by CJ Lyons
"Cassie? It's Adeena. How're you doing?"
She sank back against the headboard. "All right, I guess."
"You don't sound so good. Listen, you can say no if you want, but Fran's parents are coming over to Three Rivers this morning. The police said they could collect her stuff from her desk. Some of the people who worked with her are going to meet them, and I didn't know if you wanted to join us."
Cassie was silent. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the phone. Damn, she should have called Fran's parents. But facing them was the last thing in the world she wanted to do. She looked longingly at her bed.
"We thought maybe we could pack everything for the Weavers," Adeena continued. "Then they could go through it when they felt ready."
Cassie ran her hand over the quilt, savoring the rich velvets and silks. "What time?"
"Around ten."
"I'll be there." She hung up and stood, ignoring the warm comfort beckoning to her from the bed.
CHAPTER 28
Cassie stepped out of the fourth floor stairwell and headed toward the ICU. It was only nine-thirty, she had time to check on Brian Winston and Jane Doe before meeting Adeena. A familiar face popped out of the waiting room--Linda, one of the girls who had accompanied Brian into the ER.
"They won't let me see him 'cause I'm not family," she told Cassie. "Please help me, I need to see him, be with him."
"Did you ask his parents?"
"They're flying back today. They were skiing in Switzerland." She looked up at Cassie with hope in her eyes. "He's gonna be okay, isn't he? He just has to be."
She led the girl back into the family waiting area and sat her down on the couch. "Brian's not doing so well. The Double Cross caused some brain damage."
Linda gasped and covered her mouth. "Oh my God. And I almost took it too! What would have happened if I did?"
Cassie looked at the thin wraith of a girl with her plaid Catholic High skirt, leather shirt and pierced eyebrow and nose. "You might have died." She waited a beat and went on. "We have another girl in the ICU who almost died from FX. We found her under the West End Bridge."
Suspicion hardened Linda's eyes. "So?"
"We haven't been able to let her parents know she's here because we don't know her name. If I take you in to see Brian, would you look at her, see if you can tell me anything about her?"
"Are you gonna tell the cops?"
"No. I just want to find out who this girl is. I'm only trying to help her."
"You'll let me see Brian?"
"For a few minutes, yes."
Linda considered it, drumming her ring-studded fingers on the arm of the couch. "Okay."
Cassie waved off the nurses' protests as she brought Linda into the ICU to see Jane Doe. They stood together at the foot of the bed, Linda's eyes fixed on the pale form of the girl. Cassie watched for any hint of recognition from her.
Finally the older girl nodded. "Yeah, I've seen her. She was hanging around T-man, trying for a piece of the action. But I don't know her name."
"T-man? Who's he? Where can I find him?"
Linda cut her a hard look. "He's the creep who sold the Double Cross to Brian. Hangs out near the bridge, got some sort of crib there, I don't know exactly where. I wouldn't mess with him if I were you."
"I won't." Cassie walked her over to Brian's bed.
"Remember, you promised you wouldn't tell the cops. If T-man found out I was even talking to you, he'd kill me for sure."
Cassie looked down at the girl. She had grown pale, obviously frightened both by T-man and her friend's condition.
"I won't tell the police," she assured Linda, and she left her with Brian.
"Be careful down there," Linda called as Cassie walked away.
Cassie waved goodbye and kept going. She made it to the stairwell, her favorite thinking place, and perched on the concrete steps.
She had no proof that this T-man was connected to Three Rivers. He could be some low level dealer who knew nothing. Or he could be the key to everything: Jane Doe's identity, stopping the FX epidemic, getting the deadly Double Cross off the streets. And Fran's murder.
Logic told her to call Drake, let him handle it, even if it meant breaking her promise to Linda. But Jane Doe was her patient, her responsibility.
Cassie got to her feet and brushed off her jeans, trying to convince herself that her reluctance to call Drake had nothing to do with the churning emotions he stirred inside her last night.
Drake slouched in his customary place behind Summers, avoiding eye contact with Kwon or any of the others. They were in Miller's conference room this morning, all bleached oak polished to a high gloss. One good thing about a front-page killing, it had gotten them nicer digs.
A stack of coasters beside the coffee pot reminded them to mind their manners. Kwon had plastered the cork board with stills from the crime scene, the pharmacy, blow ups of Weaver's, King's, and Hart's DMV photos, a floor plan of the Annex, and a time line of the events leading up to Weaver's death.
"Security guard didn't see shit, can't confirm Hart's description of the shooter, vague as it is," Kwon was saying.
Everyone nodded except Drake, who wanted to groan and crawl under the table. While the rest of his team wanted to pin a murder on Hart, all he wanted to know was why she ran away this morning. Like he was a goddamn plague carrier.
Maybe that just proved how smart she was, the devil's advocate in his brain whispered. Good survival instincts.
But not good enough to keep Kwon and Dimeo off her case. Drake could see they were focused on Hart's involvement, as if she were responsible for her best friend's murder. Dimeo he could understand, lawyers would twist facts to suit their purpose without a qualm, but Kwon knew better than to allow her imagination lead the case.
"Where was King last night?" Dimeo asked.
"At home. Says he was watching TV," Summers answered. "No witnesses. And his brother, the lawyer, made him shut up after he gave us that spectacular tidbit of information."
"King doesn't match the description Hart gave us," Drake said. "He's too tall. Surely his ex would know him by the way he moved--" he broke off when he saw Dimeo's smile. Idiot. He'd just made her point for her.
"King could easily be the shooter while Hart set herself up with an alibi from the security guard," Kwon said. "Then Hart made certain Weaver died before talking. Just like Jane Doe and the Winston kid."
Drake's fist bounced against his thigh. "Why?" he interjected, drawing everyone's attention to him. "Why would Hart do that?" he pushed on, braving Kwon and Dimeo's frowns of disapproval. "Weaver already talked, gave us her info."
He gestured to the list of the ten possible suspects Kwon had listed on the dry erase board. Suspects gleaned from Weaver's data and Dimeo's court order of the work records. Suspects besides Hart and King. "We got anything on these others?"
"No convictions other than moving violations and two with sealed juvenile records. Trautman and Conroy," Dimeo said, placing red checks by the two men's names. "I'm working on getting them unsealed, but it's highly unlikely without more--"
"Probable cause," the two narcotic detectives chorused. It was a refrain they were all sick of hearing.
"Drake and I have the parents this morning, then he can take Trautman and I'll take Conroy," Kwon said. "You guys divide up the rest and start working them."
Great, Drake thought as he scraped his chair back. All morning with two grieving parents and Kwon. Could this day get any worse?
CHAPTER 29
"Where were you last night?" Adeena Coleman asked as Cassie entered the social worker's office. "Your car was here, but I couldn't find you anywhere. I was worried sick."
Cassie sank into the metal chair beside Adeena's desk and rubbed her eyes. The pressure was back, building like a river in flood stage. "One of the detectives took me to Fran's autopsy."
She kept her eyes shut, but that didn't block the sound of Adeena's disapproving whoosh of breath. "You went to Fran's--did you
watch?"
Cassie nodded. Adeena laid a hand over her arm, squeezed it.
"I'm sorry, I should have been there with you."
Cassie's eyes popped open at the memory of what happened afterward at Drake's. "Trust me, it was better this way."
"But you shouldn't have to go through that alone."
Typical Adeena, the professional mother hen. "I wasn't alone," Cassie admitted. "After, I kind of lost it, and," she felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment, "the detective and I, we went home to his place."
"You slept with him?" Adeena reached behind her and shut the door to her cubbyhole of an office. "Good God Almighty. What were you thinking?"
"I wasn't." Cassie's voice shuddered to a stop. "All I could see, think of was Fran. I couldn't get the sight of her face out of my mind. And then he was there, and suddenly I could breathe again. How could I do that--act like that--when Fran was dead?"
"And you're still alive," Adeena said. "Isn't that the point? Isn't that what sex is really all about?"
"But I was enjoying myself--Fran's body wasn't even cold yet!"
Adeena caught Cassie's eye and grinned. "Enjoying yourself, huh? That good, was he?"
"How can you think about that at a time like this?"
"Because I'm only human, and so are you." Her braids bounced as she nudged Cassie, eager for all the details. "So tell me, how was it?"
"It was better than anything I ever imagined," she blurted out. "God, what's wrong with me? This can't be normal, and don't give me some cliché about how everyone grieves in their own way."
"What's abnormal is a fine young thing like you throwing away your life on scum like Richard King," Adeena retorted. "And then waiting eighteen months before you let another man touch you. Which Detective was it? That cute Summers guy?"
"No. Drake. Mickey Drake."
To Cassie's surprise, Adeena pulled away, her back rigid, eyes narrowed. "Drake? You slept with Drake? What the hell were you thinking? That man--"
"What? What's wrong with Drake?" She thought about her misgivings this morning. Had she made a terrible mistake?
"Remember those kids that got shot by that drug dealer last summer?"
"Yeah. The dealer was aiming at a cop."
Adeena nodded, her braids jangling. "That cop was Drake. While I was working with the families he came in to interview one of the mothers and he reeked of beer. Wasn't very happy when she couldn't give him a description of the shooter. Didn't seem to care that her son was in the OR getting his spleen removed."
"He was upset," Cassie protested. She sucked in a breath. She used to make excuses for Richard as well. A cold sweat broke out, raising goosebumps on her skin.
"Yeah, but now two nights ago that same drug dealer died. One of the medics told me he was in police custody. Said they'd busted in the door and there was a gunshot near the body. Guess who the arresting officer was?"
"Drake," Cassie said through clenched teeth. She remembered him and Andy Greally talking about Lester Young's death. Making jokes. "Wouldn't they have taken him off the case if there was anything suspicious?"
Adeena gave her an elaborate shrug. "It's the police, who knows? But take my advice, you steer clear of that man. He took advantage of you last night and you don't need any more trouble in your life."
Cassie blew her breath out, reluctant to admit that Adeena might be right about Drake. It had been a long time since she'd felt as safe and secure as she had last night in his arms--not to mention the fabulous sex. She'd been hoping that after Fran's case was solved she could return to that feeling, but maybe Adeena was right, she should think twice about getting involved with Drake.
She changed the subject. "How's the search for Jane Doe's family coming?"
Adeena gave her a long, hard stare before answering and Cassie was thankful when she didn't bring up Drake again. "I've sent her information to all the major databases. Her face is up on every website, but no one's come forward with anything helpful."
"I can't believe anyone would let a child lie in a coma, alone, without even a name. And--"
"And," Adeena finished for her, "you thought Jane Doe might give you a clue to Fran's killer. Don't you think you should leave it to the police?" Cassie nodded, avoiding Adeena's eyes. "But you're not, are you?"
"Someone here at Three Rivers knew Fran and I had stumbled onto the FX thefts. Jane Doe had drugs that were stolen from here, so she must have had some contact with the thief."
"Do you think Jane Doe is in danger?"
"No, not while she's in the ICU."
"Then what?"
Cassie shrugged, tried to act nonchalant. Adeena pursed her lips, watching Cassie's face closely. "My other consult in the ICU, Brian Winston, he isn't doing so good, is he?"
"No. They're talking about a perfusion scan. If there's no blood flow to his brain and his EEG stays flat, they may suggest that the parents withdraw life support."
"Didn't he get the drugs at a rave near the West End Bridge? That's where you found Jane Doe, right?" Cassie said nothing. "There are several abandoned buildings nearby that homeless kids crash in. You know, the cops won't get anywhere with those kids, but the right person might be able to parlay an introduction for you."
"Who?" she asked.
Adeena smiled. "Me," she said with satisfaction. "I go there with the outreach van a few times a month."
Cassie looked away, the corners of her mouth turning down in reluctance.
"Don't worry about me," Adeena said. "I can take care of myself."
"That's what Fran said."
CHAPTER 30
Gary Krakov and Neil Sinderson sat head to head, huddled over inventory sheets when Cassie and Adeena entered the ransacked pharmacy. The two pharmacists were warped mirror images of each other, Cassie noticed. Same height and build, Krakov with horn rimmed glasses, Neil with wire rims; Krakov had thick, brown hair that she swore was a toupee, Neil a full head of natural blond, sun-bleached hair.
"Thank goodness they didn't get any of our more expensive stock," Krakov said. "As it is, I have no idea how my budget is going to recover."
Typical Krakov. The cost in human life paled in comparison to the prospect that his precious budget would not balance. She narrowed her eyes at him, seeing the pharmacist in a new light. Could he have been involved in Fran's murder? Even if he wasn't, he should have seen how important Fran's research was, allowed her to do it during regular hours instead of forcing her to stay late, working down here alone.
Neil looked up from his Palm Pilot. "Hi," he said, his gaze fixing on Cassie with embarrassing attention.
"Neil," Krakov interrupted, "did you get that? Four dozen more of Percocet."
"I got it. Hold on a moment." Neil left the pharmacy director to join her and Adeena. "Are you all right?" he asked Cassie, taking one of her hands in both of his. "I heard you were there."
The pharmacist's solicitude made Cassie squirm. She looked to Adeena for help, but the social worker had moved over to Fran's workstation.
"I'm fine," she said.
"What a shock. I know you did your best for Fran..." He trailed off. "We'll all miss her," he finished in a low voice.
Cassie sighed. Was this how her life was going to be now? A constant reliving of the one moment she wanted to erase forever from her mind. She took a shuffling half step toward the door.
"You actually saw him, the killer?" Behind the thick lenses of his glasses, his eyes grew wide.
"No, I didn't get a good look. I couldn't even tell the police if it was a man or a woman." She edged further away, but he still held her hand fast in his.
"Well at least you're safe," Neil continued, squeezing her hand.
She eased her hand free. "About Saturday--"
"Of course, I understand. We'll reschedule."
She was spared the need to reply by the arrival of the Weavers. Fran's parents appeared frail beyond their years, dwarfed by the weight of tragedy. Mr. Weaver was tall and slender, wearing a dark suit rumple
d with wrinkles. He bent over his wife, guiding her into the room, his eyes scouring it, in search of anything that might cause her further distress. Fran's mother wore a navy blue polyester dress, her blonde hair pinned back in a tight bun that only accentuated the lines of grief already etched into her face.
Cassie began to approach them, then froze. Drake, accompanied by a slim Oriental woman who was obviously another detective, entered behind the Weavers. He wore a gray tweed sports coat over a pale blue shirt and jeans along with his trademark red high tops.
Damn, she should have realized he was going to be here. What would she say to him? Should never have run away this morning, should've found the courage to stay and talk things over face to face.
But when face to face with Drake, talking was the last thing on Cassie's mind.
Drake stared at her as if she were a total stranger, his expression blank with indifference. Cassie felt her face color. Fool. Just because he had a pretty line of pillow talk didn't mean last night meant anything to him. Maybe Adeena was right about him.
Neil approached with the Weavers. "This is Dr. Cassandra Hart," he told the bereaved parents. "She was a good friend of Fran's."
Mr. Weaver grabbed Cassie's hand and pumped it, while his wife dabbed a tear-stained tissue to her eyes. "Thank you. We heard you risked your life to help Fran."
"Detective Drake told us how you tried to save her," Mrs. Weaver said, the words smothered by tears. "I can't tell you how much that means to us."
"We just don't understand," Mr. Weaver said. "Fran would never hurt anyone. Why would anyone--" He couldn't finish, his face twisting in grief.
"I'm sorry I couldn't do more," she said. Damn Drake, he had no right to make her out to be any kind of a hero in this. These people deserved to know the truth. "I'm afraid I'm the one who asked Fran--you see, someone was stealing drugs," she faltered. How could she explain to them that she'd gotten their daughter killed?
"Yes, the police told us how Fran was helping them," Mrs. Weaver said. "She was such a good girl, so conscientious."
