THE BRIDGE

by Carol Ericson

  He jogged up two flights of stairs and paused at the fire door, pulling out his phone. He typed in a quick text to Elise, and she responded immediately that everything was fine.

  Blowing out a long breath, he pulled open the door and crossed the hall to the homicide division. When he got to his desk, he shoved Curtis off the edge. “Go sit on your own desk.”

  Curtis waved a piece of paper in the air. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I had in my hand.”

  “A first-class ticket to paradise? ’Cuz that’s what I need about now.” Two first-class tickets to paradise.

  “Almost as good.” He slapped the paper on Sean’s desk. “Patterson ran the numbers from the note through a few computer programs and came up with coordinates.”

  “Coordinates for a location?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Don’t just stand there with that annoying grin on your face. Where’s the location?”

  “Golden Gate Bridge.”

  Sean swore and dropped into his chair. “Not possible. He’s not going to commit a murder at the bridge—too many cameras.”

  “He dumped a body there.”

  “He was obviously aware of the cameras.” Sean kicked his feet onto his desk and crossed his arms behind his head. “He kept out of their range. He’s not going to kill at the bridge.”

  Curtis tugged on his ear. “Then why put down those coordinates in the message? If you’re right, he told us he was going to kill two people on today’s date. Makes sense he’d tell us where.”

  “He’s toying with us. Don’t expect logic from him or any real clues to his actions.”

  “You know more about that than I do.” Curtis parked his cup on the blotter on Sean’s desk and put a finger to his lips. “Did you catch Lopez’s report on TV last night?”

  “What of it?” Sean smiled through clenched teeth.

  Curtis blinked and glanced over his shoulder. “The brass doesn’t want the detective to become the story.”

  “Duh. Tell me something I don’t already know.”

  “I’m just telling you to watch your back, bro.” Curtis scurried off, his hands wrapped around his third mug of coffee for the day.

  With the blood pounding against his temples, Sean tapped his keyboard to bring his computer to life. That was the second warning that he’d been issued this morning by well-meaning friends. How many not-so-well-meaning friends were out there spreading rumors and gossip?

  When the search engine glowed brightly from the computer screen, Sean typed in the name Marie had given him earlier. He swiveled the monitor to the left, dragging it closer to the edge of the desk. If the brass could see what he was doing right now, they wouldn’t be too thrilled about this, either.

  It would be easier to use the police database to look up Dr. Patrick, but Sean didn’t want to leave any kind of trail of his activities. He’d have to get his info like everyone else. A few papers Dr. Patrick had written about posttraumatic stress disorder popped up in the results, as well his attendance at a charitable organization’s fund-raiser several years ago, but Sean couldn’t get a line on a current location or phone number. Maybe he’d moved after his retirement.

  His phone buzzed and his heart skipped a beat when he saw Elise’s name on the display. “Everything okay?”

  “Besides the fact that two of my students decided it was a good idea to color off the paper and onto the desktop, everything’s good. Any news about that third set of numbers?”

  “Longitude and latitude coordinates for the Golden Gate Bridge.”

  Elise sucked in some air. “That’s the where.”

  “It could’ve been if it were any other location, but the bridge? He can’t think he’s going to get away with murder on the bridge with the cameras up there.”

  “You have a point, but he avoided the cameras before when he dumped Katie’s body.”

  “I think he’s just messing with us...me.”

  “He seems to know your past, for sure.” She coughed as the sound of kids floated over the line. “Did you get the name of the therapist?”

  “Dr. James Patrick.” He tapped his screen as if she could see it. “Just doing a search on him now but not having much luck. I could do better if I used my department resources and connections, but I don’t want to go there right now.”

  She paused. “The department wouldn’t be happy about you digging around in this stuff?”

  He lowered his voice. “Apparently, they’re already ticked off about Ray Lopez’s report last night on the news.”

  “That’s not your fault. You didn’t ask him to dredge up ancient history.”

  The passion in her voice made his lip twitch—as if she were advocating for one of her kindergarteners. It had been a long time since he’d had an advocate.

  “I can’t change the past. Lopez has a right to delve into any story he wants. That’s his job.”

  “I don’t like reporters, never have.”

  “Is that because they made the runaway bride a three-day wonder back in Deer Loop, Montana?”

  “It was longer than three days—must’ve been a slow week for news.”

  “Isn’t every week a slow week for news in Deer Loop?”

  She laughed and the noise over the line grew louder. “The bell just rang. I have to go back to class. Talk to you later?”

  “Sure. Stay safe.”

  “You, too.”

  Sean held the phone to his ear a minute longer, listening to silence. It felt good to have someone in his corner—not that his brothers weren’t. But they were younger when tragedy struck the family. It hadn’t impacted them as much as him, and he’d wanted it that way.

  After Mom had descended into a haze of booze and prescription drugs, he’d taken it upon himself to shield and protect his younger brothers.

  Now, apparently, Elise had taken it upon herself to protect him. Not that there was much she could do, but yeah, it felt good.

  He didn’t want to start getting used to it.

  * * *

  ELISE SLASHED A red crayon across the neon green construction paper. “I will owe you big-time if you can find him for me.”

  Courtney tsked over the phone, but Elise could hear the click of her keyboard. “He’s the cop. He can’t get this info on his own?”

  “He’s doing this as a private citizen and doesn’t want to use the department’s resources.” Elise held her breath as Courtney hummed across the line.

  “Found him in one of my directories. No phone number, but I have an address for Dr. James Patrick and he’s still local. Are you ready?”

  “Fire away.” Elise scribbled down the address as Courtney read it over the line. “Thank you so much.”

  “Just remember if things turn ugly, you didn’t get this info from me.”

  Elise’s belly fluttered. “Why would things turn ugly? Sean’s a cop who needs some information from Dr. Patrick.”

  “Whatever you say, but be careful.”

  “Be careful? With Sean?” She’d never felt safer in her life than standing in the circle of that man’s arms.

  “I saw Lopez’s report last night on the news, Elise. Don’t you think it’s kinda creepy?”

  “The fact that his father was set up to take the fall for a string of murders? Yeah, really creepy.”

  Courtney cleared her throat. “The fact that Brody senior was suspected of being a serial killer and then he took the fall all right—right off the Golden Gate Bridge. And now his son is involved in a similar scenario? Creepy.”

  Anger, as hot as the red crayon, flashed through her body. “Sean is not creepy.”

  “No, I’d say Sean is a hot, sexy cop. But he might be a hot, sexy cop with a secret.”

  “He told me everything.”

&nb
sp; “After not telling you anything.”

  “Courtney...”

  “I’m just asking you to be careful.” She clicked her tongue. “I gotta go. That new client is on the other line.”

  Courtney ended the call, and Elise ripped the square containing Dr. Patrick’s address from the construction paper.

  Her friend was right. Sean had kept the whole truth from her, but then what did he owe her? The past had been Sean’s personal affair until Ray Lopez had spilled the beans.

  Yeah, just like Ty’s woman on the side had been his personal affair.

  The two situations weren’t comparable. Ty’s secret directly affected her, while Sean’s was peripheral to the case. A homicide detective wasn’t expected to divulge his personal history to a witness...or buy her dinner, or kiss her.

  She dusted her fingers together and reached for her phone again. Sean’s phone rang until it tripped over to his voice mail. “Sean, it’s Elise. I got the address of Dr. Patrick, and he’s still in the city. Call me when you get this message. I’m just leaving school now.”

  The rap on her door made her jump.

  The uniformed cop held up his hands. “Sorry I startled you, Ms. Duran, but the older classes are getting dismissed early today and the school’s going to be deserted soon.”

  “Thanks for the reminder. I’m on my way out.”

  “I’ll wait for you.”

  True to his word, the officer waited and walked her out to her car. She waved as she pulled out of the school’s parking lot.

  As her car rolled off the Bay Bridge and into the city, Elise pulled to the side of the road and checked her phone. Still no response from Sean. She called and got his voice mail again. This time she left the doctor’s address.

  She maneuvered through the city streets and realized the doctor lived on the way to Courtney’s. Maybe she should swing by his place and scope it out for Sean.

  Courtney would probably be tied up with her pesky new client, and Elise didn’t want to rush home to an empty place. She’d had enough of empty places.

  Cupping her phone in her hand, she read Dr. Patrick’s address aloud. The phone responded and intoned directions to the location.

  Elise turned onto Dr. Patrick’s street and squinted out her window at the addresses on the row of town houses. She located his address in brass numbers on the outside of a beige stucco building and rolled to a stop at the curb.

  Before turning off the engine, she glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Then she plucked her phone from the cup holder and scrolled through her messages—nothing from Sean.

  She punched in the number for the station, and a woman answered the phone.

  “SFPD Homicide.”

  “Hello, I’m trying to reach Detective Brody. Is he in today?”

  “He’s been in a meeting all afternoon. Can I take a message?”

  “No, that’s okay. I already left him a message on his cell phone.”

  “He’ll get it when the meeting’s over, since they usually turn off their cell phones in there.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Elise tapped the edge of her phone against her chin. Should she wait for Sean or just go to Courtney’s? He’d piqued her curiosity with that story about his father. What a tragic chain of events.

  If Sean’s father had been innocent of the crimes, it was all for nothing. If? Sean was convinced his father had been innocent, but what child wouldn’t believe that of a beloved father?

  Her eyes strayed to the front of Dr. Patrick’s town house. Would the doctor be able to shed any light on the truth? Even if he implicated Sean’s father, would Sean believe him? And if he did implicate Sean’s father, would Sean admit that to her?

  She gripped the door handle. What did it matter? This was Sean’s business.

  She folded her hands in her lap. But it wasn’t just Sean’s business anymore. There was a killer out there who knew all about Sean’s history, a killer who had her in his crosshairs.

  After that fiasco with Ty, she’d vowed never to be kept in the dark again, and this situation with Sean was a lot darker than a cheating fiancé.

  She grabbed the door handle again and pushed out of the car before she could talk herself out of it. Pausing on the steps to the town house, she pulled out her phone and left another message for Sean letting him know her plans.

  She might not want to be kept in the dark, but she didn’t want to keep him in the dark, either.

  With just fourteen units in the building, Elise located Dr. Patrick’s place quickly. A sliding window beside the front door was open halfway across, and the sounds of a game show floated through the mesh screen obscuring the view inside the house.

  She scooped in a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

  A bump and a scrape resounded from inside, and Elise straightened her shoulders and plastered a smile on her face as if this were the most natural house call in the world. But the door didn’t swing open.

  She knocked, leaning in toward the window. “Dr. Patrick? My name is Elise Duran. I’m a friend of Detective Sean Brody’s. He...we wanted to ask you a few questions about his father, Detective Joseph Brody.”

  The scraping noise grew louder, and a raspy moan accompanied it.

  “Dr. Patrick?” Elise pressed her face against the screen.

  A man, leaning heavily against a kitchen chair, shuffled toward the door, one hand holding his left arm.

  Elise’s stomach flip-flopped. “Dr. Patrick? Are you all right?”

  She jiggled the door handle. Another loud scrape and a bump, and then the handle turned. The door opened inward, and the man hunched over in the doorway, his face contorted, a line of drool running from his mouth.

  The chair bumped Elise’s knees and she realized he was using it as a walker.

  “Are you okay?” She placed a knee on the chair. “I’m calling 9-1-1.”

  Dr. Patrick let out a gasp and toppled to the side.

  Elise shoved the useless chair out of the way and crouched beside him, reaching for her phone with a shaky hand. “It’s going to be all right. I’m calling 9-1-1 right now.”

  He clutched her wrist in a cinching vise and pulled her toward him as the phone dropped from her hand. His mouth was working and his dark eyes burned into hers. He strained to keep his chin to his chest, holding his head off the floor.

  She ducked, her ear hovering close to his mouth while she felt for her phone on the hardwood floor.

  His words rasped from his throat. “Tell him, tell Brody.”

  Elise’s jaw dropped and she froze. “Tell him what?”

  “Tell him, tell him...his father...”

  Dr. Patrick’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped to the floor.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As the fog rolled in damp and heavy, Sean narrowed his eyes and watched the EMTs load the gurney burdened with Dr. Patrick’s body into the ambulance.

  Elise’s shoulder pressed against his, and he felt a tremble roll through her slender frame. He took a step to the side. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  Her head swiveled around so fast, her hair whipped across her face. A few strands stuck to her damp cheeks. “I didn’t cause his heart attack.”

  “I didn’t accuse of you of causing his...heart attack, but what were you doing coming out to his place on your own?” That fact upset him more than the idea that she obviously didn’t trust him.

  “I was driving back to Courtney’s from school. It’s not like I have a police escort. I could’ve stopped off for groceries, dropped in on a friend.”

  “But you chose to come here.”

  “Look—” she splayed her hands in front of her “—I had Dr. Patrick’s address, you were busy and I happened to be in the neighborhood.”

  He shoved
his hands in his pockets as the ambulance trundled away from the curb. No need for a siren—Dr. Patrick was already dead from the heart attack.

  “Why didn’t you wait for me? Or why did you have to wait at all? You left me his address. I could’ve handled the questioning on my own.” He started to shake a finger in her face and made a fist instead.

  “Maybe it was fate that propelled me to go in on my own. By the time you got here, he would’ve been dead.”

  “I guess fate’s not looking out for you too well, since by the time you got here he was dying.”

  She held up her own finger. “Dying, not dead.”

  “What does that mean?” He hadn’t had two minutes to talk to her alone. By the time he got her message and had driven to Dr. Patrick’s address, the cops had already been here and he’d arrived to see the tail end of their patrol car. The EMTs were already wheeling Dr. Patrick out of his town house, and Elise was talking to the neighbors, who were now wandering back to their own lives.

  He had no idea what she’d told the cops about her reasons for being here. Had she dragged his name into it?

  “It means—” she brushed the hair from her face “—he wasn’t dead when I got here. He’d already suffered the heart attack but he was still alive.”

  “How long did he last?”

  “Long enough to talk to me.”

  He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the sidewalk. “What would he have to say to a complete stranger?”

  “I wouldn’t say I was a complete stranger.” She flicked a piece of lint from the arm of her sweater. “I told him who I was through the window.”

  “You mentioned my name?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he say?” Sean sucked in a breath and held it.

  She hugged her sweater around her body. “He told me to tell you something about your father.”

  His lips barely moved in his stiff face. “What?”

  “He died before he could tell me.”

  Sean let out a noisy breath that deflated his chest along with his hopes. “He knew, Elise. He knew something about my father.”

  She placed her cool fingers on his arm. “If he knew enough to clear your father, why didn’t he step forward at the time? I’m pretty sure your father would’ve allowed him to break confidentiality to vouch for his innocence.”