‘Yes. I mentioned it when she and I were examining the debris in my bedroom.’
‘Stingray?’ Stevie’s eyes narrowed.
‘I told you about it. It detects any cell phones that aren’t mine and activates the alarm.’
‘You didn’t tell me it was a stingray. That’s the same gadget that had the Feds’ panties in such a twist last year when they got caught using it in a tax fraud sting, right?’
‘More like the ACLU’s panties twisted,’ Joseph grumbled. ‘The Bureau had a warrant.’
On another day Clay might have smiled at Joseph’s irritation. ‘It’s the same technology,’ he told Stevie, ‘but I’m not listening to conversations or tracking individual cellular devices.’
‘But you can,’ she pressed. ‘You said you could on the drive to your house.’
‘I said I might. It depends on if the person’s phone pings while he’s in the vicinity of my device. Things One and Two weren’t there that long. One was there about seven minutes and Two was there only five minutes. Their phones may not have sent any signals during that time.’
‘Brodie took it back with her to the lab,’ Joseph said. ‘One of the IT guys is working on it.’
‘I gave her the access code. If she has any trouble, have her call me.’
‘What will it give us?’ Stevie persisted. ‘Cell phone numbers?’
‘Yes,’ Clay said, ‘but only if their—’
‘Phones pinged,’ she said, waving her hand. ‘Yeah, yeah. I get that. What else? Location?’
‘Not location. My system is passive – it only receives information that’s released around it.’
‘But the FBI used it to locate a suspect a year or so ago. I remember the hubbub afterward.’
Clay glanced at Joseph. The Fed was rolling his eyes. ‘Damn judges,’ Joseph muttered.
‘The Feds got into hot water,’ Clay explained, ‘because they had their suspect’s wireless carrier alter the guy’s Internet card on the phone company’s end. The Feds pinged the phone with their stingrays and were able to triangulate the wireless card’s location when the card pinged back. That’s how they caught him. They got a court order for the wireless carrier’s involvement, but they went a little light on the info they gave the judge who signed it. He didn’t know the capabilities of the FBI’s system. They went hunting. I’m just gathering.’
Her lips twitched minutely, then stilled. ‘How long before we know if they got pinged?’
‘As soon as Brodie runs the report,’ Clay said.
‘What are you looking to find?’ Joseph asked her.
‘You have Rossi’s phone, Culp’s, and now Skinner’s cell phone. You’ll get cell numbers picked up by Clay’s stingray. We can get LUDs on all the numbers, and see if any of the cops called the shooters or if any of the shooters called each other. I’ve assumed that Restaurant, Drive-by, Backpack, and Cocksucker are connected. If they called each other we’ll know for sure.’
Joseph coughed, covering a laugh. ‘Stevie.’
‘Hey, he named them Backpack and Cocksucker. I was calling them Things One and Two.’
Joseph shook his head. ‘I guess we gotta laugh.’ He tossed a set of keys to Clay. ‘Grayson’s Escalade is parked out front. I’ll take mine in to be repaired ASAP. After this, I’m out of bullet-resistant vehicles, so don’t get shot up in this one, okay?’
‘We’ll do our best,’ Clay said wryly, but his brows bunched in frustration. ‘Although they seem to be anticipating our movements damn well.’
‘How did the shooter know you’d go to Culp’s house?’ Joseph asked.
Stevie shrugged. ‘Clay and I worked through this. Assuming the guy who drove away from Culp’s neighborhood in a Tahoe after shooting at us was the same guy who killed those two cops, he hadn’t been at Culp’s the whole time, waiting for someone to show up. He came back to Culp’s, either because someone told him we’d be there or because he followed us. My money’s on the second one.’
She didn’t want to believe Hyatt was dirty, Clay understood. But he’d promised to keep her safe, so he’d make sure the possibility of Hyatt’s involvement didn’t get brushed under the rug.
‘Who could have told him?’ Joseph asked. ‘Who knew you were going there?’
‘Only Hyatt,’ Clay said. ‘Other people knew we were interested in Culp, but Hyatt’s the only one who knew we were going there at that moment.’
‘If someone knew you were interested,’ Joseph said rationally, ‘it wouldn’t be a huge leap to predict you’d wind up there at some point. Who knew Culp was a suspect?’
‘JD,’ Stevie said. ‘Hyatt, and Detective Bashears, who took over watching Culp’s house when JD went to the hospital to question Rossi. Hyatt told Grayson’s boss, ASA Yates, who then informed the lieutenant from the State Police. She told her team.’
‘You forgot about Kersey and his wife down in Arizona,’ Clay said. ‘I know you don’t want to think he’s dirty, but we have to put his name in the pot.’
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘But I think it’s more likely that Tahoe tailed us from your house. If he and his friend broke into your house to lure me into the open, that would make sense.’
Clay shook his head. ‘I buy that was the first guy’s motivation, but based on the way he ran up to check after the Tahoe drove away, I don’t think he knew the second guy was coming.’
‘I agree,’ she said. ‘So the first guy was waiting for me to appear—’
‘Or for Clay to appear,’ Joseph said, ‘anticipating following him to you.’
She nodded. ‘Also agreed. But the first guy got spooked when he saw the two dead cops and took off. If the second guy did follow us to Culp’s, he either left and came back to Clay’s, or never left and just hid from all the law enforcement. I don’t think he followed Hyatt.’
‘It wouldn’t make sense for him to do so, if he was waiting for you and Clay,’ Joseph said. ‘Which means he followed you the whole way. Even when you stopped at CVS.’
Clay frowned. ‘How did you know we stopped?’
Joseph shrugged. ‘I found the drugstore bag in my Escalade and checked the receipt before I entered it all into evidence. I had to take your gym bag, too.’ The look he gave Clay was apologetic. ‘So I stopped by another CVS on my way here and bought you new stuff. It’s in Grayson’s Escalade.’
Clay felt his cheeks heat, knowing Joseph had found the condoms he’d bought when the Fed checked Clay’s gym bag. But this wasn’t the time for personal embarrassment.
Stevie had looked up, her cheeks pale but her eyes grimly steady. ‘He waited while you went into the store, Clay. He could’ve shot me then. Joseph, can you look at the store’s security tapes? See if the Tahoe was nearby?’
Joseph took out his phone and sent a text. ‘I put one of my team on it. I’ll let you—’
Abruptly the ER went quiet. The sniper from the State Police had been taken up to surgery minutes before and the remaining activity had been clustered around Skinner, but now the medical staff turned from Skinner’s stretcher, shoulders sagging, feet dragging.
Clay’s heart skipped a beat. Oh no. Oh God, no.
‘Damn,’ Stevie whispered. ‘Just . . . damn.’
Joseph bowed his head wearily. ‘I need to go. You two, just stay alive. Please.’
From the corner of his eye, Clay saw Joseph walk away, but his gaze was fixed on the body on the other side of the ER.
‘Clay?’ Stevie murmured.
He didn’t look at her. ‘He was a husband and a father. And a good cop until he got shot two years ago. Now he’s dead. How can I not feel responsible, Stevie?’
She tugged at his arm. When he didn’t move, she put her hip into the effort, surprising him enough so that she was able to turn him around, so that he faced her and not the dead cop’s body. She reached up, cupped his face in her hands, and pulled until he looked down and met her eyes.
‘He was a junkie, Clay, and that had nothing to do with you. He made that
choice. He might have been a good husband and father once, but he ceased to be when the drugs became more important than his family. And he stopped being a good cop the instant he told Rossi where to find me and Cordelia. If you hadn’t hidden us . . . If we’d actually been in that safe house, we’d be dead. If that made Skinner feel guilty enough to take his own life, then so be it. Call me harsh and unfeeling, but I’m not going to cry a single tear for him.’
Clay’s jaw hardened even as he drank in the feel of her hands on his face. ‘You’re absolutely right.’ Skinner wasn’t the victim here. He’d willfully disclosed the ‘safe’ location of a fellow police officer. Another human being. And a child. ‘I didn’t think.’
Her eyes softened. ‘You’re tired. So am I. It’s been an intense two days for both of us. Let’s go rest. Recharge for a few hours. Then we’ll figure out what to do next.’
He leaned closer, resting his forehead against hers, and she didn’t back away. ‘Okay.’
Chapter Seventeen
Baltimore, Maryland, Sunday, March 16, 6.15 P.M.
Sam Hudson hated the morgue on a good day. This was not a good day – for him, for the department, or for the MEs. Especially not for the cops lying inside with tags on their toes.
He’d been aware that cops had been shot. It was all over the news, but he’d been in a fog all day. The deaths of his fellow cops hadn’t seemed real, but that changed the moment he stepped into the morgue. There was a level of tension he hadn’t felt on any of his prior visits.
He stopped at the front desk, manned by a security guard. ‘I’m Officer Hudson,’ he said, showing his badge as he was dressed in street clothes. ‘Can I speak with Dr Trask?’
The guard looked mildly surprised. ‘She’s on maternity leave. Won’t be back ’til next year.’
Sam frowned. ‘I knew she’d gone out, but I thought maternity leave was only eight weeks.’
‘She’s taking unpaid leave so she can be home with the baby until his first birthday. She’s brought him in a time or two.’ The guard smiled. ‘He’s a cute one.’
‘I’m sure he is,’ Sam said, trying to sound . . . normal. ‘Is Dr Mulhauser here, then?’
‘He’s retired. New chief’s named Quartermaine. He’s in the back with all the assistant MEs.’ The smile faded to a sad kind of fury. ‘They’re all doing exams. We got a full house.’
‘I heard,’ Sam murmured. ‘I need to pull an autopsy report. It’s really important. Is there anyone here who can help me?’
‘I’m sorry, but the person who pulls reports has gone home for the evening. If you leave the information, someone can pull it for you when the hubbub goes down.’
‘I can help him.’
Sam turned to find a dark-haired, very curvy Latina beauty in her late twenties walking down the hall from the back. She was zipping her jacket, a gym bag slung over one shoulder.
The security guard’s smile returned. ‘Ruby, you’re off the clock aren’t you?’
‘Yeah. And it’s about time,’ she said with grim relief. ‘This has been one of the longest days we’ve had in months. What can I do for you, sir?’
‘This is Officer Hudson,’ the guard said.
‘It’s okay,’ Sam said quietly. ‘You’ve put in a full day. I can wait.’
He didn’t mind waiting. He’d waited for over an hour in the parking lot outside, trying to convince himself to come in. He could wait a little longer to read what was sure to be very bad.
‘I’ve retrieved the bodies of four cops today,’ she said, ‘and I feel like shit. Helping a live cop will make me feel better. Come with me.’ She led him back to one of the offices, pointed to a chair while she dropped into the one behind the desk. ‘ID number?’
Sam slid his badge across the desk. ‘My ID.’
She studied it for a moment. ‘Who do you need to look up, Sam?’
‘I don’t have a name. He’s a John Doe. But I have the police report number.’
‘That’ll work.’ She typed like a pro, her long, red nails flying over the keys. She was going to give him the report. It would tell him the truth.
Sam didn’t want to think about the truth. Knowing the truth was coming was making him sick to his stomach. He focused on her red nails instead. ‘May I ask you a question?’ he said.
‘Unless it’s my weight, knock yourself out.’
A small smile tugged at his lips. ‘How do you handle the bodies with those long nails?’
She paused, wiggling her fingertips as she admired her hand. ‘They’re fake. Press-ons. I put them on when I leave, take them off when I come in.’ She sobered, still staring at the nails that had little rhinestones imbedded randomly, making them sparkle. ‘I guess it’s my way of distancing myself from what I’ve seen during the day.’
‘And maybe keeps people from asking you about it once you’ve left here.’
She nodded. ‘Exactly. People can be weird about those of us who work here.’ She hit another key on the keyboard with a flourish, then reached for the printer. ‘Here it is.’ She read the page she’d printed. ‘Not much here. If you have any questions, call tomorrow. We’ve got five cops back there – one from last night and the four we brought in today. Plus two civilians from that restaurant sniper yesterday afternoon. Nobody’s in a chatty mood.’
‘You are,’ he said quietly.
She looked a little ashamed. ‘I guess I am.’
‘I didn’t mean anything bad. It’s how you cope.’
She shrugged. ‘Maybe. This exam was done by Dr Fremont. He retired about three years ago. He’s still local and loves to help out. Keeps him off the street and out of the bingo parlors.’ She handed him the report. ‘Hope this helps your case.’
‘It will, thank you.’
‘Why did you want to look it up?’ she asked.
‘The gun that killed this man was recently found. I just wanted to see what was what.’
She nodded. ‘Well, you got what you came for.’ She turned off the computer and gathered her bag. ‘I’ll walk you out.’
She was quiet until they came to where they’d go their separate ways. ‘Who is this John Doe to you?’ she asked. ‘He means something to you. I can tell.’
‘I’m not sure,’ he answered truthfully. ‘Thanks.’ He got in his car, waited for her to get into hers. When she drove away, he went the other direction, stopping at a Starbucks. He went in for a cup, just to take off the chill. Because he was colder than he’d been in a very long time.
Once he’d added cream and sugar and done everything possible to put off the inevitable, he sat down to read. Part of it he knew. Mid-forties, Caucasian. Bullet hole to the back of the head. Time of death estimated at mid-March, eight years before.
The timing was right, dammit. He’d hoped it wouldn’t be. He’d hoped the death had occurred in January or April or even the previous Halloween. Any time that was not mid-March. But it was. Still, just the timing was right didn’t mean it was his father.
So how’s the weather in Egypt? With contempt for his near desperate denial, he searched the text for unique features, tattoos, anything to tell him that this man was not his father.
Shit. The victim was missing his appendix. So was his father. But then, so were millions of people. Doesn’t mean a thing. The victim’s femur had evidence of a very bad break that had probably occurred when he was a child.
Sam’s father had taken a bad fall sledding as a boy. He’d walked with a limp until the day he disappeared. Same leg. Just a coincidence.
There were autopsy photos attached. He didn’t want to look. Didn’t think he could.
Knew he had to.
Steeling his spine, he flipped the page. And forgot to breathe. The first photo was a close-up of the victim’s forearm. It was the remnant of a tattoo. Suddenly Sam was ten years old, cowering on the floor as that forearm came down, the leather belt the man gripped cutting into his skin. The tattoo was a bald eagle, one wing the stars, the other the stripes on the flag.
&
nbsp; He’d focus on that eagle whenever his father would bring out the belt. He focused on it now. Only about a third of the tat remained – the eagle’s head, a little of the stars, a little more of the stripes.
John Hudson was dead. I killed him. I killed my father.
Slowly Sam rose, pushed his chair under the table, threw his untouched coffee in the trash. He folded the report, slid it into his coat pocket, got into his car and drove about five blocks.
Then he pulled into the deserted parking lot of a high school, staggered from his car, and fell to his knees, throwing his guts up.
I killed him. I killed my father. How could he tell his mother? He couldn’t. It would kill her.
I’m finished. I’m done. No more police department. I’m going to prison.
The retching finally eased and he hung there on his hands and knees, drawing deep, shuddering breaths.
‘Do you know now?’
He was surprised to hear the woman’s voice behind him. He recognized it right away. It was the Latina ME tech who’d pulled the report.
A tissue appeared in front of his face, held by long red nails.
He remembered that her name was Ruby. He took the tissue, wiped his mouth. ‘What?’
‘You didn’t know who the victim was when I gave you the report. Do you know now?’
‘What are you doing here? Did you follow me?’
‘I did. My date canceled.’
‘So you followed me? Please. Just leave me alone. Go home.’
‘I considered that, but I have a sink full of dirty dishes and four-day-old pizza in the fridge. I didn’t want to go home. Plus, you looked green around the gills when you left the morgue.’ She sighed, her voice going from light to very serious. ‘I was worried about you, Sam.’
‘Thank you. Truly, I . . . appreciate it. But I really need to be alone right now.’
‘Why? Because you just threw up? Honey, I pick up dead people for a living. I have seen a helluva lot worse, trust me.’
Unbelievably, a chuckle rose in his throat. ‘Your date canceled on you, really?’