Fatal Frenzy: Book 9 of the Fatal Series

by Marie Force

  “Sociopath.”

  The word hung heavy in the air, the implications reaching far beyond this tiny, airless cinderblock room.

  “He’s a sociopath, Sam. What he did to you that day in the basement has been years in the making. You just talked about how he’d been escalating, going from verbal jabs to physical altercations. Inside he was blaming everyone but himself for his problems. You didn’t get him suspended and arrested for making calls to the press. He did that to himself, but he’s incapable of seeing it that way.”

  “I thought for sure he would kill me that day in Marissa’s basement. Especially after he gut-shot her. But more than anything, I feared that he’d try to rape me. I kept telling myself I could handle anything that came my way if only he didn’t try that.”

  “And he didn’t?”

  She shook her head. “Apparently the thought of touching me that way was as revolting to him as it was to me.”

  “He said as much?”

  “Yeah, at one point. It was actually a relief when he tied my legs to the chair. That’s when I knew rape wasn’t on his to-do list.”

  “I read in the report that you were entirely silent through the whole ordeal. Why?”

  “Because. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was getting to me. I was always mouthy with him, and he expected me to be mouthy that day. When I wasn’t, I could tell I ruined some of the fun of it for him. He wanted me to beg and plead for my life, and when I refused to do that, he was so mad.”

  “Do you think he went harder on you because of that?”

  “I know he did. He punched me in the face after I refused to engage with him.”

  “On a totally personal note, I want you to know that when I read that detail in the report, I was amazed. I can’t begin to imagine the mental fortitude it required to remain totally silent for all those hours while your sworn enemy beat and tortured you.”

  “I was screaming on the inside,” Sam said with a weak smile.

  “What were you thinking about?”

  “Mostly about Nick and Scotty, our son. My family, especially my dad… I thought about what it would be like for them to lose me this way. I wondered if they knew I’d been taken hostage, how they were finding out. I relived every minute I’d spent with Nick. If Stahl was going to kill me, I wanted thoughts of Nick to be what I took with me. I was sad that we might not get any more time together. We’d already been denied so many years by another sociopath who plotted to keep us apart for seven years. Mostly, it didn’t seem fair to me. I finally had everything I’d ever wanted—I’m married to the only man I’ve ever truly loved. We have a son now, and I’m finally a mom after so many disappointments. The thought of not getting see Scotty grow up or get old and cranky with Nick… I wondered if my dad would survive losing me.”

  “Any one of those thoughts would be enough to make a sane person crazy.”

  “I can’t be certain I was entirely sane during that ordeal.”

  “The important thing, at the end of the day, was that you found a way to survive. By going silent on him, you made him work harder and longer to break you. You bought yourself the time needed for your colleagues to realize you were missing and to organize a rescue. You did that, Sam. I hope you give yourself some of the credit for the fact that you survived.”

  “I haven’t really thought of it that way before.”

  “Do you see it now? Really see what I’m saying?”

  “I guess…”

  “Hear me on this, Sam. If you’d broken and given him the tirade he wanted, he probably would’ve killed you because he’d have gotten what he’d come for. He would’ve broken you. That he didn’t break you is the only reason you’re still alive. It’s not because of SWAT or the amazing work Sergeant Gonzales did in sounding the alarm and tracking you down. Those things certainly helped, but you ensured they had the time they needed to get to you.”

  Despite the swell of emotion coming from her chest to her throat and the tears stinging her eyes, she said, “So even after I made the huge mistake of going in there alone and without anyone knowing where I was, I still get credit for the save?”

  “You get the credit for staying alive long enough to be rescued.”

  Trulo had a reputation for reducing even the sturdiest to tears before he was satisfied he’d done his job. Sam had been so certain she’d be immune to him, but when he gave her credit for saving herself, the dam broke and the tears fell in hot streaks down her face.

  He handed her a tissue.

  She wiped her face and blew her nose. “I’m not sure I want to come back.” There. She’d said it out loud to someone who mattered, someone who had the power to decide if her career ended here or carried on as planned.

  “Why do you say that?”

  Dabbing at her eyes with the tissue, she said, “There’s a guy killing people in my city with a hunting knife and I feel strangely detached. As if that’s not my problem.”

  “Technically, it’s not your problem. You’re on leave and thus absolved of involvement in this one.”

  “But shouldn’t I be at least slightly interested in the case, how it’s progressing, what my squad is doing… You know, the usual stuff?”

  “I think you do care or you wouldn’t be asking yourself those questions.”

  “Normally, I’d come rushing back to work to help out.”

  “Normally. Is there anything normal about what happened in Marissa Springer’s basement?”

  “No, but—”

  “No buts, Sam. You’re on medical leave for a reason, and that case, as baffling and upsetting as it may be, is not your responsibility. There’s nothing wrong with taking a step back from your duties to heal from the trauma you experienced. Maybe you feel uncertain about coming back because you’re not ready to come back. Has that occurred to you?”

  “No, not really. How would I know that I’m ready?”

  “My guess is that something big will happen that will spur you to action—or it won’t. If it doesn’t, then you’ll have your answer.” He reached for a paper on his desk, wrote something on it and handed it to her.

  “What’s this?”

  “Clearance to return to full duty whenever you’re ready. You and I will be the only ones who know you’ve got that, and you should use it when you feel ready to. Not one minute before.”

  Sam stared down at the paper where Trulo had checked the box that allowed her to return to work. He’d signed his name below it. “So that’s it? No more appointments?”

  “Only if you’d like to talk. My door is always open to you. But no more required appointments.”

  Why did she feel like she was losing a lifeline when she’d never wanted to be here in the first place?

  “How do you feel, Sam?”

  “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. Relieved, I guess. No offense, but I’m not big on this kind of thing.”

  “No, really?”

  “Ahh, sarcasm. I do so love sarcasm.”

  He smiled. “As do I.”

  “I appreciate all the time you gave me, even when I was stonewalling you, but it feels weird to have completed this process or whatever you call it and still be unclear about whether or not I want to go back to work.”

  “Only you can decide that. And there would certainly be no shame in deciding the job is no longer for you. In fact, you have the perfect out in light of the oath your husband is about to take this week. Anyone would understand if you chose to focus on your duties as second lady rather than chasing down murderers.”

  “Chasing down murderers is more than a job to me. It’s who I am.”

  “It’s who you’ve been for some time now. Doesn’t mean it’s the only thing you’re capable of being or doing. The whole world is open to you. I’m sure you’re hearing
from your people at the White House about things you could be doing.”

  “I am. There’s stuff. Lots of stuff.”

  “Perhaps that’s part of the reason you’re rethinking your career. Maybe it has little to do with the attack and more to do with the changes occurring in your personal life.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that possibility.” In her mind, the whole thing had been wrapped up in what Stahl had done and the moves she’d made that had given him the perfect opportunity to grab her. But Trulo made a good point about the changes in Nick’s life and how they affected hers.

  “There’s no deadline for this decision, Sam. Take the time you need. Weigh the pros and cons. Talk to people you trust and respect. When and if you’re ready to come back, you can do it at any time. Should you choose not to return, that’s fine too. One thing I like to tell my clients, both here and in private practice, is that you have just one life to live. You ought to live it the way that best suits you.”

  He had definitely given her plenty to think about. “Thanks again for everything, Doc. Sorry if I was a tough nut to crack.”

  “You weren’t so bad.”

  “I wasn’t? God, that’s disappointing. I’ll have to try harder if I should have the misfortune of ending up on your case list again.”

  “I hope to never see you again in this capacity, but I shall always hope to run into you around the house, and I’ll be watching as you and your husband continue to captivate this country.”

  “Aww, shucks. Thanks. He’s the captivating one. I’m just along for the ride.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. You make for one heck of an appealing power couple.”

  She stood and reached out to shake his hand.

  He enfolded her hand in both of his. “Take good care of yourself, Sam, and come see me if there’s ever anything I can do for you.”

  “Thanks again, Doc. You’re all right despite the things I’ve said about you.” She left him laughing and headed downstairs to the morgue. Lindsey was nowhere to be found, so Sam went out into the cold and hustled to her jazzy new car. She’d always adored driving Nick’s BMW and loved that it now belonged to her. It would take the rest of her life and half of the next life to figure out all the gadgets, but fortunately she’d have Freddie to decode it for her if she went back to work.

  If she went back to work… For someone who lived and breathed her work, it was bizarre and unsettling to have such thoughts.

  Chapter Nine

  Sam battled her way through rush-hour traffic and was waved through security onto Ninth Street. The BMW practically parallel parked itself compared to her department-issued car. She took the ramp to her dad’s house and rapped on the door on the way in. “Yo, are you crazy kids decent?”

  “Come in, Sam,” her stepmother, Celia, said from the kitchen.

  Sam crossed the living room to the kitchen where Celia was quickly gathering a stack of paper while Sam’s dad sat in his wheelchair, looking on and seeming troubled.

  “What’s going on?” Sam asked.

  “Nothing,” Celia said, cheerful as always. “Just sorting through some stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “Personal stuff,” Skip said pointedly.

  Unaccustomed to being rebuffed by him, Sam slid into a kitchen chair and said, “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, honey,” Celia said. “You know how it is. Paperwork up the wazoo over every little thing.” She stood and bent to kiss Skip’s forehead. “I’m going to run this stuff upstairs and make some calls. You two enjoy a visit. There’s fresh coffee on if you want some, Sam.”

  “Thanks.” She got up and helped herself to a cup of coffee, stirring in cream and sugar.

  “Not like you to drink coffee in the middle of the day,” Skip said. “Doesn’t it keep you up?”

  “Sometimes. But it’s so cold out that I need something warm.” She produced the signed form Trulo had given her and put it on the table where her dad could see it.

  “I see you’ve graduated. Congratulations. Did he make you cry?”

  “A little.”

  “Awww, baby girl,” Skip said with a sigh. “I’ve been hoping you’d open up to someone. Trulo’s the best at what he does. Did it help?”

  “I guess. Some.”

  “So you’re going back to work?”

  “Not right away.”

  “Why not?”

  She ran her finger around the rim of the mug. “I’m not ready, and I’m not quite sure why I’m not ready. I’m just not.” She wanted to tell him the truth. If only she knew how. It was different with him. He was nearly as invested in her career as she was.

  “Okay…”

  “What would you say if I decided to do something different?” she asked, using the most innocuous phrasing she could think of.

  “Something different as in not be a cop anymore?”

  “Possibly.”

  He was quiet for a long moment before he began to speak. “Did I ever tell you how I almost hung up my badge after Steven was killed?”

  Steven Coyne, Skip’s first partner, had been killed in a still-unsolved drive-by shooting when the two men were Patrol officers. “No, you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t work for about two months after what happened to him. That he could be gunned down simply because he wore the uniform… Still gets to me to this day. I couldn’t bring myself to put on the badge, to care about the job or anything else for that matter.”

  “What brought you back?”

  “I had a family to feed. It was either go back and get on with it or start all over in another job. I didn’t want another job, but at that time, I didn’t want the one I had either.”

  Sam was shocked to see her dad’s eyes fill with tears.

  “I loved him like a brother. We had an immediate bond in the academy that lasted through the first couple of years on the job. I hate to even say such a thing, but imagine someone gunning down Freddie just because he wears the blue.”

  “I can’t.” The thought was too awful to allow into her muddled brain.

  “Exactly. It was just that bad. I was inconsolable and filled with an unreasonable amount of rage. I’d never experienced anything even close to that. I honestly didn’t know if I had it in me to go back to work, to put on that uniform, to work the beat without Steven by my side. How would I ever again trust a partner to have my back the way he did? How would another partner trust me when I’d failed Steven so completely?”

  “How did you fail Steven?”

  “He was shot when I was six feet from him.”

  “Could you have stopped it?”

  “It was over before I knew it was happening.” As he said the words, Sam could see the weight of the guilt and grief he carried with him all these years later in the grim expression on his face. “I couldn’t have stopped it, but that doesn’t change the fact that I was six feet from him. What kind of cop allows something like that happen to his partner when he’s right there? What kind of cop never catches a glimpse of the car or the shooter? I was tortured by those questions. The only way I could sleep without continuously reliving the horror of seeing his head practically blown off was if I medicated myself with Jack Daniel’s.”

  “I’ve always known about Steven, of course,” Sam said. “But you’ve never talked about how it affected you.”

  “No, I haven’t, because I couldn’t. Thirty years after it happened it’s still right up there as the worst day of my life.”

  “Worse than when you were shot?”

  “Way worse.” Grimacing, he added, “He’d just gotten married. He and Alice were crazy about each other. She was all he talked about, to the point that I begged him to shut up about her. I had to go there, to tell her…”

  Sam moved to the chair nex
t to his and put her hand over his right hand, the one extremity that had somehow retained nearly full sensation after he was shot.

  “Some things you never get over, Sam. You figure out a way to live with them, but you never forget. I think of Steven every day. He’s always with me, as is the guilt and the grief and the pain of his loss.”

  “I’m sorry you went through that.”

  “I’m sorry you went through what you did too. But if you leave the job, baby girl, that son of a bitch will win. He’ll win.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. “How’d you find your mojo again after you went back?”

  “Took a long time. It was more than a year before I felt sort of like my old self again. I was never again the person I was before that day, but the new me found a way to cope and go on. The support of the brotherhood helped. There weren’t as many sisters then as there are now, so the brother-and sisterhood will get you through. They’ll prop you up when you feel like you can’t go on. The cases helped. They keep on coming whether we want them to or not. The people we serve help. In their lowest moments it’s hard to think of our own problems. After a while, you get back into the groove and you stop thinking you can’t do it anymore because you are doing it. You’re closing cases and writing reports and interviewing witnesses and interrogating suspects and testifying in court like you always did. Life goes on. It moves forward and takes us with it.”

  “What happened to me was nothing compared to losing your partner that way.”

  “It wasn’t nothing. Someone you should’ve been able to trust with your life tried to take your life. It was not nothing. But he doesn’t deserve to sit in his jail cell knowing he took from you something you loved. He doesn’t get to do that, you hear me?”

  “I hear you.”

  “You’re going back to work. If you get there, and a few months from now it’s just not happening and you want to hang it up, then so be it. You’ll have my full support. But you will not give that piece of shit the satisfaction of thinking he took it from you. You will not.”

  “No, I won’t.”