"Sorry-keep forgetting about the time difference. It's pretty late there, right?"
"Yeah, but never mind, I'm up now." Her voice sounded less grumpy and more alert, so he figured she hadn't missed the burr of excitement in his. "So, give. You wouldn't be calling this late if you hadn't found something."
"Uh, is Cory around? He ought to be the first one to hear this."
"He's on assignment. He'll be checking in, though, so tell me. And, Holt?"
"Yeah."
"If you don't spill it to me this minute, I swear I will send a very large, very muscular-"
"Okay, okay. I've found something, all right. Not some-thing, actually-someone." He paused, surprised to find a constriction in his throat. Damn, but this case had gotten personal. Too personal. He coughed and said, "It's…Wade. I've found Wade."
There was silence, then a rustling sound, as if his listener had sat down rather abruptly. The voice, barely audible, said, "You…found him? You're sure? Honest to-"
"Swear to God." Holt couldn't hold back elated laughter. "His name's Callahan, and he's a cop-yeah, just like Dirty Harry. A homicide detective in Portland, Oregon."
"Have you talked to him? Does he…"
"No. I've been watching him for a couple days-just wanted to be sure before I called you guys. I figured Cory should be the one to…you know, break the news."
"Yeah." There was a long exhalation, then a whispered, "My God, I can't believe you found him. It's been so long-I was beginning to think-"
"Yeah." said Holt, "me, too. But this is bound to lead to the others. Wade and the other boy-"
"Matthew."
"Right. They were adopted by the same couple. I figure he's got to know where his brother is."
"Oh, Holt-this is beyond great. It's…it's… Oh, man, I can't wait to tell Cory. We're going to find them all. I just know it." Holt wasn't sure, but he thought he heard a break in Sam's voice before she added. "The little girls, too."
"They're not little girls anymore." he said gruffly. "They're a couple of grown-up women, now. And they were just babies when it all went down. They're not going to remember."
"I know. But still." Holt heard a sniff. Unmistakable, this time.
"Sammie June, darlin', are you crying? Samantha? Tough-as-nails charter pilot, never let 'em see you-"
There was a quiet click in his ear and the cell phone went dead.
The ringing telephone woke Tee from a restless early morning slumber. Sweaty and achy, she threw back the tumbled covers and stretched her back, trying to work out some of the stiffness resulting from a poor night's sleep before picking up the phone. Which, by that time, had activated the answering machine. She listened, yawning, to her embarrassingly chirpy outgoing message, then stiffened, suddenly wide awake, when she heard the impatient voice begin its reply.
She snatched it up. shaking and jangled from a burst of adrenaline. "Wade-Detective Callahan-yes. I'm here. What is-"
The detective's voice was terse. Flat. "Sorry to wake you. We've got another one."
"Oh-God…"
"And, Miss Doyle?"
"Tee-please."
"Okay.,Miss Tee. What you said about our killer not liking uniforms? Well, looks like he was serious about that, because he just killed a cop. She was one of ours."
Chapter 3
Wade stomped the brake, jerked the car to a stop and slapped the gearshift lever into Park. The violence seemed the only way his body would operate, with anger spraying like shrapnel through every nerve.
"Bastard left her hanging from a chain-link fence." he said, spitting out the words in bitter bites. "Left her hanging there like a broken doll." That's what she'd looked like- a little broken doll.
He opened the door and got out, then paused with one hand on the roof of the car to look back at his passenger, sitting silent and motionless with her seat belt still fastened. "You coming?"
She looked up at him like someone awakened from a doze, then nodded. He noticed that she was deathly pale; her freckles reminded him of dried blood speckles on white paper. Her hand shook as she unbuckled her seat belt.
He looked across the roof of the car at the gray industrial landscape-slabs of concrete and asphalt broken by blocks of corrugated tin buildings and zigzags of chain-link fencing, the only color provided by the yellow or green of a forklift or skid loader tractor, and the flashing lights of the law enforcement and crime scene vehicles gathered like buzzards around a fresh kill. Grim enough on a sunny day. let alone like it was now, socked in by the early morning fog.
Helluva place for a young woman to leave this earth. Helluva way for a cop to die.
But just the same, he felt like crap for letting his anger loose the way he'd been doing. Should've remembered the woman-okay, Tierney, Miss Tee, psychic or empath or whatever she was-picked up on emotions. Clearly she'd picked up on his. and the toll it had taken on her couldn't have been faked.
He took a deep breath, then ducked his head back inside the car to say gruffly. "It's okay, you know, if you want to take a minute."
She reached for the door handle. "No, that's okay. I'm fine."
She opened her door and he slammed his and went around the car to take her arm, which he figured was the least he could do. She didn't object, although she probably didn't need his help. Her step was steady enough and she kept pace with him easily as they hurried across the broken asphalt, weaving between the jumble of department vehicles that had circled the crime scene like covered wagons in order to screen from curious eyes what to them was a personal tragedy.
He wondered if she felt the same weird tingle he did where his fingers touched her.
Thank God, at least they'd got the body down off the fence and decently covered. Crime scene be damned, she was a police officer. No way in hell they'd leave her hanging there, naked and desecrated like that. Alicia. Her name was Alicia. Wade knew her slightly, had gone through the academy with her. Seemed like he recalled something about her getting engaged recently. Her fiance was in the service. In Iraq.
"Damn."
He didn't realize he'd spoken out loud until Tierney paused and looked at him. "Sorry," he muttered. "I'm just.
"You're not the only one." Her lips had a pinched look, her eyes squinted as if she had a fearsome headache. "There's so much anger here. So much rage. I can't pick up anything else. From the killer or…"
"Damn," he said again, and this time exhaled with frustration. Again, he hadn't thought about the effects of so much emotional fallout on the crime scene. Her crime scene. It must be the equivalent of a thunderstorm blowing through his. "Would it help if I had everyone clear out? Leave you alone with…" He couldn't bring himself to say "the body."
A smile flicked briefly at her lips. "Too late-it's already been contaminated." As if she'd read his thought.
Then, looking uncertain, she paused, turned to him and said, "Maybe, if I…"
"What?"
"If I looked at her." Her blue eyes clung to his, stark with fear.
He felt something in his chest contract. Ignoring that, and squelching whatever sympathy he felt for her. or admiration for her courage, he said gruffly, "Are you sure you want to do that?" He couldn't afford the sympathy, damn it. A cop was dead. He wanted to catch this dirtbag-whatever it took.
After a long moment she nodded. He saw her throat move as she swallowed.
"All right, then." He reached out to her. touched her shoulder. Then, taking her once more by the arm, he guided her through the busy hive of crime scene techs and law enforcement officers, some in uniform, some not. When he drew near to the cadre of officers standing guard around the gurney and the small, shrouded form that lay on it. he spoke to them in a low voice that was mindful of their taut, angry faces and grief-filled eyes. "Gonna ask you to step back for a few minutes, if you would, please." The line shifted, and drew in more tightly around the gurney. "Come on, guys, give us a minute, okay? Give this lady some room."