Jana′s face was resting on its right side, facing toward me. Her eyes were open and sightless, her coppery short hair matted with dark blood that looked as thick as kindergarten paste. I′d once heard from an investigator that head blood is thicker than regular blood.
″That′s her-that′s Jana,″ I said.
The CSI woman lowered the sheet over Jana′s face. ″Your friend must have been a brave lady,″ she said, leaning back on her heels. ″I heard she got her daughter out of the car before she got shot.″
″I heard that, too. Thanks.″
Go to Mercy now… you need to be with Shaina. Again, I had the eerie sensation of hearing Jana′s voice in my ear. I turned toward my car.
The area surrounding the blue tarp suddenly lit up with a spotlight. I turned and saw a Channel Twelve broadcast van pulling up next to my car. They′d turned on the side floodlights, preparing to shoot the scene.
Luke swore under his breath. ″Are you on the job right now, Kate? Because if you are-″
″No, I′m not,″ I replied. ″I′m heading over to Mercy right now to find Shaina. The studio assigned the story to someone else.″
″Who?″
As if in answer, the side door of the van slid back with a bang, and a videographer jumped out with his camera already rolling. Behind him, Lainey crouched in the van′s doorway surveying the crime scene. I saw her neck arch back in surprise as she recognized me.
I looked at Luke. ″You′ll have to deal with Lainey, I′m afraid.″
Luke shot a sour glance at Lainey. ″No, I won′t,″ he said. ″That reporter really burned one of our guys on a story she did the other day. I′m not going to give her anything.″
″Dandy by me, Luke. Handle her however you want.″
Keeping my head down, I headed toward my car, hoping against hope that I′d make it to the Z4 before Lainey caught up with me. I slid into the seat and started to slam the door.
″Kate!″ Lainey′s hand caught hold of the top of the door′s window. She held it in place with an iron grip while deftly inserting a hip between the door and me. ″What′s going on? That Mercedes over there was the car that was jacked, right? Why are you here?″
″I′m here on a personal matter, Lainey. The detective in charge is right over there. Luke Petronella. You can get all the details from him.″
″Give me a break, Kate. This is the second carjacking this week. The fourth this month. Who was killed? I know you know what′s going on. Help me out here with a little professional courtesy. Okay?″
″They′re not releasing the victim′s identity yet, Lainey. You′ll have to wait. You know the drill.″
″Forget the drill, Kate. This is a huge story, and you know it. So one person died? Was it someone you know, or are you working some angle of your own on this story?″
When I didn′t reply, her mouth twisted into a snarl. ″I know you′re all tight-ass with the cops because of your boyfriend,″ she said. ″But don′t think you can hog every one of their stories that comes down the pike.″
I wondered whether she′d chosen the verb ″hog″ on purpose. Probably.
″Jesus Christ. I′m not trying to steal your story, Lainey. I said I′m here because it′s personal,″ I snapped. ″You′ll have to talk to the cops yourself. In fact,″ I said, my words picking up volume and heat, ″why don′t you go wiggle your butt right over there to the homicide detective and bat your eyes at him? I′m sure you′ll get everything you want. Isn′t that how you score most of your stories?″
Lainey flinched back. Her eyes narrowed, and then she took a step back from the car.
I closed the door with as much force as I could manage, then threw the Z4 into reverse. The tires screeched on the wet asphalt as I backed away.
Craning my neck to look over my shoulder, I steered the car in a reverse three-point turn. As I headed down the street and away from the scene, through the rearview mirror I could see Lainey still standing in the road, staring after me.
So okay; the ass-wiggling thing was a cheap shot I′d thrown in at the end. It wasn′t even accurate, really. Lainey worked hard for her stories. But I still didn′t like her. So sue me.
I knew I′d just turned a competitor into an enemy. But at the moment I had much more important things on my mind.
Right now I had to get to Shaina, Jana′s daughter.
Chapter 9
Don′t Become a Needle Junkie
Botox injections and fillers such as collagen can work wonders on crow′s feet and marionette lines, but it′s possible to overdo it. Lots of people don′t know this, but having too many cosmetic injections can leave you with needle scars on your face, just like the tracks on a heroin addict′s arms.
If you can′t live without regular infusions of plump-
ers and fillers, consider getting fat injections by a
board-certified plastic surgeon. Here′s how it works:
The surgeon draws a bit of fat from your stomach,
then injects the fat into the crevices and wrinkles
around your mouth and lips. Unlike collagen, your
own fat acts as a long-lasting filler. And isn′t that what
we′re all looking for?
– From The Little Book of Beauty Secrets by Mimi Morgan
I rode the elevator to the fourth floor of Mercy Hospital, then threaded my way through a confusing labyrinth of corridors following the scribbled directions I′d gotten from an emergency room receptionist. It was just past six a.m.; the hallways were slowly beginning to come alive with movement as nurses and technicians pushing blood pressure carts began their morning rounds.
Rounding a final corner, I spotted room 4D. Next to the half-open door was a small whiteboard with a name handwritten on it: Shaina Miller.
Tentatively, I pushed the door open the rest of the way.
Shaina lay curled up in a fetal position in the middle of the hospital bed. Like her mother, Shaina was tiny, with close-cropped, platinum white hair that was combed away from her face. Her eyes above her high, wide-set cheekbones were closed. The left side of her face looked raw and hugely swollen.
I stood at the foot of her bed, trying to decide what to do next. Then I heard a movement behind me.
″Are you a member of Shaina Miller′s family? ″ A nurse asked, lightly tapping my arm. Her voice had a lilting Jamaican cadence to it. ″We′ve been trying to locate them.″
″I′m a friend of her mother′s,″ I replied in a whisper. ″My name′s Kate Gallagher.″
″You′re Kate?″ Shaina had bolted upright to a sitting position on the bed. Her eyes, wide-open now, were trained on my face. ″The cops told me Mom′s dead. She′s not dead, is she? She can′t be. I didn′t believe them.″
Behind me, the nurse murmured something about going to find a doctor. Then she left the room.
I sat on the bed next to Shaina and took her hand. It felt icy cold.
″Shaina, your mom…,″ I began haltingly, groping hard for the right words. In this case, though, there could only be wrong ones.
Shaina made a choking noise and fell back against the pillow. Turning her head toward the wall, she said in a dull, flat voice, ″For a second, I told myself this was all a bad dream. A nightmare. ″
″I′m so sorry,″ I said. ″The emergency responders couldn′t do anything for your mom, Shaina.″
Still staring at the wall, Shaina said, ″It happened so fast. Mom and I had stopped at a stop sign.″
″You don′t have to talk about it right now.″
She continued as if I hadn′t said anything. ″That′s when that guy-that fucker-broke in the window on Mom′s side of the car. She screamed at me to get out; then she pushed me out the door.″
Shaina looked at me, tears welling in her green eyes. ″My mom-she pushed me out the door. My mom saved me, Kate,″ she whispered.