Shades of Passion

by DePaul, Virna

  “A man Lana thought was sick.”

  Shadows suddenly appeared in Carrie’s eyes, giving her a haunted expression. “Brad Turner was sick. Sick enough to dismember a woman. Sick enough to peel the skin off another—” Her voice rose a notch before she tamped down her emotions.

  “Carrie,” Jase said softly, but Carrie shook her head.

  “No. I’m okay. Lana isn’t. Because of Brad Turner. But maybe if someone had listened to her, or someone like her, earlier, maybe Brad Turner would’ve gotten help long before he met Lana. Maybe he wouldn’t have killed the women he did. And maybe Lana would be alive today. Have you ever thought about that?”

  Simon had no doubt that his face must look as haunted as Carrie’s just had. At least, that’s how he felt. Haunted. And nauseous. He rose and walked toward the door, hoping it didn’t look like he was stumbling.

  “Simon, wait.”

  Simon froze, but didn’t turn around.

  “I—I care about you. We all do. We’re worried and—”

  Simon turned toward her. “Don’t be worried. And for God’s sake, don’t care about me. All it’s gotten me so far are weekly appointments talking to a man about how I feel and what I’d do differently if I could. But no more. I’m through with ‘not-really-mandatory-but-essentially-mandatory’ counseling. You can tell both Mac and Commander Stevens that. Worry and caring? No, thanks. I don’t need it, Carrie, and frankly, I don’t want it.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “YOU WANT ME TO SHADOW Simon Granger?” Nina asked Commander Stevens in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. I’m a psychiatrist, not a cop.”

  “And that’s exactly the capacity in which we want you to serve, Dr. Whitaker. I’m not asking you to go into overtly dangerous situations with Detective Granger. He’s not a street cop, but an investigator. His casework is controlled and he’s not an adrenaline junkie. To the contrary, he’s put in for a return to management.”

  “And you want me to determine whether he’s fit for that position? Is that why you sent him to see Dr. Shepard in the first place? Because I’m not going to spy on someone and report to you about him without his knowledge.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking,” Stevens said. “Simon is seeing Dr. Shepard for counseling. He’s going through a difficult time...”

  Nina held up her hand. “Please don’t say anything more. It’s not appropriate for you to disclose Detective Granger’s personal business to me without him knowing it.”

  Stevens hesitated then said, “Fine. But you’re wrong. I’m not asking you to shadow Detective Granger so you can evaluate him. At least, not any more than you’ll be evaluating any other cop that works for the city.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We’ve discussed your desire to establish a Mental Health Intervention Team within San Francisco P.D.”

  “Discussed is one way of putting it. I’ve asked for your assistance in having that program implemented. Given the information I got from Michael Callahan and the favorable press it’s brought to the department, I was hoping you’d see the benefits of what I’m proposing.”

  “I’m open to hearing more about it, of course.”

  “But?”

  “But you’re assuming this program will benefit us based largely on public outrage at the way certain matters have been handled. I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to recommend changes based on incidents you’re learning about third-hand or by subjective sources. The program you started up in Charleston was based on extensive research, third-party observations and case studies.”

  “That’s right. But that was when the program was in its infancy, before it had any kind of track record. It took years to accumulate that data. Now we have concrete statistics showing that the MHIT program has benefited the Charleston Police Department and—”

  “But those stats are based on where the Charleston Police Department started out. And based on the initial data you collected, which indicated the program was warranted in the first place. I’m asking for that same foundation. That you not judge the compassion or competency of our men when you haven’t even witnessed it yourself.”

  Taking a deep breath, Nina leaned back in her chair. “Tell me what you have in mind.”

  “Simon has several open cases, including one concerning a murdered homeless man, but they’re all inactive right now. Barring additional activity in those cases, he’s ready for a new assignment. However, that can wait a week. In the meantime, you can work together. He’ll monitor dispatch and accompany you to calls that will be handled by a patrol officer. He’ll assist and you’ll observe SIG and the SFPD in action.”

  “But why Detective Granger?” she asked, perturbed. “Won’t he object to babysitting me?”

  “That’s irrelevant. Simon’s been working one tough case after another. He’s due a lighter assignment. Plus, he’s applying for a promotion to management. Better he get used to the idea of politics and suffering for the cause now. Finally, I consider your MHIT proposal fairly critical. At least, that’s what you’re arguing, isn’t it? That we absolutely need to give some thought to broad prevention instead of simply focusing on what’s already in front of us?”

  Hoisted by her own petard, she thought. You had to give Stevens points for persuasiveness. “Yes, that’s what I’m advocating.”

  “Then this is my offer. You’ll get the chance to evaluate how San Francisco law enforcement personnel interact with those experiencing mental illness. Complete a detailed report with your findings, and I’ll set up meetings with the appropriate people so you can make your recommendations.”

  What Stevens was offering was both insanely difficult and far too easy. It made Nina wonder what he was really after. She narrowed her eyes as a thought occurred to her. “And what if my findings aren’t favorable to the police? What if certain departments want them suppressed? Or if they make it even more difficult for me to attain police cooperation?”

  “Part of the benefit of being with the Department of Justice is that we oversee every law enforcement agency in the state. I’m not out to hide anything. However, despite what you and your colleagues think, I have faith in our officers and believe they handle confrontations with all suspects well and to the best of their ability. I’m not saying you’ll be able to convince me otherwise, but I will give you a fair shot. Who knows? Maybe we can compromise on training that’s amenable to both of us.”

  “I won’t skew my results to make you look good,” she warned.

  “I’m not asking you to. But I must also warn you that this type of arrangement is highly unusual. You’ll be signing waivers of liability forms all night. You have to go into this with your eyes wide open. If anything were to occur, Simon will protect you with his life. I have no doubt about that. But you are still a civilian putting yourself into potentially dangerous situations. If you’re not willing to take this kind of risk for the program you’re advocating, then—”

  Commander Stevens’s phone rang. “Excuse me a moment,” he said before answering. His facial features relaxed slightly at the caller’s greeting and his expression reminded Nina of how different—how wonderful—Simon looked when he allowed himself to relax, too.

  “I have a few more things to wrap up,” Stevens said to the person on the phone, “but I’ll be ready to tee off at six as planned. Yes, I’m looking forward to the gala, too. Four officers will be in attendance, including one from SIG. Yes. Yes. I’m actually just finishing up a meeting here. It’s with the doctor I told you about. The one that...” Stevens glanced at Nina and held up a finger, indicating he’d only be another minute.

  She nodded and averted her gaze, only half listening as Stevens described how Nina had assisted with Michael Callahan. She was sure his flattery was deliberately timed.

  As he’d probably intended, Nina thought again of the other people—citizens and police officers alike—who might be better off if the city implemented advanced mental health training and increased practical assi
stance for law enforcement. She thought of Beth and Rachel. Rebecca Hyatt and Michael Callahan. She even thought of Mrs. Horowitz, who’d passed away two nights before and how, in spite of being prepared for the end, Nina had cried anyway.

  She’d known this would happen. She’d become personally invested. She’d risked the peaceful life she’d made for herself in exchange for the challenging task of helping and saving others, and she knew exactly why she had. Because she truly believed the MHIT program could help people. And because her peaceful life had ceased to be enough for her.

  Coincidentally or not, her restless feelings and lack of fulfillment had started the day she’d met Simon Granger.

  She just wished she hadn’t asked out the man she was about to trail. He probably thought she’d lied about where she’d gotten the triple-X movie she’d dropped from her purse and would be expecting her to come on to him at every turn. Well, she could control her baser instincts. And obviously he didn’t want to have anything to do with her romantically.

  The problem was he wasn’t going to want anything to do with her professionally, either.

  It was going to make things uncomfortable for both of them.

  But Nina wasn’t going to take the easy way out again. Not this time.

  “I’m willing to take the risk,” she said quietly. “When does this assignment start?”

  * * *

  SIMON STARED AT COMMANDER Stevens until the normally unshakable man’s left eye twitched. He didn’t make the mistake of viewing it as weakness. Fact was, Stevens didn’t enjoy playing the heavy, especially when it came to his own men. The twitch evidenced that. But it didn’t change the fact that Stevens would play the heavy if it was necessary.

  Simon just wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

  “No. Absolutely not. I don’t want to spend any more time than I already have with that woman.” He refrained from childishly saying, “And you can’t make me,” but just barely. “I have a job to do, and babysitting a shrink isn’t in my job description.”

  “You’ve always been good at your job and that’s why I need you to do this. You already know the local police are under fire because of repeated confrontations with mentally ill subjects. And despite Rita Taylor’s recent backtracking, there’s still plenty of talk on the street that someone saw a uniformed police officer fleeing the scene of Mr. Cann’s murder. Now, Michael Callahan’s family is making allegations of police brutality.”

  “What?” First Rebecca Hyatt’s father blamed Nina for how she’d handled the situation; now Callahan’s family was blaming the police? On what basis? But then Simon recalled Nina’s comments about bruises and Officer Rieger’s claim that Callahan had resisted arrest. Simon cursed.

  “DOJ has been asked to step in as an objective party,” Stevens continued. “To determine whether local law enforcement can benefit from the type of training Nina Whitaker is proposing. Between you and me, this is a formality. The mayor’s ready to cave. Training will be ordered. It’s just a matter of how much of it we’ll have to suffer. It’s going to depend on whether we can convince Dr. Whitaker that we’re not the brutalizing apes the press has made us out to be.”

  Simon shifted restlessly. A brutalizing ape was probably exactly what Nina Whitaker thought he was. “So assign her to some patrol officer at SFPD. Or if DOJ needs to be involved, an intern. Hell, I don’t care who you assign her to, so long as it’s not me. Unless—” His frown darkened. “Are you still concerned I’m unfit to do my job because of what happened with Lana?”

  “I never accused you of being unfit, Simon. Just...troubled. I think you’re internalizing a lot and that you can benefit from talking to someone about it.” Stevens held up his hand. “I know. You’ve made it quite clear that you’re not going to see Dr. Shepard again. Ultimately, that’s your choice. But if you’re as well adjusted as you say you are, if you don’t really have the biases against the mentally ill that Elaina Scott accused you of, then you should have no problem with this assignment. That’s particularly true since you want to be in management. The city is suffering a public relations nightmare right now. Think how grateful the higher-ups will be if you facilitate a partnership with Dr. Whitaker in a way that benefits both sides. So that no one comes out looking like a bad guy, especially us.”

  “So this is about making us look good? Is she aware of that?”

  “She’s agreed to do an objective assessment.”

  “And if her objective assessment is that we’re all in fact brutalizing apes, what’s that gonna do for my promotion possibilities?”

  “I suppose that’s a risk we’re all going to have to take. Welcome to the world of politics. You ready to play with the big boys?” When Simon remained silent, Stevens slapped his open palm on his desk. “This discussion is over. Today’s Tuesday. Beginning Monday, Dr. Whitaker will shadow you for five days. You’ll take her out on SFPD calls so she can see how the beat cops relate to the public. She’ll make observations as a consultant for a proposed project between the hospital and the police. To the extent she makes observations that aren’t favorable to the force, I’ll have your back on that. That’s all I can promise. But bottom line, you want my support so you can get that captain position? I guess you need to decide how much you want it.”

  Simon rose. “I don’t want it this bad. Is that all? Sir?”

  They stared at one another before Stevens sighed and sank into his chair. “Give it some thought, Simon. She’s going to shadow someone. If not you...” He shrugged.

  “Not me is my preference,” Simon muttered as he left. Not yet ready to return to his desk and what were sure to be questions from his fellow SIG detectives, Simon walked to the SIG break room. He froze in his tracks when he saw Nina Whitaker there, nursing a cup of coffee. He couldn’t help it. He stalked up to her and got in her face.

  “What the hell are you trying to pull?”

  * * *

  SPECIAL AGENT BRYCE DeMarco was standing in front of the vending machines just outside the SIG break room when Simon strode right by him. The other man didn’t even bother to say hello, but DeMarco didn’t call him on it. From the looks of him, Simon was distracted. Again.

  He was entitled. The guy had been going through some heavy-duty shit lately. Hell, they all had. DeMarco felt like he’d been put through the ringer ten times over. Then bludgeoned with a hammer. Then cut into pieces and fed to sharks.

  He still couldn’t believe Lana was dead. She’d been a good woman. A good friend. DeMarco missed her like crazy. He could barely stand to think about the way she’d died—at the hands of some violent sicko who had ensured her final minutes on this earth had been filled with pain and terror.

  Unfortunately, as much as DeMarco grieved Lana’s passing, his own brand of trouble had started rearing its ugly head long before she’d died and he was still dealing with the aftermath. He was having trouble sleeping, and when he did sleep, he had nightmares. He found himself getting pissed off easily, when normally he was pretty easygoing. Hell, DeMarco hadn’t even tried to bed a woman in God only knew how long because the last few times he’d tried he hadn’t been able to get it up.

  All that had been going on for months, well before Lana had died.

  Ironically, the only person he’d told about his problems had been Lana. And the only reason DeMarco had finally decided to confide in her was because he’d trusted her. Respected her. Liked her.

  He didn’t feel the same way about her replacement.

  Not that the new staff psychiatrist was a bad guy, at least DeMarco had no reason to think that, but he was a stranger nonetheless.

  No way was DeMarco going to admit to nightmares and fucking impotency to a man he didn’t know. Even with Lana he’d held back. Still, talking to her about what had happened in New Orleans six years ago had helped.

  Until, that is, he’d gotten the call last year.

  Now, the nightmares were worse than ever.

  Sometimes, when the horrible images wouldn’t leave his m
ind, he wished—

  He looked in the direction that Simon had disappeared.

  Sometimes he just wished he could talk to one of his friends about what had happened. About how much it was messing with his head. But the timing to talk to someone, someone who knew him and cared about him, was always off.

  Last year, when DeMarco had been called to New Orleans for his “family emergency,” Jase and Carrie had been smack-dab in the middle of a complex serial killer case. And afterward...after that same serial killer had murdered Lana...well, everyone had been on edge.

  DeMarco would have felt like the biggest pussy in the world if he’d gone crying to his friends after that. He’d told himself he’d start to feel better. When he hadn’t felt better, he’d told himself he’d reach out eventually. Only too much time had passed. Reaching out now seemed foolish. Weak.

  His friends had problems of their own without having to deal with his shit.

  No, he was fine. Tired. Stressed. But he’d deal.

  Just like he always had in the past.

  With a sigh, DeMarco punched the coins into the vending machine, grabbed his chilly soda and started to walk away.

  He paused, however, when he heard Simon’s angry voice coming from the break room.

  * * *

  NINA STARED AT THE ANGRY man looming over her and inwardly cringed. A cup of coffee before driving home had obviously been too much to ask for. Calmly, she set her coffee cup down. “I assume you’ve spoken with Commander Stevens?”

  “Are you trying to prove something here?” he all but snarled.

  “Not at all. I’m assuming you’re talking about our new partnership? Because that wasn’t my idea.”

  “This crock of shit program you’re trying to institute sure is.”

  Nina took a shallow breath and urged herself to remain calm. “It’s not a crock of shit. We’ve been trying to get this program in motion for months. I talked to the chief of police about it before I ever met you.”