by CJ Lyons
Or until strong emotions drove her to pick up the sponge and bucket. Almost as good as time on the heavy bag or Kempo sparring.
Once started, it was hard to stop–the sink now shone brightly, making the counter tops look dingy in comparison. Cassie turned up the volume on her father's LP, James Lee Hooker, rolled up her sleeves and went on a cleaning frenzy. The mindless activity drove all thoughts of the Ulrichs, Sterling, Richard from her mind.
But not Drake. She wished he was there, imagined his strong arms around her waist, his laughter as he transformed her dour mood into hope for the future that was now spread before her like a blank canvas.
The doorbell rang just as she finished with the oven several hours later. Cassie rinsed the abrasive cleaner from her hands–as usual she'd forgotten to put gloves on and now her hands were raw, red and wrinkled. She dried them on the backs of her jeans and went to the front room, hoping to find Drake waiting for her.
It was Adeena. Cassie opened the door and looked out at her friend. Adeena shifted her weight self-consciously just like she used to do whenever they were called to the principal's office at Our Lady of Sorrows.
"Hi," she said, her face turned down, but her eyes angled up to meet Cassie's. She scuffed her immaculate shoes on the welcome mat. "Can I come in?"
Cassie moved aside and gestured for her to enter. Adeena took two steps into the living room and wrinkled her nose.
"What crawled in here to die?" she asked.
"That's my dinner you're talking about," Cassie protested.
"Smells like the time we snuck the goat cheese under the radiator in Sister Paula's room so we wouldn't have to take the math test." She looked over at Cassie and offered a smile.
Cassie returned it. She'd missed Adeena, not being able to talk to her because of their differences about the Ulrich case. "Come on out back, to the garden."
Adeena covered her mouth with her hand as they walked through the house and out to the back yard. Azaleas, rhododendrons, irises, hyacinths and tulips all competed for attention. A wrought iron table and two chairs sat on a tiled patio in the middle of the riot of color. Cassie slid into one chair and motioned for Adeena to join her.
"I wanted to apologize," Adeena started. "I feel like I let you down, I should have paid more attention–"
A frisson of fear straightened Cassie's spine. "Did something happened to Charlie?"
Adeena frowned. "No, of course not. Charlie's fine. I'm talking about you. I heard about the Executive Committee meeting this morning."
"For a confidential meeting, it seems like a lot of people already know what happened. Except for my side of the story, of course. Pretty smart of Sterling to move that the committee defer any decision. Let the media and court of public opinion crucify me first." She sounded bitter and she knew it. Guess all that cleaning hadn't totally purged her anger.
"Cassie, I'm sorry," Adeena said, laying one hand over hers.
She shrugged. "There was nothing you could have done about it."
"Yes, there was. I should have seen this coming, somehow got you to listen to reason–this is all my fault. I'm trained to recognize people in crisis, but you're always so strong, have your own way of coping–I should have made you see reason sooner."
Cassie felt anger flood her face as she looked at her friend in astonishment. "Make me see reason?" she demanded. "You're the one with her head in the sand, Adeena! When are you going to realize that Virginia Ulrich is using you and everyone else at Three Rivers?"
She shoved the chair aside and stood, pacing around the patio, oblivious to the beauty around her. "I can't believe that woman. After all we've been through, she's still able to turn you against me."
"I'm not against you," Adeena spoke in the slow, measured voice she used with volatile patients, which only irritated Cassie further. "None of us are. We are all trying to help you before someone else gets hurt. Before you hurt yourself."
That was it, she didn't care how far back they went, Cassie wasn't going to allow anyone to come into her own house and accuse her of being crazy, self-destructive.
Okay, so she talked to her dead grandmother, every once in a while Rosa even talked back, so she believed in magic charms and destiny contained within the palm of a hand–it didn't mean she was wrong about Virginia Ulrich, and it sure as hell didn't mean she was crazy!
"I think you'd better leave. Now," she said through clenched teeth, her fingers wrapped around the back of the iron chair.
Adeena scrambled out of her chair, obviously frightened and alarmed by her friend's reaction to her offer of help. The look on her face angered Cassie further. And scared her–Adeena knew her so well, how could she possibly believe Cassie had gone off the deep end?
Unless it was true. After all, Adeena was the mental health professional.
She took a deep breath, forced herself to calm. "I'm sorry. It's been a rough couple of days." Adeena nodded from her position across the patio, watching warily. "I know you came here because you're worried and you care about me, but please, you have to believe me. I'm not delusional, obsessed or paranoid–Virginia Ulrich really is a monster. I don't know how, but I know she was responsible for hurting Drake's mother last night. She has to be stopped." The last came out as a plea, but Adeena's expression only hardened.
If Cassie couldn't convince her best friend, what hope was there?
At least Drake stood with her. She wasn't alone in this. His faith in her was the one bright light in this whole dark nightmare.
"Virginia had nothing to do with last night," Adeena said in that same clinical voice. Only now it held a trace of pity, which stabbed at Cassie like a knife in her gut. Adeena had seen her through a lot of tragedy, but she'd never pitied her before. "The police found the van that hit Mrs. Drake. It belonged to Sheila Kaminsky."
She felt her grip on the chair slip. "Sheila?"
Adeena nodded. "They found her body this morning as well. She killed herself. That's why–" the social worker stopped as if uncertain Cassie could bear hearing anymore.
"What?" Cassie asked, forcing her feet to keep her upright despite the unsteady ground moving beneath her.
"Drake and his family talked to Virginia awhile ago. She told me that they're going to ask Judge Flory to reverse his decision and give Charlie back to Virginia."
Cassie tried to swallow but couldn't. The earth was spinning out of control. There had to be a mistake. Drake wouldn't have done that, would never have betrayed her–
"You're lying," she whispered.
Adeena shook her head; her braids rattling with a happy noise that bombarded Cassie. "No, I'm not. I'm sorry–"
"Get out!" Cassie yelled as her last vestiges of control snapped. "Go now!"
Adeena backed up the steps leading into the house, staring at her friend like she would a rabid dog. "You need help Cassie," she tried one last time. "Let me help you–"
Cassie raced up the steps after her best friend. Adeena's shoes scuffed the hard wood floors in her hurry to flee. Cassie slammed the front door on her friend and listened as her footsteps clattered down the porch steps. She heard Adeena's car start, then pull away.
She leaned with her back against the solid oak door, her breath coming in heaving gasps that left her starving for oxygen. She slid to the floor, pounding her fists on her thighs in an effort to feel something, feel anything. The last rays of the setting sun fell away from the porch, leaving the living room in shadow.
Drake had betrayed her.
No one trusted her, no one believed her.
Her best friend thought she was insane, obsessed, delusional.
Drake had betrayed her. Leaving Charlie unprotected, vulnerable.
Slowly, cautiously, she worked to untangle her snarled emotions.
What did Rosa used to say? Increde se inseala, trust invites treason. Cassie threw her head back, banging it off the door and laughed. The sound echoed through the empty house like a jackal's call in the night.
Why did Rosa alwa
ys have to be right?
CHAPTER 29
"It's me," Cassie said when Drake's intercom sounded.
"I'm busy right now." His voice was distant, cold even. What did she expect?
"Now or never. We need to talk." The ultimatum sounded shrill, but Cassie didn't care. She needed to get her world back in balance–with or without Drake. And try to convince him to stand with Charlie, if not with her.
The buzzer sounded, and the lock sprang open. She ignored the pain in her ankle as her anger propelled her up the steps.
"How could you?" she blurted out as soon as she stepped inside his apartment. He looked up from his seat at the dining table. "You're the one person I trusted. How could you do this to me?"
Her words echoed into silence as Drake stared at her. She knew how she must appear to him: flushed, hair straggled and wind blown, hunched forward in a fighting stance. She didn't care–she needed answers.
He got to his feet, slowly, too slowly. Then she noticed the circles of fatigue that hung below his eyes. He still wore the same mud-splattered slacks as last night.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "This isn't a good time–"
"It's good enough for me. You said you believed me, that you were on my side in all this, you said–" She choked on the words, swallowed back tears.
He drew up to his full height, taking a deep breath. His eyes had darkened with emotion despite the impassive set to his face.
"Not now," he stated. "We'll talk later."
"What's more important?" she asked, brushing past him and moving to the paper-strewn table. "I'm trying to save a boy's life here."
"So am I," he said quietly.
She looked down at the photos that covered the table, and her irritation faded. Although the anger and betrayal remained, smoldering just beneath the surface.
Cassie couldn't tear her gaze away from the crime scene photos, scrutinizing each in turn, feeling compelled to bear witness for the dead children, the dead woman thrown out like trash. Last night, Jimmy had told her about this case, how it had obsessed Drake Senior and now his son. He said he was sorry he'd ever brought Drake into it.
"This is your dad's case?" she asked, trailing her fingers over the reams of paper piled onto the table.
He joined her, flipping the photos upside down. "I told you I was busy. Why are you here? You got what you wanted–Charlie is in protective custody. I'm not doing any more of your dirty work for you."
"Dirty work? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Nellie talked to Paul Ulrich. The baby Virginia is carrying isn't his. He told her about Virginia's affair with Richard King." He shook his head. "I had no idea you could be so vindictive, so manipulative. I should have seen it coming. Every time we try to get close, King comes between us. You just can't give him up, can you?"
She stared at him, her stomach clenching as if warding off a blow.
"You believe that?" she whispered, leaning on a chair, uncertain if her legs could hold her up any longer.
<><><>
"I know you're obsessed with King," Drake began, but he was no longer as confident. Damn, it had all made so much sense when Nellie laid it out. But now he was beginning to wonder.
"Haunted would be a better description," she said, raising her face to meet his gaze. She looked so pale, so fragile that he wanted to gather her into his arms. "Why would I care who Richard was sleeping with? We aren't married anymore. Do you think I held a grudge all this time, waiting for Virginia Ulrich to come into my ER so that I could exact some warped revenge on her?"
"You've been acting so strange lately–" he stammered. He looked away, suddenly on shaky ground.
"I've been acting strange? You're the one who–"
"Sterling says there's an explanation–"
"Sterling can't face the fact that he's helped Virginia torture her children," she snapped.
Drake sank into his chair, grinding his palms into his eyes. God, he was so tired. "But you ran out–after you promised you'd stay with my mother. You left her."
"Nellie asked me to leave," Cassie said. "After she saw the press conference and talked to Virginia Ulrich. I guess she got an earful from Sterling as well because she knew about my impending suspension and Richard's accusations that I used drugs."
"That's crazy!" He looked up at that. "I could have told her not to trust anything King said."
"You could have, but you weren't there."
"No, I wasn't." He reached for her hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't know about the suspension."
She bit her lower lip, then shrugged aside her problems. "Please don't ask Judge Flory to reverse Charlie's protective custody order."
"What are you talking about?" Now he finally understood the anger that drove her here tonight. "Who told you that?"
"Adeena–she heard it from Virginia Ulrich," she said with a wry twist to her mouth.
"We both need to check our sources better." He tugged on her hand, and she moved onto his lap. "I'm sorry I ever doubted you," he told her, encircling her with his arms. "Will you forgive me?"
She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Only if you forgive me. Sometimes I don't think before I act–or put my foot in my mouth."
He kissed the top of her head. "That's what I love most about you, Hart. You're never predictable."
She twisted in his lap so that he could kiss her more thoroughly. "Guess what I'm going to do next," she murmured as her fingers began to undo the buttons on his shirt.
Shivers of heat followed her fingers as they grazed over his skin. Her touch electrified him as she approached the sensitive area at his lower back. Her mouth moved from his down to his throat, her body humming with sexual tension.
Drake felt his own body respond and desperately wanted to give in to her unspoken demands. But he remembered how things had ended last time and the pleasure he felt at her touch was suddenly clouded by the red haze of fear.
He caught his breath, pushing the fear back, holding it at bay as he straightened, dropping his hands from her body. She looked up, puzzled.
"I'm sorry," he said, and it was the truth. "I can't–not now." His gaze darted past her to the table laden with its tales of murder.
Hart sat up, sliding from his lap but taking his hand in hers. "It's my fault. You said you had work. I should have realized that anything important enough to keep you from Muriel's side–"
"I think there's a killer out there getting ready to strike again," he said, his voice flat as he slipped his hand from her too-warm grasp and re-buttoned his shirt.
"Tell me about your case. You've listened enough about mine."
He looked up at that. He'd never talked about his cases to any of the women he'd been involved with before. But Hart was different–as he was constantly learning.
Drake hesitated, then took her hand once more, and walked her through the original murders. "And now there's this kid, Nate, I think he might be next."
"Why? After four years, the killer may not even still be around here."
"It's the dog," he said. "Cleary and Frantz both had pets that went missing several weeks prior to the murders. Eades and Kent didn't have any pets, but Kent's mother did mention a dead bird left on their stoop." He shook his head, it sounded so thin when spoken out loud. It was really just a feeling–an instinct.
Hart had risked everything on her instincts about Charlie Ulrich. Could he do less with another boy's life at stake?
He watched as she re-examined the photos of each of the victims with their families, the light revealing new hollows beneath her cheekbones. She'd lost weight, hadn't been taking care of herself. He frowned. Wasn't that his job? Or at least he wanted it to be–more than a job, a full time commitment.
"So all the victims with pets that were easily accessible lost them? Is there anyway to see if there have been other reports of animals killed?"
"There's no other links of family pets killed in association with murder victims."
She sh
ook her head. "Not with victims. The deaths of the animals is a warning, it's designed to instill fear, to intimidate."
"Threatening the family pet would be good way to intimidate a kid," he allowed, still unsure where she was going.
Hart shuffled the photos back and forth, then added the family photo of the Trevasians. He didn't think she knew where she was going either, but the frown of concentration that lined her face told him she was on the track of something.
"You think he's stalking these kids? He plays with them, terrorizing them, then kills them–and moves on to the next?"
Her hand became slick with sweat and began to tremble. The photos slipped away from her, fluttering to the table top.
"What is it?" he asked, pulling her to him, away from the table and its gruesome visages.
"It's not the victims," she mumbled. She drew in a ragged breath and took a step back, looking up at him. "Does Nate have a sibling?"
"His sister, Katie Jean. Why?"
She didn't answer but turned back to the photos, reaching for his felt tip marker. "These are your victims, right?" She circled the faces of the dead children, Regina Eades and Nate.
"Yes." It was sad to see those faces, bright with smiles, distilled down to a single black circle.
"Wrong. These are your victims." She tapped the photos indicating Sofia's brother, Adam Cleary's brother, Regina Eades' son, and Tanya Kent's brother. Then, finally Nate Trevasian.
"Shit," Drake breathed out the expletive. Why hadn't he seen it before? He'd been so blind, stupidly blind. The boys were all about the same age, all in third grade, probably all in the same sporting leagues, cub scouts, after school clubs.
"He used the murdered victims to ensure their silence," he said, remembering Nate's refusal to speak after his dog went missing. "There's probably a dozen more kids that he never escalated to this degree of violence, kids who he could keep quiet with less drastic measures."
