenberg said. ‘Nothing was left. Computers were melted.’
‘I bet we wouldn’t have found anything on them anyway,’ Trip said. ‘Voss’s computers were wiped clean.’ He slid a sheet of paper in front of Adam. ‘I dumped the call log from your sponsor’s phone. The number I circled is the only one that shows up as untraceable. Several calls and texts were made to and accepted from this number. The last text was sent this morning at four fifty-eight.’
Adam recognized the time and the phone number right away. ‘That was the same time that I texted John that I’d meet him at St Agnes’s. And that number is the same one that called the Buon Cibo hostess asking her to seat Meredith by the window.’ He stared at the piece of paper, trying to make the pieces fit. And then . . . they did.
‘Oh my God,’ he whispered. He couldn’t breathe. ‘Oh my God.’ He looked at the team, willing words to work themselves past the blockage in his throat. But it wasn’t working. The words would not come.
‘Adam?’ Deacon demanded. ‘What is it?’
‘It was me. I told John where Meredith was going to lunch. I told him that Mallory was leaving the safe house to sign up for GED classes. I’m the one who set them up.’
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 8.50 A.M.
‘Thank you. I really appreciate this information.’ Meredith ended her call with a sigh. She and Diesel had set up in the waiting room after Clarke’s nurse ran them out of his room. Clarke was appropriately irate at the nurse, but she’d been right. Meredith could see the headache in his eyes, so they’d left him to sleep. ‘I suppose it’s nice to know that being kind to people pays such dividends, but it makes me feel kind of sleazy.’
Now she and Diesel were working to find out how Linnea had dropped onto a killer’s radar. Starting with the social workers she knew in Cincinnati, she’d networked with those she trusted most until she’d landed the name of an Indianapolis social worker who knew Bethany Row, the woman who’d turned a blind eye to Linnea’s pain.
Diesel looked up from his laptop, lifting a brow. ‘It was definitely educational. I didn’t think you had the acting chops, Doc. Kudos.’
‘I don’t,’ she protested, then sighed again. ‘Of course I do. Otherwise everyone wouldn’t think I have my shit together, because I totally don’t.’
Diesel’s smile was kind. ‘I think we all know you don’t, Merry. But whatever it is that helps you cope . . . I don’t know. It gives us something too. All of us.’
Meredith’s eyes burned. ‘You have to stop saying sweet things, Diesel.’
He chuckled. ‘Okay, fine. Tell me what you learned from the chatty social worker. That was impressive by the way, the way you leapfrogged from social worker to social worker. You network like a boss. And your use of distraction and disinformation to get to the next name? If you ever decide to quit the psycho biz, you’ll make a great PI.’
Meredith gave him a dirty look. ‘Nobody can know about any of that. I got a reputation to protect. I’m supposed to be all sweet and kind and serene.’
He smirked. ‘Understood. Now dish while this program is running.’
He was working to break into Bethany Row’s personal email. He’d already accessed her social media and was now trying every combination of her dog’s name, best friend, and boyfriend to determine her password.
‘The last social worker, the chatty one, worked with Bethany for a few years and does not like her. At all.’ Meredith grimaced. ‘That was a lot of vitriol right there.’
‘I guessed that much. You looked like you were eating a lemon.’
‘I bet I did. She said Bethany was fired a few months ago and nobody was shocked.’
‘That’s interesting.’
‘Ain’t it, though? Bethany seemed to live well for a single social worker while employed. Some of the staff speculated that she had a sugar daddy, but this woman thought Bethany was on the take and was proven right – she says – when Bethany was fired. She says she was notorious for having to relocate girls who’d claimed assault, which sounds like a more documentable reason for termination, in my opinion. Apparently, she was fired after placing a girl who’d said she was molested into another home. The girl told her school counselor who brought in the police. A detective started asking questions.’ She sighed. ‘And then the girl committed suicide. It was a big story in Indianapolis a few months ago.’
‘You’re going to call the cop?’
‘Yes. I should probably tell Isenberg first.’
‘You probably should.’
‘She might tell me not to call the detective in Indianapolis.’
Diesel just looked at her with disappointed disapproval.
Meredith caved. ‘Fine. I’ll call Isenberg.’
He looked surprised. ‘Wow. I have power. That’s awesome.’
She smiled at him. ‘You do indeed.’ She dialed Isenberg’s cell and waited. And got voicemail. She ended the call without leaving a message. ‘I tried.’
He chuckled. ‘You did. I witnessed it.’
She grinned at him cheekily. ‘Now I can call that detective with a clear conscience.’
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 8.55 A.M.
I did this. I set Meredith and Mallory up to be killed. I did this. The words echoed in Adam’s head until they were all he could hear.
‘Adam? Adam?’
Adam became aware of Deacon’s hands gripping his shoulders, tightening his hold past the point of pain. But it was what Adam needed to stop the storm of words in his mind and yank back into himself.
‘You good?’ Deacon asked, looking him in the eye. He was apparently satisfied with what he saw because he let Adam go, going back into his own chair.
‘Yeah.’ Adam swallowed. ‘I’m good.’ He scrubbed his hands over his face. John. How could you? ‘John and I would go out for coffee after meetings and . . . talk. He’d ask me about my job and I told him . . . you know, what I could. Because . . .’ God, this was hard to say. ‘Dammit, I isolated myself. I did this to myself.’
‘Because he counseled you to break away from your family,’ Deacon said, jaw tight. ‘God, I wish he wasn’t dead because I’d—’ He cut himself off. Shook his head. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’ Adam shoved his knuckles into his temples, needing the quick bite of pain to stay focused as he tried to remember everything he’d told John over the months. ‘I told him that I was leaving the condo yesterday to go to the precinct. That’s how they knew where the van would be. God. How could I have been so stupid?’
‘You weren’t,’ Isenberg said flatly. ‘You were in pain and he took advantage. All right. So we know where the info was coming from. We need to know where it was going.’
Adam forced himself to focus. ‘Right. Okay. So . . . John couldn’t have been the rapist’s friend, the one Mallory heard last night, because that guy was shot in the leg and in the arm. John hadn’t been shot.’ He had to swallow hard. ‘Not until this morning.’
Beside him, Scarlett squeezed his arm sympathetically.
‘John also wasn’t the raping, murdering cop with a birthmark on his chest,’ Adam said. ‘I was at his house last summer for a cookout by his pool and saw him without his shirt. He doesn’t have a scar or a birthmark.’
‘So what else do we know?’ Isenberg asked levelly.
Nothing. Adam wanted to scream it, but it wouldn’t help, so he clutched onto her calm voice like a lifeline. ‘We know that someone knew we were getting a warrant for the used car place because they burned it down. And that somebody knew that Mallory would be at the hospital last night.’
‘Did you tell John that Mallory and Meredith had gone to the hospital with Kate?’ Isenberg asked.
Adam shook his head. ‘No, so John wasn’t the only leak.’
‘We knew,’ Deacon said. ‘You told us in the elevator as we were leaving for Voss’s house. That was Scarlett, Trip, and me.’ He hesitated. ‘And Nash.’
No. No, no, no. He trusted Nash. But he’d trusted John too. I am such a fucking fool. ‘I know,’ he murmured.
‘Nash also knew the way Paula was murdered,’ Trip added quietly.
‘But Nash also was the one who led us to the used-car lot,’ Scarlett protested, then sighed. ‘Which we would have found eventually on our own and didn’t really help us until Kate disabled the SUV in the hospital parking lot last night. It was a low-risk breadcrumb to throw in our path.’
Adam shook his head, his gut rejecting the logic his brain was providing. Because . . . Shit. ‘Wyatt knew too. I told him when he drove up to Voss’s house.’ He looked at the worried faces of his boss and his team. ‘And yes, he knew about Paula too, but we are not jumping to any conclusions. We need to know for sure before we accuse anybody. Hell, last night’s guy might have been tipped off by someone in the ER. We don’t know.’
‘But we’ll find out,’ Isenberg said as her office phone rang. She picked it up, listened, then thanked the caller before hanging up. ‘Let’s see what Detective Currie comes up with when presented with all the facts. He’s on his way up now. I asked the front desk to call me when he got on the elevator. Come on. Let’s go to the briefing room and wait.’
They gathered their things and made the short walk, Deacon’s hand gripping the back of Adam’s neck in a silent show of support.
He still felt stupid as fuck.
When they got to the briefing room, Adam noted that there were a few new photos on the whiteboard. Stills taken from the video of Paula’s murder – her slit throat, her body being gutted – had been placed in line with the stills of Bruiser from the Kiesler University surveillance video, and the photos taken of Tiffany’s and her mother’s bodies.
‘I got the stills of Paula so you wouldn’t have to watch it again,’ Isenberg said quietly.
Overwhelmed, he could only whisper, ‘Thank you.’
She squeezed his arm, led him to the table. ‘Have a seat and let’s see what happens.’
A minute later, Nash entered the room at a fast walk, but immediately slowed. He looked at the grim faces around the table, then up at the whiteboard. He turned to face Adam, his expression shuttering. ‘You figured it out. That Paula was killed the same way as Tiffany and her mother.’ He pulled a few sheets from his laptop case and put them on the table. ‘I was bringing you the same photo. I didn’t want you to have to see it again.’
Adam checked the offering and nodded. ‘Thank you.’
Isenberg gestured to a seat and Nash warily took it. ‘Where’s Hanson?’ he asked.
‘Arriving in fifteen minutes,’ she said. ‘We wanted to talk to you separately.’
Nash’s eyes narrowed. ‘What’s going on here? Adam?’
Adam met his old friend’s gaze straight on and listed all of the things the killer – or killers – had known. And what had been done with that knowledge. He left the point about knowing that Mallory would be at the hospital last night until the end.
And then he waited, watching as understanding filled Nash’s eyes, followed by a flash of fury. ‘You’re blaming me? You really think I could be doing this? Me?’
Adam shook his head. ‘I don’t. But I’m not trusting myself at the moment.’
‘Which I think has been one of his goals,’ Isenberg added. ‘Whoever “he” is.’
‘Well, he is not me,’ Nash insisted. He shoved back from the table and began pacing the room, then pivoted to face Adam, fists clenched at his sides. ‘Do you know why I’m here? I mean, here on this team? On this case?’
‘Because you were assigned to take down Voss,’ Adam said, wondering if that was really true and hating himself for wondering.
‘No. Well, yes, but not first.’
Adam blinked hard. ‘You’re not making sense.’
‘Because I’m so fucking angry,’ Nash spat, turning to glare at the rest of the team.
‘They’re being what I can’t be right now – objective and professional,’ Adam said with a calm he didn’t feel. ‘They’re watching my back.’
‘Bullshit,’ Nash fumed. ‘If they’d been watching your back, it never would have come to this.’
‘Wait,’ Deacon said incredulously. ‘What?’
Nash pointed a trembling finger at Deacon. ‘You. You were supposed to care about him, but you let him drift. For months. Didn’t you see what was happening?’
Deacon’s jaw cocked sideways, never a good sign. He slowly, menacingly, came to his feet. ‘What are you talking about?’
Nash closed his eyes, then turned to Isenberg. ‘You’ve seen the video? The one that this still came from?’ He tapped the photo of Paula’s mangled body.
She was considering him carefully. ‘Yes. Just this morning.’
‘You sent him to us strong. He came back to you broken. Didn’t you wonder why?’
Isenberg didn’t blink. ‘I did wonder. I don’t know why I didn’t ask.’
‘Bullshit,’ Nash said again, but wearily. ‘Maybe you knew that you couldn’t take it.’
‘Maybe,’ Isenberg allowed. ‘Probably, even. And I was wrong not to ask. But that doesn’t explain what’s happening right here and right now.’
‘And changing the subject does not make you look any less guilty,’ Deacon added, but he’d grown significantly less hostile. His arms were crossed over his chest, but his expression had become uncertain. Like maybe Nash’s words had hit a nerve.
‘No,’ Nash agreed. ‘But it does explain why I’m here. See, I was there. I saw what happened to that poor girl.’ He swallowed hard. ‘And it destroyed me too, to the point that I couldn’t see anyone or anything else for weeks. Months. I mean, I saw people. I functioned at my job. Barely. But I didn’t see them.’
‘You were going through the motions,’ Adam murmured, understanding.
‘Yeah. Exactly. But after some time, and the intervention of people who loved me, I resurfaced. I could breathe. And then I really looked around and I saw Adam. Still alone.’
‘By choice,’ Adam said, but even he didn’t believe his own words.
‘No,’ Isenberg murmured, shocking him. ‘He’s right. We own some of this too. But, Detective Currie, I have to hurry you along, because Hanson will arrive soon and I want to understand your position before I talk to him.’
‘I hope he does,’ Nash muttered. ‘Arrive soon, I mean. See, when I finally saw what was happening to Adam, I checked in with Hanson. And I didn’t like what I saw. He hadn’t missed a beat. Hadn’t seemed affected at all.’
Adam stared as Nash’s meaning sank in. ‘That doesn’t mean anything. Everyone responds to stress differently. You don’t know what happens when he goes home at night.’
‘Yeah, I kind of do,’ Nash said quietly. ‘Because I started to follow him.’
Adam was stunned. ‘What the fuck?’
Nash shrugged. ‘At first it was for myself. If he’d managed to sail on undamaged, I wanted to know how. So I watched him. And at first, it all looked good. Family man, all that good stuff. All the right stuff. Except for things I couldn’t explain. Like how he’d sometimes leave his house late at night.’
‘He’s a cop,’ Adam said, shaking his head. ‘That’s what we do.’
‘Maybe. But I was a little obsessed. And burned out at Personal Crimes. So I asked for a transfer. Into Narcotics.’
‘You followed him?’ Scarlett asked, intrigued.
‘Essentially.’ Nash turned back to Isenberg. ‘This part you can confirm with my boss, and I hope you do so quickly. The night Hanson showed up here and you thought it was because my boss had sent him? He hadn’t.’
Adam looked at Isenberg, confused. ‘I thought you said he had.’
She frowned. ‘No. I’d made the request. I assumed.’ She turned her narrowed gaze on Nash. ‘You’re saying I shouldn’t have.’
‘No. Actually, my boss hadn’t decided who he’d send. Or if he could even afford to free up anyone. He was a little surprised when you thanked him for sending Hanson.’
Isenberg made a wry face. ‘I thought he was surprised because I’d thanked him.’
‘Well, that too,’ Nash admitted. ‘But he went along with it to save face. He didn’t want you to think he’d been surprised because he didn’t have control over his squad. Wyatt told our boss about talking with you after he left your office that night. He’s been looking for more responsibility, because he wants to climb the ladder. Hanson told a group of us that over drinks once or twice. He’s ambitious. Even talked about applying for a transfer into your unit, Lieutenant. Anyway, our boss allowed it. He’d already planned to assign someone. Figured it might as well be someone who wanted the task. That’s what he told me, anyway, after I heard about it.’
‘Wyatt has always been something of an opportunist,’ Adam said. ‘That he’d totally run with it is completely consistent. But how did you get here?’
‘I heard he’d been added to the team and I asked to be added as well. Told my boss that my computer skills might come in handy and that taking down a prostitution ring would look good on all of our resumés. But it didn’t hurt that I could keep an eye on Hanson at the same time.’
‘You said you followed Hanson,’ Scarlett said quietly. ‘Where did he go?’
‘It was only a few times. Each time he left in the middle of the night and didn’t go to a recorded crime scene, he went to a garage out in Beechmont. It’s owned by a shell corporation. I’ve been trying to cut through the layers to find a true owner.’
‘Did you report this?’ Isenberg asked.
‘Report what? That Hanson visits a garage? I don’t have any evidence that he’s done something illegal. Hell, he might even be having an affair.’ Nash shook his head. ‘But I don’t know how he would have known that Mallory was at the hospital last night.’
‘He knew too,’ Isenberg said. ‘Adam told him.’
Looking up from his phone, Trip cleared his throat. ‘I have something.’ He looked at Adam with a frown. ‘Quincy just texted that the lab was able to raise the serial number off that rifle. It was recovered from a robbery thirty years ago, but was stolen from the arresting officers’ vehicle. The arresting officers were Dale Hanson and James Kimble.’
Adam gasped, a sick dread spreading within him. ‘Wyatt’s dad. And mine.’
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 9.45 A.M.
‘Oh, Shane,’ Meredith said softly. She was looking over Diesel’s shoulder, watching the video Shane had made to reach out to Linnie. ‘He looks so tired.’
Diesel was grim. ‘Knowing that this could get him investigated for covering up a murder? He’s damn brave. I’m about to upload it to the Ledger’s website. It’ll get picked up by the rest of the media quickly. I normally wouldn’t ask a cop’s permission but . . .’
‘It’s Shane’s life we’re playing with. I get it. I tried calling Isenberg again, but I keep getting voicemail. I’ll try again.’ Meredith dialed, surprised when the lieutenant picked up.
‘I was about to return your calls,’ Isenberg said crisply. ‘I was in a meeting. I knew you were wise enough to call 911 if there was an emergency.’
Meredith almost smiled. There had been a compliment in there somewhere. ‘Yes, ma’am. I’m here with Diesel Kennedy and we have two questions for you. The—’
‘You’re still at the hospital, right?’ Isenberg interrupted. ‘Where the officers I assigned can see you?’
Meredith walked to the door and waved to the officer on duty. He waved back and she returned to the table. ‘We are. I just made sure the officer knows we’re here in the waiting room. My grandfather’s nurse kicked us out, and Decker’s here with Kate, so . . .’
‘Good. Tell me your questions. I have things to do.’
Meredith did smile then. ‘Yes, ma’am. Can I put you on speaker?’
‘Do it,’ she said, impatience edging the words.
‘Okay. Diesel’s question first.’
‘Oh, okay.’ Diesel rubbed his head. ‘Adam asked Shane to make a video begging Linnie to contact him and asked the Ledger to upload it. You know about this, right?’
‘No, but it’s a good idea. Please continue.’
‘Well, we have the video here. Normally I’d never ask permission, but this is a special case. I want to be sure everyone’s still on board. Shane is risking a lot.’
‘Hm.’ Isenberg paused and Meredith’s phone buzzed with an incoming text. ‘I just sent Meredith my email. Send it to me right now. I’ll look at it before I go into my next meeting. While he’s doing that, ask your question, Meredith.’
‘Well, it’s about Shane.’ She told Isenberg what they’d learned from the Indianapolis social worker. ‘I’ve called the detective who appears to be instrumental in Bethany Row getting fired, but I haven’t heard back from him.’
‘Send me his number. I’ll call his CO. It could make a difference.’
‘Thank you.’ She did as requested. ‘I just sent you the detective’s info.’
‘I just got the video. Give me a minute.’ They could hear Shane’s voice, tinny on the other end of the line. When the video was over, Isenberg sighed. ‘Upload it, Mr Kennedy. Thank you for including me in your decision this time.’
Diesel bit back a smile, because once again there’d been a compliment riding on the barb. ‘You’re welcome, Lieutenant.’
‘Just one thing,’ Isenberg said. ‘Make sure you have our switchboard number scrolling across the screen. Also to ask for Detective Kimble. Can you do that?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Then I’ll leave you to it.’ She hesitated. ‘Stay with Diesel, Meredith.’
Something in her voice had Meredith frowning. ‘There’s a cop on this hallway.’
‘I know. And I hand-picked him. Still, stay with Diesel. It will make Adam feel better. In the future, if you get my voicemail, leave me a message.’
She ended the call, leaving Meredith and Diesel staring at each other.
‘That didn’t sound good,’ Meredith murmured.
‘No, it didn’t.’ Diesel quickly made the changes Isenberg requested then tapped a few more keys. ‘It’s up. Cross your fingers.’
‘I am. I want this to be over.’
‘I know. Let’s do our part. I’ll keep working at Bethany Row’s email server and you try the Indy detective again.’
Meredith gave his massive arm a friendly pat. ‘Thanks, Diesel. You’ve been an amazing help the past couple days.’
‘You’re an amazing help every day, Merry. Least I can do.’
She gave him another pat, then sat down to call the detective again.
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 9.45 A.M.
‘Pull into the driveway, Rita,’ Linnea said quietly, holding the gun at an angle that couldn’t be seen by the older man fussing with a string of lights in front of his already over-decorated house. ‘Do not stop to talk to him. Just wave like you always do. No more tricks.’
Because Rita had driven around aimlessly for an hour before Linnea grabbed her purse and found her address on her driver’s license. Rita lived only minutes from the Gruber Academy, but had apparently been hoping to need to stop for gas – and help. But luckily, the woman had had a full tank. Still, it had taken them another hour to get back.
‘How would you know what I always do?’ Rita asked angrily.
‘Smile, ma’am. Smile like you always do. Now put down the garage door and turn off the engine.’ She waited until Rita had obeyed. ‘I know you always smile and wave, because you seem nice. I don’t know how you can be nice, but I heard you with your daughter this morning. You sounded real. Like you’re a good mother.’
‘Then why are you doing this?’ Rita asked for the twentieth time.
‘I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you. Let’s go inside.’ She waited until Rita had taken the baby from the car seat before taking him from her arms. ‘I’ll hold him.’ She held up her gun, knowing she’d never hurt the baby with it, but hoping Rita couldn’t see that. ‘This way you’ll think twice before using the phone.’
They walked into the house, a nice two-story, but not grand. Nowhere near the luxury of Voss’s home. Odd that he lives like this, she thought.
But he did indeed live here. Linnea’s heart stuttered when she saw him in the family photo on the bookshelf. Yes, this is the right place. Keep your cool and get this done.
And then she saw the next photograph and had to lock her knees to keep them from folding on her. He was wearing a uniform. A uniform.
He’s a cop. Oh my God. Stunned, she could only stare. He’s a fucking cop.
Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Now so many things made sense. He was a cop. He could break the rules without consequences.
I have to be ready to face him. I have to be ready to kill him with the first shot. I have to be ready to be hunted by his policemen friends once I’ve done the job. I have to be ready to be arrested. Maybe shot on sight.
But she was already ready to die. So nothing had really changed.
Not true. It was even more important now that she take him out. It would mean one less cop preying on the helpless and innocent.
Resolutely, she turned to find Rita standing in the middle of the room, hugging herself. ‘What are you going to do to us?’ Rita asked.
‘If you behave yourself, nothing. For now, I’d like you to make me some tea.’
Rita blinked at her. ‘Tea?’
‘Yes, tea. I like tea. I’m a hooker, not a barbarian.’
Rita nodded stiffly. ‘Of course.’
Linnea followed her into the kitchen, watching her every move. Rita did as asked, then she and Linnea sat on their sofa. The toddler squirmed and Linnea tightened her hold.
‘Tell him it’s okay,’ Linnea said quietly. ‘Right now. In your nicest, sweetest Mommy voice.’
‘Mikey, sit nicely for the lady and Mommy will get you a cookie,’ she said brightly, and the boy settled down. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked once again.
‘Because your husband murdered my best friend.’
Rita gasped, hand flying to cover her mouth. ‘You lying whore.’
‘You got the whore part right, but that was because of him too.’ Linnea looked down at the toddler sadly. ‘I’m not going to say any more because you’re too young to know that your daddy is an evil man.’
Rita’s chin lifted. ‘You lie.’
‘No, ma’am.’ She shifted the baby to her knee, holding her gun in the same hand. The safety was on, but she hated taking a chance with him. The tea beckoned, though, and Linnea needed something to soothe her stomach. ‘When does your husband get home?’
Rita looked away. ‘I don’t know.’
Linnea sipped the tea, welcoming its warmth. ‘It doesn’t matter. In a minute I’m going to text him with your phone and ask him to come home. I’ll tell him Mikey is sick.’
‘And then?’
‘And then I’m going to kill him.’