Eating Crow (The Birdman Series Book 1)

by Hayton, Lee

  “When did you first see her, Frank?” Victoria asked, walking closer to him. But not too close.

  “This morning. I come along here early to get to the bins first.” He pointed along the street to where a couple of empty trash cans were mounted in front of the shop fronts.

  “We’ll need to take you to the station,” Victoria said. “Get a proper statement from you.”

  Frank nodded. “Can I get a meal with that?”

  “I’m sure we can find you something. Stanton,” he turned. “Have we got an ETA on the technicians?”

  He shrugged. “Fifteen minutes.”

  “Can you stay here while I take Frank back to the station?”

  Stanton shot an appalled look back at her, then moved over to the car. He started to spread out his morning paper over the backseat. “You can stay,” he announced, straightening back up. “I’ll give Frank a lift. Arbeck?”

  “I’ll stay here a while,” his partner answered. “Start the interviews.”

  “Say hi to Guardiola when he gets here,” Stanton said, grinning at Victoria. “I heard he was really impressed with your performance, last time.”

  Victoria shot him the finger and turned back to look at the girl in the doorway. She was tiny. Curled up as she was, she used up less space than Victoria’s TV cabinet.

  “Calvary’s arriving,” Arbeck called out to her as a white van parked down the street. Victoria was halfway to meeting the first of the crime scene examiner’s when he called out again. “Media.”

  She turned and saw the logo for the local TV station emblazoned along the side of the van. A guy with a camera jumped eagerly out of the back, while an attractive woman Victoria assumed was a presenter rather than a reporter, stepped down carefully from the front passenger seat.

  She scanned the street again, the sleepy houses with closed blinds against the midday sun. The shop windows advertising last year’s specials because that’s the last time they had a regular clientele. Somebody must be up and about.

  “Shit,” she said, under her breath, as she waited for the questions to begin. The circus had come back to town.

  #

  “Collins? A word?” Haggerty disappeared back inside his office, leaving Victoria to do the walk of shame across the station house floor alone.

  Twelve sets of curious eyes followed her as she walked from her ramshackle little desk all the way across the room. It was a relief to hear him bark, “Close the door!” as soon as she crossed the threshold.

  Haggerty waved a hand at the seat in front of him, and Collins sank gratefully into it. A better choice than standing on her suddenly shaky legs.

  “Did I not make myself clear, this morning?” he asked.

  For a second Collins thought of just abandoning ship. She could officially resign and wait for the money she’d been promised from her casual consultancy to top up her empty bank account.

  A second murder victim meant the station was about to explode with crazy hours of work. She’d already run herself ragged hunting down one serial killer. She didn’t need another pointless notch on her belt, not with the exhausting emotional crap that came along with it.

  Instead, she sighed sadly and then answered, “You did, Captain.”

  “So, would you like to explain why I have a phone message complaining about your presence at the helpline today? And another from the officer I did send, saying that not only had you shown your face there, you somehow managed to make the entire switchboard explode while you were in attendance?”

  Victoria rocked forward on her chair, her face angled at the floor to hide her smile. Now she could explode things? With her mind? “I wanted to check in with them, Captain. I was worried that we would miss our opportunity to gather evidence if we left it too long.”

  “And did you not think to discuss this with me, rather than just going off on your own?”

  She rubbed a forefinger under the watch strap on her left hand. The skin there was starting to show signs of irritation. She hadn’t worn a watch for a long time Relying instead on her phone or the position of the sun in the sky to tell her the time. The nickel in the backing would soon cause her eczema to break out, and she hadn’t yet had time to shop for a nurse’s watch in the style she used to wear. When Victoria had searched through her luggage, she hadn’t found her old one. She didn’t have a clue when it had gone missing.

  “Well?”

  “I was concerned that it didn’t seem to be a priority,” she answered honestly.

  “It was a priority, Collins. It just wasn’t a priority for you.” He tapped his forefinger against the side of the desk, a lonely percussive. “I’d asked Detective Smythe to attend if you must know. He had quite a shock when he discovered you’d already been.”

  “You should have sent me,” Victoria said, jutting her chin out. “I’m the one who was in contact with them, last time. I’m the one who talked to Ray and his crew.”

  “You’re also the one that shot and killed their friend and coworker. Things have changed since you talked to them last.”

  She’d worked that out for herself when Diane started yelling at her in the street. Being in the wrong did nothing to improve her mood. “I thought they’d be grateful that I killed Mancini before he could kill anyone else.”

  “Except they don’t know he was a killer. They only know that you thought he was a killer and shot him.”

  Victoria could feel the confusion etched into her face. “I don’t understand. The papers . . .”

  “The papers said that he was the Birdman and didn’t give any proof. We kept them a million miles away from you because, to put it quite frankly, Collins, you were a wreck.”

  Haggerty sighed deeply and rubbed his hand across a forehead creased with worry. “Mancini was dead, so there wasn’t any trial. Therefore, the news didn’t have the damning evidence against him piling up night after night. Then, his mother files a wrongful death suit that the judge allows.”

  He rubbed at his twitching eyebrow, scratching it, then smoothing the hairs back into place. “There was a woman came by for a while, a reporter. She was going to put a book together about the case, but that’ll be a year away if it ever eventuates. Look,” he leaned forward and put one hand out, palm down, toward Victoria. “We know he was a killer, all I’m saying is they don’t have the same perspective. All it took was his mother on TV saying her son happened to be passing by a victim, and they have an alternative explanation. You can understand that nobody wants to believe that they worked next to a killer, night after night, and never suspected a thing. I didn’t want you going in there like that.”

  Victoria nodded. Her head was throbbing, and her eye started to dance as her anxious nerves began firing again at nothing. She placed her fingertip against it, stilling it in the middle of its exuberant jump.

  Haggerty leaned back in his chair again. “I don’t want you going off again on your own, is that understood?”

  Victoria stared at her knee. She could still smell Frank’s overwhelming scent on her clothing. Her eye began to jump and twitch again, under her fingertip.

  “Collins, do we have a problem?”

  “No, Captain,” she said through a throat closing to a straw’s width with anxiety.

  “You’ve been hired back here as a consultant, only,” Haggerty said. “That means that you do not have a badge, you do not have a gun, and you do not have the authority to chase up leads on your own. Do you understand?”

  Victoria tried to nod her head, but the tiredness overwhelmed her. It was all she could do to keep her eyes open. Gestures were a step too far.

  Haggerty’s voice dropped lower and was almost a whisper when he spoke again. “I didn’t want to bring you back. Did Stanton tell you that?”

  Surprise and dismay flooded her body, reenergizing her. She looked up, hoping to see the telltale signs of ribbing.

  “The only reason I considered it was because he pointed out that if we didn’t bring you on board, we’d be tripping over
you out in the field as you tried to solve everything on your own.”

  Victoria felt her throat thicken even further as her face started to heat with rage.

  “We don’t need a repeat of last time with your going out on a wild goose chase with no protection while the rest of the unit are left looking like fools, do you understand me?”

  The unfairness exploded into a shower of lights in her mind.

  “The only reason I was on my own was because you wouldn’t listen to the evidence that was right in front of your face,” she spat out. Even amid her anger, she tried to keep her voice low out of respect, so she didn’t alert the rest of the station to the outburst. “If you’d listened to me—”

  “I did listen to you, Collins, and I asked you to wait while we finished processing Carter. I asked you to wait for backup. Instead, we had you on your own using vigilante justice. You basically invited this lawsuit.”

  “He was going to kill again,” she said, her voice strangled with anger and frustration. “He was going out to kill a teenager, and you were sitting around on your ass at the station interrogating someone that any halfwit could see had been framed. I had to go out on my own to stop him committing yet another murder.”

  “And how’d that work out?”

  The shock of his unfair reply took her breath away. Haggerty met her glare head-on, facing her down while Victoria’s mind span through the images from that night. Once more, she felt Star Harris’s terrified struggle for breath. Trying to fight, trying to live.

  Dying in her arms, instead. Her throat a bleeding horror show. Dying in a dirty picnic area.

  “It’s up to you, Collins. You can work here with us, do what you’re told, and get paid. Or you can fuck off out of the station right now. Either way, I don’t ever want to hear about you being somewhere that you’re not meant to be. Do I make myself clear?” Haggerty jabbed his finger at the table. Tapping out his rage.

  Victoria thought of the nice peaceful job she’d lined up. Answering phones. Chasing up paperwork. The worst danger she could expect that she’d run into the wrong side of a vicious paper cut. Or maybe have abuse hurled at her down a phone line. “Yes, Captain. You’ve made yourself perfectly clear.”

  He waved his hand at her to leave, and Victoria stood up. Her legs were trembling from suppressed rage, and she felt almost lightheaded. She had her hand on the door handle when Haggerty spoke again.

  “You not sleeping again, Collins? You look like shit.”

  “I’m sleeping fine, Captain.”

  He eyed her up and down and shook his head. “You’ve got the deposition tomorrow, is that right?”

  Victoria nodded, her jaw clenched against a snide retort.

  “Check in with the unit doctor before the next shift, okay? If you’re dealing with insomnia again, I don’t want you out of the station house until it’s sorted.”

  Victoria nodded, trying to stop her weak eyes from watering as she walked back out into the station house and sat down at the desk in the corner. The pile of papers moved to the floor the only concession anyone had made to welcome her back.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Follow my finger,” Dr. Rueber said, tracing an eternity symbol in the air. “Now look up.”

  The doctor prodded her cold fingers into the soft pockets under Victoria’s jawline. She flinched, withdrawing, and Dr. Rueber laughed an apology. “Sorry, the heat in my car is broken, and my hands get freezing on the way to work.”

  Dr. Rueber continued to tap and probe for a few minutes longer, then motioned for Victoria to get down from the examination table.

  “There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with you physically. Your hip is still causing you some pain, is that right?”

  The concern in her voice was such a welcome relief that Victoria almost burst into tears of gratitude. “Just when the season’s change,” she muttered. “It’ll be right again in a few weeks.”

  “I can see on your records that your last doctor had you on Celexa?” She paused, and Victoria nodded. “How is that working for you?”

  “Okay. I had a few issues with nausea in the beginning, but it’s fine now.” She’d had more issues with the fact she was on an antidepressant than she’d had with the side effects.

  Her father wouldn’t have approved. Victoria had imagined him turning over in his grave.

  “And how are you sleeping?”

  Victoria leaned forward and clasped her hands around the front of her knees. Even though she was fully clothed, in any doctor’s office, she always felt naked. Concerned observation was something she far preferred dishing out than receiving.

  “I’ve had a few bad nights lately,” she admitted grudgingly. “The change in scenery.”

  The doctor nodded and waited. Victoria didn’t know for what, she had nothing further to add.

  “Well, I can’t prescribe anything for you, given your history. Have you tried relaxation therapy?”

  Victoria had. Imagine each limb being lowered slowly into a warm bath. It worked okay until the water level was at chest height. After that, she’d anxiously gasp for air and jerk herself awake.

  “Sometimes, just a change of scene helps you to relax. Have you tried going for a walk?”

  Stupidly, she hadn’t. Victoria didn’t live in the worst neighborhood, but she didn’t live in the best, either.

  As though Dr. Rueber had read her mind, she added, “It can just be around the lounge or out in your backyard. Sometimes the physical exercise just helps to keep your thoughts leashed so you can actually relax.”

  Now that was an image Victoria could work with. Liberating. Each of her stray thoughts collared and tied up. Chained so tightly they couldn’t bother her anymore. By the time she got to the last one, the first would’ve bitten through its tether, but still . . .

  “You know that anything you say in this room, stays here?”

  Victoria looked up, startled.

  “If you’re experiencing any problems—if the hallucinations have started again—it’s okay to talk them through with me. This is a safe space, Victoria. If you need further help, I’d also be happy to recommend someone.”

  “I’m fine,” Victoria said, defensiveness creeping stealthily into her tone. “I’ve only just moved back to town, and I’m having a few issues adjusting to the time difference, is all.”

  Dr. Rueber nodded, her face blankly inscrutable. “Do you have a steroid cream?”

  Victoria looked at the doctor, confused until she nodded at Victoria’s wrist. “For your eczema. Do you have some cream, or would you like me to write you a prescription?”

  An automatic denial was on her lips when Victoria looked at her wrist properly. The lumps of eczema, red broken with lines of crimson and silver scales, were distasteful enough. The thick marks where her rubbing and scratching had broken through the skin, tearing into the flesh beneath, were worse.

  She swallowed hard, the world turning hazy in front of her for a moment. Yesterday it had just been the faintest itch, the smallest indication it was on its way. Now, her entire wrist was a mess.

  “A prescription would be great. Don’t suppose you know a good stockist for nurse’s watches?”

  Dr. Rueber smiled. “There’s a jeweler in town, sorts out the nursing college.”

  Victoria took the prescription and folded it, placing it in her wallet. Her wrist throbbed and itched like lice were burrowing beneath the surface.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing else?”

  The question shortened Victoria’s breath, her chest constricting with concern. But she smiled and shook her head. “I’m sure I’ll be fine once I’ve had a few weeks to adjust. It’s just strange being home after so long away.” Victoria stood and moved to the door, then turned. “Do I pay you directly?”

  Dr. Rueber shook her head and frowned. “It’s covered by the unit health plan. Victoria?”

  Victoria waited, shifting her weight to her other foot when her hip started to protest standing in one place
. “Yes?” she prompted.

  “Star Harris was a patient of mine, before . . .” she waved her hand to indicate something. Before she was pregnant? Before she was targeted? Before she was killed? “I’ve always wanted to say how grateful I am that you . . .” another wave. Before you let her die?

  “No need,” Victoria said, opening the door. When Dr. Rueber seemed about to say something more, she stepped out into the waiting room and walked briskly through to the outer office. Panicked tears close to breaking through her empty facade.

  #

  “Look, we can sit here and ask question after question,” Mr. Jackson explained. “Or, your client could just tell us in her own words what happened the night Mrs. Mancini’s son was murdered.”

  At a stern warning look from Victoria’s counsel, he backed down. “The night he was killed, and if we need to know anything further, we’ll ask afterward.”

  Frankly, Victoria would’ve felt a lot better with option number one. Being asked a simple question meant she need only formulate a simple answer. It also gave her the chance to work out the direction they were heading. She gave a look to her lawyer, Freddie Lawson, but he either didn’t feel her gaze or was steadfastly ignoring her.

  “That sounds fine. Ms. Collins?”

  “Well, I don’t know how much context you need—”

  “We’ll tell you if you’re losing us,” Mr. Jackson said.

  The man was pompous—a stuffed suit Shelly would’ve called him. Victoria would prefer to turn away from him. If she tore her gaze from his, she’d run straight into the vicious glare of hatred from Mrs. Mancini. Having already made that mistake once, she had no desire to do it again.

  “Well, two of the detectives were interviewing Malcolm Carter—” she began, but Mr. Jackson held up a hand.

  “We don’t really care about what other people were doing,” he said. “They can tell us in their own hearings. Just tell us about your night.”