 |
||||
|
||||
|
||||
| ................................... |
“So,
you accepted Chief Quaid’s offer to consult on the homicide
of a city councilman’s wife?” Paige’s boss asked.
“A
councilman who announced his run for governor only hours before
she disappeared.” Shoulder-cradling her cell phone, Paige
tilted back in the swivel chair at Nate McCall’s desk on
which file folders and stacks of paper pooled. It was nearly six
o’clock. Oklahoma City PD Homicide’s squad room was
staffed by the lone detective who’d told her McCall was meeting
with their captain and to wait at his desk. She knew the reason
for the meeting, and felt certain McCall would not emerge a happy
camper. Not her fault, Paige thought, turning her attention back
to the phone call.
“Yes, Holden, I accepted the offer. I hope you approve.”
“As of tomorrow, you’re officially on vacation.”
Despite her boss’s American heritage, he spoke with a faintly
British accent, courtesy of his diplomatic corps father's overseas
service. “That is, if you call making yourself a target for
an escaped killer a vacation. Speaking of Doctor Isaac, have there
been additional suspicious events?”
“Not since yesterday when my billfold and the assignments
sheets from my workshop attendees were stolen.”
“Since
you’re determined to stay in Oklahoma City to flush Isaac
out, I feel easier knowing you’re working with the police.
In this case, there truly is safety in numbers.”
Paige
was suddenly aware of the clip of footfalls along the hallway.
She glanced up just as McCall stepped through the doorway. His
eyes narrowed when he spotted her.
The
lone detective manning the squad room looked up. “Hey, Nate,
you got a call--”
“Later,” McCall said without breaking stride. He stopped
inches from Paige’s chair and leaned in. “Follow me.”
Without waiting for her to respond, he turned and strode toward
a door on the opposite side of the room.
“In this case,” she murmured into the phone, “I’m
not sure there is safety in numbers.”
“Come
again?”
“I’ll explain later, Holden,” she said, watching
McCall shoulder open the door and step out of sight. “My
new partner appears anxious to get started on our joint consultation.”
“Paige, don’t take chances where Isaac is concerned.
The man is deadly.”
“I know that all too well.”
The
phone call ended, Paige stood. “Might as well get this over
with,” she muttered, winding her way through rows of battered
metal desks.
Palming
open the door, she stepped into a small, dimly lit file room.
The smell of aging paper hung in the cool air. A table with cigarette
burns marching around its edges sat in the room’s center.
Battleship-gray file cabinets lined the dingy walls.
McCall
stood at the far side of the room, one shoulder propped against
a file cabinet, his arms crossed over his chest. He had his suit
jacket off, shirt collar unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, and tie
askew. His eyes were hard black ice.
“You
want to tell me exactly how you arranged this, Carmichael?”
She
rested a hip against the table. “Arranged what?”
“Did I tick you off that bad when I reminded you you’re
no longer a cop? Is that why you went to Chief Quaid and got him
to agree to let you consult on my case?”
“I
didn’t like your reminding me of something I need no reminder
of,” she said. “Even so, I didn’t approach your
chief. He approached me.”
“How’d
you convince him to pull you in on my investigation?”
“I
didn’t. Quaid asked if I was interested in consulting on
a high-profile homicide case. I outlined the terms under which
I perform consultations. He agreed to them. I didn’t hear
specifics on what case he intended me to consult on until after
that. When he mentioned ‘frozen body’ I realized the
case is yours.”
“Sure
thing.”
The
disbelief in McCall’s voice stirred her temper. Still, she
knew how maddening it was to work a homicide while the brass jerked
the reins and issued orders. And how she’d resented so-called
experts being crammed down her throat.
“Look,
McCall, Quaid brought me to Oklahoma City to teach statement analysis,”
she began, trying for a reasonable tone. “Yesterday he sat
in on my workshop and apparently liked what he heard. OCPD happens
to have a red ball homicide,” she continued, using cop lingo
for the murder of a prominent official or celebrity. “It’s
Quaid’s opinion that using statement analysis to help in
the investigation might help close the case faster.”
“Then
there’s those of us who find it hard to believe you can figure
out what’s going on in some illiterate lowlife’s brain
by reading a couple of sentences he manages to scribble.”
McCall’s dark brows drew together. “Is that why you
wormed your way in on my case, Carmichael? Because you know I
don’t totally buy what you’re selling?”
“Right,”
she snapped. “I was just blowing smoke when I told you I’m
staying here because I’ve got this huge desire to find the
escaped psychiatrist who wants to kill me. The truth is, I gave
up two weeks in a villa overlooking the Sea of Cortez just so
I can prove to you the merits of statement analysis. In fact,
I came up with my brilliant scheme the first day of my workshop
when you leered at my legs. Even then, I knew somewhere in this
city there was a murdered frozen socialite whose husband is running
for governor. And that you would snag the case, and your chief
would hire me to consult on it.” She thrust her arms out
toward him. “Slap on the cuffs, Sergeant McCall, you have
found me out.”
A
muscle in his jaw ticked. Once. Twice. “You’ve got a
real attitude problem, Carmichael.”
“And
you’re suffering from one hell of a bad case of sour grapes,
McCall.”
He
pressed his lips together and stared at her. Her arms still extended
in the “cuff me” position, she returned his stare, measure
for measure.
“Hell,”
he said after a moment as he straightened from the file cabinet.
“Dammit, this is the last thing I need.”
Paige
let her arms drop. She knew most homicide cops preferred to exhaust
all the traditional methods to solve a case before resorting to
psychics or unknown quantities.
To
McCall, she and statement analysis were unknown quantities.
“I
know how it feels to have the brass stepping all over a homicide
case,” she said quietly. “I didn’t like it when
it happened to me. But I learned to deal with it by reminding
myself I had victims who couldn’t speak for themselves and
it was up to me to do that for them. I learned to ignore all the
politics and histrionics and just keep digging and prodding and
turning over rocks until I found the truth.” She took a step
toward him. “I’ve seen enough of how you work to know
you’re the same kind of cop, McCall. You care first and foremost
about the victim.”
He
moved toward her, pausing inches away, his dark eyes unfathomable.
She
stared at him while a knot of nerves she didn’t want to acknowledge
clenched in her belly. “What?”
“You working me, Carmichael? Saying things you know any homicide
cop worth his salt wants to hear just so I’ll get over being
ticked that the chief dumped you in my lap?”
“I’m
saying what I sense is the truth. The other night you told me
your partner is on maternity leave. That means you’ve probably
got other detectives helping you out when they can spare time
from their own cases.”
“I
did have that until the chief slapped a lid on this case. As of
now, everything about the Gillette case is limited to the chief,
my captain, me and my partner.”
“Well,
McCall, it’s fortunate you’ve got me full-time. And
I don’t intend to try to tell you what to do. It’s your
case. What I can do is sit in on interviews and analyze statements.
Alert you to sensitive areas about which a person should be questioned.
Bottom line is, we need to do the best job we can for that woman
who had her lights dimmed then got stuffed in a freezer.”
“Yeah.”
Watching him shove a hand through his hair, Paige could almost
feel the tension between them fade. “Then there’s the
other case I recently took on,” he said.
“Mine.”
“Yours.
You’ll recall we planned to get together this evening after
I read the reports on Isaac that your former partner e-mailed
me?”
“I
remember.”
“I
can see one benefit to your consulting on the Gillette homicide.”
She
gave him a brilliant smile. “Just one?”
He
smirked. And, dammit, she had to admit McCall had a great smirk.
“With you in close proximity, I won’t have to worry
about you going off on one of those investigative tangents I warned
you about.”
With
Oklahoma City unfamiliar territory, she had planned to do some
reconnoitering tonight after she and McCall met. And make a stop
that might eventually give her a clue to Isaac’s whereabouts.
Although she’d intended to invite McCall to go along, instinct
told her now was not the most opportune time to bring that up.
“I
remember telling you I don’t go off on tangents.”
“Good,
because in addition to the reports your ex-partner e-mailed, he
sent photos of the dead hookers. I saw Isaac’s work for myself.
Your killer shrink is beyond perverted. With the hookers, he was
just getting back at his dear old step-mom. You’re different.
You locked him in a cage. Isaac no doubt perceives you destroyed
his life, which means he’s got a real hard-on for you.”
McCall dipped his head, his voice going as soft as a lover whispering
endearments. “I don’t want to think about what he’d
do if he got his hands on you.”
“I
don’t intend on giving him the opportunity.”
“Nice
to know. Now let’s get to work,” he said levelly and
swept a hand toward the door while giving her a pointed look.
“After you.”
Paige
glanced at the door, then looked back at McCall. She didn’t
for one second interpret the gesture as an attempt on his part
to be polite. In the world of law enforcement, prisoners walked
in front; guards followed. The person in the back was the one
calling the shots. Nobody forgot that. Ever. McCall might concede
to working with her, but he wanted her to know who was in charge.
What
the hell, she thought. He had done more than a few favors for
her and both cases were ultimately his. He deserved to win the
point.
She
turned and moved to the door. Her hand was on the knob when McCall
said, “By the way, around here we don’t call the homicide
of someone high on the food chain a ‘red ball.’”
She
looked across her shoulder. “What term do you OCPD guys use?”
“We
call them ‘holy shit’ cases. So far, that describes
this one to a T.” |
................................... | ||
