Dead Girl Walking: Absolutely addictive mystery and suspense (Jessie Novak Book 1)

by Roberta Gately

  But maybe, just to be safe, she’d share the article with Sam.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  By Monday, three weeks after the shooting, she was calm. The only one hiding anything was her. And if she wanted things to work out with Nick—and she did—she needed to be upfront with him. Maybe she’d ask him to come over after work.

  Roger called her to ask her to stop by the morgue, a message she thought she’d never get used to. She arrived at his office just as he was finishing lunch, the last bits of tuna salad rimming his mouth. “Come in, come in,” he said, motioning her in and running his finger over his lips to wipe away the last traces of food. When he swiped his finger along his white coat, she turned away. There was going to be a lot to get used to here.

  “You wanted to see me?” she asked.

  “I did, I did,” he said. “Sit, sit.”

  She smiled. He was repeating himself to be sure she could hear him. Tony was right—if he wasn’t discussing autopsies, he wasn’t used to dealing with the living. “I got your message,” she said as she sank into the chair by his desk.

  “Thank you, thank you for coming by. I just wanted to confirm your position here. I’m so happy you’ll be working with me, with the whole team here.”

  Jessie moved to the edge of her seat. “I’m pretty happy, too.”

  “I wanted to help get you a little settled.” He swept the crumbs from his desk and pulled open a drawer. “Here’s your ID, and your office key,” he said, sliding both to her. “The key is for this office. You’re welcome to come in here anytime. The ID is what you’ll need to get into the building. Just swipe it across the sensor and you’ll have access to the main entrance and any of the rooms here that are locked. Come on,” he said, standing, wiping away still more crumbs from his lap. “I’ll take you around. It’s a different place when you know you’ll be spending time here. You need to get used to it.”

  She followed him back down the stairs and into the autopsy suite, where two figures lay under the white plastic shrouds the hospital used to wrap the dead. A yellow toe tag hung loose from one shroud. “I’ll get to these two later. Just wanted you to look around a bit.”

  She took a deep breath through her mouth and let her gaze drift slowly around the room. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be looking for anything special. She’d never let herself get used to this place, and she never wanted to. This place held people who’d been loved and had lived lives that mattered. That was how she wanted to approach this—respectfully and humbly. Then she realized that Roger was speaking.

  “So, you’re on the books to start here two days after Christmas, just in time for New Year’s Eve.” He chuckled. “That can be hellish, but don’t worry. I’ve arranged for you to spend your first two weeks with the Homicide Unit. Sam Dallas will be in touch. I think you’ve met him?”

  She could only nod as her stomach churned. Nick was not going to like that. Not one bit. Roger guided her around, pointing out a locker room and a break room before introducing her to some of the technicians—Joe, Mark, DeShawn, and two others whose names she’d forgotten as soon as she stepped back into the fresh chill of Winter air.

  She took a deep breath and dodged traffic as she headed across the street to the ER, and as though he’d known that his name had just came up, Sam Dallas texted her. Please call! he’d written, and she sighed. She’d ignored an eerily similar last text from Bert. She wouldn’t ignore this one.

  Once inside the ER, she returned his call. “Hey,” he said. “Thanks for getting back to me. I need to see you. Can you come in?”

  “I’m at work, so the answer is no.”

  “I have to speak with you, Jessie. It’s important. Today.” His voice was toneless, his words almost calculated, and she wondered if he was targeting her for something that wasn’t good.

  “Can’t you just tell me on the phone?”

  “I suppose I could, but I’d prefer to say this in person.”

  The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Maybe he knew about Nick. “I… I can’t leave.”

  “I’ll come to you, then. You don’t start until three, correct?”

  “Right.”

  “I’ll meet you outside by the ambulance bay in ten minutes.”

  “Okay,” she whispered, swallowing the knot of fear in her throat.

  She stood by the sliding glass doors of the ambulance bay waiting for Sam, and wondered what was so important that he had to tell her in person. As the minutes ticked by, the tinge of fear she’d felt was replaced by her old familiar fury at being inconvenienced. He just wanted to make a show of something or other. He couldn’t solve two damn murders, so he’d decided to harass her. She turned on her heel and was about to step back inside the ER when a car horn broke through her thoughts. She turned to see his Crown Vic idling at the curb. By the time she pulled open the passenger door, her fury was at full force.

  “What the hell is this all about? I have a job, Sam. I don’t work for you.”

  His jaw dropped open. “Please get in, Jessie,” he said softly. “I don’t know what you’re so pissed off about, but I have something important to tell you—to show you. We’re gonna take a quick ride to my office.”

  She slid down in the seat, her anger simmering as she snapped the seatbelt into place, catching her finger in the lock. “Shit,” she said, pulling her finger free and putting it into her mouth.

  “Having one of those days, huh?” He had the nerve to smile.

  Jessie didn’t answer. She stared straight ahead and tried to remember why she was so angry. She hated disruptions. That was it. He was disrupting her day. He should have told her whatever it was he had to say on the phone. Instead, he’d forced her into this little joyride. By the time Sam parked and exited the car, Jessie had marinated in her aggravation enough to slam the car door shut with such force, she was almost certain it was hanging by its hinges. She stopped and turned back to look. The door-banging had released some of her anger, but luckily, the door remained firmly in place. Satisfied that she’d made her point, she smiled smugly to herself and followed Sam up the stairs to his office.

  “Have a seat,” he said, his tone official. She almost expected him to take out his badge and read her her rights. But aside from opening her mouth and expressing her opinion on the Ann Hart and Bert Gibbons murders, she’d done nothing wrong. Her only vaguely questionable action was to hold onto the Globe article about Nick and Rob Hart, and there was no way Sam knew about that. Or was there?

  He sat behind his desk, banged away at the keys and looked up, his gaze catching hers. “I have something to tell you.”

  “So?” She crossed her arms across her chest.

  Sam leaned back in his chair and inhaled deeply. “We’ve been looking very closely at Rob Hart, and we think it likely that he was involved in his wife’s murder.”

  Jessie’s back stiffened and she sat up straight. “About time, since I’ve been saying that all along. You had to drag me here to tell me I was right?”

  “Sorry about that, but I will tell you—we still don’t have the evidence we need. We haven’t been able to locate Hart. He apparently called his office and told them he’d be taking some time off. We never had a chance to question him thoroughly before he left, and as you know, we weren’t allowed to question him at any length when he was in the ICU. We did get a warrant to search his home, his financial records, and we finally have his phone records.”

  Jessie sat on the edge of her chair. “And?” She held her breath, wondering if he knew about Nick and Rob.

  “There’s plenty there, Jessie. Plenty. I’m telling you because you could be in danger. Real danger.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The air was suddenly still. Sam’s voice seemed far away and the first stirrings of a headache pricked at her eyes. She wasn’t sure what to say, so for probably the first time in her life, she kept her mouth shut and waited for him to continue.

  He exhaled noisily. “Are you ready for th
is?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, so just spill it.”

  “You’ve received two flower deliveries at work recently, right?”

  She nodded.

  “From an R?”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “Do you have any idea who R is?”

  She scowled. “I thought it was my neighbor, Rufus, but it wasn’t him, so the answer is no. I don’t have a clue, but they were delivered to the ER, so I assumed it was a patient.”

  “It was Rob Hart. He’s your secret admirer.”

  It was as though the breath had been knocked out of her. She hadn’t expected that. Once she’d ruled out Rufus, she’d convinced herself it was Roger, and had somehow forgotten to ask him. But Rob Hart? “Why?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

  “You said it yourself weeks ago. He seemed interested in you when he was in the ICU.”

  “How did you find out it was him?”

  “The warrant for his financial records included his credit cards. He never canceled them, never applied for a new driver’s license, never did any of the things people do even when they just lose a wallet. It’s almost as though the wallet he says was taken was empty, or not taken at all. He’s been using his credit cards. He used them to send you flowers.”

  Jessie sank further into the impossibly hard wood of her seat. “It’s creepy, for sure, but it’s not dangerous, is it? Am I in danger?” And then she remembered the eerie feeling that someone had been watching her, following her.

  “We don’t know where he is.”

  “There is something,” she said, interrupting him. She told him about the shadowy figure outside her apartment, the troubles with her lock, and the frightening feeling that someone had been watching her. “But that started when Hart was still in the hospital. Actually, it started that night. I thought I was just spooked because of the shooting.”

  “Did you report it?”

  She smirked. “Really? Report an unsettling feeling? The police would have laughed me off the phone.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “No maybe about it. So, what does this mean for me?”

  “It means you have to be careful. I think maybe you should stay somewhere else if you can, or we could keep an eye on you.”

  She shook her head. “Keep an eye on me? No, thanks.”

  “Well, then watch yourself. Any spooky feelings—just call me.”

  “I can just call Nick. He’s in Southie now.” As soon as she said it, she regretted it. She crossed her arms and waited for his snide answer.

  “That’s something else I wanted to discuss.”

  She rolled her eyes. “He’s a nice guy, Sam. He really is.”

  “Not saying he isn’t. But did you know he grew up in Charlestown? And he and Rob Hart were best friends in high school?”

  “That doesn’t mean anything. I can’t even remember the names of my high school friends,” she lied.

  “You’d remember quick enough if one of them was injured in a tragic shooting that was covered in the national nightly news. I know I would. And Nick’s a cop.”

  “So, he doesn’t remember. So what?”

  “How do you know he doesn’t remember? Did you ask him?”

  Her cheeks flushed red. “I did. They both grew up in Charlestown…” Her voice began to crack, her nerve too. Should she tell him about the newspaper article? Would she be in trouble for holding onto it? But it had only been a few days. What could they do to her? A bead of sweat trickled along her forehead.

  “Jessie?” Sam had leaned forward across the desk, his forehead creased in worry.

  “I have to tell you something.” And as though he’d been waiting to hear those words, his expression softened and he nodded.

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  “Well, first—do I need a lawyer?”

  “Jesus, Jessie. Only if you’re directly involved, but if you’d prefer to speak with a lawyer first, make your call.” He pushed the desk phone towards her.

  She ignored it. “It’s just that I’m afraid for someone else. Not me.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “I was helping my neighbor clear out his old newspapers and I found a story about Nick and Rob Hart—”

  Sam held up his hand. “We already have that. Anything else?”

  A flood of relief washed through her. She wasn’t withholding information after all. “No, just that when I asked Nick about it, he said he couldn’t really remember Hart.”

  Sam heaved a long, drawn-out sigh. “Interesting, because according to Rob Hart’s phone records, they were in touch the night of the shooting.”

  Jessie slumped in her chair, the blood draining from her head, and even though she was sitting, she thought she might faint. She held on tight to the chair’s edge to steady herself. “That can’t be,” she said, so softly that Sam leaned closer, turning his head to hear.

  “Why can’t it be?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, Nick was in the ER that night. He arrived when the ambulance did. He was at the scene, wasn’t he?”

  Sam narrowed his gaze and shook his head. “Nick was assigned to West Roxbury. His shift had ended. He wasn’t at the scene.”

  “I… I just assumed. He came with the ambulance and then later asked me to go to the police club for a drink.”

  “And did you?”

  “No. I was exhausted. I wanted to just go home. That was the first night I felt as though someone was watching me… when I walked to my car. But it was just shadows from those reporter’s camera lights. I have an active imagination.” She folded her hands and dropped them to her lap.

  “So now you’re going to imagine this all away?”

  “I don’t know what you’re asking or what you’re saying. Is Nick involved? Is that what you’re trying to say?” There was an edge to her voice.

  “Don’t shoot the messenger, Jessie. He might be. We’re having a look at him and Rob Hart.”

  “You said you had Rob Hart’s phone records. Was Nick calling him regularly?”

  “No. Nick didn’t call him at all. Hart called Nick the night of the shooting. Before he called nine-one-one. Peculiar, to say the least.”

  “So, you might be making something out of nothing. Do you even know if Nick answered?”

  “I know they were on the phone for at least four minutes. That certainly implies a conversation.”

  She bit her lip to keep any tears at bay. Never let them see you cry. “So, where’s Hart?”

  “That’s what we’d like to know. For now, he’s gone, unreachable. We have no idea where he is, and if he has a new phone, we don’t know about it. He’s on a leave from work. But his girlfriend, by the way, is consulting a lawyer, and he’s making arrangements to bring her in for questioning.”

  “Does she know where he is?”

  “She says not. We’ll see.”

  “Can’t you put out a warrant for his arrest?”

  “For what? We have our suspicions but no evidence, no gun, not his phone or his wallet. We have nothing, and the DA requires more. I’m hoping the girlfriend can provide us with the information we need, and I’m telling you all of this because you need to be careful. Around Nick, too.”

  She wanted to tell him that was all bullshit. Nick was a good guy, but they’d figure that out soon enough. “Anything on Bert?” she asked, eager to change the subject.

  “Ahh,” he said, punching at his keyboard. “We have some prints from inside Bert’s apartment. His landlady said he had no visitors, seemed like a loner. We’ve eliminated the police at the scene, and now we’re just putting them through the database, but right now—nothing.”

  “This will sound crazy, but since they knew each other, did you check Rob Hart’s prints?”

  “We don’t have him on file. He’s never committed a crime. And now he’s gone.”

  She stood. “I hope you won’t focus on Nick just because you can’t come up with anyone
else.”

  “That’s not how we work, Jessie. I think you know that.”

  “Yeah,” she huffed. “I’m ready, then. Will you bring me back?”

  “Sure. One more thing, though. The footfalls—that sound that you noticed on the nine-one-one tape? Audio came up with a probable shoe match. Rubber-soled, and in testing it’s the same sound a police shoe or construction boot makes.”

  “Could it still be Ramos?” she asked, knowing in her gut that he wasn’t involved in this murder.

  He shook his head. “We’re keeping it quiet for now, hoping to flush out anyone who was involved, but his alibi is good. Ramos is a criminal and a murderer, but he wasn’t there.”

  And the world stopped turning once more.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Sam was silent during the ten-minute drive to the ER, and Jessie was lost in her thoughts. It seemed at least an hour before he pulled into the ambulance bay and dropped her off. “Call me, Jessie. For anything, even an eerie feeling, and please—not a word to Nick.”

  She could only nod. She still hadn’t processed what he’d said. It was just words strung together. She had to remember that. It was just words.

  She took report early from Donna, who was still day charge in addition to her new duties. “It’s quiet,” Donna said. “With Christmas so close, we might be in the pre-holiday lull. People are busy, too busy to be sick or start trouble that might mean a trip to the ER. But I could be wrong. Anyway, have a quiet night.”

  But Jessie wished for a busy night, and a degree of chaos that would allow her to lose herself in the busyness, at least for that one night. Instead, the first few hours dragged. Even Eddie found somewhere else to be, but just as they decided to order Chinese takeout, the C-Med radio crackled to life. Jessie raced to answer it. A three-car accident on the expressway had resulted in four victims, and they’d all be coming here to Boston City. Jessie called for trauma teams to gather in the Trauma hallway and assigned roles and rooms. The patient with the least serious injuries would go to the acute side to be evaluated.