by Cat Connor
Dark humor filled Noel’s reply, “At the very edge of civilization.”
I shook my head in astonishment. “Where are we headed now?”
“Hospital. I’ll make the arrest if shit-for-brains makes it.”
“It’s that bad?”
“Wasn’t wearing a seat belt.”
“Oh.”
Might have been handy having a coroner in the police car.
Noel was on the phone again. This time I recognized the tone and the instruction, “Grab your gear.”
His team would be there in a few hours, just in case our guy required transport.
As we walked down to our car, I broached the subject of Chad and Tierney. “The other guy, the bleeder. He is one of us. I have to call someone for him.”
“So the ass-hat was right about him being a cop. Do what you have to do.”
He climbed into the car. I pulled out my phone and made the call from the parking lot.
It was a number I knew by heart. Memorized in another chapter of my life. The wait was almost unbearable. Finally, a woman’s voice answered.
“Shangri La Special Services.”
“I have a bird problem.”
“Can you be more specific?” she replied.
“I keep chickens.”
There was a click and then silence. Two breaths, and then another voice.
“Agent Conway, you have another problem?”
My words felt sticky in my throat. “No, but you do.”
“Do I?”
“I have a message for you. Socrates needs extraction. He is injured.”
Without hesitation Jonathon replied, “Can you help him?”
“I already have.”
There was a pause. “Thank you. We will take care of Socrates. Where is he?”
“City Hospital, Martinsburg, West Virginia.”
“I’ll take care of it.” I imagined his beady bird eyes darting across the screen I knew was in front of him, deploying a team to bring in Chad. “How compromised is he?”
“I don’t know for sure.”
“Loose ends?”
“I took care of one, his name was Nicky.” It was inadvertent but he didn’t need to know that. “I don’t know if there are any more.”
“Thank you. Are you well, Agent Conway?”
“I am well,” I replied and hung up. As well as can be expected considering whom I thought I saw.
I slid into the passenger seat and closed the door. My mind was busy pondering the irony that meant Chad turned up outside our motel room.
Noel started the car. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah.” Why the hell wouldn’t it be? “Let’s go see Randall.”
I hoped he wasn’t pulp because justice needed to be served. A part of me considered that if he was pulp, it had been served. Maybe.
Mac’s voice resounded in my head, “Maybe’s ass.”
How can his dead voice be in my head and be identical to the voice I’d heard from Chad or Socrates or whoever the hell he was? I knew enough to know it wasn’t either name he’d given me.
Fifteen minutes later, we found the hospital and were standing in the emergency room. Noel waited to hear back from a doctor regarding Randall’s status. I saw the paramedics who picked up Chad.
I stopped one and asked after their patient.
“He’s in surgery.”
“Any idea how long that will take?”
The paramedic shook his head. His partner mumbled and they both headed off into the night. I looked around for a nurse and found one.
With a flash of my badge, I asked about the patient, describing him but not using his name. I had no clue what name he’d told the paramedics or hospital.
“Let me check for you, ma’am.” She tapped a few computer keys. “That patient is John Smith.”
I guess that’s a step up from John Doe. I jotted his name down in the notebook in my hand but didn’t believe for one second it was his real name.
“Got a birthdate there? We need it for our records.”
“September 26, 1970.”
The pen fell from my hand, clattered onto the floor and rolled away. I watched. It rolled to Noel’s booted foot. He picked it up and brought it back to me.
With a grin he said, “Butter fingers.”
I tried to smile back but my face didn’t move.
“El?”
The nurse looked at me. “Ma’am, are you all right?”
Come on voice. “Of course. Thanks.”
Noel grabbed my arm just above the elbow and steered me to a quiet corner.
“What?”
I went for broke on the insanity plea and voiced the crazy thoughts, “The guy with the cut wrist. He’s using the name John Smith and his birth date is the same as Mac’s.”
“A lot of people share birthdates, El.”
“Not too many have the exact same scar on their forearm, the same eyes, the same face, the same voice, the same height.” Despite trying to control my internal panic, I could hear it in my voice.
Noel and I made our way out of the hospital, away from anyone who could overhear the conversation. We stopped not far from the emergency entrance. There was a small raised garden. The solid edge was just high enough for me to sit on.
“El, Mac is dead.”
“Then who the hell is John Smith?” I whispered.
“Didn’t you call someone? Can they tell you?”
“I’m confessing to you that I have clearly lost the plot. Let’s spread it around.”
He smiled. “You got blood.” His smile faded. “You really think DNA will come back as Mac?”
“I don’t know who he is. All I know is that John Smith looks remarkably like my dead husband.”
“All right. We’ll get the sample to the lab. Meanwhile, go see what else the hospital has on him and let’s get a picture and prints.”
“Am I insane?”
“No more than usual, El. No more than usual.”
“Good to know.”
“I only met Mac that one time.” His eyes bore traces of disappointment. “I’m no help here at all.”
That one time he met Mac was part of a scenario that would be stuck in my mind for eternity. No matter how much good we did or how many kids we saved. That memory to me would always be the night my husband died.
Noel leaned against the wall opposite me. It was still dark and cool. I couldn’t imagine how he thought I was sane after the things I’d told him. It surprised the hell out of me that he hadn’t called my boss, SAC Caine Grafton, and suggested an immediate psychiatric evaluation. At that point, it occurred to me that he may have. I wouldn’t know until the men in white coats showed up.
And with that, I shuffled sideways into a Men in Black scene. The theme song filled me to the point I was singing along. We all know I can’t sing. It wasn’t going to go well for anyone who valued his or her hearing.
“El, Men In Black?” Noel blew out a long sigh. “Really?”
“Sorry.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Never better. My dead husband is having surgery on his wrist and I thought his ashes were buried in Fairfax.”
“They are. There is no way that guy is Mac. Think someone might have noticed if he’d come back to life?”
“I’d like to think so. Doctors, nurses, someone in the morgue.”
“We’ll find out what’s going on here, that much I can promise you.”
I nodded. “It’s the uncanny resemblance that’s screwing up my head here.”
“They say we all have doppelgangers.”
“I know.” I should know. It wasn’t that long ago that Lee thought I was lying strangled in a parking lot in DC. The woman not only looked just like me but her driver’s license identified her as Gabrielle Conway. Discovering her body caused all manner of shit to spray forth and meant I needed to contact Tierney for help.
I stopped and stared up at the stars. A helicopter circled the building then disa
ppeared from sight. By the noise, I’d say it landed on the roof. Someone’s night ended badly and required an airlift to hospital.
I was exhausted and empty. I consoled myself with the thought that my life was so normal it should be a season of Days of Our Lives. There was way too much going on for it to be a single episode. I was sure I should be clutching the back of a chaise longue, dramatically looking into space, while wearing four-inch heels and a designer gown. Any minute the camera would pan out then fade to another scene, with a handsome man looking desperately worried and staring into the flames in a fireplace of some alpine ski lodge.
Sometimes it sucked to have my imagination. This was one of those times. Noel was watching me with curiosity. For a second I could’ve believed he’d never seen Days of Our Lives. But he looked too much like the guy in front of the fire.
A nurse emerged from within the hospital. She looked over at us and beckoned.
“We have an update on Randall,” she said, holding the door open for us. I read her name badge. Tamsin.
“Thank you, Tamsin,” I said.
She smiled. “The doctor is waiting for you – down the hall, second on your left.”
Noel nodded.
Moments later, we learned Randall died from his injuries.
Closure of sorts. For my case, there was a certain amount of relief. The victims would no longer be required to go through the third degree in a courtroom. His DNA was on file. We knew he committed the rapes, but it remained “alleged” until proven guilty in a court of law. As far as I was concerned, he was a dead serial rapist. Seemed to me it was the best possible outcome.
Down the hallway, the dark night waited. From the darkness, I heard the whine of the engines and the unmistakable thump of helicopter rotors.
Tamsin waved us down as we headed to the door.
“Ma’am, I have some news regarding the other man you were asking about. John Smith?”
“That’s him.”
“He was airlifted to another hospital.”
“I didn’t know his arm injury was that severe?”
“Special circumstances, ma’am. They’ve transferred him to another hospital.”
“Do you know where?”
“No, ma’am, only the pilot would know that.” She dropped her voice to a whisper, “All his records were taken as well, and his treatment paid for in cash.”
I nodded.
Gone.
Once our lab processed the blood sample, I would know more. It seemed so simple: Take the blood to the lab. Reality was different. It could be months before I got an answer. Being nosy isn’t a priority. A blood sample with no case number meant I would have to wait until there was nothing else in the queue even with the favors various people owe me. What was I going to do? Push out someone’s time-sensitive blood work and run the risk of letting a rapist or murderer go free for longer? I couldn’t do that.
The voice in my head muttered, “Good luck ever getting an answer from the blood.”
There was no point hanging around. Randall was dead and Smith was gone.
“Home,” I said as Noel held the door open.
“Yeah, I’ll send my team back – they should be halfway here by now.” He pulled out his cell phone and made a call.
We swung back to the motel, my idea. Our short stay at the miserable motel was over but I couldn’t just leave the motel owner out of pocket. I paid for the broken window. It just seemed easier than the owner trying to squeeze cash out of the estate of the dead man or a man who didn’t exist.
Dawn broke with slow deliberation.
In silence, we headed into the daylight.
Two
Angels Came Down
“It’s late. We’ve got this organized, Joe?” I asked as I spun my chair back to face my desk and stretched. It’d been a long Thursday and I wanted to go home. Noel dropped me off at the Hoover Building around ten in the morning. I hadn’t slept for forty-eight hours. That doubtless explained a lot of things, in particular the surprise I’d just arranged for Carla and Rowan. Funny how someone else’s cool can be another person’s hell. In this case, I’m the one who is going to hell.
The face looking at me from my computer screen frowned and seemed to consider my words. “Yes. I am all set at this end.”
I nodded. “We’ll see you tomorrow night.”
His crooked smile pixelated on the screen. “See you then. You might even enjoy it.”
“Goodnight, Joe,” I said with a small wave, then shut down Skype.
I’d pulled one helluva last-minute favor to get tomorrow night organized, but I didn’t imagine I would enjoy it.
I stood up, closed my laptop, pulled on my jacket, and walked out the office. The clock on the wall said it was coming up to ten p.m. The day disappeared in a fog of reports and case files. Carla would be in bed. Dad would’ve waited for her to fall asleep then set the alarm and headed home, it was his poker night.
There was no one on the floor. Delta was morgue-like and just as creepy.
I checked the Glock on my hip. It was still there. The edgy jittery feeling I felt walking down the corridor made sense in a sleep-deprived way.
A shadow lingered on the off-white walls as I walked. I glanced up to see a shimmer of orange. At the elevator, I waited. The stairwell doors were closed. Through the small glass panels of the doors, I saw nothing but darkness. I didn’t feel like running down all those dark stairs to the parking garage. Tonight I would take my chances with the square steel coffin everyone else called the elevator. The shadows took form on the walls. Butterflies. Orange and silver flittered across the silent creamy canvas.
The elevator doors opened. With one last look down the empty hall, I slipped inside and waited for the doors to close. Wisps of gossamer skimmed past the closing door. A shiver went up my spine.
Maybe it was time to move to a new office or call a priest. I smiled. A priest. That’ll work. Kurt suggested a priest a few months earlier while I was staying at the Marriott. He could’ve been joking. Not.
The drive home was uneventful as I expected. I didn’t always get uneventful, but I always expected it. Forever hopeful – the most unlikely Pollyanna in town.
Random sentences from a previous conversation rattled in my head.
Rowan had expended a lot of effort to try to persuade me to attend a concert. I pulled into my driveway and waited as the electronic gate began to open.
I wasn’t convinced I wanted to do it even though this time it was my idea. Sure, there is nothing to suggest it would go badly, likewise, there is nothing to suggest it would go well. The events that unfolded in Christchurch still haunted me and put a serious dent in my ability to even think of attending a rock concert. My enjoyment is irrelevant.
The gate stood fully open. I checked behind me before pulling in, and waited for the gate to shut before continuing up the driveway. The garage door opened as if by magic, as I approached. It closed behind me once I cut the engine.
Or at least that’s how it always seemed. In reality, my security system recognized authorized vehicles via small sensors placed under certain cars. It amused me to imagine my garage door and gate were enchanted.
The hall light was off. Enough silvery moonlight shone through the windows at the top of the staircase that I didn’t need lights to climb the stairs. I checked on Carla. She was asleep. But she’d left me a note on her nightstand.
Goodnight, Mom, I love you.
I kissed her head, pulled up the covers and turned out her bedside lamp.
“I love you too, Carla.”
Shrek lifted his furry grey head and looked at me as I left the room.
My bedroom phone was ringing. I could hear it as I walked to my room. I didn’t hurry. If it were that important, whoever it was would’ve called my cell. The phone stopped by the time I entered my bedroom. The message light flashed. I ignored it and dropped my jacket onto my bed. I walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower, with thoughts of killers in the closet a
nd murderers under the bed high in my mind.
The boogieman is real.
My instant paranoia threw me into a B-grade horror movie complete with fog. No amount of trying to convince myself I was being stupid helped. No amount of telling myself it was steam from the shower and not fog worked. I left the shower running, pulled the Glock from my hip, and checked my bedroom. Satisfied it was clear, I closed the bedroom door as I moved on and repeated the exercise. Four bedrooms, including Carla’s and the small room I used as my upstairs office space.
The stupidity factor was almost intoxicating. Who the hell could get in without triggering the alarm system and an armed response? Wasn’t that the whole point of building a brand new house with a state-of-the-art security system? How many houses have to explode before I consider this kind of security?
Two. The answer is two.
The shower was still running. I holstered my gun and went back to my room. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Something wasn’t right. I turned off the shower and walked back along the hallway. All the doors remained closed.
Slipping down the backstairs, with my gun drawn, seemed a little foolish until I thought about Carla. Nothing about security is foolish with a kid in the house. Nothing. It didn’t matter how many times I said it, there was a little voice in my head that told me I was being irrational, and it sounded very like my mom.
“Pots and kettles, Mom, pots and kettles,” I whispered to the ghostly voice in my head.
A shadow crossed the hallway ahead of me. My mind said it was nothing more than a branch moving outside, a shadow cast from moonlight.
Moving how? It was a still night. No breeze.
Breathe.
Light flickered, and then shone from the living room.
The moon can’t turn on lights.
Breathe.
My heart pounded. With my left hand, I reached for my cell phone, and came up empty. It was in my jacket. My jacket was lying where I’d dropped it, on my bed.
Crap.
Think.
Control panel. At each end of the downstairs hall were control panels. I hurried through the hallway to the one nearest me, which was just beyond the kitchen. Pressing two buttons turned on all the audio surveillance within the ground floor. There were no cameras inside the house, with the exception of my office. I pressed another button sequence, which sent a silent signal to the security company which monitored my home.
