Ruthless Game (A Captivating Suspense Novel)

by Danielle Girard

  Greg sank to the stair beside her, his thick hair messed, his shirt untucked. "I was about ten blocks from here when I heard your call. I came as fast as I could."

  Instinctively, Alex grabbed her throat and looked around. "That's not possible. I didn't call." She opened the closet.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Looking for my cell phone."

  She moved the holster with her gun and pulled the black canvas fanny pack from beneath it. Unzipping the pocket, she sucked in a deep breath and looked inside. No phone. "Crap. That bastard has my cell phone."

  "When did you last use it?"

  She shrugged. "Maybe a week or so."

  He shook his head. "You made the call."

  "Bullshit, Roback." She pointed upstairs. "I was in bed, asleep." She paused. "For the first time in forty-eight hours," she added. "There is no way I called."

  "Worse. It's definite. They played the call on the radio, Alex. I heard it. It was you, saying someone was in your house, trying to kill you."

  "What do you mean, it was me?"

  "It was your voice."

  "You're sure?"

  He nodded slowly.

  "But I was asleep upstairs."

  Greg raised an eyebrow. "Then somehow he put together a tape of your voice, crying for help."

  She thought about the calls. He'd been taping them. He'd taped them and used them to call the police. "Oh, God." He was totally nuts.

  She stood from the stairs and paced across the hardwood floor, thinking it was the same spot where the killer had attacked her only two nights before. "We need to get that tape. I want to hear it."

  "There's no way to get our hands on it now. Schade and Rodney are already treating it like a crime scene. Unless you want to tell them you made the attack up, we're going to need to tell someone that you didn't call. But the lab will be able to tell if the tape was pieced together."

  "But if I tell them it was probably a joke..."

  "Someone in your house? That's not a very funny joke."

  "Damn it. I don't want the station pulled into this." Alex glanced over at the parking ticket.

  Greg followed her line of sight and went over to the countertop where the ticket still lay. He picked up a pen and pushed it over, inspecting the other side. "What's this?"

  As she explained, he shook his head, his expression somber. "If it's a real ticket, then it's probably already been input into the system. Maybe it's better to tell them you were there than to have them figure it out first." His shoulders drooped. "I don't know how much longer you can avoid it."

  She thought about James. How could she tell him? It was too much. With his sister in trouble, his own career was at stake. If only she could keep it quiet another day. Maybe then she'd know more.

  A knock at the back door interrupted her thoughts. She inhaled deeply, wondering what else could possibly go wrong tonight.

  Matt stood in the doorway.

  "What's up, Schade?"

  He looked past her at Greg. "We found something by the back door."

  Alex knew from his expression that it was something very unpleasant. The raw, acrid taste of fear filled her mouth.

  "What is it?" Greg asked.

  "I think you'd better come look."

  Alex shuddered, imagining another dead body, this one on her back porch. They followed Schade through the house and halted at the back door. The garbage had been knocked over outside and the contents were scattered in a three-foot circle. "Damn cats. What did you see, Matt?" she asked as she stepped outside in her bare feet.

  Matt looked up at Greg and pointed. Tucked down behind the garbage can was a clear plastic bag. One end had been chewed through and something was falling out of it. In the dim light, though, she couldn't tell what it was. It looked fleshy and pinkish and for a moment she thought it might be raw chicken.

  Alex leaned forward, trying to make out the shape. Slowly, recognition dawned, the image connecting in her brain. She gasped, leaping away.

  "Oh, God," Greg muttered.

  Lying on the ground among Alex's trash was a severed hand. A large gold signet ring decorated one finger.

  Just then, she heard another, familiar voice. Alex turned to face James, his red face set in an angry grimace.

  "Someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on?"

  Chapter 14

  James paced the room like a hungry tiger as Alex explained about the caller. Greg sat on the couch, his head down as he pretended to take it all in for the first time. Out of the corner of his eye, James watched Greg, too, as though testing Alex's story. She told him about seeing Loeffler in the bagel store, about his calling her name, and about waking up on the street, the phone calls, the break-in with the mug, her cell phone missing. She had hesitated about telling James about waking up on the street, but she knew it would be smartest to lie as little as possible. As it was, she was going to be lying a lot.

  "And he took my watch, I think," she said, the idea coming to her as she spoke. Even headed up by her own brother, Internal Affairs was going to have a field day with the things she'd already done. She didn't want them to have any extra ammunition until she knew who she was up against.

  To that end, she left out mention of the earring Greg had found on the floor, the attack, or the blood on her sweatpants. She didn't want to confess that she'd been attacked without reporting it, and she wanted to run the print and know who the attacker was before giving the information to the police. She also wanted to make sure the blood was legit before she did. And she hoped she'd know both things tomorrow.

  When she was done, she leaned back and let James have the floor.

  "Holy shit," he cursed. "Holy fucking shit." He spun and looked at Greg. "And this is the first you've heard of this?"

  Greg narrowed his gaze at James, and for a moment, Alex was worried he would confess. "First," he said, his jaw tight. She could feel the tension between them.

  "Jesus Christ," James said. "I can't believe this. Captain of IA and my sister—" He balled his fists as he paced.

  Alex crossed her arms. "You worried about your career, James? Or mine?"

  "Oh, that's fucking great. I get a call that you've been attacked in your home, rush over here, and you lay all this shit on me—" He halted and pointed his finger at her. "Shit you should've told me a week ago." He pointed to his chest. "And now I'm the bad guy? That's bullshit."

  Alex let her breath out. "James, stop pacing. Maybe we can just talk about what we can do next."

  "Not we, Alex," he said, motioning between himself and her. "There's no 'we.' You're out of it."

  Alex jumped up. "But this is my—"

  "Come on, James." Greg cut in.

  James ignored Alex and turned on Greg. "Roback, you'd better get the hell out of here if you know what's good for you," he said. "I assume you're not messed up in all this Alex shit." He waved at her as though she were a stray mutt. "This isn't your beat and where's your partner?"

  Greg's face reddened as he turned toward James and started to speak.

  "He just heard the call on the radio and was worried," Alex said, trying to keep Greg from inserting himself into her problems.

  "Fine. Then get."

  Greg raised a finger and pressed it almost in James's face. "You're not my fucking boss, James. We used to be friends. Don't turn all that bullshit captain crap on me."

  James leaned into him until the men were almost touching. "I'm here doing my job, which is what you should be doing."

  "Roback, go," Alex said, pushing them apart. "James is right. You should get back to Gamble."

  "Your job," Greg said to James, shaking his head. "She's your sister, you asshole." With that, he turned and stomped away.

  "What a jerk," James growled.

  "You certainly can be," Alex said.

  He looked at her. "Me? I'm here saving your ass."

  Alex shook her head. "What do you want, James?"

  "I need to use your phone."

  Alex s
ank back into the couch. "You know where it is." Leaning back, she closed her eyes and pictured the man at the gym. Where was he now? Somewhere close, watching? A cop. The thought bounced into her head again. She pictured Schade's face when he'd come to tell them about the hand. He couldn't be involved. And Evan Rodney was too sweet, wasn't he?

  Just then, James came storming back into the room. "Get dressed. We're going down to the station."

  Alex watched his face: Right there at the surface was the fury and fervor with which he always did his job. He'd even gone so far as to call his superiors in the middle of the night. He couldn't risk not responding to a crisis immediately. What if someone were to question his dedication to the force? No, James's loyalty was definitely with his job. She thought about the killer again. Was he a cop? A cop just like James?

  * * *

  Alex waited in her brother's empty office, exhaustion weighing her down like invisible bags of sand. But she couldn't shake free. As though she were caught in some terrible video game, as soon as she had conquered one obstacle, another twice its size fell on her head.

  James had called Captain Palowski of the detective division, Captain Lyke of patrol, and Deputy Chief John Doty into the station and they were all meeting in Doty's office. Alex knew none of them would be happy to be called in at this hour of the morning. She squinted at the clock. It was four-fifty. She had waited almost an hour. She could only imagine what was going on behind the closed door.

  The door to her brother's office opened and she sat up, pushing her tousled hair off her face and trying to appear awake and alert, neither of which she felt. James held the door open for the deputy chief and gave Alex a look that indicated she had caused him a world of trouble.

  Captain Palowski entered the room as he always did, his head lowered and leading in front of his body, his eyes on the ground as though he were eternally searching for clues. His dark curly hair was woven with gray, its long shaggy appearance at odds with the mature color.

  Deputy Chief Doty followed, his burly belly first, his face stern. Alex had never seen him look anything but severe, and she wondered how his wife could tell his good days from his bad. Maybe they were all the same.

  Lyke came last and gave her a sympathetic look as he passed. She knew from his look that the news they were about to deliver was bad.

  James marched into the room like he was about to be given a medal. His head high, his chest out, the aura of the hunt seemed to surround him. He really did love his job.

  The men took chairs beside Alex. The room was cold and she had to force herself not to cross her arms and shiver. The last thing she needed was to look defensive. The situation was stacked against her as it was.

  "I hope you understand the seriousness of this matter." Deputy Chief Doty spoke first, his mouth set in a line as straight as a knife's edge and twice as grim. "You should have come to your captain immediately after you'd been called to the scene on the street where you woke up.

  "Even though we don't want to believe you were involved in the crime, the situation should've been brought to Captain Lyke's attention sooner. You have to realize how it looks." He shook his head. "There's no excuse for not telling us. If the media got wind of that—" He shook his head again and it was beginning to look like he was making himself sick from it.

  "They'd crucify us," James said, finishing the deputy chief's thought.

  Alex watched Lyke and Palowski glance at him and then at her.

  James seemed oblivious to their stares.

  "Unfortunately," her captain started, leaning toward her and offering a sympathetic look, "you've left us no choice but to suspend you without pay until we've had a chance to investigate the incident."

  Alex let the weight press her shoulders toward the floor. She'd known it was coming. It was, as he said, the only option. Still, she'd hoped somehow there would be something else.

  "The hand is crucial evidence from the killer, and we need to know as much about its appearance at your house as we can," Captain Palowski said. He paused. "You know the components to any murder investigation."

  She did. Who, what, when, where, and why.

  "Whoever killed Loeffler is doing a damn good job making it look like you're involved."

  She sucked in a deep breath and nodded.

  "To catch this guy, we need to hear every single thing that happens from here on out. If you didn't kill Loeffler, whoever's screwing with you most likely did. And he's a dangerous fuck. Got it?"

  She studied his steady gaze, wondering if he really thought she killed him. Palowski kept a straight face, but she hoped he was on her side. "Got it."

  Doty broke in again. "You need to come in tomorrow morning and write up, in detail, everything that's happened. You'll work with Internal Affairs." He motioned to James. "Once you've done that, you'll need to leave your badge and gun with me until we've cleared this up." He paused and looked at his hands. "I'm sorry for this."

  She nodded. "I'm sorry, too."

  "You should go home now," Doty added. "We all should—get some rest."

  The men all stood. Despite the tension in her muscles, Alex forced herself to stand.

  "I'll call you and keep you apprised of the investigation," Captain Lyke said. "You call if you need anything."

  She nodded. They were going to conduct an investigation. She didn't allow herself to consider what they would inevitably find.

  Captain Palowski walked by and nodded at her, the closest he would come to offering support. It was the first time she had seen him look anyone in the eye.

  She realized she preferred it when he didn't look at her. His eyes were chilling and commanded more attention than she wanted to give.

  James marched past without stopping "See you tomorrow morning. Not too late," he added as he headed for the stairs.

  "That's an ambitious one, your brother," the deputy chief commented.

  She nodded.

  The deputy chief walked out, and she heard Captain Lyke mumble, "Nothing like drawing a little blood from family to really move up the ranks."

  Alex gave him a thin smile. It was true. Between James and the killer, Alex was the proverbial sacrificial lamb.

  Chapter 15

  Alex couldn't sleep. She couldn't even get her eyes to stay closed for more than five minutes. Instead, she spent the remaining hours of the night tossing in her bed, pacing circles around her room, and trying to drum up theories about Loeffler's death. The wife seemed to be an obvious lead. She knew Lombardi would follow that one. He would also follow up on the case files. Alex remembered the file, she'd called up from Palo Alto on the so-called "Sesame Street Murders" and thought it would probably arrive today and get buried in the pile of papers on Lombardi's desk. The Palo Alto Police Department. PAPD. For some reason, it stuck in her head.

  By the time she got up at six-thirty, she was worse off than ever. Saying she looked haggard would've been a compliment.

  As she entered the station the next morning, her head pounding, she passed a man banging on the desk. "Hello? Is there anybody here? This is supposed to be a fucking police station. Am I supposed to find a pay phone and dial 911?"

  From her angle, Alex saw only a thick fist matted with dark hair.

  "They let the apes out of the zoo again," Reesa hissed from the front desk. Reesa had been manning the front desk for more than a decade. She was an older woman, plump but firm, with a fierceness that helped her deal with the strange crowd that showed up at the station.

  "You need any help with that one?" Alex asked, missing her beat already.

  "Nope." Reesa started back for the desk, her thick brow set down over her eyes in a glare. "Hell, knocking these jerks in line's my favorite part of the job."

  Mine, too, Alex thought as she headed toward her brother's office to report for work.

  James wasn't in his office, but one of the other officers showed her to a vacated office with a small, taupe government-issue metal desk and chair. Except for two chairs, the desk, a
nd a rusted light that dated back to the early seventies, the room was empty.

  Alex flipped the light on and searched for a place to hang her coat. No wonder Lombardi had brought his own coat rack. She found a nail on one wall and balanced her coat on it, hoping the weight wouldn't bring down the wall.

  On top of the desk sat an old IBM PC, a clipboard with a crime report template, and a note from her brother.

  Al—

  The template is on the computer. It'll get you started. Please be as clear as possible. Don't worry about space. Use the additional blank pages at the end of the file if you need them. It'll be important to your case that we have all the information.

  Be back soon.

  —J

  "Important to your case" kept running through her head. Suddenly she felt like she was on trial for murder. And maybe she wasn't so far from it.

  Concentrating on getting the report written, Alex moved question by question, answering with as much detail as she could. She knew the things she'd left out could easily get her fired or worse, but she saw no way around lying. She wanted to clear herself, not crucify herself.

  James didn't resurface until just past one, as she finished up. "How's it going?" he asked, leaning against the door frame, one leg crossed over the other.

  She straightened the stuff on the desk and put the top back on her pen. "Great."

  Unfolding himself, he moved toward her, his gaze skeptical. "Finished?"

  "Yep." Standing, she pointed to the computer. "I was just about to get it off the printer. It's also saved under 'Kincaid.' "

  "Let's go take a look." James turned and headed out the door. Off to get his report, he looked positively thrilled.

  Alex couldn't wait to get out of the station.

  They passed the entrance to the detective division and turned into a small room that housed the printers and fax machines. James picked the stack off the printer and nodded.