“Yes. Didn’t like it, but we don’t get to pick where we go, any more than you do.”
“Tracey Mullen’s body is in pretty good shape,” Olivia said and watched some of the tension leave the woman’s shoulders. “Except of course, that she’s dead at sixteen.”
Mr. Mullen jumped to his feet as soon as the three of them entered the waiting room. His face was haggard, his eyes red from weeping. His signing seemed frantic, but Val didn’t seem fazed.
“I’m John Mullen. I’m here to see my daughter. Where is she?”
“I’m Detective Kane and this is my partner, Detective Sutherland,” Kane said, glancing from the corner of his eye at the interpreter, then returning his gaze to the grieving father. “We are very sorry for your loss.”
“What happened?” he signed. “I need to know what happened to my child.”
“She was in a condo when it caught on fire,” Kane said. “We’re not sure why she was there. She was trapped inside and did not survive.”
“She didn’t burn,” Olivia added and Mullen’s shoulders sagged, as close to relief as one could expect under the circumstances. “She died of smoke inhalation.”
“She was alone at the time of her death,” Kane said gently, “but not before. We’re wondering if you might know of any boyfriends, anyone she knew living in this area.”
Bewildered, his signing slowed. “No, no one. She lived in Florida. She was supposed to be safe in Florida. Who was she with?”
“We’re trying to find that out, sir,” Kane said. “Can you tell us if your daughter wore a hearing aid, in addition to her cochlear implant?”
Still bewildered, he shook his head again.
Then the hearing aid belonged to the male she’d been with. “When was the last time you physically saw your daughter, sir?” Olivia asked.
“This summer for four weeks. I get…” He clenched his fists, then relaxed them to begin signing again. “I got every other Christmas, Thanksgiving, spring break, and six weeks in the summer.”
“But she stayed only four weeks?” Kane asked.
Mullen hesitated. “She went to camp for the other two weeks.”
Okay. “Which camp, sir?” Olivia asked.
“Camp Longfellow, in Maryland.” His face crumpled as his steady stream of tears became sobs. “Please, please, let me see my daughter.”
Kane glanced at Olivia and she nodded. She had no more questions for now. They’d definitely check Camp Longfellow as soon as this ID was done. Olivia touched Mullen’s shoulder and led him to the family viewing room. The green light was on in the room’s uppermost right corner, the sign that the ME was ready on the other side.
Kane pulled the curtain, and it took only seconds for Mr. Mullen to numbly nod. Then he closed his eyes and cried, silently rocking himself. All alone.
Kane pulled the curtain closed while Olivia swallowed hard. There had been no viewings with Pit-Guy’s victims. There hadn’t been enough left of the victims’ bodies and DNA had been used for identification instead. Now, standing with Tracey’s father, she realized that had been the one positive in the entire nightmare. She hadn’t had to watch the impotent grief of the families as they gazed on their loved ones through a sterile window.
She touched Mr. Mullen’s arm again, gently, as she’d learned to do when Brie wasn’t wearing her processors. He struggled for control, then met her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she signed. It was one of the few signs she knew, a tightened fist rubbing over her heart, as if to soothe the pain. She signaled to Val. “I have a message from the firefighter who brought her out. He wants you to know that they’re very sorry. They tried to save her, but by the time they arrived, it was too late.”
“How long before they arrived?” Mr. Mullen signed, his chin lifted. Olivia would have taken it for belligerence if she hadn’t seen it before, on too many grieving parents. It was the rush of anger, the need to blame. It was human.
“Five minutes from the time they got the call,” she said. “The ME thinks Tracey was gone before the firefighters even got the call. The firefighter who brought her out risked his own life.” Olivia thought about the gaping hole that went four floors down. If David had stepped the wrong way when he climbed through the window to get Tracey… She couldn’t think about it. “Everyone did everything they could.”
“Thank you. When can I take her home?”
Val voiced his question and Olivia wanted to sigh. She hated child cases, but the heartache was made worse when there was shared custody of a minor child.
“Your wife will arrive tomorrow,” Kane said, stepping in. “You two will have to decide the final arrangements.”
Mullen’s face went as hard as stone. “I understand.” Then he marched from the room, his body trembling, from grief or fury Olivia didn’t know. Probably a mix of the two.
“Will you be available tomorrow?” Olivia asked Val. “We’ll want to ask the parents a few more questions, when they’re sitting together in the same room.”
“You can request me,” Val said. “I’ll let the office know.”
“We may need you all morning,” Olivia said, thinking of their visit to the deaf school. “We’ll have some interviews to conduct.”
“I’ll clear my calendar.” Val sighed heavily. “Now, if it’s all right, I’d like to leave.”
Olivia knew the feeling. The morgue was not her favorite place. “Sure.”
When they’d signed out both the interpreter and Mr. Mullen, Olivia turned to Kane. “She went to camp.”
“He hesitated before he told us that,” Kane said. “What is Camp Longfellow?”
“Let’s find out.” They went to Ian’s office and found him coming out of the cold room, having put Tracey’s body away. “Ian, can we use your computer for a minute?”
“Sure,” Ian said. “What’s up?”
Olivia slid into the chair at his desk. “Tracey Mullen went to camp this summer.”
Ian nodded. “Where she could have met a boy her parents didn’t know she knew.”
“Oh, the things parents don’t know their kids know,” Kane murmured.
“I know I gave my mom a million gray hairs,” Olivia said ruefully as she paged through the Google results for Camp Longfellow. “Here it is. It’s a camp for deaf high school students. I wonder why Mullen hesitated about that.”
“Maybe Mrs. Mullen didn’t know he’d sent Tracey,” Kane said. “Sounds like they didn’t agree about much when it came to raising her. Ian, how long ago were those fractures made and the damage you mentioned to her left hand?”
“Sometime in the last three months, I’d guess.”
Olivia sighed. “So it could have been dad, mom, mom’s new husband, anyone at camp, or anyone Tracey met on her way to Minneapolis. No help toward finding who beat her or in finding our eyewitness either. Tomorrow should be an interesting day.”
And tonight an interesting night. The day was finished. She’d been anticipating and dreading this moment in equal measures. Get up. Go. At least you’ll know.
Ian cleared his throat. “As much as I know you love my morgue, I’m going to have to run you out. I still have one more autopsy before I can go home. So be gone.”
Embarrassed, she pushed to her feet wearily. “Sorry, Ian.”
Kane waited until they were at the front door before speaking. “I do want my field glasses back,” he said mildly. “Just in case you were thinking of canceling on Hunter.”
Her cheeks heated. “I wasn’t. Exactly.”
“Look, I don’t know what happened and I don’t need to. But if you need to talk…”
Touched, she patted his shoulder. “I’m okay, but thanks.” She was almost to her car when she heard him yell from the other side of the morgue’s parking lot.
“Don’t forget the lipstick,” he called, and made her smile.
Chapter Nine
Monday, September 20, 8:30 p.m.
David’s jaw clenched as he cast his line off the end of Glenn
’s dock. With quick, vicious jerks he reeled the line through the dark water of the lake, knowing he was never going to hook a fish as angry as he was, and not giving a damn.
Olivia hadn’t come. Hadn’t called or texted. Nothing.
Maybe this was her way of getting back at him. If so, he deserved it.
Sweat dampened the back of his shirt, despite the cooler temps of the fall night. He’d rolled his sleeves up his forearms, tossed his shoes into the dirt at the other end of the dock, and now stood in his bare feet casting for a walleye he’d never catch, going over each minute of that one night again and again, and trying very hard to stay calm.
Then his shoulders jerked forward. He’d hooked one. A damn big one. Reflex had him reeling—just as he heard the low roar of a vehicle approaching. He kept reeling as he listened, wondering if it would keep going, like all the cars had up until this point.
It didn’t. It stopped out front, the engine idling. Minutes ticked by and the engine continued to idle. Turn off the car, Olivia. Then he let out the breath he’d been holding when she did. A door slammed in the stillness of the night.
Two very long minutes later he heard the gentle slam of the back door and let out another breath. His hands continued to reel as he heard the crunch of fallen leaves and, finally, detected the faint aroma of honeysuckle. She was here.
“I didn’t think you would come,” he said, not turning around.
“I said I would,” she said quietly.
He turned then, looking into the face that had captured his imagination the moment he’d seen her. But it had been her eyes that had drawn him that first night. He found they still did. Round and blue, they’d been by turns sharp and intelligent, soft and understanding. And, later, hot and needy as she’d looked up at him, her head on his pillow. He swallowed hard.
“I’m glad,” he said simply and her lips turned up. Not quite a smile. He dropped his eyes to her throat and could see the pulse beating there, fast. Nervous, he hoped. Not scared. Please don’t let her be scared.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I needed to pick up my dog and go home. Clean up a little.”
His eyes dropped to the dress she wore. He’d seen it before. The first night he’d met her, at Mia’s rehearsal dinner. The night they’d sat and talked about everything under the sun until the small hours of the morning. He had to wonder if she’d chosen the dress on purpose, or if it was simply a favorite.
Blue like her eyes, it was made of something diaphanous that gave him teasing glimpses of her curves as the fabric rippled in the breeze. She’d left her hair down, as he liked it best. He wanted badly to touch, but his hands were filthy, so he kept them where they were, clutching his rod and reel for dear life.
He looked at his own clothes ruefully. “I was. Cleaned up, that is. Sorry.”
“It’s my fault. I should have called. Time got away from me. It sometimes does that.”
He stared another long moment, wondering how to ask the question that had burdened him for two and a half years. Why did you leave? What did I do? “I’ve hooked a fish. Hook’s set hard in his mouth. If I cut the line…”
“He’ll suffer. So reel him in. It’s nice out here, with the lake. Who lives here?”
He reeled, impatiently now. He wanted to wash his hands so that he could touch her. “A friend who’s staying in my apartment building. The one I’m rehabbing.”
“I didn’t know you’d opened it for tenants already.”
“I didn’t plan to. They just needed a place to stay. Now I’m half full.”
Something moved in her eyes and he wished he could interpret it. “That was kind.”
“So is your work with runaways. That night in Chicago, you said you wanted to do something, to give kids like your sister a chance before they ruined their lives. Lots of people talk about making a difference, Olivia. You do. You’re there at the teen shelter almost every weekend.” Even at the height of her work with the victims in the pit, she’d kept her commitment. That had profoundly impressed David.
Her eyes widened. “Wait a minute. How do you know what I do in my spare time?”
“I’ve… paid attention. Since I’ve been here.”
Now her eyes narrowed. “You’ve been watching me?”
He focused on reeling. Yes. “Kind of.”
“Kind of? What the hell kind of answer is that?” Her hand was plunked on her hip. Her very curvy hip. Her blue eyes flashed dangerously.
“Not a terribly good one, I’m afraid,” he said.
She pursed her lips, fixing her gaze on his fishing line. “Do you have a better one?”
“I think so, but it’s hard to concentrate right now.”
She huffed. “So hurry up. What are you going to do with it anyway?”
He assumed she meant the fish. “Depends. Do you like fresh fish?”
“Depends. Who’s cleaning it?”
His mouth quirked up at her disgruntled tone. “Me.”
“Then I like fish. I couldn’t help but notice the table you’d set. Is the fish for dinner?”
He’d stopped by the home store for a tablecloth, candlesticks, and some plain white china. Nothing fancy, but better than Glenn’s chipped plates. He’d turned Glenn’s gouged-wood table into something halfway presentable, in case things went well.
“Depends. I’ve got steaks marinating. I didn’t know if you’d have had a chance to eat.”
Some of the starch seemed to leave her sails. “I don’t really do steaks. But the fish sounds wonderful and I didn’t have dinner. So thank you.”
He had the fish now, lowering the rod and reeling fast. “Did the father ID the girl?”
“Yes. Her name was Tracey Mullen. We have no idea why she was in that condo, but it looks like she played mom against dad. Each thought she was with the other.”
“Divorced then?”
“Yeah. Mom comes tomorrow. Not gonna be fun. I gave the dad your message.” She hesitated. “Told him you’d risked your life to save her. He thanked you.”
“I’ve been thinking about him, all afternoon. Thinking of you, having to tell him.” The fish was close now. “Back up. This boy’s coming out.” She skittered back and he gave a final pull, landing the walleye on the dock where the fish slapped around frantically. “Big one.” He looked up, saw her face droop. “Should I throw him back?”
“Would I seem silly if I said yes?”
He met her eyes. “No,” he said gently and she relaxed. “This boy’s lived a long time. Seems a shame to end his roll.” Pulling on gloves, he took the hook from the fish’s mouth and put him back into the water, holding on until the fish gathered enough strength to swim away on his own. “I catch and release most of the time anyway. Only so many fish one man can eat. Let’s go inside. I’ll clean up and then we can talk.”
“And I’ll get better answers?”
“Yes.” And he hoped he got answers, too. Ones he could live with.
Monday, September 20, 8:45 p.m.
Barney Tomlinson sat at his desk in his office at the back of his warehouse, blearily staring at the P&L statement on his computer screen. Blindly he reached for the glass on his desk and, finding it empty, reached for the bottle he kept in his drawer.
It was empty, too. With a throttled oath, he chucked the bottle across the room where it bounced harmlessly against the wall. Cheap liquor in plastic bottles.
That’s what his life had come to. Cheap liquor, and no more of that. I’m ruined.
His wife had put a hold on their funds. Some fancy lawyer was going to become rich… on my money. He dropped his head to his hands. “My goddamn money.”
I hope the little whore was worth half your money, his bitch of a wife had sneered. She’d probably get what she was asking. Half of his money. His own lawyer didn’t seem hopeful. When there were pictures involved…
Those damn pictures. He’d sent them. That damn blackmailer. Who ruined my life. He peeked between his fingers to look at the pictures her lawyer had given h
is lawyer. Barney remembered that night. The sex had been good. Not great, but good. More than anything, Shondra had listened to him. Made him feel… important. Young.
Now that his money was gone, Shondra was gone, too. His bitch of a wife had gotten a good chuckle out of that. He wished she were dead. Shondra and his bitch of a wife. He’d thought it through, looked at all the angles, but every way he looked at it, he’d be the first suspect. At least when the dust cleared, he’d have half of whatever was left.
“Excuse me.”
Barney looked up, brows crunched. A man stood in his doorway, hands in his pockets. He looked familiar, but Barney couldn’t place him.
“We don’t allow soliciting here,” Barney said. “You’ll have to leave.” He started to stand, then sank back into his chair when the man casually pulled a very large gun from his pocket. He was wearing black gloves. Barney’s heart began to beat like all hell. His eyes darted around, finding the phone at the edge of his desk. Too far away to grab.
No one was here. His employees had gone home. Nobody would hear him scream.
“W-we don’t keep cash here,” Barney stammered. “B-but I have a watch.” He started to take it off but the man lifted his gun higher.
“I don’t want your watch, Barney,” the man said mildly. He rounded the desk, shoving the gun’s barrel against the back of Barney’s head.
“Who are you?” Barney demanded, then he knew. “You. You took those pictures. You fucking black- mailed me.”
“Well, technically it was only attempted blackmail. You never paid me, after all.”
“What do you want? I have no more money. You ruined me.”
“No, Barney. You ruined you. You stick your cock in places it ought not go, you gotta accept the consequences.” The man actually sounded amused. “Buh-bye.”
Buh-bye. He’d heard it before. Now he knew who this guy was. “You’re—”
He stepped back from Tomlinson’s body, now face-first on the desk. What was left of his face, anyway. He searched Barney’s pocket, finding keys, his BlackBerry, and the disposable cell he’d provided. Pocketing the keys and BlackBerry, he walked around the desk, careful not to step in any of Barney’s brains. Pausing at the door, he snapped a picture with the disposable cell, then checked to be sure he’d gotten a good one.