Of the three friends, Maya was the nurturer. Quiet, dark-haired and dark-eyed, she mothered them but asked for little in return, as though she had a limitless supply of patience and compassion. But as Cassie downed the juice and painkillers, she thought she saw cracks in Maya’s normal calm strength.
As the chief brought the rest of the task force up-to-date on evidence Cassie already knew by heart, she leaned toward Maya and whispered. “What’s wrong? You seem stressed.”
Maya’s shoulders slumped. “It shows?”
“Did something happen at the conference? I’m sorry you had to come home early. It wasn’t—”
“Not the conference,” Maya interrupted. “It’s a case.”
Cassie glanced around to make certain that their whispered conversation wasn’t bothering anyone before she asked, “The murders? Do you have a theory?”
If the psych specialist had also started to suspect a cop then that was doubly good reason to get right on those fingerprints. Cassie glanced to the back of the room, to where Varitek habitually leaned against the wall, observing.
He was gone.
“Not this case,” Maya answered, pulling Cassie’s attention back to her friend. The other woman’s fingers twisted against each other in an uncharacteristic display of nerves. “I’m having trouble with—”
“As I was saying,” Chief Parry raised his voice and glared at the women. “We’ve ID’d the first victim as Peter Dunbar, a ski instructor at Bear Claw Peak.”
Chastised, Cassie sat back in her chair and focused on the briefing. But as the chief spoke, she made a mental note to grab Maya after the briefing. Something was going on with her.
Something bad.
“Peter Dunbar had no apparent connection to the apartment he was found in. The super claims the room’s been vacant for nearly a month. The lease is still active, but the last known tenant—this Nevada fellow—took off weeks ago. The killer either knew the room was empty, or he got lucky.”
The chief called Tucker up next. The homicide detective cleared his throat and looked grave. “A missing persons report was filed first thing this morning by parents who’d been out of town. Their nineteen-year-old daughter wasn’t home when they arrived.” He paused. “They positively ID’d the female victim as their daughter, Jasmine Gardner.”
Oh, hell. Cassie’s shoulders slumped. True, it was a break in the case. The names would allow them to follow up with Jasmine and Peter’s friends, to see if they were connected to each other either directly or through a third party. But at the same time, assigning names and families to the dead was one of the hardest aspects of cases like this.
When Tucker retook his seat, the chief looked around the room, clearly searching for Varitek. With the FBI agent AWOL, Parry was forced to call on Cassie. “Can you update us on the forensics findings, Officer Dumont?”
She stood and crossed the room, thinking that she needed food or sleep or both, because she was feeling seriously funky.
She gripped the sides of the podium, which provided her a sturdy, solid anchor.
“Reexcavation of the canyon crime scene yielded a class ring that appeared to have been associated with the skeleton.” Was the room spinning or was it just her?
“Early this morning, we were able to use the insignias and manufacturer’s stamp to track the ring to Tyngsboro High School, outside of Boulder. Even better, we were also able to pinpoint a graduating year for the wearer. Our comparison of the class list to missing persons files has presumptively identified the skeleton as belonging to eighteen-year-old Marcia Pennington, who disappeared from her Tyngsboro home eight years ago this March.”
Cassie’s heart dragged at giving a name to yet another dead body, but she also felt the burn of satisfaction, of a job well done. Eight years after their daughter’s disappearance, the Penningtons would finally know where she’d gone. They’d finally be able to bury her and say good-bye because of work done by the Bear Claw forensics department. It had been her work, not Varitek’s, that had identified the victim.
But he wasn’t even in the room to hear the announcement.
Where was he, anyway?
“Congratulations—you’ve ID’d an eight-year-old skeleton,” a male voice called from the crowd, “but what about the current murders? They’ve got to be the priority right now.”
There was a murmur of agreement, or maybe that was the buzzing in her ears.
Irritation spiked through the dizziness. “You want progress?” Cassie snapped, knowing she’d agreed to keep it under wraps but suddenly not really caring. The spinning sensation overrode caution, telling her it was time to stir things up. Time to give her coworkers a taste of their own medicine. Suspicion. Distrust. She leaned close to the microphone. “I’ll give you progress. Hell, I’ll even give you a suspect!
Take a good look at each other, because—”
The microphone cut out with a squeal. Cassie spun in time to see Varitek advancing on her with a sheaf of papers in one hand, the microphone power cord in the other.
“Outside. Now.”
His words were clipped and his eyes snapped with temper.
She backpedaled a step, tripped on the power cord and nearly went down. Varitek dropped his end of the cord, caught her by the elbow, righted her and hustled her toward the door without breaking stride.
“Let go!” she hissed, aware of the other cops watching with expressions ranging from derision to avid curiosity. “Varitek, what the hell are you doing?”
He got her through the door and slammed it, cutting them off from the rest of the Bear Claw cops. “I’m saving you from blowing our chances to make a clean grab.
What were you thinking?” He held up the papers. “I’ve got a match on one of the prints, and you were just about to tip off our only suspect. What’s wrong with you?”
She focused on the name for a split second before realizing she had a more immediate problem. The juice roiled sickly in her stomach and the floor beneath her feet swayed like the deck of her brother Rick’s fishing boat.
Oh, hell. She was going to be sick.
She broke away from Varitek and bolted for the ladies’ room. She made it into a stall, barely, and was miserably ill. Even once her stomach was spent, dry heaves wracked her shivering body, doubling her over and making her long for oblivion.
Heavy footsteps sounded behind her. A large, warm presence crouched down beside her.
The last thing she remembered was the gentle touch of Varitek’s hand.
The oblivion was laced with a single name.
Fitzroy O’Malley.
Their cop suspect.
Chapter Eight
Cassie woke up alone, in the dark, in a strange room. Panic flared quickly, then leveled when her blurry eyes focused in the dim light and she saw quiet, unlit monitors pushed back against the wall. She lifted her arms and saw no wires, no needles.
She was in a hospital room, but she didn’t feel hurt, and it was pretty clear nobody was all that worried about her.
The latter thought pricked at her and she lay still for a moment, waiting for her memories to assemble themselves into something like coherence.
When they did, she almost wished they hadn’t.
She groaned aloud. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
She hadn’t actually slammed two mudslides and taken a cab to work in her bathrobe, had she?
Yes, she decided, she had. Then she’d worked evidence, groped Varitek, and made a fool of herself in front of the task force.
Oh, hell. She braced for an insidious whisper, for Lee’s voice to tell her she wasn’t good enough, wasn’t tough enough, that she should be happy with the junior instructors position he was sure he could get her.
But there was only silence in her head, in her heart.
Before she could question the why of it, the door opened and a shadowy figure slipped inside. Cassie’s heart jolted and adrenaline flooded her body in a hot, hard rush.
“Oh, good,” a soft voice
said, “you’re awake.”
Maya! Cassie identified the voice and relaxed on a mild stab of something she didn’t want to analyze too closely.
“You needn’t look so disappointed.” Maya turned on the bedside lamp, but kept it turned low, so the cone of white light illuminated the two of them but not the room.
“He’s been in and out all day. The chief ordered him back to the hotel for some sleep.”
“I wasn’t looking for Varitek,” Cassie said quickly, but they both knew it was a lie.
She sat up slowly, then when her head didn’t spin and the nausea didn’t return, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. A breeze blew straight up her backside, so she pulled the thin blanket over her shoulders. “What time is it? Strike that, what day is it? And what the hell was wrong with me?”
Maya sank into a chair beside the bed and leaned her head back against the wall with a tired sigh. “It’s early Monday morning. You pretty much skipped Sunday entirely, thanks to what turned out to be a delayed reaction to the tranq.”
“And a couple of drinks, some aspirin and a fruit punch,” Cassie muttered, finally remembering how damn sick she’d felt before she collapsed. “God, I was a mess.
Why the hell did I think I was coherent enough to be at the P.D.? I should’ve been locked in my room.”
“Varitek said he tried,” Maya said dryly. “Something about stealing your clothes.
Apparently, it didn’t work.”
“Unfortunately, no.” Cassie scrubbed both hands across her face and was somewhat cheered to realize that although she ached all over, she felt sharp and ready to go.
“Can I leave, or do I need a checkup or something?”
“The doc cleared you hours ago, but you were dead to the world, so we decided to let you sleep it off. We can leave when you’re ready.”
“The sooner the better,” Cassie said quickly. “Varitek showed me some important evidence before I got sick.”
“The fingerprints.” Maya nodded, eyes somber. “He mentioned it to Alissa and me, but that’s about it. I can’t believe Fitz could be involved.” She shook her head. “Are you guys sure about this, Cass? Fitz O’Malley may have been a dinosaur in the lab, but he has the reputation of being as good as he knew how. Doesn’t it seem odd to you that he’d go bad at this point in his career?”
Cassie pulled the blanket around herself and dropped off the edge of the bed to stand on her thankfully non-wobbly legs. She strode toward a pair of closet-type doors, figuring one must have her clothes behind it. “Look at the evidence, Maya.
We’ve had at least four incidents where the P.D. has been the focus of the criminal activity. This guy seems to slip in and out of the building without anybody noticing or caring. He knows how to tweak the cameras. That says cop to me.”
“Perhaps.” Though Maya didn’t sound convinced. “But wouldn’t people notice if Fitz suddenly appeared at the P.D.? He’s supposed to be in Florida.”
“The evidence doesn’t lie,” Cassie said. “The simplest explanation is usually the correct one. You said it yourself during the kidnappings. There were an awful lot of coincidences that made more sense when we looked at the P.D.”
“I said ‘someone with criminalist training,’” Maya corrected, sharply enough that Cassie turned back to look at her.
Unlike Cassie, Maya was never sharp, never cranky, never said things she didn’t mean. Then again, she was also always perfectly groomed and put together, with her dark hair in a businesslike twist and her power suit tweaked into place.
But not right then, Cassie realized as she pulled her own clothes out of the shallow closet.
Maya’s hair was twisted up, yes, but not with its usual perfection, and she was wearing pants and a sweater, with flat shoes. She was still put together, but not ruthlessly so.
And there were stress lines on her face.
Suddenly remembering their conversation in the conference room, Cassie pulled on the fresh jeans and shirt that someone—probably Maya, as a matter of fact—had thoughtfully brought her. “You going to tell me what’s up with you?”
Maya shifted uncomfortably. “I thought you were in a hurry to get back to the lab and look at those fingerprints?”
“They’ll keep for a few minutes.” Cassie was itching to get back on the job, but friendship had to come first sometimes. “Talk.” She let the silence hang, a little interrogation trick she’d learned from Maya herself.
Finally, Maya sighed and let her head tip back against the wall. “I’ve been working with child services on a case, a little boy named Kiernan Henkes.” She paused. “It’s bothering me. Kiernan was hospitalized three weeks ago when he went to the school nurse with breathing problems, and she saw a mess of bruises on his ribs. Turned out he’d cracked one. He swears he fell out of a tree. His mother swears he fell out of a tree. His father told me to get the hell out of his face.”
“Sounds like a charmer,” Cassie said.
“You have no idea.” Maya glanced at her. “Does the name Henkes ring a bell?”
“Should it?”
“The father, Wexton, is a fixture in Bear Claw politics. Old money philanthropist.
He’s funded most of the new exhibit at the Natural History Museum.”
“Right.” Cassie nodded. “Wexton Henkes. Anasazi artifacts. Got it. But if the kid says he fell out of a tree, there’s not much you can do, unless there’s a pattern of these ‘accidents.’”
“No pattern.” Maya twined her fingers together in her lap. “That was the first time he’d been in the hospital for anything beyond vaccinations and the occasional bout of strep throat. But…” She trailed off.
“But what?”
Maya pushed to her feet and paced the room with uncharacteristic agitation. “I didn’t like Henkes. He gave me a really bad vibe.”
“You think he hurt Kiernan?” Cassie asked. She pursed her lips in a soundless whistle. “And you think I’m brave for going after Fitz O’Malley. Do you realize what you’re talking about? That’s playing politics, Maya. Could be dangerous, especially if you don’t have any evidence.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Maya spun back, nearly shouting the words. “Do you honestly think I don’t know how it works?” Then she froze, wide-eyed, and lifted trembling fingertips to her lips.
“Maya?” Cassie took a step forward, but the other woman backed away.
“No. It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m just tired.” Maya forced a laugh that sounded brittle and false. “I was here most of the night. I think I’ll head home. Get some rest.
Something.”
She turned for the door, but Cassie said, “Wait. Stop. Talk to me.”
Maya’s face twisted and then smoothed as though the painful emotion had never existed. She said, “Don’t worry about me, Cass. I’m fine.”
Her expression was utterly calm as she said the words, with the soft serenity Cassie had grown used to. But now Cassie wondered whether it was an act, whether Maya was hiding something beneath that calm.
How had she missed this for so long? What sort of a friend was she?
Cassie turned for the shallow closet and grabbed her sneakers. “Why don’t we go get a cup of coffee? I think we could both use one.”
“Thanks, but I’m going to get out of here,” Maya said. “I’ll talk to you later.”
She pushed through the door out into the hallway without another word. Cassie cursed and hopped on one foot, trying to pull on her shoes and chase her friend at the same time.
How had she not known about this? Because, she realized, Maya rarely talked about herself, and never about the past. Everything with her was carpe diem. Seize the day. Live for the moment rather than looking backward or forward. It wasn’t until that moment that Cassie realized that she didn’t know a damn thing about Maya, unless it had happened at or after the police academy. The knowledge made her feel small, like she’d been so caught up in her own stuff that she’d taken her friend for granted.
> “Hell,” she said aloud, and took a step toward the door, intending to track Maya down and…well, she didn’t know what she was going to say, but she knew the friendship was precious, knew that somehow she needed to help.
But a shadowy form darkened the doorway, filled the frosted window and paused outside as though uncertain of welcome.
Cassie’s gut identified the figure before her brain had quite caught up with the rush of heat and the sudden acceleration of her pulse. Varitek.
Instead of waiting for him to knock and enter, she yanked the door open and faced him squarely. “I don’t have time to deal with you right now. I need to talk to Maya.”
He didn’t budge, just stood there and stared down at her, face expressionless, pale green eyes reflecting something she couldn’t even begin to identify. After a moment, the corner of his mouth kicked up. “I see you’re feeling better.”
“Sorry,” she said pausing when she saw that he had her jacket draped over his shoulder. “I don’t mean to be rude. You caught me at a bad time.”
“It happens.” But he didn’t step back when she moved to push past him. Instead, he held up two commercial airline folders. “Not so fast. We have a plane to catch.”
Cassie looked at him in surprise. She saw the marks of strain and too little sleep on his face, and felt a spurt of guilt that he’d been working the case while she napped.
“Where are we going?”
“Florida. The chief wants us to interview Fitz in person.”
THE HUNTER FOLLOWED his new prey to her home, then the hotel where the FBI agent was staying. They spent under fifteen minutes at each location, emerging with small bags—one for him, one for her. Once they were on the road again, headed out of downtown Bear Claw, he followed at a discreet distance, confident that neither of them would pick up the tail.
His old man had taught him that the chase was part of the hunt.
He remembered following his father deep into the forest, trying hard to step in the big, widely spaced boot-prints. Then the big man had halted and held up a hand.
Stop, the gesture had said, then Look!
His boyhood self had frozen in place, an excited rictus of muscles that longed to twitch and run and play. Slowly, ever so slowly, he had turned, and—
At Close Range Page 10
