by CJ Lyons
“I checked when I was over there,” Luka answered. “The ER clerk confirmed the time. And,” he added as Harper opened her mouth to ask another question, “the gift shop closes at seven but has an automated vending area.”
“Cameras?” Ray asked.
“One that might have caught it. But we’ll need a court order—and the hospital will need to review the tape first, make sure there’s no patient confidentiality issues.”
Ray was too mature to roll his eyes but Krichek wasn’t. Probably because he was their designated warrant writer, spinning the slightest probable cause into warrant-granting gold.
“We should also check phone and credit card records,” Harper put in. “See if the victim called and placed the order. And when, maybe narrow our window.”
Luka frowned. Something about those damn roses… but if Ian hadn’t sent them, who had? “So we might have both profit and passion, what about power?” he asked. “Who would want Ian dead? Maybe a rival at work?”
“A bit of overkill for a battle over tenure or some other academic bullshit,” Ray scoffed.
“Don’t forget the government consulting,” Luka said. “Ian had access to classified and proprietary information, could be worth a lot to someone.”
Krichek was typing fast. “How about a hacker Wright helped catch? I found an article saying he was instrumental in stopping those guys who stole over a hundred million by hacking that bank last year. Hundred million? That’s one hell of a motive for revenge.”
“You think some nerd who lives in his parents’ basement playing Minecraft did this?” Harper scoffed.
Ray glanced at Luka—asking permission, since they usually kept their personal lives out of the squad room. “You do know, Harper, that the boss lives in his parents’ basement.”
Harper looked stricken. “Sorry, I just meant—”
“And he’s like a ninth level wizard elf mage—” Ray broke down laughing. “Shit, I can’t.”
Now they were all chuckling, Harper joining in last, a bit uncertain if they were laughing at her or Ray.
“Relax,” Luka told her. “No idea is a bad idea, not this early on. This is the time to brainstorm every possibility, see where the facts might lead us.”
“If we actually had any,” Ray put in. Luka shushed him with a glance—both Harper and Krichek were too new to this to discourage them this early in a case, especially one where nothing was as it appeared to be. He couldn’t get the image of the boot prints Maggie had found out of his mind—so cold, calculating despite the chaotic frenzy of the murder itself. Was there anything about the crime scene that he could trust?
Luka capped the marker, eyeing the whiteboard. Then he shook his head and erased everything except the timeline. “We need facts. Verifiable facts. I want this board filled by end of day. Ray, build the timeline, victim’s movements the past few days. Chat up his neighbors and colleagues. And find this Katrina Balanchuk, see what she has to say, what kind of relationship she had with Ian.”
“I can do that,” Harper interrupted, obviously nettled that he’d given her lead to Ray. But Ray was an experienced interviewer and Luka trusted his judgment, while Harper was technically still a patrol officer, plainclothes or not.
“No. You work the forensics. Follow up on Ian’s computer, the lab stuff. Keep on them—they just bought that fancy new DNA machine, supposed to be so damn fast, let’s make sure they’re using it. And find me that damned motorcycle.”
“When’s the PM?” Ray asked.
“First thing this morning. Maggie pulled some strings, got us Tierney.”
“Nice.” Dr. Ford Tierney, the assistant medical examiner, was painstakingly meticulous when it came to parsing out information, but he was also brilliant at finding the truth, taking nothing for granted.
“I’ll go,” Harper volunteered.
“No.” Luka softened his tone. She was eager to prove herself, he knew. But she needed to learn to pace herself. Especially with a case like this. “I’ve got the postmortem. And I’ll follow up with the wife while I’m over at Good Sam.”
“Maybe the kid will be talking by then,” Krichek said hopefully.
“Maybe,” Luka murmured. But he had little hope that Emily saw anything—or, as traumatized as she was, that she’d be able to communicate it in a way that would help the case.
His phone rang. The farm’s landline. “Get going,” he dismissed his team and waited until they left before answering. If something was wrong it would be Janine calling from her cell, unless something happened to her? “Pops, everything okay?”
“Hey there, big brother.”
Luka’s fingers clamped down on the phone as if wanting to strangle it. Or the woman on the other end of the line. “Tanya. What the hell are you doing at the farm?”
“Whoa, nice to hear from you, it’s been too long. Jesus, Luka, you always gotta be judging folks before you even say hello?”
“When they’re junkies who’ve already stolen everything they can from this family, broken every heart they could, damn right I judge. Now what do you want before I send a patrol car over to bust your ass?” He was bluffing, but he couldn’t stand the thought of her rampaging through Pops’ house, stealing what little was left after the last time she’d relapsed and had come home.
That was almost four years ago—she and her “friends” had converged upon the farmhouse, conning his grandparents into feeding them, taking over the whole damn place, until Luka came by for Sunday dinner and found the house in shambles, all the cash and anything pawnable gone, his grandparents in tears over “poor little Tanya.” Who of course had vanished like a thief in the night. Tornado Tanya was more like it.
“Nothing they can bust me for. I’m clean. Have been for a while now. Long enough to take care of some unfinished business. Family business.”
“You’re not a part of this family, not anymore, not after what you’ve done.” His parents had gone into bankruptcy, had to sell the house he’d grown up in to pay for one of her stints in rehab. Their church had raised the money for another—except Tanya had never made it to the hospital. Instead, she stole the money. Still, they’d given her another chance, somehow scraping up the money for one last rehab—and it had killed them. His folks had died almost ten years ago—a car accident one snowy night, rushing to make it to Tanya’s rehab before visiting hours ended. Luka hadn’t seen or spoken to Tanya since. She never came to the funeral, not their parents’, not their grandmother’s last year.
“I need your help, big brother. Can’t do this alone.”
“If you think this family has any more money—”
“Don’t need money. Wouldn’t take it if you offered.” Her words shocked Luka—not the Tanya he knew, wheedling and begging and outright stealing when those didn’t work.
The conference room door opened. Harper, trying to get his attention.
“I’m busy,” Luka told Tanya. “Can’t talk now.” He envisioned his schedule, tried to think of a window when he could meet her—here, in the city, get her away from the farm and Pops.
“Sure,” she said before he could offer a time and place. “Big brother, big-time homicide detective. No time for family. Nothing’s changed.” She hung up.
Luka stared at the phone in his grasp as if it were a snake. What the hell was going on… Who had let Tanya in—was Pops okay? He started to call Janine, the home health aide helping him with Pops. Then he realized Harper was still standing there. “What?”
She jumped at his tone. Then gathered herself, standing up straight. “Look, I know I’m the new guy brought in from patrol, but I want to do more than just babysitting details. I’ve passed the detective’s exam, I’m ready for more.”
“Babysitting?” What was she talking about?
“First, you have me babysitting the crime scene all night long, and now I get to babysit the lab geeks, watch over their shoulders. Boss, I want to get out there, do something.”
He swallowed the rebuke her words g
enerated. Took a breath. “You’re part of a team now. If you want to stay part of a team instead of driving a patrol car—”
“Yes, sir, I understand.” Her shoulders stiffened as if she stood before a drill sergeant. “Thank you. Sir.” She pivoted to the door.
“Harper,” he called her back. “I’ll call you when I finish at Good Sam. We can tackle Katrina Balanchuk together, let Ray focus on the neighbors and coworkers.”
“Together?” The hope that brightened her face was impossible to ignore.
“You and me. But first, I need to get to the PM.” Tierney was doing them a favor, scheduling the postmortem exam so quickly. Last thing Luka wanted was to irritate the hyper-punctual assistant ME by being late.
“Thanks, boss.” This time it sounded genuine. He wondered if someone, somewhere had tried to break her and not in the “build them back up again” way. Was it something that had happened on the job? Or in her personal life? Maybe it was what had driven her to become a cop in the first place.
Luka glanced out the open door to the bullpen, now filling with detectives. Did Harper have what it took to join their ranks?
Ten
As Leah watched Maggie go, she realized that Ian’s death must already be on the news. What if the media tried to ambush Emily? A vision of reporters sneaking onto the ward, desperate for a story filled her mind. She had to protect Emily from more than the trauma of Ian’s death.
She needed to prepare for what came next.
Leah slid her phone free from the pocket of her scrubs. The battery was almost gone and she still had to call Ian’s parents. Barely past five a.m., their time, but even if she woke them from a last good night’s sleep, she had no choice. Now she couldn’t put it off any longer, because as soon as the news hit the internet, there was a chance they might see it. Telling them would break their hearts and she couldn’t risk Emily overhearing.
The clerks had finished their morning change of shift. The new one—his name tag said Arthur Nguyen—glanced up as she approached the desk. “Dr. Wright, what can I do for you?”
“Have you seen—did what happened to my husband… is it… do people know?” She faltered, not sure of the new vocabulary that now defined her existence. Widow, victim, witness, grief-stricken, murder, shock… so many words she never dreamed she’d need.
“It was on the morning news,” he said, not meeting her gaze. “I heard it on my drive in. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Loss? As if Ian was a misplaced wallet instead of part of her life. Loss? No. Gone? Too small a word. Passed. No. Expired was the medical term but it sounded too much like a sigh, a misbegotten exhalation. A gallon of milk past its due date.
Was there a word large enough to encompass her entire future without Ian? She doubted it.
“Thanks,” she replied automatically. “Is there a way we can make sure no one bothers my daughter?”
“Yes, of course. They already have extra security on the floor, just in case…” Now it was his turn to falter. “I’ll also alert the staff,” Arthur finished. “Anything else I can do for you?”
Leah blew out her breath. The list of what she needed was growing by the minute: a shower, fresh clothes, phone charger, cash, her car, a place to stay, her daughter to wake up and miraculously have forgotten everything about last night, someone to call Ian’s parents and tell them their only son was dead…
She started with basics. There were spare clothes in her office. And a phone charger. Plus, a little cash. “I’m going to run down to the ER, grab a few things and call my husband’s family—they don’t know what happened yet. Is there someone—” She didn’t know the staff here on Peds, not like she knew the ICU and surgical nurses who often rotated through the ER. She turned back to Emily’s open door, torn, reluctant to trust any stranger.
“Cindy from child life just got in,” Arthur said, anticipating her needs. “Want me to ask her to sit with your daughter?”
Cindy? Leah knew Cindy—the child life specialist worked miracles distracting anxious kids down in the ER. “Cindy’s here?” He’d just said she was, but somehow Leah felt as if she might have misheard through the low, constant roaring consuming her brain.
“Calling her right now. Emily will be fine.”
Leah waited until Cindy arrived. Cindy had an air of constant, playful energy that was infectious, but her usually sunny smile dimmed when she saw Leah. “Leah,” she said, then without waiting for Leah’s response pulled her into a tight hug. “How can I help?”
Leah blinked hard, her throat filling with tears. Arthur came to her rescue. “Dr. Wright needs to attend to a few things. Her daughter’s sleeping, but she doesn’t want to leave her alone.”
“Of course, I’ll watch her. Emily, right?”
Leah nodded, swallowing, fighting to regain her voice. “She probably won’t even wake, but… Call me if she does. I won’t be gone long.”
“Of course. No problem.”
She checked on Emily one last time. Still under the spell of the sedative, Emily’s face was relaxed as she slept. Watching her, Leah wished for so many things: that when Emily woke, she’d have forgotten all her pain and terror; for a way to speed them both into the future, past this awful, gaping wound of a present; for the strength and ability to make everything better for her daughter. Bad enough she couldn’t save Ian; she had to find some way to save Emily. But short of a magic fairy godmother appearing to grant all her wishes, Leah was left with nothing.
She grabbed a few sausage links from Emily’s untouched breakfast tray and forced herself to eat them as she took the stairs down to the ER—she wasn’t hungry, didn’t even taste them as she chewed and swallowed, but knew she’d need the energy. The back hallway to the ER staff offices was quiet. They shared four to a room, but since all the physicians worked shifts and only used their offices to store possessions, prepare lectures, do chart reviews and research, there was seldom more than one person there at a time.
This morning Leah’s office was empty, saving her from stuttering her way through a conversation no one wanted to have. Condolences had always been difficult for Leah to master. Stumbling, fumbling for the exact right words, daring to hope they might ease someone’s pain and knowing, every single time, that she was doomed to fail. Now, being on the receiving end, she realized exactly how wrong she’d been, imagining her words might help. Because every “I’m so sorry” people offered her hit like a sledgehammer, with no way to dodge the blows.
Closing the door behind her, she stopped, stunned by the silence after a night spent on the ward. She took a few breaths, emptying and refilling her lungs as if she could hope to carry the peaceful quiet with her when she left. Then she moved to her desk, put her phone on the charger, and used the landline to call Ian’s parents in Seattle. She felt guilty for not calling earlier.
She started the call standing, but as it progressed, she ended up crouched in her desk chair, her entire body curled into a ball, her forehead resting on her desk. They were crying, she was crying, but the worst part was what she couldn’t tell them—not on the phone, maybe not ever. The sight of Ian’s body, her crawling through his blood to reach Emily, their beautiful granddaughter turned into a cowering, feral creature.
“But Emily, she’ll be all right?” Ian’s mother, Tilda, asked, breaking through her sobs.
“They gave her a sedative.” Leah used her clinical tone. It helped, pretending to be professional, distancing herself from the pain. “Once she wakes, we’ll start counseling.”
“Right, to prevent post-traumatic stress,” Ian’s father said. He was a Gulf War veteran, had been on the ground in Kuwait and Iraq.
“But they won’t make her testify, will they?” Tilda put in. “I mean, she won’t need to relive that, face this monster when they catch him? You won’t let that happen, will you, Leah?”
Leah had no answer to that. Right now, it was taking everything she had to make it through this phone call, much less a theoretical trial that could be yea
rs away. “She’ll be fine. I’d better go. Get back to her.”
“Right,” Bruce, Ian’s father, said, his own tears breaking through his attempt to stay in control. “I’ll text you when we have flights and a hotel sorted.”
“Maybe I should call one of your neighbors,” Leah suggested. “Someone to stay with you, help with the details?”
“No,” he said, reminding her of why she’d always liked him so much. Bruce and Leah were a lot alike, handling their problems—and emotions—in private. “You just take care of Emily. And yourself.”
“Tell her we love her.” Tilda’s voice carried through the line before it went dead.
Leah hung up. Her tears flowed so hard her entire body jerked and swayed in anguish. She pressed herself into the corner of the room and covered her mouth, crushing her eyes closed, and screamed into her fists. Her heart felt ripped to pieces. Agony seared her, and then noises in the hallway as staff bustled past her door reminded her she could not let go here. She bundled those feelings, folding them inside her heart. An origami of pain to be deconstructed and dealt with later.
Finally, she was composed enough to grab what she needed, and head down the back hallway to the women’s locker room where she took a quick shower. Her clothing choices were limited: scrubs, workout clothes, or her all-purpose going-to-court, teaching, TV-interview outfit that she kept for emergencies. Since she imagined that today would be spent up on peds, in bed with Emily, she took the easy way out and went with the scrubs. Here in the hospital, they made her anonymous, as if there wasn’t anything different about her now, as if she was still the same woman who’d just twelve hours ago held a boy’s heart in her hand and started it beating again.
Sam Davidson, head of the ER and Leah’s immediate boss, was working this morning and she wanted to thank him for arranging coverage for the shifts she’d be missing. She crossed through the main ER to find him, passing through a barrage of staff rushing up to her, taking her hands, hugging her, a few crying themselves. When Sam saw her, he frowned and also hugged her, then walked her past the nurses’ station to the empty staff room. Leah was pretty certain she said the right words because his face creased with concern as he nodded and mouthed more words back to her. The sounds were instantly consumed by the roaring in her brain and she honestly had no idea what she was saying—or what he had said.
