by Mary Burton
‘I’d say your morning ranks high on the stress meter.’
‘You’ve no idea.’
Sam laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘You look like hell.’
Lindsay couldn’t help but smile as she leaned into him. ‘You know how to make a girl feel good.’
He grinned. ‘It’s a talent.’
She rubbed the back of her neck.
Sam studied her closely. ‘What gives with your neck?’
‘I fell asleep on my couch last night. I must have slept crooked.’
Sam captured her elbow in his hand. ‘Exam room three is open.’
‘I don’t need to be checked out. And I need to see that woman you called me about.’
‘You’ve got a minute or two to spare.’
Aware Jennifer hadn’t missed a second of their exchange, she hesitated. ‘Sam, we are quickly becoming grist for the rumor mill.’
He didn’t look worried. ‘Since when do you care what people think?’
She glanced at the nurses. Their eyes gleamed with laughter. ‘Let’s just say I’ve been gossiped about enough in my life. I don’t like it.’
‘It’s harmless.’ He pushed her toward the exam room and nodded toward the table. ‘Sit.’
She stood stock straight. ‘I just need to talk to that woman and get back to the office. I’ve got cops crawling all over the shelter.’
‘For a moment, take the advice you give your yoga students and the women you counsel. Sit. Take a deep breath.’
He was right. She’d been running on adrenaline since she’d been startled awake. She climbed up on the table as he closed the curtains behind them.
He moved behind her and began to massage the muscles around her neck. ‘My God, you’re tense. It’s a wonder you haven’t collapsed yet. Your schedule is more insane than an intern’s.’
‘I’m fine.’ His gentle touch soothed but didn’t excite, like Zack’s, which was a good thing. Excitement was overrated.
‘So you’re the doctor now?’
‘I know my own body.’ She took several deep breaths.
His fingers worked up the back of her neck. God, it felt good. She closed her eyes. She could let her defenses down, if only for just a moment. ‘I’m so tired of holding it together all the time.’
‘You want to talk about it?’ He leaned a little closer. His breath felt warm on her cheek. ‘I’ve been told I’m easy to talk to.’
‘Maybe another time.’
Sam’s fingers stilled and she feared this would turn into a tug-of-war. When she’d first met Zack, he hadn’t been content until he’d known everything about her present and past. To her surprise, Sam leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the side of her neck. ‘Have dinner with me tonight.’
Awkwardness replaced worry. Nearly thirty and she still turned knock-kneed when a man got romantic. ‘Uh, Sam, we’ve been through this. I’ll be working late tonight.’
‘So we’ll have breakfast at the diner. We’ll grab coffee.’ When she hesitated, he added, ‘It wouldn’t kill you to live a little.’
Something she’d done very little of since she and Zack had separated. ‘I suppose not.’
‘That’s a yes?’
She nodded. ‘Yes to dinner tomorrow night.’
‘What time?’
‘Six.’
‘Done. I’ll pick you up at the shelter.’
‘Better make that my town house. The cops sealed the area off.’
‘Will do.’
Sam’s cell phone vibrated on his hip. Groaning, he yanked it off and flipped it open. ‘Dr Begley.’
Immediately, his light expression darkened. He glanced at Lindsay and cupped his hand over the phone. ‘I’ve got to take this, Lindsay. See you tomorrow night?’
‘Right.’ Lindsay slid off the table, thankful for the interruption.
He managed a strained smile.
‘Where is that woman you told me about?’ she whispered.
‘Number six.’ Already he was turning from her.
‘Thanks.’ She scooted around the curtain.
‘Yes, damn it, I’m still here.’ Sam’s angry whisper caught her attention and made her stop.
In the few months she’d known Sam, he’d never uttered a harsh word. He seemed to be the nicest guy on the planet.
‘I told you I’d do it and I will,’ Sam said. ‘I’ve got to go.’
Lindsay hurried down the hallway toward room six, surprised that there was something more to Dr Sam Begley than just his quick smile and great bedside manner.
Chapter Six
Monday, July 7, 11:45 A.M.
Lindsay checked the name on the chart. She scanned Sam’s notes. Cracked ribs. Contusions on the arms. A sprained right wrist. The injuries were classic. Her stomach knotted. She closed the chart and shoved aside the curtain to cubicle six.
She found a petite woman sitting on the exam table wearing neatly pressed jeans, tennis shoes with double-knotted laces, and a white long-sleeved shirt. Small manicured fingers were clenched into tight fists.
Over the years, Lindsay had seen hundreds of battered women like this, but the sight always enraged her. Careful to keep her face neutral, she managed a smile. ‘Gail Saunders?’
The woman’s tired gaze held a hint of anger. ‘Yes. Do you have my discharge papers?’
Irritation was a good sign. It meant spirit. She hadn’t given up.
Lindsay closed the curtain behind her. ‘No, I’m not with the hospital. Dr Begley asked me to talk to you for a few minutes.’
Understanding dawned in Gail’s gray eyes. ‘You’re a social worker, aren’t you?’
Lindsay dug a Sanctuary business card out of her purse and handed it to Gail. ‘My name is Lindsay O’Neil. I’m the director of a women’s shelter.’
Gail snatched the card, studied it. ‘Sanctuary. A haven for battered women.’ She tossed the card on the floor. ‘I don’t need this.’
Lindsay picked it up and laid it beside Gail. ‘That’s right. We shelter women who’ve been abused. The number on the card is the hotline.’ She pulled out a pen and wrote her cell number on the back. ‘You can always reach me at this other number, day or night.’
Gail slid off the exam table, wincing when her feet hit the ground. ‘I’m not abused. I told that stupid doctor that I fell down the stairs. What’s the big deal?’
‘He was concerned.’
Her lips flattened as if she were barely holding on to her control. ‘Well, I’m fine.’
Lindsay remained by the curtain so Gail wouldn’t feel crowded. If she didn’t tread carefully, the woman would bolt. ‘There are old bruises on your neck and they look like they were made by fingers.’
Color flooded Gail’s face. ‘I hit my neck on the banister as I fell down the stairs.’
‘Why the long sleeves and pants in July?’
‘I’m cold natured.’
Lindsay’s voice remained soft and calm, but sadness and anger welled inside her. ‘Gail, I think you’ve been bullied enough already. So I’m not going to debate the issue with you. Experience has taught me that victims can be excellent liars.’
Gail bristled. ‘I’m not a liar. My husband is a good man. He loves me. He works hard and would never hurt me on purpose.’
‘But he did hurt you,’ Lindsay said quietly.
Gail crushed the card in her hand. ‘I didn’t say that!’
‘Honey, the bruises did.’
Tears welled in Gail’s eyes, and for a moment Lindsay thought she would open up. She looked so small, so beaten down by life. Instead, the woman straightened her shoulders and grabbed her purse off the exam table. ‘I don’t have to listen to this.’
Lindsay pressed her card deeper into Gail’s hand. ‘No, you don’t. Just know you can reach me twenty-four/seven.’
A tear rolled down Gail’s face and she angrily brushed it away. She moved toward the curtain and shoved it open. ‘I won’t be calling.’
‘I hope you do.’ She laid her h
and on Gail’s shoulder. ‘If things do get bad, remember to run to a room with soft furniture. Stay away from the kitchen and the bathrooms. They can be dangerous.’
Gail hesitated, then left the room.
Lindsay listened to Gail’s footsteps meld into the confusion of the hospital. For a moment her knees felt weak and she had to sit in the metal chair by the exam table. How many times had her mother made excuses for the bruises that had marked her body? How many times had she forgiven her father and stayed when she should have fled?
Like Gail’s, her mother’s lies were rooted in fear, shame, and the desperate hope that the abuse would really stop. But it never did.
What Lindsay hadn’t understood was why everyone had accepted her mother’s lies over and over again. No one had stepped in and no one had cared. And her mother had paid with her own life.
Jennifer appeared, her expression grim and angry. ‘Room number six looked pissed when she stormed past.’
Lindsay straightened her shoulders, clinging to the hope that kept her going. ‘Yeah, but she kept my card. I see that as a hopeful good sign.’
Jennifer frowned. ‘Is she going home?’
‘That would be my guess. It’s human nature to return to places we know best.’
‘But she’s not safe there!’
Lindsay clung to the bright side. ‘I have to have faith that she’ll survive until she finds the courage to call me or someone else for help.’
‘Damn it! That just doesn’t seem good enough. Isn’t there anything we can do?’
‘Don’t underestimate a victim. They know how to survive. They’ve learned how to walk on eggshells.’
‘This really sucks, Lindsay.’
‘Jen, I’ve been down this road too many times. Just pray that she finds the courage to leave. Or better – that bastard husband of hers drops dead.’
The humidity and temperature had risen the heat to an almost unbearable level. Black thunderclouds thickened in the western skies.
Zack and several of the uniforms, including a canine unit, had combed every inch of the shelter’s backyard and the surrounding yards for Turner’s hand, the murder weapon, or anything that might connect to the murder. They’d found nothing.
Sara had photographed the crime scene from every angle and sketched it. She and her assistant had collected hair and fiber samples from the corpse and then given the go-ahead for the body removal company to take Turner to the medical examiner’s office.
Zack and Sara had watched as officers had lifted the dead man into the body bag. After zipping the bag closed, Sara had sealed the zipper with a plastic tie. The seal wouldn’t be broken until the corpse arrived downtown at the state medical examiner’s office on Jackson Street.
The attendants now placed the body bag on the gurney as Sara glanced at the dark sky. ‘I’m going to keep working the scene until the weather forces me out.’
‘Good. You don’t have much time.’ Zack followed the gurney around the side of the house to the hearse waiting in the driveway.
A dozen neighbors, most of them retirees and stay-at-home moms pushing strollers, had gathered near the front yard, which he’d also taped off. Three television news trucks were now parked in the street with reporters lingering close by. Soon the rain would drive them all back inside their homes and vans, but for now he had to contend with an audience.
Zack eyed the crowd, paying close attention to the people’s expressions. Killers sometimes returned to the scene to witness the chaos created by their handiwork.
As the body was wheeled through the privacy fence gate, everyone’s gaze shifted toward it. Film cameras started taping and following the body. Even some neighbors snapped photos. By this evening, the area would be crawling with curiosity seekers.
Zack had spoken to the police department’s public relations officer and told him to ask the press to keep the address and location of Sanctuary a secret. For now, the reporters had agreed. If he could close this case sooner than later, the press would move on to their next story and Sanctuary would be forgotten.
He wanted to protect the shelter. Not only would it be a shame to lose it as a resource, but the place meant so much to Lindsay. When they’d been together, she’d just received the grant application to purchase the property. She had been so excited and had spent long days fixing up the place and transforming it from a run-down rental property into a place that felt like a real home. A month after she’d opened the place, they’d separated and he’d not seen the house since then.
Now, looking at this place, he could see how much work she’d done. She’d had the exterior repainted and she’d replanted the yard, which had been a dust bowl when she’d bought the property. There were traces of her everywhere. The brightly painted walls inside, the potted plants on the porch, the manicured lawn, and a collection of toys in the backyard testified to her commitment.
Too bad she couldn’t have invested the same time and energy into their marriage.
An unmarked Crown Vic pulled up in front of the house. In the front seat sat Zack’s boss, Captain David Ayden, and Zack’s partner, Jacob Warwick.
Annoyed, Zack checked his watch. It had taken Ayden two hours to track Warwick down. Warwick had been on the State Police force for thirteen years, before taking a job with the county’s homicide division two years ago. Ayden had paired Zack with Warwick, believing the two would make a good team. Professionally, they did just fine, but personally, they’d not hit it off at all.
Somehow Warwick had found out about Zack’s drinking problem and had made it clear he didn’t think drunks stayed sober long. Zack could be a hothead who had no trouble sharing his thoughts. But this time he had swallowed his frustration. His drinking had caused a lot of damage, and he knew actions, not words, were going to win his partner over. That had been ten months ago, and so far, he’d not impressed Warwick.
Ayden got out of the car. His muscular build hadn’t softened in the last couple of years even though he logged more time behind the desk than he would have liked. His thick hair grayed slightly at the temples and deep frown lines marred his forehead. He was a stubborn guy who had seen his late wife through cancer and now was raising two teenage boys on his own. He had little patience and didn’t like being jerked around.
Warwick followed Ayden toward the house. He was built like a wide receiver and carried himself like an athlete. But football hadn’t been his sport. Boxing was his specialty. As a teenager, he’d been a Golden Gloves fighter before entering the army, where he’d been in the Special Forces.
Today, Warwick was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, a sign that Ayden had cut his vacation short. Normally Warwick leaned toward sports jackets and khakis. His hair looked in need of a trim, and though he was clean shaven, he’d have a five o’clock shadow by three.
Warwick nodded to Zack but the men didn’t shake hands. ‘Kier.’
‘Warwick.’
‘Can you give us a rundown on the murder?’ Ayden said.
‘Follow me. I’ll walk you through what we know right now.’
Zack led the two men to the backyard, pulled a notepad from his breast pocket. Sara was by the back fence shooting more pictures. ‘The body was discovered over by the trash cans. He was shot point-blank in the chest. A wallet found in the victim’s pocket identified him as Harold Turner.’
A hiss of air escaped Warwick’s lips. ‘Damn. Are you sure it’s him?’
‘I don’t have a print match yet but it’s Harold,’ Zack said.
Ayden rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. ‘Any ideas on who might have done this?’
‘Nothing solid yet,’ Zack said. ‘But there are plenty of leads to run down. It could take weeks to talk to everyone.’
‘Why didn’t you hold the body until we arrived?’ Warwick said.
Zack resented Warwick’s tone but kept his own tone even. ‘The skies are about to open up and I didn’t want to lose trace evidence.’
Warwick frowned. ‘Why didn’t you call m
e earlier?’
‘I didn’t know what I had until I got here. When I did, I had Ayden track you down.’
Ayden rested his hands on his hips. ‘What else do you know?’
Zack let his gaze scan the yard. ‘The backyard looks clean so far. Sara is going over it inch by inch.’
Warwick studied the pool of blood caked in the dirt by the tree. ‘You said his wallet was still in his pocket?’
‘Yeah, and it still had a couple hundred dollars in cash and a dozen credit cards in it. His briefcase was set neatly beside him and it also appeared untouched.’
‘What’s the pool of blood from?’ Warwick said.
‘It’s from his left hand. The killer severed the hand at the wrist.’
‘Shit,’ Ayden said. ‘Any sign of it?’
‘No.’
Warwick’s eyes narrowed. ‘Was Turner left-handed?’
‘Don’t know,’ Zack said.
‘Do you think this is some kind of ritual thing?’ Ayden said.
Zack pointed to the trash cans. ‘The victim’s body was positioned near the cans. His tie was straight and his hair looked as if it had been combed. The killer didn’t appear in a rush to leave the body.’
Warwick rested his hands on his narrow hips. ‘Like you said, it’ll take weeks to interview everyone who had a beef against Turner.’
‘My gut tells me that this killing was personal,’ Zack said.
Ayden shrugged off his coat and loosened his tie. ‘Turner pissed off a lot of people. But none of them would be likely to stop and fix his tie after they’d shot him.’
‘No. This murder has a different feel to it,’ Zack said.
The three were silent for a moment.
‘You have anything else?’ Warwick said.
‘I talked to the shelter staff,’ Zack said. ‘Ruby Dillon, an assistant to the director, was on call last night. She didn’t see anything until this morning when she found the body.’ Zack didn’t relish what he was about to say. ‘You might as well hear it from me. The director of Sanctuary is Lindsay O’Neil. She’s my wife.’
Warwick frowned. ‘I didn’t realize you were married.’
