CHAPTER NINE
Saturday, March 17, 2018; 11:00 a.m.
Flames roared around Adler, licking up the walls and skimming along the ceiling. The flesh on his back burned as he gripped his partner’s coat collar and pulled. With each jerk, Logan screamed, begging him to stop.
Adler’s phone buzzed, startling him awake. He ran a trembling hand through his hair. He’d hoped to rest his eyes for just a moment but must have drifted off for the last hour. He didn’t recognize the number, but clearing his throat, accepted the call. “Detective Adler.”
“John Adler?” The woman’s crisp voice cut through the haze.
He pressed his fingers against his closed eyes, hoping he could chase the sleep away. “That’s right.”
“Janet Yates at the rehab center. I have you as the emergency contact for Greg Logan.”
He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Yes, that’s right. Is he okay?”
“Not really. Since he and his wife split, he’s been unmotivated. A visit from you might help.”
“He and Suzanne split?”
“From what I understand, it wasn’t pretty.”
He shoved out a breath as he moved past paint cans and drop cloths to the coffee maker. “He’s getting physical therapy now?”
“Yes. We’re making adjustments to his prosthetic leg, and he’s frustrated.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Perfect.”
Adler ran his fingers over the scars on his hand and reached for a mug and an espresso K-Cup on the makeshift counter. Five minutes later he had changed and, coffee in hand, headed out the door. Ten minutes later he pushed through the doors of the rehab center, showed his ID, and made his way to the ward. In the large room, multiple PT stations had a patient working out either alone or with a physical therapist. He spotted Logan standing between two parallel bars, balancing poorly on his prosthetic leg.
His military haircut had grown out and skimmed his ears, and his faded ARMY T-shirt was drenched in sweat. His muscled arms had grown in size while his face was leaner.
Adler understood a few things about feeling useless. After the explosion, he’d felt desperately inadequate when all he could hear were Logan’s repeated pleas for painkillers.
He watched as Logan struggled to draw his right foot forward. Sweat was dripping down his arms. His face twisted into a grimace. The physical therapist before him was in her late twenties, not much taller than five foot, and had tied her red hair into a thick ponytail. Her name tag read JANET.
When Logan stumbled and then cursed, Adler came around so he was standing in clear view. Logan caught a glimpse of his partner’s polished shoes and raised his gaze.
Gritting his teeth, Logan lifted his left leg and moved it forward a few inches. “Is that what you came to see?”
“If you’re looking for someone to hold your hand or tell you that you’re still pretty, I’m not your guy,” Adler said.
Logan tightened his grip around the parallel bars. “So you’re Suzanne’s stand-in now?”
The anger was expected, and Adler didn’t take it personally. No sane man went through this kind of shit without getting really pissed. “We’re all pulling for you.”
“Why are you here? I’m off the force. I’m just an ex-cop on full disability unless I want to ride a desk.”
Logan loved being a cop, and a future assigned to a desk job was almost unthinkable. Adler had barely been able to look at Logan when he’d told his former partner he was returning to homicide. “Do you want me to leave?”
Silence. Logan looked to Janet. “Did you call him?”
Adler shook his head. “Why don’t you worry about your job?”
“Job? Last I checked, I lost it.”
“Your job is to walk. And last I checked your detective’s skills are still intact.” Adler shifted his gaze to Janet. “Mind giving us a moment?”
“Sure,” she said. “I could use a coffee.”
Adler walked behind Logan and pushed his wheelchair up behind him. When Logan kept standing, Adler nudged the back of his legs. “Sit.”
Logan shoved out a breath and lowered himself. When he was seated, Adler pulled the wheelchair away from the bars and grabbed Logan’s jacket hanging nearby.
“Where are we going?”
“I need fresh air.” He pushed the wheelchair into the main lobby through the double automatic doors, and kept moving along the sidewalk still damp from the morning rain. They arrived at a secluded bench under a small tree. He sat while Logan locked the brake and tugged on his jacket.
“So is this a pep talk?” Logan asked as he shrugged on his jacket.
“God, no.”
“A welfare call?”
Adler shoved out a breath. “What happened in that house was shitty.” His throat tightened with anger. Up until now, he’d not been able to talk about the explosion. Now they had no choice. “I’ll never pretend otherwise.”
Logan drew in a slow, ragged breath. “Easy for you to say. You came out with hardly a scratch.”
Adler took the jab. He wanted Logan to vent. “You’re one hell of a cop, and you’ll return to the job.”
Logan stared toward the redbrick facade of the old section of the hospital. “Someone tell you this bullshit to motivate me?”
“No.” His former partner wasn’t making this easy, but then again Logan hadn’t deserved what happened to him. “I always said you were destined for great things.”
He glanced at his prosthetic as if it were an unwelcome visitor. “Right.”
Adler caught Logan’s eye and leaned forward. Several cars came and went. “Your wife left you?”
“Yep. Couldn’t handle all this. I’m not the pretty face I was before the explosion.”
“You never had a pretty face,” Adler said, grinning.
Logan shot him a look of annoyance, not sure how to take the remark.
“Come up to Ashland. Move in with me. I’m renovating the place, and you’re welcome.”
“I don’t want your pity.”
“Good, because I’m fresh out. I do have a first-floor room, and after you install the handicap bars in the bathroom shower, you should be good to go.”
Logan arched a brow. “Me install the bars?”
“You’re good with carpentry work.”
“Do I have to buy them as well?”
“I’ll order them today.”
A crooked smile rushed past the anger. “You make it sound so tempting.”
“Telling it like it is. The first-floor bedroom, bathroom, and shower are set up so you can roll right in. The kitchen is a work in progress. New cabinets come next week and then countertops, but there’s a temporary sink, stove, and refrigerator. Also, I have a nice yard looking onto the train tracks.”
“I’m kind of fond of trains.” Logan grinned slightly.
“You’ll see a lot of them in Ashland.”
“And then what?” Logan asked, turning serious again.
“You keep coming here. You keep working.”
“And then?”
“And then you get back to being a cop,” Adler said.
“I don’t have two legs, remember?”
Adler tapped his index finger against his own temple. “Does this still work, or are you unable to think any more?”
“I think too much.”
“Join the club.” Adler focused on the metal leg feeding into the Nike tennis shoe. “You’ll make it work.” He scratched under his chin. “Besides, you know the old saying. Chicks dig scars.”
Logan laughed. “Bullshit.”
Adler was silent for a moment, then when he trusted his voice, said, “This kind of shit weeds out the pussies.”
Logan sighed. “Fuck me. I’ll do it.”
“Good.”
Logan rubbed the calluses on his palm. “So what’re you working on these days?”
“Homicide. Stabbing. Hell of a case.” Seeing Logan’s interest pique, he steered the conversation toward the Ralston murder, which he recapped in detail.
Logan shifted in his chair. “A shitload of planning.”
A thought occurred to him. “You’re taking classes at the university while on disability?”
“Yeah.”
“Ever heard of a teacher named Kaitlin Roe?”
“No.” Logan dug his phone from his pocket and pulled up a site dedicated to rating professors. He typed in Kaitlin’s name and pulled up her profile.
Adler studied the image. Her blond hair was swept in front of her face, effectively hiding half her features. White teeth flashed as if the camera had caught her laughing. A collection of bracelets hung from a slim wrist as she appeared to brush a wisp of hair from her face.
“She’s hot,” Logan said.
Adler rubbed his neck. He’d noticed. “What’s it say about her?”
Logan scrolled through the comments. “Hates it when people are late to her class. Grades hard. Fair. Will organize extra Saturday study sessions if the class needs it. You have a hard-on for her?” A slight grin teased the edges of his mouth.
He’d thought about her a lot. She wasn’t anything like his ex-wife or the women he’d dated since. Intense with a fierce drive, she wasn’t afraid to shake up the status quo to get what she wanted. She also had a tight ass he thought about too damn much. “Her name came up in this murder investigation.”
“I remember her now. And Gina Mason. How do the Mason case and the Ralston case relate?”
“I’m not sure yet. My priority has been Thursday night’s stabbing. I spent the better part of the night going through the victim’s financials and background. Bottom line is, Quinn and I don’t have time to read the full Gina Mason case file.”
“Keep talking.”
“I need someone to go through it. How about you?”
“Me?” He laughed, but his eyes sharpened with interest.
“You were a good cop, Detective, and you still are.”
“I don’t know.”
“Is that a no? Are you saying you’re too busy chasing university skirt and doing homework to help?”
“Screw you.”
“Detective Logan, I could use the help.”
“What’s the rush?”
“That stabbing I mentioned. She was one of Kaitlin’s interview subjects. And a former witness in the Gina Mason case. There is also a prisoner, Randy Hayward, in the city jail who says he’ll trade what he knows about Gina for a reduced sentence on a murder charge he’s facing.”
Logan’s shoulders relaxed. “I can do this.”
Adler reached in his pocket and pulled out his keys. He removed a second house key and handed it to Logan. “Pack your stuff and move in. The case file is at our house.”
Logan reached for the key and fisted his fingers around it. “You sure about this?”
“The room on the first floor is yours. And if you ever thank me, I’ll punch you.”
“Take your best shot.”
Adler clamped his hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Get your ass in gear.”
Logan grinned like a schoolboy. “I’m not going to cramp your style when you make a move on Kaitlin Roe, am I?”
“Doubt that’ll happen.” Adler laughed. “And no one gets in my way when I make a move.”
As Kaitlin walked around the classroom and listened in on the student interviews, her phone vibrated.
She pulled it from her pocket and spotted Erika Crowley’s name.
I’m ready to be interviewed, but it has to be today. Come to my house. Now before I lose my nerve.
Kaitlin was surprised to see the text from Erika. The way they’d left it, she hadn’t thought she had a chance at another interview. If Erika knew something, Kaitlin needed to hear it. Given that Randy might tell his own version of what happened, it felt more important than ever to talk to Erika. The more facts she had, the easier it would be to sort Randy’s facts from fiction.
Kaitlin glanced toward the clock on the wall and then to the students. She read Erika’s text again.
With a sense of urgency, she moved to her desk and grabbed her knapsack, already calculating the time and distance between here and Erika’s house. This time of day, she’d miss any traffic and make the trip in twenty minutes.
“Guys, I’ve had an emergency come up,” she said. “We’re going to have to end the session now.”
“But we aren’t finished,” one student said.
“He was starting to crack,” another joked.
“Sometimes a reporter or public relations professional has no control over the time.” Which was true. Sometimes a reporter had time to warm up to the interviewee, and other times it all changed on a dime.
Groans rumbled over the class. “But I was getting to the good stuff,” one young woman said.
“Send me your midterms by tomorrow at noon.”
More grunts followed, but the students gathered their belongings and left the room. She locked up, hurried down the side stairs, and hustled across Main Street to her car.
As she wove in and out of traffic, the sense of urgency built inside her. The GPS on her phone noted her exit approaching, forcing her thoughts back to the moment. She decelerated off the exit ramp and headed toward the exclusive neighborhood. Her GPS guided her past manicured lawns until she arrived at the familiar white colonial. There were no cars in the driveway, but a light was on in the house.
Kaitlin texted Erika’s number. I’m here.
A new text popped. Come inside.
The hairs on Kaitlin’s neck rose as they had the night Gina was taken. She opened her glove box and fished out a personal alarm, which when pressed was loud enough to wake the dead. In a fight, a weapon could be turned against you, whereas an alarm disoriented an attacker with much less risk.
She slid the cylinder into her coat pocket and climbed out of the car. A woman a half block away walking a small dog was staring. Kaitlin waved, and the woman nodded.
Kaitlin hesitated at the base of the stairs and glanced at her phone before she climbed the stairs to the front door. She eyed the security camera mounted on the porch and then she pressed on the front door latch. She moved into the marbled hallway and looked up at the dark chandelier and then toward the light in the side room.
“Erika,” she said.
She listened for a response but heard only the faint tick of a clock and her heart beating against her chest. None of this felt right.
“Erika. Where are you?”
A frustrating silence followed.
Her skin puckered with goose bumps, as it had fourteen years ago on the road by the river. She had just turned to leave when she heard the quick rush of steps inside the house with her. Her nerves jumped. Instinctively she fumbled for the button on her alarm and ran.
She caught the flash of a black hoodie and a clown mask microseconds before something hard cracked against her skull. Pain rocketed through her body, and her breath caught as she dropped to her knees in the hall. She dropped the alarm. Her vision blurred as her fingers scrambled for the device. A hand clamped on her shoulder as she pressed the button. “Get off me!”
She swung back blindly, and her fist connected with her attacker. He cursed, and seconds later a sharp pain sliced across her midsection and ricocheted through her body.
A shrill sound shattered her eardrums. The cutting pain in her gut made her nauseated as she struggled to sit up. A figure loomed over her and raised a knife but then paused. Cursing, he lowered the knife and ran toward the back of the house.
Blood soaked her blouse, and she pressed a trembling hand to the wound, thinking maybe she could stop the bleeding. The piercing siren wailing, she rolled onto her belly and crawled toward the front door. She was inches from the threshold when another wave of pain rammed through her body. She dropped to the floor. Footsteps sounded near her, but she wasn’t sure if it was her attacker or savior.
She passed out.