by Gayle Wilson
That was one reason Tate had been successful so long at hiding what he was doing. And none of what Mac was thinking right now was anything he was going to share with Danny Patterson's mother.
"When I first started," he went on. "I couldn't get any of it out of my head. You don't last long if you don't find ways to cope."
"And you did?"
"Eventually."
She didn't ask how. And he couldn't have told her if she had. You just learned not to think about certain things. Not to let the images in. Or maybe you learned not to think about what you had seen as being real people.
That was something he didn't like to consider, but he didn't deny it was a possibility. Maybe that's why the kids had been so tough. He hadn't been able to do that as well as he usually did.
After his sentence, there was silence between them a long time. It should have been uncomfortable, but it wasn't. It was almost companionable. And that was as strange as anything else that had happened tonight.
"I think I'd like that coffee." she said finally. "If you're sure you're ready to get up. If not..."
"I'm okay." he lied.
He felt like he'd taken a beating, but he knew from experience that that would pass. It was amazing what massive amounts of caffeine could accomplish. He had already started the process of inching himself off the couch when her voice stopped him.
"I don't know why you're doing what you're doing," she said. "Coming by the apartment tonight. Taking
me to Louise's. Offering to let me sleep here. Maybe it's guilt. I don't know. But I do know it's above and beyond the call of whatever your official duties are, so..." Again there was a hesitation, expanding far beyond the length of the first. "I should say thank you. I know a lot of people are trying to catch Tate and put him away. I know that, no matter what I say. Nobody can want him to do what he does ever again."
"No," Mac agreed.
None of them did. None of the cops who'd worked on these cases, despite the mistakes or the delay in figuring out what was going on that the press took such delight in pointing out. Especially not the poor rookie who had screwed up the search of Tate's van. If anything, that had been the result of an overzealousness on his part to get this bastard off the streets.
"So...thank you," she finished.
This wasn't a town or a populace that looked on the police as the good guys. Mac could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times somebody had said thank you to him. Not that it was anything he ever expected. Maybe back when he was puking his guts out over a decaying body in some bayou, but not now.
He couldn’t' explain why hearing this particular woman say it—her voice expressionless, her face unseen—had such an impact. It tightened his throat, forcing him to swallow against an unexpected knot of emotion.
"I'll go make that coffee," he said, pushing up out of the deep, soft cushions.
He heard the dog's nails click against the floor as he followed him into the kitchen. It was a long time before Danny Patterson's mother joined them there.
Given what Mac had felt when she'd expressed her gratitude, that, too, was a damn good thing.
Twelve
Sarah took a deep breath, holding it a second before she turned the key. Then she pushed the door of her apartment open. Instead of rushing inside and heading toward the kitchen and his bowls as was customary after any outing, Toby hung behind her. Despite how prepared she had thought she was, Sarah, too, hesitated on the threshold.
Without saying a word, Mac pushed past her, turning when he reached the center of the small living area.
"If you tell me where to look, I can round up whatever you need. You don't have to go into the back, but I think, considering the building security, you should come inside."
Before they'd come over, Mac had called the detective who'd interviewed her last night. After he hung up, he'd assured her that the "crime scene" processing had been done. She supposed that meant everything the police felt might have any bearing on Dan's murder had been removed.
What she hadn't been prepared for was the emotional barrier opening this door again had produced. She prided herself on the mental toughness Danny's death had forced upon her. Now, as she hovered in the hall outside her own apartment, she acknowledged what a farce that was.
"Sarah?"
Mac's voice broke the spell that her cowardice had created. She stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind her. From force of habit she threw the dead bolt and then turned to look at him.
One corner of his mouth lifted, the same movement she'd noticed that night on the stairs of the precinct. Then, she had identified it as self-deprecation. Now it looked suspiciously like parental pride. Or maybe congratulations.
"So what do you need and where do I find it?" he asked.
"I'll do it." She held Toby's leash out to him.
She was determined not to let what had happened here spook her again. After all, Tate wasn't hiding in the bedroom closet.
But he might have been yesterday. And if you 'd been the one to go back there instead of Dan...
Mac took the lead from her hand, dragging Toby back to the kitchen and tethering him again to the table leg. "Lead the way," he said as he reentered the living room.
She thought about telling him that he didn't need to accompany her. Instead, she did what he'd suggested.
She didn't glance into the open bathroom as she passed by. She had watched the technicians take out the bloodstained shower curtain last night. She had just as soon not know if they'd confiscated anything else.
When she reached the bedroom, she saw that the closet doors were closed. Without allowing herself to hesitate, she walked over to them and pushed one sliding panel behind the other. Standing on tiptoe, she stretched upward to retrieve the small cloth suitcase she kept on the top shelf.
Before she could snag its handle, Mac moved behind her. As he reached over her head, she was once more aware of him physically, of his size. That he was male, and of the clean scent of soap and shampoo that surrounded him, the same fragrances that had filled the small bathroom of his apartment after her shower this morning.
He lifted the bag off the shelf and crossed the room to lay it on her bed. She turned in time to see him unzip and then throw back its top.
For some reason she had a flash of memory of Dan's hand bringing his cigarette up to his mouth on the restaurant's patio yesterday. She deliberately destroyed it, concentrating on the here and now.
Mac had brought her back to the apartment so she could pick up some things she'd need for the next few days. Underwear and a couple of changes of clothes, including her uniform for work.
She'd called her boss this morning, explaining the situation and asking for a few clays off. At least until the funeral. Although he'd told her to take as much time as she needed, she couldn't afford to stay out long. It would be too easy for him to find someone to replace her.
"I think I'll take a look around while you're packing. You sure you're okay back here?"
"I'm fine, but... What exactly are you looking for?"
"I don't know. Anything the techs might have missed."
He'd suggested last night that Tate might have been waiting for her to come home and had been interrupted by Dan's arrival. If that had been the case, there might be some indication of how the killer had gotten in or where he'd hidden.
With that thought she was again conscious of the double closet behind her. And aware that unless she protested, she was about to be left in this room alone.
"Call me if you need me," Mac added. "For getting things down, I mean."
She nodded, but waited until he was out of the room before she walked over to the chest. She began methodically to take items out of the drawers and to place them in the suitcase. When she finished with the folded clothes, she added a couple of outfits from the closet.
She could hear Mac in the front of the apartment as she moved into the bathroom to gather up her toiletries. She avoided looking into the mirror over
the lavatory, mostly so her eyes wouldn't focus on the area where the shower curtain was missing, but also because she didn't particularly want to see on her face the results of the last few days. The mirror over Mac's counter had documented them quite clearly this morning.
She was zipping her makeup bag closed when the doorbell rang. Her hands froze, her eyes lifting automatically. In the glass she saw Mac lean into the open doorway.
"Expecting somebody?"
Mouth dry, she shook her head.
He disappeared down the hall before she could ask what he intended to do. She laid the bag down on the counter and followed.
When she reached the living room, she saw that Mac had his eye to the peephole, his gun out again. He turned to her and shook his head, apparently unable to see whoever had rung the bell.
She tapped her chest with one finger, indicating that she should be the one to answer. If this was someone from the media, they'd have a field day with the fact that Mac was here. It would only add to the speculation that had erupted after the scene on the courthouse steps. And it would certainly not make it any easier for him to get his job back.
Maybe realizing some of what she was thinking. Mac nodded before he stepped to the side of the door, where he'd be hidden when she opened it. She walked across the room, reaching for the knob just as the bell sounded again.
"Who is it?"
"I saw you come home."
Dwight. Her recognition was part relief and part exasperation.
"Can I say hello to Toby? I saw him come home, too."
"Not right now. Dwight. I'm kind of busy."
"Aren't you going to walk him? I brought his ball."
"The kid from downstairs?" Mac asked as he pushed his weapon back into the shoulder holster.
She nodded. Before she could protest, Mac reached out and threw the lock, opening the door.
Surprised. Dwight's gaze moved from one grownup to the other. "I'm Dwight David Ingersoll."
"Mac Donovan." Mac held out his hand, which swallowed the small one Dwight offered in return. "You see all the excitement yesterday?"
"Some of it. I saw you."
"You were at the window downstairs. You waved at me, didn't you?"
Dwight nodded, pleased at being recognized.
"You wave at everybody who comes up the walk?"
"Just people who look like they're nice."
Mac's lips twitched again, but he managed to keep a straight face. "Thanks for the compliment. I think you look nice, too."
"Are vow going to take Toby out to walk?"
"Why don't we all do that," Mac suggested.
She knew he had wanted to talk to the boy yesterday, but surely he understood her reluctance to have any further dealings with the child. Dan was dead, for no other reason than his association with her. Why put Dwight at risk on the off chance he might have seen something that could shed some light on what had happened up here yesterday?
"I don't think we have time for that," she said.
"I don't see why not." Mac raised his brows, as if trying to clue her in.
Exasperated, Sarah ditched the subtlety. Let Dwight think what he would.
"I told you he wasn't here yesterday. He couldn't have seen anything. He was in the park with me."
"For the first time?"
"What?"
"Was that the first time he'd gone with you to the park?"
"I had to ask my mother," Dwight said. "I used to just go to the corner with Toby."
"If he's watching you," Mac said, ignoring the boy, "then he's already seen you together."
"Who?" Dwight's eyes again tracked from one to the other.
"Nobody." Sarah said automatically.
"A man who sometimes comes to this building." Mac's words came on top of her denial. "You think you can remember everybody you've seen coming up the walk in the last few days?"
"I'm not here all the time. I go to school. To Davidson Elementary. My teacher is—"
"If you're determined to talk to him, at least do it inside the apartment." Sarah urged.
The thought that someone might be watching them gave her chills. Sadly, however, Mac was right. If Tate had been following her the last couple of days, he was already aware of her association with Dwight Ingersoll.
"And those are the only white men you've seen here lately?"
"You aren't supposed to notice whether people are black or white," Dwight said. "My teacher says that doesn't matter."
Except your teacher isn't looking for a serial killer, Mac thought. A white serial killer.
"The man I need to find is white. So in this case, it does make a difference," Mac explained patiently.
"Those I told you about are the only ones I saw."
The boy lifted the last of the package of peanut butter crackers Sarah had given him to his mouth, delicately nibbling along its last untouched edge. He'd eaten all of them that way, from the outside in, turning them carefully while Mac questioned him.
Mac knew he should have put it together sooner, starting with the way the kid looked. His complete obsession with Sarah and the dog. Even his waving last night. Watching him eat those crackers had simply confirmed what he should have gathered from all the other clues. There was something wrong with Dwight Ingersoll.
Which meant that even if he'd provided them with any kind of information about Tate being here, his testimony wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell of standing up in court. Not with a defense attorney who was worth a damn.
"Okay, then." Mac decided to cut his losses. "I think that will do it. You've been really helpful."
The boy beamed, basking in what Mac would bet was unaccustomed praise. Sarah shifted in her chair, her eyes meeting his.
At first she'd left him alone with the kid to ask his questions. After about ten minutes, she'd returned, bringing the suitcase he'd taken off the closet shelf with her. She'd taken the seat nearest the back hall, and she hadn't said anything during the rest of the interview.
"I think Toby would like to go out now." Dwight's gaze again moved hopefully from one to the other. "He gets tired of being cooped up inside all day."
A statement which would apply to the boy as well, Mac guessed. He looked at Sarah, brows raised, seeking permission.
"Not today" she said to Dwight. "I'm going to be away for a few days. When I get back, we'll go to the park again and play ball. I know Toby is going to miss doing that with you."
The kid's face fell, his disappointment palpable. For a moment Mac was afraid he was going to cry, but it seemed Dwight Ingersoll was better at dealing with setbacks than most children his age. Or maybe he was more experienced with them.
"We'll walk down with you," Sarah went on. "I need to talk to your mother."
"You aren't going to tell her I'm bothering you, are you? She doesn't like for me to bother people."
"Of course I'm not going to tell her that. You aren't bothering me. Dwight. but I just can't use your help with Toby for a while. Not until I get back."
"I could keep him for you. While you're away, I mean. I'd take real good care of him. I'd walk him every day. You could give me his bowls. And his food." The boy was almost stuttering in his eagerness to make those arrangements.
Sarah rose, bringing the dog, who'd been lying on the rug between them, to his feet as well. She walked across to put her hand on the back of Dwight's head, smiling down at him. "I know you would. I know you'd take very good care of him. but... I need him with me."
"Because you'd miss him?"
"Because I'd miss him. But thank you for the offer.
It was very kind." She lifted her eyes to Mac. "I think it's time we should go."
He couldn't see the harm in giving the kid the fifteen minutes outside that he wanted, but he didn't intend to argue. He knew Sarah was uncomfortable with the idea that she might bring the boy to Tate's attention. Considering her history—and Tate's—who could blame her?
He rose, too, sticking out his hand to the child. "T
hanks again for all your help. Dwight. Think I could tag along the next time you take Toby to the park?"
"Sure. You can throw the ball for him, too. You can probably throw it farther than me, but I can throw it pretty far."
"Don't forget your ball." Sarah reminded.
"I won't." the boy said, picking it up from the floor where he'd placed it when she'd given him the crackers. "I'll put it in my special place until Toby and you get back."
"Thank you. Come on. Tobe." She bent, securing the leash to the dog's collar again. "Would you like to take him down the stairs?"
The kid nodded, pale eyes widening with excitement.
"Remember what I told you. Don't let him pull you down."
"I won't. He's a good dog, aren't you, Tobe. A very good dog." Dwight headed toward the door, the mutt trotting contentedly beside him.
"The mother?" Mac mouthed.
"She should know what's going on."
She meant Tate. And she was right. The more eyes watching out for him the better, as far as Mac was concerned.
Although Dwight wanted to use the key around his neck, Sarah insisted on ringing the bell. She wasn't sure she'd ever get to meet his mother otherwise.
There was no response until she'd pushed the button twice more, and when it came, it was only a disembodied voice. "Who's there?"
Sarah glanced at Dwight, who nodded. "Sarah Patterson, Mrs. Ingersoll. I live on the third floor. I want to talk to you about your son."
They waited again, the silence stretching uncomfortably long. Finally the door opened, but only as far as the chain lock would allow, giving them a truncated view of the woman inside.
"What's he done now?" And then when she spotted the child. "What have you been up to. Dwight?"
"He hasn't done anything. I'm sorry I didn't make that clear. I'm just a little concerned about him. Could we come in, please?"
The blue eye visible through the crack examined her and then moved to consider Mac. Whether he was the deciding factor or not, Sarah would never know, but after a moment Dwight's mother closed the door and removed the chain before she opened it again.
