“Liv?” Kane was regarding her with an amused, if pained, expression. “Either put him out of your mind or go home and take a cold shower. You’re making me think about going home for a very long lunch break with my wife.”
Her cheeks heated. “Sorry.”
He patted her shoulder. “Have Ian take you into the freezer. That’ll cool your jets.”
“Who needs to go in the freezer?” ME Ian Gilles came out of his office.
“Nobody,” Olivia said firmly. “So, what do you have?”
“Gold,” Ian said. “Come on, have a look.” He led them to the light board, where an X-ray was mounted. “The girl’s skull.”
Olivia’s heart started to beat faster as a puzzle piece fell into place. There was a distinctive dark, tombstone-shaped patch about the size of a half-dollar, just behind the girl’s ear. “Is that what I think it is?”
Ian looked a little disappointed. “Depends on what you think it is.”
She looked up at Kane. “David Hunter and his partner didn’t find a hearing aid. Not exactly anyway. Our girl had a cochlear implant. What he saw was the processor.”
“What’s a processor?” Kane asked.
“It’s a… device….” Olivia groped for the words. “It converts sounds…. Explain, Ian.”
Ian perked up, his disappointment dissipating. “The processor is worn behind the ear and converts sound into electrical signals. The signals are passed to the implant, here.” He tapped the bone behind his ear. “The implant bypasses the normal auditory systems, stimulating the aural nerves. It’s pretty cool. How do you know about it, Liv?”
“My friend has one. You know her, Kane. Brie Franconi. We just talked about her.”
“The lady who runs the doggy day care?” Kane asked.
“She used to be a cop, but lost her hearing. Ended up having to quit the force, start another career. She got the implant about two years ago.” She turned to Ian. “So there will be a serial number on the implant part, right? Because the processor was so melted, it was almost unidentifiable.”
“Here it is.” Ian handed her a sticky note with the name of a manufacturer and the serial number written on it. “I had this big buildup planned. Gee, thanks.”
Olivia patted his arm. “I’m sorry. But this is really great. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Don’t run off,” he said when they started to. “There’s more.”
They followed him into the autopsy suite. The bodies here didn’t bother her like they did in the field. By the time they got here, she’d gone through the panic.
The girl lay on the table, a sheet covering her from neck to knees. The soot had been washed from her hair and her face was ghastly white under the glaring lights.
“So young,” Kane murmured.
“Probably sixteen,” Ian said. “Cause of death was smoke inhalation. Londo said he pointed out what appeared to be recent abuse trauma. Her X-rays showed fractures to her right arm and some damage to her left hand. She’d also been drinking last night. Her blood alcohol was point-oh-nine. She’d eaten tacos very shortly before the fire.”
“If she got food locally,” Olivia said, “we might track her last hours.”
“Or her partner’s,” Ian said. “She’d had sex very shortly before death. Within an hour, quite probably less.”
Olivia frowned. “Somebody was in there with her?” she said. “Having sex?”
“I take it you haven’t found another body,” Ian said.
“Not yet, but the first two floors are still a mess,” Kane said. Then he winced. “What about the guard?”
Ian shook his head and both Olivia and Kane breathed fast sighs of relief. “Wrong blood type. Plus, Henry Weems had a vasectomy ten years ago. Came through on his chart. The girl didn’t use a condom, and her partner had a very high sperm count.”
“Oh, good,” Olivia said. “I’d hate to have to break that to Mrs. Weems.”
“On the other hand,” Kane said, “we’re either looking for another body or…”
“Or her partner got away.” Olivia’s pulse kicked up. “If he got out, we could have an eyewitness out there.”
“When she fell, she hit her knees.” Ian pulled the sheet back, revealing bruises on the girl’s knees. “She also has a slightly sprained ankle. She could have fallen and gotten separated from this other person.”
“David said the smoke would have been so thick she couldn’t see, and she couldn’t hear her partner, as she didn’t have her processor on. Getting separated makes sense.”
“Is it possible the guy she had sex with is the arsonist?” Kane asked. “That maybe he held her there against her will and set the fire with her there on purpose?”
Ian shrugged. “Anything is possible, but the victim had no vaginal bruising or tearing, so it doesn’t appear the sex was forced. The initial urine screen didn’t show any of the typical drugs, and her BA wasn’t high enough to incapacitate her. Of course, the blood tox may come back with something. I’ll have that tomorrow morning.”
“What about the guy she had sex with?” Kane asked.
“Caucasian, dark hair. He left behind some pubic hair. Also, if they were together when the fire started, he may have some lung impairment from the smoke. It may be mild or severe, depending on how long he was exposed. You should check anyone admitted to hospitals for fluid in the lungs. It can sneak up after smoke exposure.”
“At a minimum, he could be very shaken up,” Olivia said.
“If he’s still alive,” Kane countered. “If he got caught in those flames, the firefighters could have walked right through his remains and not known.”
“What about the guard?” Olivia asked. “Please tell me he was sober.”
“As a judge. Blood alcohol was zero, urine was clean. I’ll do his exam after lunch.”
“Is that him?” Olivia asked, pointing at another sheet-covered body on a gurney parked off to the side of the room.
“No, that’s a car accident victim, brought in this morning. Kid wasn’t wearing a seat belt. Not much left of his face after going through the windshield. Don’t worry. Your guy comes first,” Ian said when Olivia started to ask. “I’ll call you when I know anything.”
Olivia held up the sticky note with the implant’s serial number. “Thank you. Really. Now we can get an ID.”
• • •
Monday, September 20, 11:30 a.m.
David knew he should be tired, but he was not. A fine energy sizzled over his skin, one that had nothing to do with the rush of walking into a fire and coming out unscathed. No, this was an awareness that he stood on the verge of something important.
Something vital. If he played his cards right, he might end up with something he’d never found, but always craved. Something he probably still didn’t deserve.
My own home. My own family. A wife, kids… all the things his family and friends had found, one at a time. As the years rolled by, he’d become the odd man out. The only one still single. The only one still alone.
He’d stayed in Chicago too long, watching while the woman he’d dreamed about for years got married and started a family with someone else. He’d tried to find someone to take her place. But there had been no one who came close.
Until one April night, two and a half years ago, when Olivia tumbled into his arms at her sister’s rehearsal dinner. And you had to go and blow it. Well, tonight he had the opportunity to fix whatever it was that had made her run. He wouldn’t fuck it up again.
He unlocked the front door to his apartment house. The walls in the entryway would be next on the paint list, he thought, looking around as he did every time he entered. But each time he entered, the place looked a little better. All it had needed was some “sprucing,” as his mother would say.
He’d bought the old building on something of a whim seven months before. His old friend Evie had lived here before finding her own happy ending, which she so richly deserved. Seven months ago, she’d asked him for help with her lea
ky roof. He’d fixed the leaks, then decided to stay, for a lot of reasons. The biggest of which was the way his chest had gone tight when Olivia had walked into his hospital room after the car he’d been driving had been forced from the road by a psycho killer. That day in the hospital, it had been two years since he’d seen her. He’d almost convinced himself he’d dreamed her and the night they’d had together.
But the moment he’d smelled honeysuckle, he’d known it was real.
So he’d decided to stay, to start over. To build something that was his own. In the last seven months he’d more than “spruced” this old building, gradually turning his ten apartments into showpieces urban professionals would jump to own—which had been his plan. Fix it, flip it, go on to the next. He looked at the names neatly stenciled on the row of antique oak mailboxes and had to smile.
It hadn’t worked out exactly as he’d planned, but he found he liked the way it had ended up a lot better. He jogged up the three flights of stairs to his loft apartment, thinking about the kitchen tiling project he’d left half done. He could put a big dent in it while he waited for Olivia to call. He needed to keep busy, or he’d lose his mind.
“David?” It was a small voice, sounding more like a child than the mother of one. Unfortunately, Lacey was both.
He looked over the rail to the second-floor landing to where the young woman stood, a baby in her arms. “Hey, Lace. What’s up?”
“It’s the refrigerator. It’s not cold. I know you’re just getting off shift, and I wouldn’t have said anything, but Mrs. Edwards said you needed to know. Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” He walked down one flight of stairs and into the apartment he hadn’t quite finished rehabbing, although it was livable. Toys littered the floor, and cases of baby formula were stacked against one wall. But the place was clean, even though at the moment it smelled faintly of baby puke. Mrs. Edwards ran a tight ship on which each of her young mothers was responsible for the chores, but even Mrs. Edwards couldn’t keep babies from spitting up.
David opened the refrigerator and sighed. It was broken. “Your groceries will spoil.”
Lacey ducked her head. “Can you fix it?”
“No. This fridge has been ready for the junkyard. I’ve got a new one ready to put in, but I wanted to do the tile on the floor first. I can get the new fridge here by tomorrow, but we’re going to need to move your stuff upstairs until then. Where is Mrs. Edwards?”
“Elly had a doctor’s appointment and Tiffany doesn’t have her license yet, so Mrs. E had to drive them.” Lacey sighed dramatically. “Tiffany failed the drivers’ test again.”
David winced. “Again? What’s wrong with Elly?”
“Nothing, just a well-baby exam. And shots.”
“Good.” He put out his hands and without hesitation, she placed her baby in them. Lacey’s little boy was precious. “Did you get the job at Martino’s?”
Lacey smiled. “Yeah. I have to work nights, but the tips are good and I can still do my GED classes during the day. Thanks for the good word you put in for me. It helped.”
As if picking up on his mother’s sudden mood change, the baby giggled, making David grin. The kid had an infectious laugh, making him miss his own nieces and nephews. He kissed the baby’s chubby cheek and handed him back to Lacey.
“Anytime.” Martino’s was an Italian place run by the family of one of the firefighters on B shift at the firehouse. “They’ll treat you right there. I’ll get your perishables up to my fridge. Mrs. Edwards has a key if I have to leave.” If Olivia calls, I am out of here.
A few minutes later he was standing at his front door, juggling grocery bags while trying to get his key in his lock. He leaned against his door, stumbling when it opened, revealing a woman sitting at his dining room table, a coffee cup in one hand. For a moment he stared, then he felt the smile crack his face.
“Ma?”
She set the cup down with a clatter and was across the room, opening her arms. “I missed you,” she whispered, hugging him fiercely.
“I missed you, too,” he said and she backed away, dabbing at her eyes.
“Let me look at you,” she said, so he dropped the grocery bags on the table and obligingly held out his arms. She looked him up and down and nodded, satisfied.
“What are you doing here, Ma?” he asked. “I’m glad to see you, but I wasn’t expecting you for two weeks. I’m not ready for decorating yet. I was going to call you when I got all the floors done.”
His mother had an eye for color and she’d been itching to help with his building rehab. He’d promised she could pick out carpet and drapes and furniture and all the knickknacks that made the house he’d grown up in a real home.
“Grace started preschool,” she said. “My last grandbaby is in school and I didn’t have anything to do with my mornings. So I came to see you.”
“You should have called. I’d have left you a key or met you at the airport.”
She frowned mildly. “I drove myself from Chicago. I’m not as old as you think.”
“That she is not,” a voice boomed from the kitchen and David turned, surprised. He’d heard the voice of his first-floor tenant but saw no body to go with it.
“Glenn? What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”
“David,” his mother admonished. “Mr. Redman had a key. He let me in.”
“I’m not mad he’s here. I’m mad he’s down there.” David went around the counter and looked down to where Glenn Redman sat on the floor, meticulously lining up tiles, the light from the bare bulb reflecting off his shiny bald head. “Are you all right?”
Redman gave him a sour glare. “I’m fine. I know what I can do.”
“Famous last words,” David said, just as sourly. Then he looked at the tile the old man had arranged in a precise geometric design. “Not bad.”
“It’s damn good, boy,” Redman huffed. “Better than you were doing. Admit it.”
“Okay. I admit it. Thank you.”
“Was that so hard?” Redman held out a hand and David pulled him to his feet, holding on until the older man was steady. He was on the tail end of what had been a long series of chemo, and his prognosis was good, but he still didn’t have the energy he’d had when David first met him at the firehouse, seven months ago. That was just weeks before the doctors discovered Glenn’s tumor and just a month before he became David’s first paying tenant. Of course, payment was a relative thing.
David’s apartment house was ideally located near the hospital, while Redman’s retirement cabin was too far for him to easily get to his chemo treatments. So they’d made a trade. While Redman lived here, David got use of the cabin and its lake full of walleye. Both were happy with the arrangement.
“Nope, wasn’t hard to admit at all. I hate tile work,” David said then looked at his mom. “Don’t believe anything he says, Ma. He’s a consummate liar.”
She was looking through his grocery bags. “Why do you have filled baby bottles?”
Redman held out his hand, looking satisfied. “Ten.”
Narrowing his eyes, David pulled out his wallet and smacked a ten-dollar bill into the old man’s hand. “Don’t gloat. Glenn bet me that the refrigerator in 2A wouldn’t last another week. I hoped it would last until I got the floor done.”
She pushed him gently out of the way and began putting the girls’ groceries in his fridge. “There are babies in 2A, I take it.”
“Damn revolving door,” Glenn grumbled. “Mrs. Edwards takes in unwed mothers.”
“He plays with the babies when he thinks nobody’s looking,” David said.
“You’ve got yourself quite a full house,” his mother said. “All those names on the mailboxes downstairs surprised me. I didn’t think I’d find anyone living here yet.”
David shrugged. “It wasn’t my plan either. But people needed a place. I have room. It didn’t seem right to say no.”
“Boy’s a damn pushover,” Glenn grumbled.
His mo
ther smiled. “Where can I sleep, son? You don’t have much furniture.”
Just a bed. Because he’d really, really hoped Olivia would call. “I was waiting to let you pick everything out. You can have my bed. I’ve got an air mattress and—”
“David? David, are you here?” It was a new voice at his open front door, one that sounded abnormally upset. Moments later a tall, raven-haired beauty stood in his kitchen doorway, eyes narrowed. “I need to talk to you. Now. Please.”
His mother looked at Glenn, who shrugged. “Never seen this one,” Glenn said.
“Mom, this is Paige Holden. Paige, this is my mother and Glenn. Paige is from the dojo and is normally very polite.” David frowned at her. “Why aren’t you being polite?”
Paige drew a deep breath. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I’m sorry I barged in. I didn’t know David had company.”
His mother looked fascinated. “I’m always glad to meet my son’s friends.”
“And that’s all she is, Mom,” David inserted before his mother could get the wrong idea. “Paige and I are friends and sparring partners. She kicks my ass every Tuesday and Thursday when I’m not on shift.”
“So you’re a black belt, too?” his mother asked and Paige nodded.
“Yes, ma’am. David helps me with a self-defense class I teach. He’s our uke.”
“The attacker,” David explained. “Then her students get to kick my ass.”
Paige’s brows lifted. “One puts a great deal of trust in one’s uke,” she said meaningfully. “You trust him with your safety. You expect him to be honest.”
“I see,” his mother said. “You obviously have something on your mind, so Glenn and I will put this food away, and the two of you can talk.”
“Thank you.” Puzzled, David led her back to his empty spare bedroom and closed the door. “What the hell, Paige?” he asked, all pretense of politeness gone.
She jabbed her fists to her hips. “You used me. You jerk.”
“How did I use you?”