by Lori L. Lake
She turned back to survey the area below. Two taxis pulled up outside, and clumps of travelers emerged. She watched a woman lean into a cab's front window and pay the driver. Close, but she was far heavier than Bishop. Two men in summer suits, wallets open, stood by their wheeled suitcases and haggled. One laughed, plucked some money from his billfold, and tossed it to the cabbie.
Leo scanned the area below again, looking closely at every woman. She paused to squint at a tall, stately brunette ambling away from the check-in counter. She wore a waist purse strapped around her middle and pulled a carry-on case on wheels. Her linen pants were tan, her navy top a simple, short-sleeved button-up shirt, and her tennis shoes were so stark white that they had to be new.
Not Bishop, Leo thought. The stride wasn't graceful, and besides, her hair was wrong. The woman paused and opened a pocketbook, shuffled some papers, knelt down and zipped something into her suitcase.
Thom appeared to Leo's right and startled her. "Whoa. Wheels on carpet. Very sneaky, Thom."
"What have we got?"
Without taking her eyes off the woman, Leo said, "What do you think of that woman? The one to the right of the TSA guy? Hair's wrong, but is that her?"
"Could be."
"Nobody else fits. Wrong builds. Wrong height."
"Let's check that one out. You keep an eye out from here, and I'll take the elevator down to flank her."
Leo wished she had binoculars. If only she could get a better look. If the woman was Victoria Bishop, she'd likely recognize Leo right away, so it was better to stay out of her line of vision. Feeling exposed, she moved over toward the wall, angling away from the direct line of sight of anyone who took the stairs or elevator.
The woman zipped up the bag, adjusted the handle, straightened, and strode forward. As she drew closer, Leo examined the line of her jaw, the tilt of her head. The suitcase shortened the woman's stride slightly, changed her gait, but yes, it was the woman she knew as Claire Ryerson.
From the corner of her eye, Leo saw Thom's chair roll into view. He was on course to cut Bishop off before she reached the escalator.
Time to move. Leo hastened to the top of the staircase. She wasn't willing to get stuck on the escalator or to take the elevator down if it meant letting the woman out of her sight. If Bishop managed to come up the escalator or to reverse and escape out the front, at least Leo had options by using the staircase.
She halted halfway down the steps. Thom raised a hand to intercept the woman, as though he were merely asking the time. Bishop stopped politely, nodding. She glanced toward the windows. Her head swung gradually across the terminal until her gaze met Leo's, passed idly by, and jerked back.
Bishop let go of the suitcase handle. The luggage rolled back, and a man hurrying behind her tripped over it but managed not to fall. Bishop whirled. Thom grabbed her forearm. She tried to pull away, but he had a strong grip. As Leo scrambled down the stairs, she was amazed to see Bishop lean down, grab the footrest of Thom's chair, and flip him over.
The onlookers let out a collective gasp but were too surprised to do anything other than stand staring. Bishop wrenched her arm from Thom's grasp and took off for the front entrance.
"Thom!" Leo reached Thom, on his back like a marooned turtle.
"Go, Leo. Go! I'm fine."
She changed course and charged past him.
"Get her, just get her," he called out as she rushed away. "I'll find the airport police."
Victoria Bishop hit the front door, but was slowed by a knot of people trying to get in.
"Hey!" someone said. "Watch where you're going."
By the time Leo got to the glass door, the group had turned back to enter, but they quickly got out of her way when they saw her coming.
"What's with the chicks in flight?" some guy grumbled.
She blasted through the door, fumbling for the badge in her pocket. Bishop led by a few yards. A block ahead, a taxi pulled in behind a line of other cabs. Leo had to stop her before she got to that taxi stand. Overruling stiff muscles, she pumped with her arms and pushed herself harder.
She felt naked without her gun, but in street clothes, it was probably better that she didn't pull a gun anyway. Some overzealous airport cop might take a shot.
"Stop her!" she hollered. She didn't see anyone who could help, but it was best to identify herself. "Stop! Police!" She passed a knot of travelers, all pulling suitcases, and held up her badge. They gawked as she ran by.
Bishop slowed at the front taxi, but Leo hadn't played football with Kate and the neighborhood boys for nothing. Before she could get the door open, Leo hooked Bishop's waist with an arm and they both went crashing to the cement.
Bishop rolled, kicking and fighting like a wildcat. She caught Leo in the jaw with a fist. A fingernail scratched Leo's arm. Shrieking, she twisted and squirmed to get away, but Leo was stronger. She forced flailing arms down and pinned them with her knees. "Don't make me sock you."
"Hey," a man's voice said softly. A cabdriver stood nearby, his eyes wide under a plum-colored turban. Other cabbies exited their cars, but they didn't seem to know what to do. One bent and picked up her badge.
"Saint Paul Police," Leo said, through gritted teeth. "That's my badge. Somebody please get the airport police."
Leo stared down into the blue eyes below. The face was pretty, but the eyes were ice-cold. She glared up with such fury that Leo shuddered. "Why? Why would you kill those poor old women?"
Victoria Bishop's expression was triumphant, like a cat that had just eaten a particularly lovely songbird. She hissed, "Because…"
"Why?"
"Because I can." She smiled sweetly then grimaced and kicked, but Leo had too firm a hold for her to squirm lose.
"You think you're so smart, such a clever savior," the woman said. "You'll see soon enough that you're not."
The words were unsettling. Victoria or Claire—or whatever her name was—glared at Leo with such venom that Leo was reminded of a predatory snake poised to sink its fangs into some unsuspecting victim.
Thom called out Leo's name. She saw the wheel of his chair in her peripheral vision, but she didn't dare turn her face away from Bishop.
"Cops are coming," Thom said. "You nailed her. Good job. But you're bleeding."
"I'm okay." She couldn't quite catch her breath, and her right shoulder and knee burned painfully.
"Hang on, kiddo. Just hang in there another minute."
An airport police officer came jogging up. Thom held his State ID high in the air. "Minnesota State Investigator. She's Saint Paul Police."
"What's going on?" the airport cop asked.
"We're arresting this suspect," Leo said. "Will you please cuff her and take her into custody?"
The moment Leo clambered to her feet, the other woman broke into tears. By the time Leo got to her feet, Bishop was clinging seductively to the brawny cop. "She assaulted me, Officer. Look, I'm bleeding."
The pitiful expression on Bishop's face was so patently false that Leo wanted to barf, but it seemed to be working on the cop.
"What's this all about?" he asked, looking from Leo to Thom and back at the woman.
Thom said, "This woman is wanted in connection with two murders and multiple financial crimes."
"Ridiculous!" Bishop said. "I never hurt anyone." She sagged against the officer, managing to pat his chest and smear blood from her torn palm onto his shirt.
Leo dug her phone out of her pocket. Though it was cracked, she still got a signal.
"Flanagan? We've got her. Get over to the Humphrey Terminal now. And I mean now."
She hung up. "The Minneapolis Police will be here momentarily." She hunted for the cabbie who had her badge and found him standing by the door of his taxi. "May I have that, sir?" As she reached out to accept the badge, she realized she'd burned away a lot of the skin on her wrist, forearm, and elbow. A drop of blood fell to the pavement. "Ouch, I might need a Band-Aid."
Thom said, "I think you might ne
ed a paramedic."
Chapter Twenty-Five
AFTER THE PARAMEDICS stanched the flow of blood from her arm, Leo got to ride with them over to Hennepin Medical Center. She didn't want to go to the hospital, but the medics advised it. Dirt and bits of gravel were ground into the deep scrapes in her arm and knee, and the medics insisted a doctor irrigate the wounds. Naturally, Victoria Bishop/Claire Ryerson only bruised her elbow and scratched her hand. Leo fumed about that. Wasn't the bad guy the one who was supposed to end up in the ambulance?
She was on the scene at the terminal long enough to see Flanagan arrive, soon followed by DeWitt. They wanted to talk to Leo but Thom said, "Let her go. I'll update you, and she can fill in the blanks later." He waved her on. "Go, Leo. I'll be over to get you as soon as I can."
The medic pulled the door shut and belted her into the padded side seat. Leo held a compress to her arm and examined her torn, blood-stained pants. They'd cost her sixty bucks, and she regretted going all Rambo in them.
Before the bus spirited her off, the last thing she saw through the narrow window in the back was Bishop being led to a police car. She stared toward the ambulance, caught Leo's eye, and smiled before she was unceremoniously stuffed into the back.
The smile had been gleeful, diabolic. Leo shivered. What had Pastor Jim Lucas called her? Pure evil? Why hadn't Leo seen it before? Why hadn't anyone else noticed? Clearly, Victoria Bishop/Claire Ryerson was a great actress.
Leo couldn't wait to hear what evidence Flanagan and DeWitt could turn up to make a case. What was in the traveling bag Bishop ditched? Cash? Gems? Documents? Leo hoped for damning evidence. She was pretty sure they could put Bishop away for the financial crimes, but the murders might be another story. The case wasn't going to be an easy one to prove.
Ten in the morning is a good time to frequent the ER. Leo was happy to see it was deserted, and the medics got her right in. She'd left her valise in Thom's van, so she had to do some fancy talking to postpone the insurance paperwork, but by the time she'd gotten out of her torn clothes and been treated and bandaged, Thom arrived, her valise on his lap.
"Hey, smart guy. Thanks for bringing that. Apparently the insurance company won't honor my SPPD badge."
"I figured as much." He handed up the valise. "Amazing bandage on your knee there. You okay?"
"Absolutely as okay as I could be sitting here half-exposed in this silly show-my-whole-behind hospital gown."
"I hear you. When I broke my back, I lived in those damn things for months. I'll go hang out in the waiting room." He wheeled partway around then stopped. "You know, if you give me your insurance card, I can go out there and get the paperwork underway. Expedite it, you know."
"You don't have to bother with that."
"What else do I have to do? It's my specialty. I may not be able to run down a suspect, but I can surely do paperwork. Hand over the card."
She opened the valise and found her wallet. Out of the corner of her eye she sneaked a look at Thom. He hadn't frowned much in the brief time she'd known him. Now his expression was troubled. He reached for the card, but she pulled it back.
"What's the matter? Did the detectives give you a hard time?"
"Oh, no, not at all. They're sort of shell-shocked, but after I gave them the scoop, they perked right up."
"What's wrong then?"
He exhaled, shaking his head. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."
She tucked the valise behind her and smoothed the gown with one hand. "You're bullshitting me."
He looked up, surprised.
"Come on. What's up?"
"She dumped me over. That worthless bitch knocked me on my ass. I play murderball and don't get blown out of my chair as easily as that."
"She caught you unaware. She's a lovely, elegant-looking viper. Nobody expects her level of cunning. I had her on the ground, pinned, and she was spitting and kicking like a cornered animal."
"Still—"
"Thom, you're not listening. We got off lucky. You didn't see into her eyes." She paused and took a deep breath. "I looked into those evil eyes. There's nothing there. Nothing. She doesn't care about anyone. I asked her why she killed those innocent old women. You know what she said?"
"What?"
"She said, and I quote, 'Because I can.' As if it were a game. The way I see it, we're lucky as hell she wasn't carrying a gun or a knife. I think if we'd surprised her anywhere else but at the airport, she might have killed you."
"Oh, great. That doesn't make me feel any better. She didn't have a gun or knife, but she was easily able to tip me on my ass and run."
"I hear there's a sale on cow-catchers—you know, like they used to have on old-fashioned trains."
With a wry grin, he said, "I know what they are." His face went serious, and he pounded his fist on the chair arm. "You could have been seriously injured tackling her."
"Ah, so what you're really saying is you should have been the one tackling her, huh?"
"Yeah, in a perfect world."
"How very gallant of you. And sexist."
He sighed. "I don't mean it that way."
"Maybe I'll have to get some tips from you then. Every time I've tackled someone, which is only four or five times over the last decade, I've always gotten dinged up. It sure isn't as easy as they make it look in the movies."
"I definitely could teach you some tricks. There's a way to slow yourself at the last moment, grab on, and drag the person down."
"I thought that's what I did," she said dryly.
"Well, not exactly. You launched yourself like a torpedo, and—"
The doctor entered the room, clipboard in hand. "Excuse me, am I interrupting?"
"No," Thom said. "I'm on my way to update the billing clerk." He held out a hand, and Leo gave him her insurance card.
"Now then, Sergeant Reese," the doctor said, "I'm prescribing a five-day course of antibiotics. You had a lot of crud in those wounds." He ripped off two pages and handed them to her. "Contact with the pavement like that scraped away a couple layers of skin. It'll burn like a son of a gun for a while. If you find you need it, the second scrip is for a mild painkiller."
"So I can go?"
"You bet. Keep the wounds clean and call your regular doctor if you have any fever or excessive pain."
"My clothes?"
The doctor looked at her like she'd asked for a hot air balloon and a passport to Mars. "I don't deal with that. I'll get the nurse in to help you."
IT WAS AFTER one o'clock before Leo finally made it home to change into a clean, blood-free outfit. Thom stopped at the drive-through pharmacy on the way, then tried to tell her to take time off for the rest of the day. But what was she supposed to do? Sit around the house and wait for four hours to pass so she could take the next antibiotic pill?
"Wait for me," she said as she exited the van stiffly. "I want to go to the office and get Fred's damn report done. I've got to get my car anyway."
She was standing in a clean bra and underwear when the downstairs front door slammed. For a moment, she thought Thom had decided to come in to wait for her, then she realized there was no way he could have navigated the front stairs. For the first time it occurred to her that their house wasn't handicap accessible.
"Daria?" she called out. She heard a heavy tread on the stairs, and Daria stopped in the doorway, face grim and pale. "Why are you home so early? What's wrong?"
"The jury came in."
"Uh-oh. Not good."
"No, not good at all. In record time they convicted Dunleavey on all counts."
"I'm so sorry." Leo picked up a long-sleeved blouse from the bed and shrugged it over her bandaged arm.
Daria narrowed her eyes and for the first time actually studied her. "What the hell happened to you? Your knee? Your arm?"
"I took down a suspect and got scraped up."
"Judas Priest! You've been on the police force all these years, and you've never been bandaged like that. What the hell is this temp job doing to
you?"
"This was an unusual incident. I was in street clothes and short sleeves. If I'd been in my heavy-duty uniform, it wouldn't have been so bad."
Daria crossed the room and helped her into the blouse.
"Ouch. Don't squeeze there."
"Sorry. How'd you manage such a nice bandaging job?"
"I had a great doctor at the hospital."
"What? You went to the hospital and you didn't call me?"
"Cripes, so I'm a little scraped up. It's minor."
"If it's so minor, why all the bandages?"
"Just a lot of scrapes, hon." She buttoned up her shirt and went to the closet for some pants. "Don't overreact. I'm fine."
Daria fell back to the bed, kicked off her shoes, and lay there, arms spread. "What a shit-ass day."
Leo stepped into her pants and zipped them up awkwardly. Her arm didn't want to bend, so she moved it gently. "What's going to happen with your job?"
"For all I know, the partners will fire me."
Leo stopped in the middle of tying her shoe. "You're kidding, right?"
"I don't know. They were furious. If they keep me, you can bet I won't be seeing first chair again for a long time, if ever."
"Are you taking the rest of the day off?"
"I think so. I decided I'd better make myself scarce until they all calmed down."
"Good plan." Leo leaned a hip on the edge of the bed and took her hand. "No matter what happens, we'll get through."
"This is the worst day of my life. I lose the case, you get injured, I might lose my job, and you could lose your eye."
"Thanks for reminding me and for using that joyous word lose, lose, lose. I'd actually forgotten about my eye for a few hours."
"I can't believe how our lives have gone to shit. What did we ever do wrong?"
