Most Wanted

by Lisa Scottoline

  The rushing sound of the traffic got louder and louder. She heard the honk of a car horn. She heard the louder rumbling of truck tires churning on the wet asphalt.

  Christine screamed for her life, running and fighting her way through the corn. The rushing of traffic got closer and closer. She caught glimpses of the cars on the road through the stalks.

  Suddenly she popped out of the cornfield, staggering to stay upright, her momentum carrying her forward into the road, where cars were rushing back and forth. She screamed as a pickup almost sideswiped her, skidding, but righted itself as she kept running across the road. She reached the other side, just as she heard a sickening thud.

  “No!” Christine whirled around from the other side, just in time to see Dom struck by the massive chrome grille of a tractor-trailer that carried him forward before he vanished beneath its chassis.

  Christine collapsed to her knees, in a flood of tears and rain. It could have been her, but it wasn’t. She was alive.

  And so was her baby.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Christine experienced the next few hours as if they were a blur, after being collected at the scene by the Chester County Police, who arrived in force, taking statements from drivers who had witnessed what had happened, rerouting traffic around Route 842, establishing a perimeter with flares and yellow tape, and erecting a blue tent with screens around Dom’s body, until the coroner came. Christine was taken to the hospital in an ambulance, sirens blaring, and she felt a sort of mute shock as she lay strapped into a gurney, while the EMT took her vital signs and phoned them in ahead.

  Christine kept all of her emotions at bay, whisked to the emergency department at Chesterbrook Hospital, where she’d parked only hours before and caused the scene with Grant Hallstead. She never would’ve guessed that it would end with the gruesome death of Dom Gagliardi and the attack on Joan Hallstead, who was already in the OR. Dom had cut Joan’s throat and left her for dead, but amazingly, she’d been able to reach her phone to call 911 in time. The hospital hadn’t hesitated to send a medevac for the wife of one of its most prominent surgeons, and the word was that Joan had lost a lot of blood but was expected to recover.

  Christine had been wheeled into the ER, changed out of her sopping wet clothes and into a hospital gown, then she’d been given a heated blanket and a saline-drip IV. Her cuts had been examined, irrigated, and covered with Neosporin. She’d asked the nurses to call Griff and Marcus, who was on his way. She figured he wouldn’t arrive until the middle of the night, and she didn’t want to think about how he had reacted to the news.

  They checked her and the baby and both were given a clean bill of health. She got her discharge papers, but not before the nurses replaced her hospital gown with a fresh set of scrubs, as a parting gift. Scrubs were color-coded at Chesterbrook Hospital—navy scrubs were for nurses, maroon for radiologists, and teal for OR nurses—and Christine felt honored to don the navy scrubs that only nurses like Gail Robinbrecht were entitled to wear. But she tried not to think about that either, keeping tears inside.

  Christine had been allowed to remain in the examining room to give a statement to the Chester County detectives, rather than go to the station house, and she waited for the detectives, muting the flat-screen TV in the corner, when CNN started running a video of the rainy scene on Route 842, above the banner, BREAKING NEWS—NURSE MURDERER DEAD IN TRUCK COLLISION. She glanced at the screen and flashed on her good-bye party, when she had first seen the video of Zachary’s arrest. She knew she should feel happy that he would go free, but she kept even that emotion at a distance.

  The first detective to enter the examining room was the one who had taken her through the crime scene, Detective Stuart Wallace, in his black logo polo shirt and khaki slacks. “Remember me?” Detective Wallace asked gently, crossing to the foot of her bed, his smile warmer.

  “Yes, of course.” Christine smiled back, though her face hurt from the cuts and scratches, as if her skin were too tight.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay, good.” Christine didn’t elaborate. The truth was, she was trying not to feel.

  “Griff says hi. He’s out in the waiting room. He’s been here since just a few minutes after you got here.”

  “Really?” Christine asked, touched.

  “He called 911 on your behalf, even before Mrs. Hallstead did. He asked us to send a squad car after you to make sure you were okay. He asked us to look for you, just past Unionville.”

  Christine felt puzzled. “But how did he know I needed help?”

  “He said he got a phone call from you, that you were upset or something?” Detective Wallace smiled sympathetically. “He was worried you were going to have an accident, driving distracted. We were already on our way when the 911 call came in from the doctor’s wife.” Detective Wallace pulled out a skinny notepad, and so did the two detectives behind him. “So, Christine, why don’t you tell us exactly what happened, in your own words?”

  Christine told him what had happened, starting with the vigil and ending with the hospital, and answered all of his questions. She managed to stay in emotional control, tearing up only when she remembered Joan’s frantic attempt to get to the driver’s seat and even Dom’s getting hit by the truck, a horrific sight that would be seared into her brain for a long time. After Christine had finished her statement, Detective Wallace helped her to her feet and walked her to the waiting room, where he took his leave.

  Griff rose unsteadily. “Good to see you’re in one piece,” he said, his lips parting in the beginnings of a relieved smile.

  Christine entered the waiting room, crossed to him, and opened her arms. “I’m going to hug you, ready or not.”

  “No, no.”

  “Yes, yes.” Christine gave him a big hug, and Griff emitted a soft little grunt. He felt soft, warm, and cuddly in his airplane-propeller bow tie and his rumpled seersucker suit, with a black umbrella hooked over his forearm. He smelled like cedar chips and pencil lead, and as she released him, his hooded eyes twinkled behind his smudgy tortoiseshell glasses.

  “What was that for?”

  “Thanks for waiting for me.”

  “What choice did I have?”

  “Thanks for calling 911, too.”

  “What was I supposed to do? Who else will work for free?”

  “Ha.” Christine felt her smile widen. “What does this mean for Zachary? Do they let him out?”

  “Not yet. It takes time. They just started their investigation of Gagliardi.” Griff leaned closer, lowering his voice. “But the D.A. told me confidentially that Gagliardi is definitely the doer. They seized his computer and found photos of Robinbrecht, McLeane, and Allen-Bogen, taken postmortem.”

  “You mean, dead?” Christine asked, disgusted.

  “Yes.” Griff frowned. “It’s not uncommon for serial killers to take pictures or trophies.”

  “What about his wife, did she know?”

  “Evidently not. They have no kids.”

  “So why was he in the hospitals in the first place?”

  “He brokers corporate insurance, mostly for health care systems. He calls on hospital administrators. That’s how he finds his victims. If you hadn’t stopped him, he’d still be killing.” Griff’s half smile returned, and Christine had to admit she was starting to feel satisfied, if not happy.

  “I think somebody has to say ‘good job,’ don’t you?”

  “Good job.” Griff’s smile broadened, begrudgingly.

  “Thanks.” Christine warmed, knowing it was the best she’d get, and it was more than enough. She hadn’t done it for Griff or even Zachary. She’d done it for herself and her baby. “So when does Zachary go free?”

  “A day or two, after the government gets through with its red tape.”

  “So do we go tell him?”

  “First, let’s stop in at the office. I have someone you should meet.”

  “Who?” Christine took his arm, and Griff waddled beside her as
they left the waiting room.

  “You’ll see. By the way, there are reporters outside. Should we tell them I bite?”

  “They’ll figure that out.” Christine realized she’d have to come clean to Griff about who she was when they got back to the office. She wanted him to know the truth. “So are you going to make a statement?”

  “No, I’ll tell them ‘no comment.’” Griff looked over at her. “Besides, I don’t know if you caught the bad guy. Or the bad guy caught you.”

  “A little of both.” Christine managed a smile as they made their way slowly down the hall. “You helped.”

  “No I didn’t.” Griff shook his head.

  “Yes you did. You showed me I could do it.” Christine had always said that teachers could do anything, and now she knew it was true.

  “Let’s take our time, going out. It’s still raining. They’ll get wet.”

  “Good idea.” Christine smiled.

  “You know, I made a decision. I’m not ready to retire.”

  “Good. Don’t.” Christine could see a throng of reporters through the glass exit doors, firing camera flashes in the rain.

  “I’m going to get bunion surgery, then get back in business. I’ve got a lot of life left in me. That’s what you showed me.”

  “Good.” Christine felt warmed. “But you need a new suit.”

  “Nah. All I need is a bulletin board.” Griff laughed at his own joke.

  Christine joined him, laughing, as they strolled out, arm in arm.

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Griff entered his office ahead of Christine, who was tired, hungry, achy, and not completely delighted to see a woman sitting in one of the chairs opposite his desk. The woman had chin-length red hair, and was slim and pretty in a white V-neck T-shirt and hip yoga pants. She had been scrolling through her phone, but she leapt to her feet with an excited smile when they came in.

  “Tanya Spencer, meet Christine Nilsson.” Griff eased into his desk chair with a tiny grunt. “And vice versa. From the Latin.”

  “Christine, my God, are you okay?” Tanya beamed at Christine, her admiration plain. “It’s amazing, what you did today! You’re a hero!”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that, but thanks.” Christine crossed the room and extended a hand, then stopped herself because it was covered with Band-Aids. “Tanya, I’d shake, but maybe that’s a bad idea.”

  “Totally, of course, you are a hero! You could have been killed!”

  “Luckily, I wasn’t.” Christine sat down, realizing who Tanya was, because her red hair was the tip-off. Tanya must have been Zachary’s new girlfriend, who had paid half of his retainer.

  “Thank you so much for what you did for Zachary.” Tanya retook her seat, perched on the edge, close to Christine. “You risked your life to help him. The news is on every channel. I saw the video on my phone.”

  “Well, it’s not the way I wanted it.” Christine and Griff exchanged looks since she had filled him in on the way over in the car. “But I’m glad that Zachary isn’t going to have to stand trial for a crime he didn’t commit.”

  “I agree, that would’ve been an awful injustice.” Tanya’s eyes flared, a light hazel color, set close together, with no makeup. She gave off a vaguely organic vibe in brown huaraches. “I can’t stand that he’s in prison right now. He doesn’t belong in a disgusting place like that. He never did.”

  “No, he doesn’t.” Christine found herself curious about Tanya, especially after Hannah had thought that she was the only girlfriend. “Anyway, it’s nice to finally get to talk to you.”

  “Finally? What do you mean by that?”

  “I heard about you from Zachary and the woman at the prison. You’re his girlfriend, aren’t you?”

  “No,” Tanya answered, with a sheepish smile. “That’s just a story we made up to tell the people at the prison.”

  Christine blinked. “So who are you?”

  “I’m a single mom, and I conceived my son using donor sperm. Zachary was my donor.”

  Christine couldn’t believe her ears. She didn’t know what to say or do for a moment. Griff had fallen uncharacteristically silent, watching her and Tanya. Christine was going to tell him tonight, so she might as well. She turned to face him, but before she could say anything, he winked at her.

  “Christine, you didn’t really think I bought your reporter story, did you?”

  “You didn’t?” Christine asked, her face reddening, despite the tiny cuts.

  “I had my doubts. Like I said, you’re too nice.” Griff smiled, his eyes wrinkling into his deep crow’s-feet. “But I didn’t know what you were up to until Tanya showed up. You’re here for the same reason she is, aren’t you?”

  Christine swallowed hard, looking from Griff to Tanya and back again, then took a deep breath. “Yes, I am. Zachary is my donor, too. Donor 3319 at Homestead. I was going to tell you, tonight.”

  Tanya’s smile turned sympathetic. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bust you. You didn’t have to say if you didn’t want to. I just don’t think there’s anything to hide.”

  Christine couldn’t say she disagreed, but she did feel bad and turned back to Griff. “I’m sorry I lied to you. It just felt too strange to tell you why I was really here. I’m pregnant, is the thing.”

  Griff shrugged. “This is a brave new world, my dear. I would have lied to me, too.”

  Tanya interjected, “Right, Christine, everybody’s different, so I totally get why you kept it to yourself.”

  “Thanks.” Christine had never expected to meet another woman who had a child fathered by Zachary, so she was still trying to process the revelation.

  “I used a donor because I hadn’t met anybody that I wanted to marry yet, all the men I met were too immature, and I didn’t want to miss out on having a child. I was going to freeze my eggs, but then I thought, why not just have a baby already?” Tanya’s face lit up. “My mom and dad were all for it, they’d been dying for a grandchild. We all just adore him.”

  Christine understood completely. “So how did you find out about Zachary?”

  “I’m a jewelry designer, and I have my studio at home. I keep cable news on in the background. I just happened to look up, and all of a sudden, there he was on TV. My donor. I recognized him from the adult photo he gave Homestead.”

  “Me too.” Christine was actually happy to hear it, in a way. It made her feel less crazy.

  “But it was super scary, thinking that the donor was a serial killer. Creee-py.” Tanya shuddered in an exaggerated way.

  “Exactly.” Christine began to feel better, having the truth out in the open, even though it was awkward to have something so intimate in common with a perfect stranger.

  “I freaked out and I called Homestead, but they wouldn’t tell me anything. Neither would my doctor. She didn’t even know.”

  “That’s just what happened to us.”

  “I live in Baltimore and I thought, Philly’s not that far. Let me go up and see what’s going on.”

  “That’s just what I thought.” Christine felt her heart open up.

  “So I went to Graterford, met Zachary, and I asked him, and he told me yes.”

  “So you told him the truth?” Christine asked, surprised.

  “Yes, didn’t you?”

  “No, we haven’t told anybody.” Christine didn’t want to explain. “So you already have a child?”

  “Yes. Ranger.” Tanya beamed. “He’s great. My mom is babysitting him so I could come here, but I’m home with him, all the time. He’s only eleven months old, but he’s already pulling himself up on the coffee table, trying to walk. You want to see a picture?”

  “Yes, please.” Christine shifted over, her heart pounding.

  “Here’s my little monkey man.” Tanya picked up her iPhone and displayed her customized phone case, which held an enlarged photo of an adorable strawberry-blonde toddler with bright blue eyes, patting a gray cat.

  “He’s so cute!” Christine felt a happ
iness that was hard to explain, as well as confusion. She realized that she was looking at the half-sibling of her own baby.

  Suddenly, there was a knock on the doorjamb, and they all looked over. Marcus stood in the doorway, his suit rumpled, his tie off, and his face a mask of concern as his eyes met Christine’s. “Honey, are you okay?” he said, hustling across the room.

  “Marcus?” Christine said, confused, as he reached her side and enveloped her in a gentle embrace. She had no idea how he’d gotten here so fast, and it was hard to process that he was really here, even as she put her arms around his waist and laid her bruised cheek against his chest. She felt tears come to her eyes, but she didn’t want to feel any feelings in front of anyone else. She just wanted to go home and pray that everything could be okay again.

  “Honey, I’m sorry I let you come down here alone.” Marcus released her, and his weary eyes scanned the cuts on her face. His lips parted, and he seemed appalled, but at himself. “Thank God you’re okay.”

  “It’s okay, I’m okay.” Christine held back her tears, trying to compose herself. She gestured at Griff, stiffly. “Marcus, this is Griff, Zachary’s defense lawyer.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Marcus said, nodding in Griff’s direction.

  “Likewise. Your wife is an exceptional person.” Griff smiled, almost proudly.

  “Thank you.” Marcus smiled back, his eyes glistening.

  “And this—” Christine hesitated, not knowing how to introduce Tanya and too tired to keep lying, but she didn’t want to upset Marcus more than she already had.

  But Tanya jumped to her feet, reached for Marcus’s hand, and pumped it with vigor. “I’m Tanya Spencer, and your wife is my hero! She risked her own life to prove that Zachary was innocent.”

  “I know, it’s incredible.” Marcus’s face remained impassive, betraying none of the jealousy and resentment that Christine knew he must be feeling. “And Tanya, you are—”