(2002) Chasing Darkness

by Danielle Girard

  “TheExile on Main Street album is great,” Derek said.

  Nick smiled. “I’m glad you like it. They recorded that one in France when Mick Taylor was still in the band.”

  Derek nodded. “Yeah, they rented some château because they couldn’t go back to England because of tax problems.”

  Nick was always amazed at how much Derek knew about music. “I’ll look forward to hearing it again when you’re better,” he said.

  “She’s not answering,” Rob said, returning to the room with a glass of water. “I left a message. She checks them pretty often, I think. Maybe she’s on her way home.”

  Helping Derek up, Nick gave the boy the tablets and then water to wash them down.

  Derek sank back on the couch.

  “You think you could eat something?”

  Derek shrugged.

  “I’ll heat up some soup and you can just eat it when you feel up to it. You need a lot of liquids—juice, soup, whatever you can handle.”

  “I’d like some juice.”

  “I think there’s some in the freezer,” Rob said. “I’ll make it.”

  “I’ll be right back, Derek,” Nick said. “You call if you need us.”

  Derek nodded, and Nick stood up and headed into the kitchen. As he and Rob worked side by side, heating soup and making juice, Nick found himself settling into the feel of Sam’s house. He watched Rob pour the frozen concentrate into a pitcher, splashing the red juice on his white T-shirt.

  “Oh, man.”

  Nick smiled and put his arm around Rob.

  “It’s my favorite shirt.”

  “It’ll come out.”

  Rob flipped on a radio beside the microwave, and Nick caught the familiar sound of John Coltrane.

  “You always listen to jazz in here?”

  “Aunt Sam’s all into this station now.”

  Nick smiled and worked to Coltrane, listening for the sound of Sam’s car as though it were the most natural thing in the world that he should be in her house, making dinner with her boys.

  As he cranked open a can of soup, he felt the familiar buzz of his pager. Lifting it off his belt, he stared down at the number. His captain. He crossed behind Rob and picked up the phone, dialing the station as he put his beeper back on his belt.

  “Cintrello. Thomas here,” he told the clerk who answered.

  “Thomas.” Cintrello sounded as though he’d snapped up the phone on the first ring. “I got news.”

  “Another?”

  “No.”

  “Where’s the top to this thing?” Rob asked, holding the plastic pitcher with juice.

  Nick turned and pulled open cupboards in search of a lid. “What’s up, Captain?”

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “My sister’s,” he lied.

  “Well, I’ll make it short, then. I took a call about a half hour ago from a source who says one of ours is the perp.”

  Nick halted. He’d thought a cop could be behind the killings. Who else would have had the inside info? “You’ve got a line on our suspect?”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  Nick frowned. “You going to tell me who this source thinks is involved?”

  His captain exhaled. “Chase.”

  “That’s bullshit,” he snapped and then looked at Rob, who was staring at him wide-eyed. “Sorry,” Nick mouthed. “No, that can’t be right,” he said to Cintrello, lowering his voice and turning away from Rob. “This guy—your source—he thinks she did it? Impossible. She’s a great cop, Captain. What would be the motive?”

  “Slow down, Thomas, and watch your fucking mouth. If you can’t look at this thing objectively, I’ll yank you.”

  “This is objective, Captain. I know her as well as anyone, and I’d stake my badge on it.”

  “That’s not objective, Thomas. Jesus Christ, you’re not screwing her, are you?”

  “God, no,” he said quickly, one part of him wishing he was lying, one part glad he wasn’t. “Is there evidence?”

  “Yes.”

  “What—”

  “It’s not enough to try a case on, but the undersheriff has got his panties in a knot over what happened last fall and he’s not about to take chances.”

  Nick nodded. Last fall, the sheriff’s office had ignored reports that one of their own, Officer John Patrick Yaskevich, was involved in the sale of unregistered weapons. When it turned out to be true, the sheriff got more than an earful from the governor and there was a bloodbath in the papers. “They can’t possibly think this is the same thing,” Nick said.

  “We’re not talking about it anymore, Thomas,” Cintrello said. “The D.O.J. is insisting she stay on the case, but I’ve been told that my ass is on the line. That means your ass is on the line. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “You’re my insider. You keep your eyes open, and if something looks fishy, I hear about it. Are we clear?”

  “I still don’t—”

  “Thomas, shut your trap already. We’ll see what the source has. Then we’ll talk. Corona is demanding that everything remain the same until then. But I’m letting you know to keep your eyes and ears open. Clear?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If I find out you held something back, I’ll feed you to IAD myself.”

  Nick didn’t reply. The internal affairs division was a group he’d been fortunate enough never to deal with.

  “Understand?”

  His chest was deflated. “Yeah,” he said with his last puff of air.

  Nick hung up the phone and leaned against the counter.

  “I found the lid,” Rob announced, holding up the pitcher of juice.

  “Nice work.”

  Rob looked at him. “Is Sam in trouble?”

  Nick blinked and shook his head, pointing at the phone. “No. That was something else.”

  Rob nodded, but Nick wasn’t sure he believed him. “I’m going to take some in to Der.”

  Nick put his hand on Rob’s shoulder. “Thanks.” As Rob left the room, Nick felt trapped. His loyalty had always been with the department, but he couldn’t possibly keep this news from Sam. He didn’t believe the allegations for a second, and Sam deserved to know what was being said about her. He only wondered how the hell he was going to tell her that she was a suspect in her own case.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sam could hear her intake of breath in the silence as she fought for a rational explanation for the sudden darkness. She’d never seen the lights off before. A guard was supposed to shut them off when he was sure the office was empty. She picked up the phone again. Still no dial tone. She put the receiver down and called out.

  No one answered.

  Her breath was ragged, and she inhaled through her nose to slow her pulse. Silently, she turned the key in the top drawer and opened it. She lifted her gun out, then checked the safety lock before heading out into the hallway.

  “Who’s there?” she repeated.

  The office was dead quiet. Her department almost always cleared out by five-thirty, and without windows the darkness made it feel like the middle of the night. She took small steps and kept her back to the wall, the gun low in her right hand.

  She moved slowly toward the exit, feeling her way along the wall. The only light in the room came from the tiny red LEDs on the phones and computer monitors, left on but long since in sleep mode. She knew the light switch was along the wall, but she couldn’t tell how far.

  Pressing forward, she felt her way past the doorjamb of Gary Williams’ office. Her heel caught on a rough patch of carpet and she tripped forward, falling awkwardly. The gun fell from her hand and landed with a dull thud on the carpet. She squinted, trying to make out the shape of it in the dark, but couldn’t see anything.

  She ran her fingers over the floor before her. The gun was too heavy to have gone far. She moved forward, spreading her arms in a radius around her, feeling for the familiar steel of her weapon. “Shit.”

  In the distance she hea
rd a phone ringing. Her pulse quickened, though the sound was as normal as her voice. “Calm down,” she told herself. She made a last attempt to locate her gun but couldn’t. She needed to find the lights first.

  Getting to her feet, she found the wall again and groped like a blind person toward the outer office. She remembered the small flashlight in the first aid kit in her desk and wondered if she could locate it in the dark. She considered trying another phone. Maybe Aaron’s would work. But she didn’t want to turn around with her gun lying on the floor. Cursing herself for letting go of it, she moved forward again. Her fingers hit the outer edge of the plastic mounting for the light switch. Exhaling, she flipped the light switch. Nothing happened.

  “Fuck,” she muttered.

  On the far side of the floor, she heard the soft brush of shoe against carpet. She froze, the small vibrations resounding beneath her toes as the feet grew nearer.

  She squatted and scanned the floor one last time for her gun, but couldn’t find it. She considered hiding under a desk, but instead she straightened her shoulders and called out. “Hello.”

  There was no answer.

  She paused, thinking perhaps the security guard was making his rounds with headphones on. It wouldn’t surprise her. But surely he had noticed the lights were off.

  “Who’s there?” she asked again.

  Again, no one answered.

  The building required a pass for entry. The windows in the small, low-ceilinged lobby were bulletproof. Whoever was there had to be someone who had access. Was it the person who’d taken her file? Was it the same person who’d left the note? Her pulse drilled a frantic beat against her chest. Where the hell was her gun?

  As she started to bend over, she heard the creak of something nearby. Spinning around, she snapped, “Who’s there?”

  No one answered.

  She took a bold step forward.

  The lights snapped on.

  She found herself face-to-face with Gary Williams. His elflike features were drawn up in a smile. Both rows of tiny block teeth were displayed, reminding Sam of a rat baring its teeth. A mop of curly dark hair and large eyes only added to his elfish appearance. She cursed her erratic heartbeat and scanned the floor to locate her gun.

  It had flown four feet across the room. She scooped it up and spun toward Williams, clutching the weapon in a tight fist. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she screamed.

  Williams had been by earlier to bother her about her notes on a case they were working on, and again she’d blown him off. Was that why he was creeping around in the dark?

  Williams raised both hands in the air like it was a holdup. “Chase, put the fucking gun down. You’re losing it.”

  Sam kept the gun pointed where it was. “Why didn’t you answer me when I called out?”

  “You didn’t identify yourself. I thought I was walking into some trap.” He motioned to the gun. “Are you going to put that down? Jesus Christ, what’s up with you lately?”

  “Is everything all right?” a voice called from behind her.

  Sam whipped around and lowered her weapon.

  The security guard stood with his flashlight, staring.

  Sam glared at Williams, then answered in a tight voice, “Everything’s fine. What happened to the lights?”

  “Someone tripped the breaker.”

  Sam looked back at Williams, who shrugged and muttered, “Weird.”

  “What about the backup generator?” she probed.

  The guard nodded. “That’s where I just came from. Someone set it on five-minute delay. I can’t figure why.”

  Sam felt an involuntary shudder ripple like icy water across her back. “I’m sure it was a mistake,” she said, as much for her benefit as for anyone else’s.

  “Yeah, I’m sure it’s nothing,” Williams added. “Nice of you to check things out, though, since the little lady here gets so nervous.” He gave her a wink that held no humor. “I thought she was going to shoot me.”

  “I’m making my rounds now,” the guard said without commenting on Sam’s gun. “I’ll keep an eye out for anyone strange.”

  “Are you heading to the garage?” Sam asked, suddenly not wanting to be alone with Williams.

  The security guard looked at her and nodded. “Seems like a good place to start.”

  She nodded, relieved. “I’ll go down with you. I’m leaving anyway.” She brushed past Williams without a sideways glance and packed her things in record time. Williams had always seemed somewhat envious of her. As Aaron had made clear, a lot of people didn’t like her modus operandi.

  Still, she couldn’t understand why he’d been sneaking up on her. Lifting her chin, she tightened her coat and considered what he’d said.

  What would he have done, though, if he’d reached her before the lights had come back on?

  Sam turned her key in the lock of her front door, ready to collapse. It had been a terrible day and a worse evening. It was only eight, but it felt like the middle of the night. She pushed the door open and took one step inside to find Nick and Rob standing in the kitchen.

  She turned to Rob. “What’s going on?”

  Rob shrugged and motioned to the living room with an elbow, his gaze on the stain he was trying to get out of his shirt. “Derek’s real sick. Nick gave him Tylenol. We made grilled cheese and soup for dinner.”

  “Sick?” she said, dropping her bag and coat at the kitchen table and hurrying into the living room. Derek lay sprawled across the sofa, pale and languid. Sitting down beside him, she tucked the blanket around him.

  She touched his forehead with the back of her hand and then pressed it against his cheek. Despite his pallid color, he was burning up.

  She looked at Rob. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “We did,” Rob said, scowling at her. “No one answered and then Nick came over. It’s okay, though. He’s got a fever of one-oh-two. We checked,” he said, giving Nick a sideways glance.

  Nick gave him a smile, but Sam didn’t respond. She should thank Nick for being there. Butwhy was he there? She was the one who should have been home to take care of Derek. Turning her attention back to her nephew, she brushed his hair off his face and whispered to him. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine,” he moaned.

  “You comfortable? You want something to drink?”

  “I ate some soup. I feel a little better, just tired.”

  “Do you want me to help you to bed?” she asked.

  “In a minute,” he answered.

  Sam kissed his cheek and stood up, facing Nick and Rob. “Thanks for taking care of your brother, Rob.”

  Rob shrugged and mumbled something about it being no big deal.

  “We’re lucky you stopped by,” Sam added to Nick.

  Nick shrugged too, and Sam had no idea what else to say. “I got some results from that thing you gave me,” he added.

  Rob frowned. “What thing?”

  “Just work stuff,” Sam said quickly. She felt her own pulse rise a notch with the idea of a fingerprint to go along with the torment of that photo. She waved Nick toward the back of the ranch-style house. “We can sit in the den for a few minutes.” She turned to Rob. “Let me know if he needs anything.”

  “I can take care of him,” Rob said, twisting the thermometer between his fingers. She found herself starting to warn him to be careful but stopped. She needed to stop treating them like children. They weren’t. They were practically men. She put her hand on Rob’s shoulder. “Okay, thanks.”

  She wished she was wearing something other than the stiff skirt suit from her workday, but she didn’t want to wait to talk to Nick. Instead, she entered her den and flipped on the light, sat in her desk chair and kicked off her shoes. She glanced down at a run starting at her toe and quickly tucked her feet back in her shoes. “So, what did the lab say?”

  Nick sat on the worn leather ottoman that matched her reading chair. “No prints on the photo. The surface was entirely clean.”

&nb
sp; Sam exhaled and dropped her head.

  He shook his head. “Worse than that, there were no residuals,” he added. “It looks like the photo was handled with gloves from the get-go.”

  “What about the note?”

  “Only one set—I’m pretty sure they’re yours.”

  She rubbed her temple. “Shit.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Nick said, moving his chair closer. “I still think there’s a good possibility that it was a joke. You’ve got a lot of people who deal with prints all the time. They’d know to be careful. It was probably someone who was trying to get your goat and knows you well enough to know you’d have prints run.”

  She looked up and narrowed her gaze, inspecting his expression for signs that he wasn’t telling her all of it. She found none, although his expression was guarded. She thought about the heater exploding and found herself wanting to tell him, even though it terrified her to have it out there in the open. She’d told Brent things she never should have told him.

  Nick wasn’t Brent. Nick was Nick. She had to start somewhere. She took a breath and forced the words out. “There were other incidents.”

  Nick’s expression tightened. “What happened?”

  “My heater exploded. It looked like a short, but it burst into flames. Then the lights went off in the whole place.”

  He stepped forward and she felt him reach out for her hand, but he caught himself. He scanned her face. “You’re all right?”

  She looked at his hand, wishing he’d touched her, then pushed the thought aside. She nodded. “I’m fine.”

  “What did Corona say?”

  She shook her head.

  “You didn’t tell him?”

  “I need him to trust me, Nick. I can’t keep running to him for every little thing.”

  “Okay.” He paused. “But that’s some serious stuff, Sam. It sounds scary. Was anyone around when the lights went out?”

  She frowned. “Only Williams.”

  His hand was only inches from hers. “Keep an eye on him.”

  “I will.” She reached out and grazed his fingers, felt the warmth surging across the surface. “I appreciate you checking the other stuff out.”

  He nodded. “No problem.” His gaze didn’t waver.