„About two years.“ She looked around fondly. „It’s been fun making this place over.“
„You do good work,“ he said and she smiled in genuine pleasure. „My sister Annie has her own interior design business. She’d love the challenge of an old place like this.“
„It was built in 1903. I uncover hand-carved wood in every room I redo, but I haven’t even contemplated the kitchen yet. I’ve kind of been waiting for one of the appliances to die so I have a good excuse to buy new ones. But I don’t cook often, so the oven’s safe, and the refrigerator seems to be immortal.“
„Annie would show these old appliances the door with no remorse. My mother fought her for years over redoing our kitchen at home, but Annie finally won. Mom complained every day the kitchen was out of her hands, but in the end she loved it.“
Kristen’s mouth curved, a little wistfully, he thought.
„Your mom seems like a nice woman. Takes good care of her baby.“
„I’m not the baby,“ he corrected. „That would be Rachel.“
She lifted a brow. „Ah, yes. Rachel that wants to be me. She’s thirteen?“
Abe shuddered dramatically. „Apparently so.“
„A bit of a late-life surprise, huh?“
„More like the shock of the century.“ He grinned at her. „I remember us all being appalled to find our parents still did it at all.“ She chuckled in answer, but said nothing and within a minute the quiet became suffocating once again. „How about you?“ he found himself asking. „Family in the area?“
She shook her head. „No.“
He leaned forward slightly, waiting. „And?“
She leaned back, so slightly he was sure she didn’t realize she’d pulled away. She’d maintained her distance, consciously or not. „No, I don’t have any family here in Chicago.“
Abe frowned. Her tone had become flat, her eyes blank. „Where then? Kansas?“
Her eyes flashed at the mention of her home state and her teacup slowly lowered to the table. „No. Thank you for escorting me home, Detective Reagan. It’s been a long day for both of us.“ She stood up, and irked, he would have done the same if he hadn’t seen her hands tremble just before she locked them behind her back. Still dressed in her dark suit and heels, he imagined this was how she stood in court, seemingly impervious.
With her hands trembling behind her back. So he kept his seat.
Yesterday she said she had no friends. Today, it was no family. It struck him that in both times he’d made a sweep through her house he’d seen no pictures, not a single personal memento, with the exception of the law school diplomas that hung over her desk. „Sit down, Kristen.“ He pulled her chair closer to where she rigidly stood. „Please.“
Her jaw clenched and she looked away. „Why?“
„Because you’ve got to be exhausted.“
She shook her head and her curls bounced. „No, why is it so important to know about my family?“
„Because… it’s family.“
She turned to look at him and her eyes were no longer angry, but weary. „You’re close to your family, Detective?“
Detective. She seemed determined to keep him at arm’s length. He was equally determined to see the wall she’d erected torn down. „I haven’t seen much of them over the past few years because of the job. But yes, we’re close. They’re my family.“
„Then I’m happy for you. Truly. But you should know that the majority of families aren’t close, tight-knit little units. The majority of families have problems.“
„You’re awfully young to be so jaded.“
Her shoulders sagged. „I’m a hell of a lot older than you think.“
He stood up then. „What I think is that you’re tired. Try to get some sleep.“
Her mouth twisted. „Sleep well, Kristen?“ she mocked bitterly. „Somehow I don’t think so.“ She lifted a hand when he opened his mouth to speak. „Don’t say it.“
„Say what?“
„Don’t tell me to go to a hotel. This is my home. I will not let him make me leave.“
He picked up their cups and put them in the sink. „I wasn’t planning to. I was planning to offer to run to the drugstore and get you something to help you sleep.“ She closed her eyes, one hand clutching the back of the chair.
„Why are you being so nice to me, Detective?“ It was a damn good question. Because she seemed so alone? Because he’d seen her scared and vulnerable when the face she showed everyone else was confident and brave? Because he wondered why there were no party dresses in her closet and no family pictures on her nightstand? Because he found her fascinating and couldn’t get her out of his mind? Because her laugh was like a sucker punch to his gut?
„I don’t know,“ he answered grimly. „Why won’t you call me by my first name?“
Her eyes flew open, suddenly wary. „I… I don’t know.“
„Fair enough.“ He pulled on his coat, conscious of her eyes following the movements of his hands as he buttoned up. When he reached the button at his throat, her eyes rose to meet his and he could see she was still troubled by his question. Good, because he was troubled by hers as well. „I’ll swing by the courthouse tomorrow morning to pick you up. I’d like to visit the rest of the original victims before the families of our five dead guys make a connection with tonight’s report and contact your friend Richardson.“
At the mention of Richardson, her lips thinned. „I’ll be ready.“
Thursday, February 19,
10:30 p.m.
He was cold. Very cold. His hands ached and he glanced longingly at the fur-lined gloves sticking up out of his bag. Soon. For now he’d have to make do with the thin leather gloves. The warm gloves were so thick he couldn’t feel the trigger.
He wriggled a little on his stomach, trying to get comfortable on the hard concrete. Fought the urge to check his watch. No more than an hour could have passed since he arrived. He’d spent three times that long crouched in duck blinds on cold mornings waiting for feathered prey. He could wait a little longer for a prize infinitely more valuable.
He expected his guest to show at any moment. That Trevor Skinner wouldn’t show up hadn’t even entered his mind. The bait was entirely too enticing.
So enticing that even a man like Skinner would risk coming at night, to a place like this. He’d staked out this place weeks and weeks ago. Location, location, location, he thought. This one had it all. Deserted, dark alley. Commercial property. A two-story abandoned building with easy roof access. And a neighborhood bad enough to discourage anyone who actually did hear anything from coming out to investigate.
He heard the car before he saw it pull around the corner, headlights dimmed. He watched, silently waiting as Skinner stepped out of his Cadillac. He dipped his head, checked the sight. Ensured it was the man he sought.
It was.
Quickly he dropped the sight to Skinner’s knees and pumped the trigger – once, twice – and Skinner went down with a scream. Just as King had. He felt the surge of triumph, dismissed it, his eye still on the sight, still on Skinner so when Skinner’s hand moved, he pumped again. Skinner’s hand went flying in an arc to the pavement, empty. He’d been going for something in his coat pocket, but he wasn’t any longer.
He waited another half minute until he was satisfied Skinner wasn’t moving. Quickly he gathered his things, including his shell casings, wincing as they burned his hand. The police were going to catch up to him sooner or later, but he didn’t intend to make it any easier for them than he had to. In another minute he was at street level, stowing his gear in the small hidden compartment in the back of his van. Again, the cops would find it if they looked hard enough, but a passing glance revealed nothing but the hollow inside of a delivery van. Now he did check his watch – so that he could time the rest of the act. Lifting from the back of the van the platform on rolling casters that he’d made just for this purpose. Lowering the ramp. Rolling platform to the mark, sliding the writhing body onto the platform, click, click, buckling him down. Seat belts saved lives, he thought, patently ignoring Skinner’s moaned insistence to know who he was. Skinner’s weak curses of retribution made him smile.