She memorized the address and put the envelopes back, her attention moving on to the collection of tiny angel statues she had spotted the first time she'd come into the office. They sat scattered atop the shelving unit on the desk. Each was different: glass, brass, silver, pewter, painted. None was more than an inch high. Angie singled out the one made of painted pottery. She had black hair and dots of turquoise on her dress. Gold edged her wings and circled her head in a halo.
Angie held the statue close and stared at its round face with black dots for eyes and a crooked little smile. She looked happy and innocent, simple and sweet.
Everything you're not, Angel.
Knowing better than to acknowledge the deep sadness that yawned inside her heart, Angie turned away from the desk, slipping the angel into her coat pocket just as the doorknob rattled. An instant later Kate came into the room.
“Where the hell have you been?” Angie demanded.
Kate looked at her, checking the instant retort before it could get to her tongue. “Damage control” was the most diplomatic thing she could say. “Sorry it took so long.”
Instantly Angie's bravado faded. “I did the best I could!”
Kate doubted that was the truth, but there was nothing to gain in saying so. What she needed to do was figure out how to get the whole story out of this kid. She dropped into her chair, unlocked the desk, and took a bottle of Aleve out of the pencil drawer. She shook out two, downed them with cold coffee and a grimace, then paused to consider the possibility that her charming charge might poison her.
“Don't worry about the sketch,” she said, rubbing at the tension in the back of her neck. The tendons stood out like steel rods. She swept her gaze discreetly across the desk. An automatic check that was second nature after she'd left a client alone in her office. One of her angels was missing.
Angie settled uneasily on the visitor's chair, leaning her arm on the desk. “What's going to happen?”
“Nothing. Sabin is frustrated. He needs something big and he was hoping you'd be it. He talked about cutting you loose, but I talked him out of it. For now. If he decides you're a scam artist just trying to collect reward money, he'll cut you loose and I won't be able to help you. If you go to a tabloid and try to give them something more than what you've given the cops, Sabin will throw your ass in jail, and no one will be able to help you.
“You're between a rock and a hard place here, Angie. And I know your first instinct is to pull everything inside you and shut the rest of the world out, but you have to remember one thing: That secret you're holding, you share it with one other person—and he'll kill you for it.”
“I don't need you scaring me.”
“God, I hope not. The man you saw tortures women, kills them, and sets their bodies on fire. I hope that scares you more than anything I could say.”
“You don't know what scared is,” Angie accused, her voice bitter with memories. She sprang up out of the chair and began to pace, chewing hard on a thumbnail.
“Then tell me. Tell me something, Angie. Anything I can toss Sabin and the cops to back them off. What were you doing in the park that night?”
“I told you.”
“You were cutting through. From where? From what? If you'd been with someone, don't you realize he might have seen this guy too? He might have caught a glimpse of a car. He could, at the very least, confirm your side of things and at the most he could help us catch this monster.”
“What do you think?” Angie demanded. “You think I'm a whore? You think I was there fucking some john for pocket money? I told you what I was doing there. So that means you think I'm a whore and a liar. Fuck you.”
She was out the door that fast, with Kate right behind her.
“Hey! Don't give me that bullshit,” Kate ordered, catching hold of the girl's arm, the thinness of it almost startling her.
Angie's expression held as much surprise as anger. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. This wasn't how the umpteen social workers she'd seen in her young life would have reacted.
“What?” Kate demanded. “You thought I'd go contrite and apologize? ‘Oh, gee, I offended Angie! She must never have done anything bad to stay alive on the streets!'” She feigned wide-eyed shock, one hand on her cheek, then dropped the act in a heartbeat. “You think I just rode in on the turnip wagon? I know what goes on in the big bad world, Angie. I know what women with no homes and no jobs are forced to do to survive.
“Yes, frankly, I do think you were in that park fucking some john for pocket money. And I know damn well you're a liar. You're a thief too. What I'm telling you is this: I don't care. I'm not judging you. I can't do anything about what happened to you before you came into my life, Angie. I can only help you with what's happening now and with what's going to happen. You're drowning in this thing and I want to help you. Can you get that through your thick head and quit fighting me?”
The silence was absolute for a second as they stood there in the hall of legal services, staring at each other—one angry, one wary. Then a phone rang in someone's office, and Kate became aware of Rob Marshall looking out his door down the hall. She kept her attention on Angie, and prayed to God Rob would keep his nose out of it. The bleakness in the girl's eyes was enough to break Kate's heart.
“Why would you care what happens to me?” Angie asked quietly.
“Because no one else does,” Kate said simply.
Tears rose in the girl's dark blue eyes. The truth of what Kate had said was right there. No one had ever cared a damn about Angie DiMarco, and she didn't dare trust that someone would start now.
“All I have to gain is a congratulatory pat on the ass from Ted Sabin,” Kate said, pulling a scrap of humor up through the thicker emotions. “Believe me, that's not my motivation.”
Angie stared at her for another moment, weighing options, the weight of those options pressing down hard on her. A single tear rolled down her cheek. She drew a shallow, shaky breath.
“I don't like doing it,” she whispered in a child's voice, her lower lip trembling.
Slowly and carefully, Kate put an arm around Angie's shoulders and drew the girl to her, the need to give comfort so strong, it frightened her. Someone had brought this child into the world, not wanting her for any reason other than to punish her for their mistakes. The injustice burned in Kate's chest. This is why I don't do kids, she thought. They make me feel too much.
The girl's body shuddered as she let go a fraction more of the emotion that was threatening to crush her. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'm so sorry.”
“I know, kiddo,” Kate murmured thickly as she patted Angie's back. “I'm sorry too. Let's go sit down and talk about it. These damn heels. My feet are killing me.”
16
CHAPTER
“YOU CAN'T BELIEVE some of the stuff coming in over the hotline,” Gary Yurek said, carrying a thick file and a pad of paper to the table in the Loving Touch of Death war room. “They actually had a woman call in to say she thinks her neighbor is the Cremator because her dog doesn't like him!”
“What kind of dog?” Tippen called.
“American scumbag spaniel,” Elwood said, pulling out a chair. “A hearty, cheerful breed known for digging up corpses and cavorting merrily with cadaver parts.”