Cincinnati, Ohio,
Sunday 20 December, 4.50 A.M.
Don’t look. Don’t touch. Don’t lean. Meredith chanted to herself as she walked to the lieutenant’s office between Adam and Isenberg. He was close enough that she could smell the soap he’d used in her shower.
Soap she’d smelled up close and personal as she’d finally touched all that beautiful skin, soft, warm, and wet. And you are not going to think about that now. She needed to think about serious things. Sober things.
It means that I’m an alcoholic. Her breath caught in her throat and she had to force herself to inhale. Yes. Serious things like that. She exhaled quietly and turned her attention to Isenberg, whose jaw was set in an angry line.
‘Did you believe Shane?’ she asked. ‘About the murder that Andy Gold committed?’
‘Yes,’ Isenberg said. ‘I’ll check the details, but my gut says Shane’s telling the truth.’
‘And you have to report this to the Indianapolis DA,’ Meredith said sadly.
‘Yes,’ Isenberg bit out. She said nothing for thirty seconds, continuing her ground-eating pace that had Meredith nearly skipping to keep up. ‘And I don’t want to.’
Meredith could feel furious regret pulsing off the older woman in waves. She knew Lynda Isenberg had a good, loyal heart under the armor – physical and emotional – that she wore. The woman’s reluctance to see Shane punished further underscored her opinion and she was glad that Isenberg was Adam’s boss.
Did Isenberg know about Adam’s alcoholism? Did anyone know? If any of their friends did, they’d been incredibly discreet, and that was not a normal trait of their group.
‘Will Shane face any charges?’ she asked Isenberg.
‘I don’t know. I hope not. I’ll do my best to keep that from happening.’ The lieutenant unlocked her office door, blocking the path when Meredith started to follow them inside. ‘Kimble and I are going to Skype with Chicago. You’ll need to wait out here.’
Meredith blinked. ‘Oh, right,’ she murmured, her cheeks heating. ‘I forgot that I’m the target.’ And the reason that Andy Gold is dead. ‘I’m so used to being the consultant.’
‘Thanks,’ Isenberg said, her expression softening.
‘Sit there.’ Adam pointed at the desk closest to the window that allowed Isenberg to see the bullpen, the blinds currently drawn. ‘Where we can see you.’
There was no softness in his expression. No indication that an hour before he’d kissed her so tenderly she’d wanted to weep.
He’s a very good actor. He had to have been, to keep his struggle for sobriety a secret among their circle of nosy friends. She’d do well to remember that.
‘Meredith?’
Meredith looked up to see Jeff Triplett striding across the room. He was wearing the same suit he’d had on when he’d stopped by her house the evening before. ‘Hey, Trip,’ she said wearily. ‘You didn’t get to go home either?’
‘Unfortunately, no. Got a call from the lab. What are you doing here?’
Meredith looked around. There were a few detectives at their desks and she wasn’t sure what she was allowed to say in front of them. ‘You should probably ask Adam and the lieutenant.’ She pointed to the office window. ‘They’re making a call.’
He hesitated a moment, hooking a finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to his. She had to tilt her head way back because the man was huge. ‘You get any sleep at all today?’
‘A little,’ she lied.
He let her go with a snort. ‘You are an amazing liar.’
‘It’s my X-Man skill,’ she said lightly. ‘I’ll sleep later. They’re taking me to a safe house. My grandfather too.’
‘I know. Zimmerman emailed your guard roster to everyone on the case.’
Meredith was caught between being touched and freaked. ‘I have a guard roster?’ She should have known she’d be under guard at a safe house, but still. A roster? ‘Really?’
‘Until we figure out how all the pieces connect, you’re the key right now.’ He flashed a smile that made women swoon. Especially Kendra, she thought dryly. ‘Kate is on tonight and Troy is on tomorrow. They made it known that they really wanted the duty.’
Meredith smiled back at him, relieved. ‘That’s good to know. I’ll be able to sleep with them on watch.’ Kate had become one of her very best friends in the short time they’d known each other, and Kate’s partner, Agent Luther Troy, was a very kind man. Older than the rest of them, he tended to skirt the edge of their circle. ‘Troy always seems lonely. I’ll have to use this opportunity to work on him, so he starts accepting our invitations.’
Trip’s smile became sweet, making her heart melt a little. Oh, Kenny, you are going to have your hands full with this one.
‘You do that,’ he said. ‘He’s all like Uncle Luther this and that, and acting like a cross between Yoda and Charles Xavier, but he’s too alone.’ He looked over at the window, where Adam still stood, watching them. ‘I need to get in there. I’ll see you in a bit.’
‘I’m not leaving this chair. His highness in there has commanded it so.’ She thought he’d laugh, but he nodded with all seriousness.
‘Good. We need to be able to watch over you.’
He went into the office and Meredith sighed. She didn’t want to be watched over like the children she treated, but these circumstances were not normal by any stretch of the imagination and she did not consider herself to be a foolish woman. So sit she would.
She pulled out her phone and fiddled with it, wishing she could knit like Kate. Wishing she’d brought something to read or even to color. Her hands were fidgety.
Her whole body was fidgety. I’m tired. But way too wired to sleep. It was a bad combination, she knew. Especially when you forget your meds. Idiot.
She’d been so rattled as she’d packed. She’d tried to look calm for Adam’s sake, but . . . God. Four people had died in that fire. A family. A baby in a crib. Dead because someone wants to kill me. She’d thought she’d been efficient, focusing on packing, but she’d obviously failed. She never forgot her meds and now was not the time to miss a dose.
Maybe Adam will take me back to my house so I can get . . . No, she thought. She wouldn’t ask him to do that. He was exhausted and would need to sleep, at least a little. Going straight to the safe house made the most sense.
Meredith desperately wanted to be sensible, even when everything else was upside down and crazy, so she sent a text to Kate. Did you leave my house yet?
The reply came less than a second later. Yes. Arrived @ SH. Why?
They’d already arrived at the safe house. Meredith sighed. I forgot something. She was considering asking Kate to go back when her phone buzzed with a reply.
I cleaned out ur medicine cabinet. Dumped it all in a bag. Was in a rush so I didn’t bother to check all the labels. Some of the stuff might be expired. Okay?
Meredith breathed out a sigh of relief. Thx. Hoping to be there soon. Papa ok?
Fine. Playing games w/Diesel who doesn’t want to leave. Think u have a new cousin cuz Clarke has adopted him.
That settled something within her and she let out the first easy breath in hours. Diesel needed her grandfather. Maybe as much as I do, she thought.
Her phone buzzed again. Also . . . got your . . . * stuff * from ur safe.
Meredith’s eyes widened. Her guns. Shit. Now she was wondering what exactly she had packed. Hopefully her toothbrush, at least. How did you know code?
Clarke. He says you must change code ASAP.
She sighed. Of course Papa would know. Her combination had been her parents’ wedding anniversary. Tell him I will. Thx for all. See u soon.
A throat clearing above her had her looking up. A man in his late thirties, early forties was alternating between looking at her and looking through the window at Adam, his expression worried. He wore a dark blue suit, slightly rumpled, his tie tugged away from his collar, the top few buttons of his shirt undone. His blond hair was silver at the tips, his eyes accented with faded crow’s feet, as if he laughed a lot.
A prickle of alarm skittered down her spine, and she felt the urge to bolt for Isenberg’s office door, but she shoved it away. She was going to have to be prepared for fear when she met new people for a while. The last new person who’d walked up to her had pulled a gun and then gotten killed in front of her.
She knew her fear now was unfounded. She was in the middle of the police station, for goodness’ sake. But she also knew PTSD happened in cases like hers. She didn’t plan to be one of those therapists who ignored her own symptoms. She met new people every damn day, so she was going to have to deal.
‘I don’t work here,’ she said, conjuring a polite smile. ‘But I’m sure someone else here can help you.’
‘It’s okay. I work here. Well, not here on Isenberg’s task force. Or in Homicide.’ He stuck out his hand, revealing the shoulder holster he wore, complete with service weapon. ‘Detective Hanson, Narcotics Division.’
Meredith shook his hand, still smiling politely even though she still wanted to run. ‘Do I know you?’ Because she felt like she should.
‘We’ve never met, no. I’m a friend of Detective Kimble’s.’ He pointed to the window where Adam, Trip, and Isenberg had gathered around Isenberg’s laptop. Adam looked up at that moment, his gaze landing first on Meredith before noticing Detective Hanson and his eyes widened, his mouth curving into a rueful smile. He held up his right hand, flexing four fingers in a ‘come-here’ gesture, followed by his index finger ticking like a clock.
Sign language, Meredith realized, and searched her memory for the meaning. She knew a few signs because Deacon and Dani’s younger brother was deaf and they signed to him. She’d practiced hard the few times Greg had joined their group for a barbecue or party, but what she’d learned seemed to seep out of her head as soon as the young man said goodbye. Languages had never been her forte and sign wasn’t looking to be any different.
Adam, she knew, was fluent, as were Dani and Deacon. Even Faith was learning, since Greg Novak was soon to become her brother-in-law.
‘Fifteen,’ Hanson supplied, startling her. ‘He said he’d be done in fifteen minutes.’
Meredith regarded the man with curiosity. ‘You know sign language?’
‘A little. Adam and I have been friends since high school. He taught me a few signs.’ He indicated the chair at the next desk. ‘May I?’
She shrugged. ‘Like I said, I don’t work here.’
He eased himself into the desk’s chair. ‘I was also Adam’s first partner, when he was fresh out of the academy. I was a few years ahead experience-wise because he went to college first. He taught me some sign back then because it came in handy when we needed to silently communicate. I kept it up.’
‘Really?’ Meredith wondered exactly how much of Adam’s personal information this man planned to tell – for all he knew – a complete and total stranger.
He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘I know who you are, Dr Fallon.’
Busted, she thought. Her poker face was not fully functional when she hadn’t properly slept. ‘How?’
‘You’re all over the newspapers, for one. Also, I used to work Personal Crimes. Several of the victims whose cases I worked were referred to you afterward.’
‘Oh. That’s how I know your name.’ She grimaced. ‘Saying thank you seems wrong for this occasion. Those were hard cases. When did you leave Personal Crimes?’
‘Just a few months ago. It just got to be too much. I also worked ICAC, but I had to get out of that department too. Wears on you after a while.’
Meredith controlled her shudder, but just barely. The officers in the Internet Crimes Against Children department had to view photos she couldn’t stomach even thinking about.
‘I’m sure it does,’ she murmured. Providing therapy to the victims wore on her and she was only hearing about it after the fact.
‘I figured you’d understand.’ Hanson shifted his gaze back to Adam, eyeing him through the window. ‘How’s he doing?’
She couldn’t hide her surprise. ‘Please?’
‘Adam. I know you’re friends. He’s mentioned you before. You’ve helped in the past. Helped him find his center.’
She said nothing and he glanced back at her. ‘Sorry,’ he said shortly. ‘I didn’t mean to overstep. I just worry about him every time he gets on a . . . messy case.’
She continued to regard him steadily. ‘I don’t understand.’
He shrugged uncomfortably. ‘I was his partner again fifteen months ago. Right before he took his medical leave. I watched him fall apart once. I’m not keen on seeing it happen again.’ He met Meredith’s gaze. ‘I don’t want details. I just want to be sure that he’s all right. I’ve known Adam since we were kids. Our dads are close. He has people who care about him, even if he doesn’t want us to.’
That, at least, made sense, she thought. ‘Well, he’ll be out soon, so you can ask him.’
The detective gave her a considering look that bordered on admiration. ‘Well, good. I’m glad he has you in his corner, Dr Fallon. A lesser person might have blabbed. Thank you for keeping his secrets.’
She smiled at him serenely. She’d been around enough cops to recognize backhanded interrogation techniques and there was no way she was spilling any of what she knew. Mostly because she never would share Adam’s secrets, but partly because she wasn’t sure exactly what those secrets were.
It means that I’m an alcoholic.
She swallowed back the sigh and inclined her head. ‘Again, saying thank you doesn’t seem appropriate here. But . . . thank you.’
Chuckling, he twisted in the chair, pulling his wallet from his back pocket, taking out a plastic photo keeper that was stuffed full of photos. He searched each little pocket until he made a satisfied sound. He rolled the chair closer to Meredith’s, holding out one of the photos. ‘That’s us. I’m the one on the left,’ he added.
Meredith took the picture, her mouth curving of its own volition. Two boys in baseball uniforms stood, arms over each other’s shoulders. One dark, one light. The boy on the right was clearly Adam Kimble. He had boyish good looks even then. Both wore grass stains on their knees and huge smiles on their faces. ‘How old were you?’
‘He was sixteen. I was almost eighteen. We were only a grade apart, though. Adam was a fair student, but I’d been held back a year in middle school, which I basically hated the world for, but it turned out okay. If I hadn’t been kept back, I would’ve graduated two years ahead of him and we wouldn’t have played for the same team in high school. Those were good days.’
She smiled fondly at the photo. ‘Did you win?’
‘Went to the state playoffs, but lost in the quarter finals. Adam played another year. That year they went on to win the state championship. Adam ended up getting a baseball scholarship to college, which was good because with his grades? Well, let’s just say it was good he could hit a home run like nobody else, because he was never gonna ace math.’
‘Hm,’ she said, torn between annoyance at his criticism of Adam and temptation to ask for more details. But she really wanted to hear Adam’s story from Adam, so she handed Hanson back the picture.
‘I ran track in high school. Couldn’t hit a ball to save my life,’ Meredith admitted. It wasn’t entirely true, but close enough. ‘I wasn’t good enough for a scholarship, though.’
‘Neither was I,’ Hanson said ruefully. He put the photo back in his wallet, then returned his gaze to the window with a quiet sigh. ‘You don’t have to answer this, but . . .’ He sighed again. ‘If he starts to . . . need anyone, can you call me?’ He patted his pockets, then rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t have any cards with me. Do you have any paper?’
She wanted to say no, but Adam had smiled at this man, had looked happy to see him. As happy as Adam ever looked anyway. If Hanson could be a resource for Adam, far be it from her to deny them. Digging in her purse, she found a small spiral notebook, pulled out a page and handed it to him, along with the tactical pen she always carried.
It was a stainless steel pen that could puncture a man’s windpipe if it was applied with enough force. Meredith had practiced on dummies at the gym. The weapon doubled as a real pen, camouflaged by its shiny pink color, its surface covered with engraved hearts. It was her favorite pen because she could bring it into controlled environments – like on a plane, or into a courthouse or a police department – without having it taken by security.
Hanson, however, recognized its purpose immediately. He took the pen with another deep chuckle. ‘I need to get my wife one of these. Where’d you get it?’
Meredith considered denying it, then shrugged. ‘Amazon.’
‘Of course. My number,’ he said, handing her the paper and her pen.
She folded the paper and put it, the notebook, and her pen back in her purse, then changed her mind, pulling them back out. Tearing out a clean sheet of paper, she proceeded to sketch a geometric design she could color in, hoping it would be a signal to the man not to ask her anything more.
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Sunday 20 December, 5.15 A.M.
‘Got ’em back,’ Isenberg said, nodding at her laptop with a self-satisfaction that Adam thought would have been almost cute under other circumstances. Not that he would have ever called his boss cute under any circumstances. A straight arrow, both her wit and her tongue were sharper than any blade. Occasionally the humanity she held so closely in check peeked through the crusty shield she showed the world.
Like her pride when she figured out something on the computer that any five-year-old could accomplish blindfolded, like how to reestablish the Skype connection with the Chicago detectives after their call had been inexplicably interrupted.
Or when she viewed the photos and videos Chicago had taken of the crime scene and her first response had been to glance at Adam, to be sure he was all right. Because those photos were . . . difficult to look at. For anyone.
But for me? The slash across Tiffany Curtis’s throat was a definite trigger for him. And all the blood? Both in her room and in her mother’s? There was so much of it, soaking the bed, splattered on the headboard, the nightstand, the carpet. The phone that had slipped from the mother’s hand to land in a pool of her own blood?
He drew a harsh breath. Keeping his mind from drifting back to that day Paula’s throat was slit was taking all the strength he possessed. And knowing that Tiffany and her mother had been killed simply because someone wanted access to Shane Baird because Shane was connected to Andy Gold who was somehow connected to Meredith?
‘Kimble?’ Trip rumbled softly, bumping his shoulder. Trip had come in while Isenberg had still been muttering curses at her computer. ‘We’re live again.’
Adam jerked his attention back to the screen, which showed only a close-up of the knot of a man’s tie. That would be Detective Abe Reagan, nine years with Chicago Homicide. Adam had looked him up while Isenberg had been setting her laptop up for the initial call. Reagan was highly decorated, according to the articles Adam had skimmed. And most of the time the articles used his first and last names because he apparently had a brother who was also a decorated homicide detective, and whose name also started with A.
Reagan backed away from the camera, revealing a woman’s boots propped up on the table. Just visible over the boot tips was the top of his partner’s blond head with its tumbled, tangled curls and the edge of what looked like one of the crime scene photos.
‘Sorry,’ Isenberg said. ‘My laptop must have lost the connection, but we’re back.’ She gestured to Trip. ‘This is Special Agent Jefferson Triplett. He’s on our joint task force.’
‘I’m Detective Reagan.’ Reagan sat in his chair and elbowed his partner who abruptly swung her boots off the table. ‘This is Detective Mitchell.’
Mitchell was small, sturdy and, according to Adam’s Google search, also highly decorated, having received a Distinguished Service citation for bringing down a serial arsonist seven years ago. ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘What do you know, Triplett?’
‘About your scene? Not much. Do you mind repeating the high points?’
‘No, of course not,’ she said so politely, that her irritation was clear. ‘Although we’re still waiting for your connection to our case.’
‘Mia,’ Reagan murmured.
Mitchell rolled her eyes. ‘I know, I know. We play nice, they tell us stuff.’
Reagan’s lips twitched, making Adam’s do the same. ‘That’s how it works,’ Reagan said seriously, then ruined the effect by rolling his eyes.
‘Fine,’ Mitchell huffed, then sighed heavily. ‘Okay. The victims are Tiffany Curtis, twenty, and her mother, Ailene Curtis, forty-five. The intruder appeared to come in through the mother’s bedroom window.’ Mitchell’s face disappeared from the screen, a photo of a broken window appearing in its place. ‘The glass was smashed and the lock forced.’ The window photo was replaced by the scene of the mother’s body in the bloody bed.
Adam wanted to look away from the hand limply hanging over the bed, the phone in that puddle of blood on the floor. The slit throat. The disemboweled torso. But he forced himself to stare at the screen.
To not think about how that had been Paula. Who’d only been a child. A child he’d been too late to save. He could feel himself mentally scrabbling for purchase. Just thinking about Paula sent him over the edge. So stop it.
He forced himself to focus on this woman who’d lost her life simply because her daughter loaned her car to Kyle Davis, friend of Shane, friend of Andy. Who’d been coerced into attempting to kill Meredith. Shit, he thought viciously.
Trip sighed. ‘Shit.’
‘Yeah,’ Mitchell said, echoing Trip’s weary tone. ‘It was a real mess. The mother had a CPAP machine going.’
‘She probably didn’t hear her killer break the glass,’ Adam said. He’d missed that the first time because he’d been fighting to keep his control. He was listening now, and didn’t miss the relief in Isenberg’s eyes. He gave her a slight nod. Yeah, yeah, I’m back. ‘Those machines are loud.’
‘Exactly,’ Reagan said. The wide-angled photo of the bed changed to a close-up of the body and Adam steeled himself, forcing his gaze not to flick away. To look.
He maintained his focus until Trip sucked in a breath through his nose. ‘Shit,’ Trip said again, this time in a sad whisper.
Adam broke away, finding Meredith through the window. Drinking her in. She was safe and unharmed. He kept telling himself that, over and over until the wave of panic receded. A movement caught his eye, a figure standing by the desk where she sat and he had to smile. Wyatt Hanson.
Wyatt was his oldest friend that was not related to him, by red blood anyway. Adam’s mother and Deacon and Dani’s mother had been sisters, but he and Wyatt were related through blue blood. Their fathers had been patrol partners, once upon a time, and he and Hanson had carried the tradition to the next generation.
Isenberg caught Adam’s stare and leaned around her laptop to follow his gaze. ‘Ah, Detective Hanson is here. Good.’
‘He’s here to see you?’ Adam asked, oddly disappointed.
‘I asked Narcotics for someone to work with you on the Voss angle. I’ll talk to him when I’m finished with you.’
‘Oh.’ That made sense, because the Narcotics umbrella covered prostitution and drugs. They might have information on the apparent prostitution ring at the college. He signed to Hanson that he’d be another fifteen minutes and asked him to wait.
The photo on screen disappeared and the two Chicago detectives were eyeing them with interest. ‘Voss?’ Reagan asked. ‘Who is this?’
‘Broderick Voss,’ Isenberg said. ‘We’ll explain when you’re finished. Apologies for the interruption.’
Mitchell rapidly typed on her phone, then looked up, wide-eyed. ‘Voss, huh?’ She tilted her photo so that her partner could see and he whistled softly.
‘This just got even more interesting,’ he said.
You have no idea, Adam thought grimly.
‘Let’s finish with the crime scene first,’ Trip said. ‘What happened after he slit the mother’s throat?’
Mitchell continued. ‘We believe the killer thought she was dead and went on to the daughter’s room. We found earbuds still plugged into Tiffany’s laptop, so she didn’t hear him. She’d just been texting to her boyfriend’s phone. The texts were actually between Tiffany and her boyfriend’s friend, Shane Baird. He told her that they were “an hour away” and thanked her for the use of her car. Said she couldn’t know what it meant to him.’
‘We’ve talked to Shane Baird and Kyle Davis,’ Isenberg said.
The Chicago cops’ faces registered surprise. ‘When?’
‘Right before we called you,’ Adam said. ‘We were talking to them when we got the text from you. If you could go over the girl’s murder again for Trip first, we’ll fill you in.’
Mitchell looked irritated once again at the delay. ‘Looks like he pushed her to the bed and climbed on top of her. He left bloody boot prints on the bed spread.’
‘The mother’s blood?’ Adam asked tightly, visualizing it.
‘Yeah,’ Reagan confirmed with a nod. ‘It appears that Tiffany fought back, biting his hand in the process. We found a latex glove with faint impressions of teeth that look like hers. They’re the right size anyway. Lab’s checking it.’
This hadn’t been shared in the first version, Adam was certain. ‘So he entered the house wearing gloves, but left without one at least? Did you find any prints?’
Mitchell gave Reagan a side-eyed glance. Reagan shrugged. ‘Go ahead,’ he said. ‘It might end up being nothing.’
Mitchell leaned forward, her eyes sharp. ‘So this is the thing. At some point she bit his hand and his glove got ripped and slung off. Either on purpose or by accident, but it landed across the room. He continued strangling her bare-handed with the one hand.’
Adam sucked in a breath at the same time that Isenberg and Trip did the same. ‘Did you get prints?’ Adam asked again.
Mitchell shrugged. ‘Our CSI leader is working it now. Jack Unger is one of the best, so if it can be done, he’ll do it. We’ll keep you up to speed.’
‘That would be huge,’ Trip said.
Isenberg looked up at Trip, narrow-eyed. ‘Did you find a print on the bomb?’
‘Yes. That’s what the lab wanted to see me about. They found a print, but it belonged to the victim, Andy Gold.’
There was more, Adam thought. The lab could have told him that over the phone.
‘Andy Gold,’ Reagan said. ‘That’s the young man who pulled a gun in that restaurant yesterday. Gold was the friend of Baird’s who died?’
‘Yes,’ Isenberg said. ‘How did you know that?’
‘Tiffany had been texting with her boyfriend, Kyle. He asked to borrow her car because Shane’s friend in Cincinnati had died and they needed to get there ASAP.’
Adam frowned, a detail catching in his mind. ‘Can you show us the photo of Tiffany’s body again?’ Chicago complied and Adam’s gaze lingered on the slash in the woman’s throat for a few seconds before moving to her right hand. Which was missing the forefinger. ‘I assumed you hadn’t found her phone,’ he said. ‘Her killer took her finger.’
Because that would be the way to unlock the girl’s phone and get whatever information he’d come for. Like where her car – carrying Shane and Kyle – had gone.
Reagan gave him a nod. ‘You’re right, her killer did take her phone. But he didn’t take her iPad, which, luckily for us, wasn’t locked down. It was buzzing like crazy in her nightstand drawer.’
‘Thank goodness for iMessage, I guess,’ Isenberg murmured.
Reagan nodded again. ‘She had her messages set to sync up on all her devices, including her laptop, but that was password protected. Kyle kept texting, begging her to call him. And then your office called, Lieutenant, to ask us to check on Tiffany Curtis.’
‘I got confirmation that there had been a 911 call made from the Curtis home tonight,’ Isenberg said.
‘Yes,’ Mitchell said. ‘At one thirty-seven, about two minutes after Tiffany’s final text to Shane.’
Adam thought of the phone in the puddle of the mother’s blood. ‘The mother managed to dial 911?’
A sad nod from both Chicago detectives. ‘She never said a word,’ Mitchell said. ‘But the operator could hear crashes and other noises in the background. The killer must have heard the sirens because he stopped strangling Tiffany, slit her throat, sliced her torso, cut off her finger, took her phone, then exited through the mother’s bedroom window.’
‘After taking a few seconds to rip his knife through the mother’s abdominal cavity,’ Reagan finished, his jaw taut. ‘He was very angry. The ME says the mother was already dead at the time of the final assault.’
‘He has a temper,’ Adam murmured. ‘Might work to our advantage. Since the iPad was unlocked, could you track Tiffany’s phone with the Find-My-Phone app?’
Mitchell’s nod was grim. ‘Yeah. He tossed it in the trash can at a gas station in Indiana. We requested local PD get the phone and the security tapes from the gas station. The phone’s on its way to us, but they’ve already sent us a copy of the video file. Unfortunately, the guy kept his body hunched and his collar up to cover the lower half of his face. Baseball cap hid everything else. He looks big, but we can’t give you a specific description.’
‘He’s headed this way,’ Trip said quietly.
‘Yeah.’ Adam glanced at Isenberg and raised a brow in question. ‘Kyle?’ he asked. She nodded, so he continued. ‘Kyle works the desk at Lamarr dorm at Kiesler University. He said a man came looking for Shane tonight. He was very big and threatening, and Kyle hit the panic button under the desk. The campus police have a photo of this guy from the security cameras.’
‘Give me a minute to call the university police,’ Mitchell said, and rolled her chair out of camera range.
‘What else did Kyle and Shane say?’ Reagan asked, while his partner made the call.
Isenberg quickly relayed most of what Shane had shared, holding back the murder that Andy had committed and that Shane had covered for. ‘There might be a third person, a young woman, who was in their tight little circle of friends. We’ve put her photo out on the wire as a person of interest, possibly missing.’
Mitchell rolled her chair back into view. ‘The university police are sending us their surveillance video. I was listening about the missing girl, so let’s move on. What’s this have to do with Broderick Voss?’
‘Voss has been stalking the target of today’s attack,’ Isenberg told them.
‘And Voss connects to Narcotics?’ Mitchell pushed.
‘Maybe,’ Isenberg said. ‘His wife says she caught him with illegal drugs and barely legal prostitutes in their home, when their six-year-old daughter was present. The wife got slapped around when she confronted him, so she took their daughter and went to live with her sister.’
‘Mrs Voss has tried to get her daughter psychological therapy,’ Trip added, ‘but we believe Voss scared off the first two therapists and wants to scare off Dr Fallon – today’s target. Mrs Voss told us that her daughter’s been seeing Dr Fallon for the last few weeks.’
Both Chicago cops’ faces had darkened. ‘If it’s true, that child has to be keeping one hell of a secret that Mr Voss doesn’t want getting out,’ Mitchell said, her eyes gone narrow and steely. ‘He was willing to kill a restaurant full of people today and he did kill two innocent people tonight.’
‘Seven actually, including Andy Gold,’ Adam said, his stomach giving a nasty lurch as he remembered the scene of the fire. ‘The house where Andy rented a room was burned to the ground earlier tonight. The family of four who lived there didn’t make it.’ He swallowed hard. ‘Mother, father, two kids. One still in a crib.’
Beside him, Trip sighed heavily. ‘I’ll never forget that sight,’ he said quietly.
Adam gave Trip’s shoulder a hard squeeze. ‘I’d be worried if you could. But, um, make sure you deal, okay?’ he added in a nearly soundless whisper. ‘Don’t do what I did.’
One side of Trip’s mouth quirked up and he nodded once, sadly. ‘Understood.’
On the screen, a muscle ticked in Reagan’s cheek, grown taut with unhidden fury. ‘This Voss needs to be put down.’
‘Easy,’ Mitchell murmured, patting Reagan’s clenched fist with unmistakable affection. ‘Papa Bear here has three daughters of his own. His youngest is still in a crib.’ Her tone was mild, but her eyes remained as angry as Reagan’s. ‘My son Jeremy’s fourteen, but he witnessed his birth mother being abused before she was murdered. It took years of therapy before he was . . . healed, at least. I hope this Dr Fallon can help Voss’s little girl.’
‘Fallon’s good,’ Adam said simply. ‘She’s helped a lot of kids.’
‘How does she connect to yesterday’s victim?’ Reagan asked, flattening his hands on the table, palms down. His eyes remained angry. ‘To Andy Gold, I mean.’
Adam was glad to see that Reagan’s anger hadn’t subsided, because neither had his own. ‘We don’t know.’ He lifted his eyes to look out the window again, found her smiling at Hanson, who’d taken the seat next to her. She was giving him back something small and square, something that Hanson put back into his wallet. A photo. Adam thought he knew which one. He had the other copy in an album in his apartment. He returned his gaze to the two detectives on the screen. ‘But I think it’s safe to assume that our cases are connected. We’ll keep you up to date as we investigate.’
Mitchell rubbed her eyes. ‘I read Tiffany’s texts on her iPad. She’d told her best friend – we assumed they were best friends from their text history, anyway – that Kyle told her that he’d bought her something special for Christmas. That he had an important question for her. She’d written “Tiffany Davis” over and over on a notepad on her desk.’
‘Oh no.’ Adam slumped, as did Isenberg and Trip. ‘She was expecting a proposal.’
‘That was our take,’ Mitchell said sadly. ‘We thought you should know.’
Adam rubbed his tired eyes. ‘Thanks. Dammit, this day has sucked ass.’
Isenberg gave his knee a quick pat. ‘Maybe have Dr Fallon ready. Just in case.’
Both Reagan and Mitchell straightened. ‘Your target?’ Reagan asked. ‘Why?’
Recognizing her slip, Isenberg winced a little, but answered. ‘Dr Fallon is one of our consulting psychologists. Highly respected by anyone who’s worked with her. Our plan was to keep her far from this investigation, for obvious reasons, but Shane demanded to meet the woman who his friend had tried to shoot. She was willing and established an instant rapport. Her specialty is children and adolescents who’ve suffered emotional trauma. Shane shared more with her than we would have anticipated.’
Mitchell’s eyes narrowed once again. ‘What have you not told us?’
Isenberg sighed. ‘It might not be related to this case. There was a crime committed in the foster home where the three kids lived. It was integral to their becoming . . . family. He was a minor at the time.’ She looked at the Chicago cops directly. ‘I don’t know you. I don’t want to risk this kid’s future when it may have nothing to do with this case.’
Reagan and Mitchell gave each other a long, long look, communicating the way longstanding partners often did. ‘All right,’ Reagan finally said. ‘We don’t know you either, so . . . I’m not going to say we’ll trust you. But we’ll work the case based on what we currently have. For now. You’ll share this information if it becomes germane?’
‘The very next second,’ Isenberg said soberly.
Trip cleared his throat. ‘I suppose this might be a bad time to ask if you’ll send us your crime scene photos,’ he said with his aw-shucks grin.
Reagan’s chuckle was deep and rich. ‘Well, yeah, your timing is pretty bad, but I’ll tell you the same thing I would have told you before you admitted to withholding information.’ He sounded genuine. Adam wanted to believe the two cops were as genuine as they seemed. His gut said they were.
‘Which is?’ Adam prompted.
‘That we have to run it by our boss,’ Mitchell said. ‘If Lieutenant Murphy okays it, then you’ll have them’ – her lips curved into a reluctant smile – ‘the very next second.’
Isenberg smiled and it changed her whole face. Made her look years younger. Made Adam wonder how old she actually was. Made him wonder what had happened in her life to make her look so . . . well, old the rest of the time. ‘Fair enough,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
Mitchell nodded. ‘My husband was raised in foster care. He was one of the lucky ones. He got a good family first thing, and they adopted him. I take it that Shane Baird’s experience was not as good.’
‘You take correctly,’ Adam told her. ‘Thanks. We’ll be in touch.’
Ending the call, Isenberg turned to Trip. ‘What did you really find at the lab?’
‘Andy Gold’s fingerprints came up in AFIS,’ Trip said. ‘His legal name was Jason Coltrain. He was born in Indianapolis. Was arrested for the murder of Cody Walton. Never charged. The victim’s wife was found guilty and is serving a fifteen-year sentence.’
‘That’s consistent with what Shane told us,’ Adam said, and told Trip the rest of Shane’s story of the murder, Linnie’s rape, and how Andy had been set free and made his escape with Linnie Holmes.
Trip’s eyes widened and he looked at Meredith, who was intent on whatever she was writing. No, Adam thought, she’s coloring. Shading whatever she’d drawn with the pink pen in her hand.
Of course she’s coloring. But Adam kept his smile inside, because it would have been too fond and Isenberg would have known he was compromised in a hot second.
‘She got Shane to confess to covering up a murder?’ Trip asked, wide-eyed.
‘She did,’ Isenberg said. ‘I think Shane wanted to tell, but she made it easier for him. What else do you know, Triplett? Because the lab could have just called you with the fingerprint results.’
‘We took the bomb apart.’
‘When?’ Adam asked, surprised.
‘When you were questioning the restaurant hostess.’
‘The team did?’ Adam pressed, wondering how extensive Trip’s skills really were. ‘Or you did?’
Trip shrugged. ‘I did,’ he said, adding quickly, ‘but I told you it was a simple device. Anyway, Latent got a partial print. So far it doesn’t match anything in AFIS.’
‘But if Chicago comes up with something at their new crime scene . . .’ Isenberg said.
Trip grinned. ‘Exactly.’
She rubbed her hands together. ‘What else you got?’
‘Finally,’ Trip drawled, ‘saving the best for last, we got a ballistic match on the bullet that killed Andy Gold. The same rifle was used in a robbery in 1988.’
Isenberg’s expectant glee became a frown. ‘That was thirty years ago.’
‘But we may be able to trace the rifle’s ownership,’ Adam said. ‘It’s possible.’
‘Zimmerman’s already got someone on it,’ Trip said. ‘That’s all I got.’
‘Me too.’ Adam checked the time on his phone and inwardly groaned. ‘I’m going to drop Meredith at the safe house, then I’ll grab some sleep myself.’
‘Gather back here by noon,’ Isenberg told him. ‘We need to figure out what we have and where we go from there.’
‘Oh shit,’ Adam said, the sudden burden of dread stopping him in his tracks. ‘Kyle. We need to tell him about Tiffany and then we need to find a safe place for them to stay. Whoever killed Tiffany and her mother is clearly looking for Shane. And he’s on his way back to Cincinnati. I think we can assume he’d kill Kyle to get to Shane. Neither are safe.’
Isenberg sighed. ‘I’ll find them a place.’
‘What about the condo?’ Trip asked. ‘Can’t they stay there too? At least for tonight. We’ve already got a duty roster set. We can take precautions. Maybe get an additional guard for their door and make sure they don’t know where we’re taking them so they can’t share the condo’s location.’
Adam considered it. ‘They got no priors. They don’t seem dangerous, but I’m not taking chances. Kate’s on inside duty tonight.’ He would be too, right outside Meredith’s room, but if he needed to leave for any reason, he wanted the young men contained should they be more than they appeared. ‘Lynda, if you can get me a uniform to stand outside their bedroom door, it’ll work.’
Isenberg nodded wearily. ‘I’ll take care of it.’ She checked her watch. ‘Given that you have to get Kyle and Shane settled—’
‘And eat,’ Trip inserted.
Isenberg looked amused. ‘And eat,’ she allowed. ‘Be back by three. Get some sleep, gentlemen.’ She glanced at the window where Hanson and Meredith still sat at side-by-side desks. Hanson was fiddling with his phone and Meredith continued to color with a focus Adam both envied and hated. He hated that she’d needed the solace of her coloring tonight, wishing Meredith was home in her soft bed, safe and happy. With me.
‘Adam?’ Isenberg’s voice broke into his thoughts and he looked at her with lifted brows, hoping his eyes hid the truth of his feelings.
‘Boss?’ he replied.
‘Tell Detective Hanson to give me a minute or two. I’ll get that extra guard before I brief him on Broderick Voss and the college hookers.’
‘Will do.’
‘And please tell Kyle how very sorry I am.’
He nodded briskly, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. ‘Yeah. I will.’