by Kay Hooper
Closing off that part of the room was safest, that’s what they would have thought. Move Dinah somewhere else, somewhere even darker and colder, where the sounds of water were loud and constant and maddening, and then build this wall to hide what had been done in this place.
Faith drew a deep breath and went through the hole in the wall to join Kane and Daniels inside.
The more powerful flashlights they had brought for this interior search helped to delineate the shape and size of the small basement, but there was almost nothing to be seen. Walls, ceiling, floor.
Stained floor.
“They tried to clean it up,” Daniels said with detachment. “But concrete is porous and stains below the surface. They might have painted it, but the entire floor would have had to be done in order not to look suspicious, and who would bother painting a floor in a place like this? Easier and simpler to just make the space down here match up with the size of the office above by building a wall to hide this part. Without the original blueprints, it isn’t likely that anyone looking down here would have guessed. The new wall would blend once the mortar cured, and their … secret would have been safe.”
Faith looked down at the rust-colored stains on the floor, then turned her gaze away with a shudder as she remembered blood dripping from mangled wrists.
Kane was staring down at the floor, unmoving.
She wanted so badly to reach out to him that her hand lifted instinctively. And then hung there between them, meaningless and impotent.
He didn’t want to be touched. And most especially, she thought, he didn’t want to be touched by her.
In that same steady, unemotional voice, Daniels said, “Kane, we have to get out of here. We have what we came here to get—evidence to convince us that something happened here, that Dinah might have been held here.”
“The police,” Kane said in an odd, still tone.
“There are still no legal grounds for a warrant. We’re in here illegally. If the police even listened to us and came in here, they couldn’t use anything they found in court. Worse, storming in here openly before we know more could panic whoever’s got Dinah, force them to—We have to find a way to uncover other evidence that will lead the police here logically. It will take time, but it has to be done. We won’t help Dinah by rushing off to confront Cochrane before we know more. But we have a place to start now. We have somewhere to look.”
Faith forced her hand to drop to her side and made herself speak calmly. “Won’t they know we were here?”
“Not if we’re careful. And lucky. Kane, we have to go. Now. That dog won’t be out much longer.”
Faith thought it was a toss-up as to whether Kane would listen to the P.I., but in the end he did. Or perhaps he simply had to get away from those terrible stains on the floor.
He and Daniels replaced the blocks they had removed, using the crumbling mortar for the joints. The result would fool no one close-up, but when Daniels loosened the bare lightbulb hanging closest to the wall until it went out, the dimness made their handiwork much less evident.
They were careful to replace the tools and to close and lock the doors they had found that way, but they wasted no time in getting out of the warehouse and back to the gate. The sleeping dog was just beginning to stir as they slipped past him.
Daniels didn’t come in when they returned to Kane’s apartment; he wanted to do his own checking on Jordan Cochrane and the warehouse, and said he’d return first thing the following morning to report in—sooner if he discovered anything even remotely likely to help them find Dinah.
Kane was pacing.
Faith wasn’t sure he was ready to talk, but she needed to. “There’s something bothering me.”
It was, on the face of it, an absurd thing to say, but Kane merely sat down in the chair across from her and said calmly, “Something in particular? What is it?”
“When I had the—the dream about Dinah being attacked by that dog, she didn’t seem sure where she was. Something about the address being vague, and maybe not even being in the right part of the city.”
“So how come she didn’t know that place backed up to the building site?”
“That’s part of it. And what if she was there to meet someone? What if whoever it was took advantage of an unused warehouse, and the only connection to the Cochranes is that building?”
“Cheerful thought,” Kane said sourly.
“But possible.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s possible.”
“And if it’s true?”
“Then we’re back to square one. Unless that building has some tangible connection to whoever held Dinah there … But we don’t know it’s true, not yet.”
He gazed at her broodingly, glad she was there because being alone tonight would have been unbearable. At least when he listened to her voice his imagination couldn’t re-create Dinah’s cries of pain. At least when he looked at her, he no longer saw stained concrete.
“You haven’t told me everything,” he said abruptly. “You were upset yesterday when you came back from Haven House, for one thing. For another, I’ve gotten the feeling more than once that you could have offered more details about Dinah.”
She hesitated, biting her bottom lip, then said, “Not details you need to hear. Not details that would help us find her.”
Kane closed his eyes briefly. “Is she alive, Faith?”
She hesitated for a moment. “Sometimes I … think I hear her voice in my head. But I’m not sure. I was told by somebody at Haven House that I seemed to be psychic with Dinah, that we clicked somehow from the moment we met.”
“Then—”
Faith shook her head. “If it is her voice I’m hearing, she can’t or won’t tell me where she is—and I can’t control what I hear, can’t ask her questions or demand answers. It doesn’t seem to work that way, no matter what I try. It just … comes when it comes. At odd moments, when I least expect it. A voice in my head I’m not even sure isn’t my own.”
A slight laugh that held no humor was forced from Kane. “That jibes with what Noah’s told me. He says concentration and years of practice help but that few psychics are able to do more than open a door. What comes through, and how, is almost always a jumble and is seldom helpful in any real sense. As if even the subconscious can’t cope with those extra senses and has to translate using symbolism and imagery. He says if ever a psychic is born who can control his or her abilities a hundred percent, the whole world will change.”
“I’m sorry, Kane. Maybe we could try something that might help me concentrate more or focus. Hypnosis …”
“Noah says psychics can’t be hypnotized.”
After a moment, Faith said, “I guess he’d know.”
“Yeah. He’d know.” Kane paused. “You learned something else at Haven House, didn’t you, Faith?”
Tell him.
She swallowed. “It’s nothing that would help—”
“Something about Dinah? What is it?”
Tell him.
Faith couldn’t see how the knowledge would help Kane. She was afraid it might even hurt him more, but heard herself say reluctantly, “I have no way of knowing if it’s true, but someone at the shelter who spent a lot of time with Dinah is convinced she—she believed she didn’t have a future.”
“What?”
“Eve could be wrong, Kane. It was just her impression, based on a lot of little things. A remark here and there, a fleeting expression. She thought Dinah was always aware of time, that she had some sense of it running out. For her.”
He got up abruptly and moved toward the dark fireplace. He stood there for a moment, frowning, then bent and turned on the gas logs as though he felt a sudden chill. “That … would explain a lot,” he murmured.
“What do you mean?”
“I always thought—always felt—there was a reason why she never wanted to make plans beyond the next weekend.”
“But if you were engaged …”
His smile was twisted. “
We weren’t. I just said that to the press because … because I wanted it to be true, I suppose. But Dinah and I hadn’t come close to that kind of commitment. I was hesitating over suggesting that we move in together, not because she was too independent but because I had the feeling it was a corner she just wasn’t ready to turn.”
“Bishop said she was precognitive.”
Kane nodded slowly.
“Then maybe she did see her future. Or at least see enough to believe it wasn’t wise of her to make long-term plans. Maybe that’s why she moved so fast after my accident, why she was so careful to set things up quickly even though she knew I might be in the coma a long time.”
“Maybe.” Kane drew a breath. “But even if she did see her future, even if she believed she was running out of time, she could have been wrong, Faith. Psychics get it wrong all the time, even the best of them. She could still be alive.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t—” He shook his head. “I still don’t feel her.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I almost envy you that voice in your head. At least you can tell yourself it’s a connection, whether you really believe it is or not. At least you can tell yourself you have a piece of her.”
“It’s nothing to envy, believe me.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No. I don’t have a piece of her, Kane. I don’t even have a piece of me.”
There was something forlorn in her voice, and not for the first time he had a sense of how hard this was for her. It was his turn to say, “I’m sorry.”
Faith shook her head but didn’t otherwise reply, and when she looked past him, the reflection of the fire made her eyes look vividly alive.
Green eyes, not blue.
Red hair instead of blond. Slender fragility instead of athletic grace. The intelligence was much the same, the occasional dry humor, but physically—
Realizing where his thoughts had wandered, Kane felt a shock. He stared at Faith, conscious of his heart beating faster, of an emotion that was part longing and part guilt, and something else he dared not examine too closely.
“Kane?” She was looking back at him, puzzlement turning into awareness. One of her hands began to lift as if to reach out to him, but then she clasped both of them tightly together in her lap. The neat red nails gleamed darkly.
Red nails.
Kane turned from the fireplace and from her, crossed the room to the piano, and sat down on the bench. “Don’t let me keep you up.” His voice was much harsher than he had intended.
He had played no more than a few quiet notes when Faith rose from the couch with a murmured good-night and retreated to the bedroom.
Kane continued to play but wholly by rote. He wanted to go after her. But he couldn’t.
He couldn’t.
• • •
Faith woke to bright morning sunlight slanting through the drapes and the sound of the piano being played softly. She had left her bedroom door ajar for no reason she wanted to explain to herself, and each time she had awakened in the night she had heard the quiet notes.
She wondered if he even realized he had played the same song over and over again.
She rose and got ready to face the day. And him. Showered and dressed, she nerved herself up to walk out into the living room and say good morning in a steady voice.
Kane stopped playing but didn’t move from the bench. “Good morning.” His voice was as steady as hers, damp hair and fresh clothing evidence that he had showered recently, but she didn’t know whether or not he had slept.
“I guess there’s nothing new from Daniels?”
“No. But he should be here any minute.”
Faith nodded, then retreated to the kitchen and poured a glass of orange juice. She wasn’t particularly thirsty but needed a moment to collect herself.
Something had changed.
She didn’t know how it had happened or why, but at some point last night Kane had looked at her, really looked at her. For the first time, she thought, he had seen her clearly as something other than a means to an end. And once he had done that …
No. She would not think about it.
But he’s thinking about it. He’s been thinking about it all night.
She slowly went back out to the living room. “I wish—”
“You wish what?” Kane’s voice was almost controlled enough to hide the underlying note of strain.
He doesn’t have to hurt like this. Tell him—
Faith tried to concentrate, but the voice had vanished like a soap bubble. Slowly, she said, “I wish I’d had those years of practice Bishop talked about. I wish I could concentrate, or focus, or do whatever it takes to make sense of this.” She set her glass on a nearby table. “I’m sorry, Kane. I wanted to be of some help, but—”
“You have helped, believe me.” He got up and stepped around the end of the piano so they faced each other.
“Have I?” She had to ask, even though every instinct warned her she was risking too much too soon. “Or have I just … complicated the situation?”
Kane took a step closer, as though pulled against his will. His hand lifted to her cheek, but froze before it touched her.
Faith was suddenly conscious of her heart thudding, her breathing quickening—and of that suspended hand. Last night at the warehouse she had been unable to touch him because he’d been utterly unreachable. This time, she thought, he stopped just short of touching her because he suspected it would cause him pain.
“I won’t,” she murmured.
“You won’t what?” He took another step, and his hand gently cupped her cheek.
“I won’t hurt you.” She wanted to close her eyes and press herself to him, to rub herself against him. She could barely breathe.
“That’s a strange thing to say.” He sounded puzzled, but his eyes were on her mouth, darkening, growing intent, watching as his thumb brushed across her bottom lip slowly.
“It’s important,” she whispered, not knowing why it was. “Please believe me. I won’t—”
“I don’t care,” Kane said, and kissed her.
Faith felt herself melt against him, her mouth opening to him, her soul opening to him. For the first time since coming out of the coma, she was completely and joyously sure of who she was and where she belonged.
The doorbell was so loud in the early-morning quiet that it jerked them apart.
Kane was frowning a little and his voice was husky when he said, “Probably Tim. I’d better …”
“Yes, of course,” Faith managed to say.
He seemed about to touch her again, then swore under his breath and turned away.
Feeling suspended between joy and disappointment, and an odd sense that she had been a heartbeat away from understanding something that was desperately important, Faith watched him walk to the foyer and open the front door.
For an instant, seeing Bishop and Richardson standing there, she allowed herself to hope.
Just for an instant.
Then Bishop spoke, his voice hard with control. “I’m sorry, Kane. They’ve found Dinah.”
TEN
“She wanted to be cremated.” Kane stood staring out the apartment window, through the recently installed blinds. “She wasn’t claustrophobic in the conventional sense, but she told me once that she’d always had an absolute horror of being trapped in a small space, especially … underground. I don’t know why. Something in her childhood, I suppose.”
Richardson watched him the way an expert watched a ticking bomb; without fear, but with the certain knowledge that the next second could bring destruction. “It’ll be a while yet, Kane. The M.E.’s office has had a busy week, and they’re backed up. They might get it done in a week, but the lab is so far behind that the toxicology report will take at least three or four.”
Just in time for Christmas, Faith thought.
She sat, silent and still, on the couch where she could see Kane. She thought of the refrigerated storage drawers at
the morgue and shuddered. Which was worse? she wondered miserably. That chilled waiting, or the stainless steel table and sharp scalpels that would come eventually?
Not that Dinah would be aware of either, of course. She was out of pain now.
“They did a preliminary exam?” Bishop asked in the flat, almost disinterested voice that might have convinced a stranger he felt nothing about the matter.
“The usual one, at the scene,” Richardson replied. “Given where she was found, the M.E. says establishing time of death will be even more tricky than usual, but his initial estimate is thirty-six to forty-eight hours, maybe longer.”
Dinah’s body had been discovered by two city workers searching an abandoned, condemned apartment building for the source of a water leak. They had found the leak in the dark, dank basement, which smelled of mold and ancient earth and the refuse of people who had stopped caring long before they had left the place. There in that grave of a building, where a pipe had rusted through and water gushed out, one of the men, more curious than his partner, had opened a barred door to an airtight space originally constructed as a bomb shelter.
The tiny concrete room hadn’t protected Dinah in life, but the cold temperature and dry airless conditions had, in a sense, shielded her, delaying decomposition of the body that had been so maimed and savaged in its final days.
“You’ll need a positive identification.” Kane turned suddenly from the window, a last flicker of hope showing in his eyes.
Reluctantly, the detective shook his head. “Her prints are on file, and the dental records are good. I checked both myself. It’s Dinah, Kane. There’s no mistake.”
“I want to see her.”
“No,” Richardson said. “You don’t.”
“I—”
Bishop interrupted, deliberately Faith thought, to say, “Is there an obvious cause of death?”
“Didn’t find one in the preliminary exam. No gunshot or knife wound, or blow to the head severe enough to kill. The M.E. thinks she probably bled to death, partly from internal injuries. Or if she was alive when they put her in that airtight room, she could have—could have suffocated.” Richardson paused, cleared his throat, then went on stolidly. “There was severe bruising of the body, possibly caused by a fall but more likely deliberately inflicted. Broken bones, including several ribs, one of which probably punctured a lung. And both wrists were cut deeply by the wire they used to restrain her.”
