“Yes. I think you’ve displaced the grief you feel for your parents’ deaths onto the deaths of the two boys. The ability to compartmentalize your emotions drives your relentlessness, and speaks to your success as a police officer. But it creates the nightmares, too. Gemma, we talked through this a few years back. Will you try the journaling again? I do think it will help tremendously,” Pabst said.
He stood up and went to a cooler in the corner of the office. It was stocked with sodas and sparkling water and he handed me a San Pellegrino, knowing my preference. He took a Diet Coke for himself and settled back into his chair.
“The world is full of monsters. It always has been. For every monster, though, there are a hundred heroes. Mankind simply could not survive if the bad guys outnumbered the good guys; you know that, you live that truth every day in your chosen field,” Pabst said. “It’s natural for you to feel fear and despair now, with the impending birth of your first child. The Woodsman is the embodiment of that fear, a man whose very existence speaks to havoc, a complete void of hope.”
I nodded. “So what do I do now? How do I fight this monster of my dreams?”
Pabst smiled. “With science, of course. A bit of rational thinking and some dedicated journaling and you’ll be back to tip-top shape in no time. But tell me, Gemma, are you wrapped up in this Bellington mess? I don’t like to think of you investigating the young man’s death in your condition.”
I stood. “What condition would that be, the pregnant condition, or the crazy condition? Thank you for seeing me, Dean. It’s been, as always, enlightening. But you know I can’t discuss a case.”
“And you know I can’t let you leave without at least trying to get some juicy tidbit out of you. Do say hello to the Woodsman tonight, Gemma, if he returns. Tell him the good doctor is anxious to see him put down for good.”
Chapter Nineteen
When I pulled into the station’s lot, I saw a pack of reporters and cameramen lined up outside the front door like pigs at the trough. They were early; it was barely eight o’clock and the chief had promised them the Q &A at nine.
Using my belly like a small battering ram, I made my way through the throng of people. Officer Armstrong guarded the front door. He opened it wide enough for me to get through, and then quickly closed it with a slam and a roll of his eyes. Six and a half feet of former linebacker came in handy for crowd control.
Chief Chavez passed me in the hallway, a harried look on his face.
“You see this? Sheer madness out there,” he said. “We’re in HQ.”
I unloaded my shoulder bag and joined the others in the narrow squad room at the back of the station. Finn Nowlin and Louis Moriarty and Sam Birdshead sat at the table, notepads and pens ready, a lineup of cops at various stages of their careers. Baby-faced Sam, barely a month into life as an officer; Finn, almost fifteen years into a solid career; and Louis Moriarty, who was already a good five or six years older than the standard retirement age.
Sam and Moriarty nodded at me; Finn just grinned. I took a seat across from Moriarty and wondered again what he was still doing here. He could have been fishing the Arkansas with his buddies, cashing in on a decades-long career with the PD. At the end of the day, I figured he was one of those cops who wouldn’t know what to do with his time, if he retired. The job was his life. And he was good at it, still sharp and fit; seventy years old and Moriarty had never once come in less than second in our annual physicals. And this was against guys half his age.
The man gave cause for pause, as they say on the streets.
The chief leaned against the whiteboard. I guessed Lucas Armstrong, what with the door duty, had been excused from this meeting. That was too bad; Luke had a good eye for details that others, including myself, often missed. Plus he was funny as hell and he walked a straight line on the job. I knew Armstrong too was still struggling with the stuff that went down on the home invasion case a few months back. There was an icy quality to his relationship with Finn that hadn’t been there before.
Chavez indicated that I should join him at the board.
“You all caught the news last night, right? I had a feeling once this went public, we’d be looking at a whole new tempo,” the chief said. “Gemma, can you catch us up with what we know so far?”
I nodded. “Absolutely. Obviously, we have a time of death: sometime around noon on Monday. We’ve also got a cause of death: blood loss, but we don’t have a murder weapon. We don’t even know what type of weapon we’re looking for; the victim’s throat was cut in such a matter, and with such a tool that we can’t be sure what was used. Sam and I are knee-deep in interviews with the circus employees, but so far-”
Finn Nowlin coughed and then cleared his throat.
“Something to add, Finn?”
Above his dark eyebrows, a tiny furrow appeared, the smallest imperfection in an otherwise smooth face. “Sorry to interrupt you, Gem, just as you’ve gotten started, but this is ridiculous. I’m going to need some specifics here. Are you honestly telling me that I’m to be a part of an investigation in which I don’t even know what kind of a goddamn weapon I’m looking for?”
He smiled as he watched me realize the implication of his words.
“Chief? What the hell is Finn talking about?” I asked.
Chavez, who’d sat down at the head of the table, leaned forward with a sigh. His tie was rumpled and his suit was the same he’d worn for last night’s press conference but his dark eyes were fierce.
“This case is too big for you, Gemma. The mayor is upset at the lack of progress being made, and we believe you could use the extra help. I’m making Finn your partner on this,” Chavez said.
“We?”
“The mayor and I. Don’t forget, I report directly to him and city council. His word goes on this.”
“All respect, sir, but screw that. Sam and I have got this. We’ve already interviewed a handful of key witnesses. I’ve got hours of research in on this damn circus, and I’m working on a new lead for what Nicky was up to, three years ago. There may be some connections here worth investigating.”
Sam Birdshead jumped in. “Chief, I think Gemma’s right, we are making progress.” He looked from me to the chief and back again and then added, “We’re a good team. And we’re only two days in.”
Chavez stood and gave us a grim smile. “I have no doubt you are a fine team. Sam, you’ll stay on as backup to Finn and Gemma.”
Finn smiled at Chavez. I wanted to wipe that grin off his face more than anything. If things weren’t dicey enough between us before, this just pushed us that much closer to a boiling point. This was my case and if things got fucked up because Finn was willing to smudge the line of ethics, then God help me, I was going to tear his head off.
Finn said, “Thanks, Chief. Gemma and I could certainly use the extra help.”
Chavez nodded. “That’s the kind of cooperative attitude I like to see. Please proceed Gemma.”
I took a deep breath and swallowed and counted to ten. “As I was saying, Dr. Hussen can’t determine what weapon was used. Nicky Bellington’s throat was torn open-not cut, not sliced, but torn. To be honest, the weapon could be anything with a sharp jagged edge. Now, between Sam and I, we’ve interviewed a number of people. There are two distinct groups at play here: those who knew Reed, and those who knew Nicky. There’s not really any overlap.”
I paused and noticed Finn had opened one of a dozen file folders that lay scattered on the conference table. He stared at a color photograph of Annika and Ellen Bellington engaged in what appeared to be a very heated game of tennis. The mother and daughter team wore matching tennis whites of tight tank tops, short skirts, and sneakers.
“We’ll need to interview these two again,” he said with a grin. “Very suspicious looking, especially the daughter…”