by Lisa Black
“Only coworkers, my ass!” Rick shouted. He apparently didn’t care if all of downtown Cleveland heard him, and most of it probably could. He had always considered subtlety to be useless.
Maggie stepped away from Jack, relying on anger to see her through the unwanted feeling of embarrassment. “Where’s Trina? Why aren’t you with her?”
Jack pointed out, “Guarding Trina is no longer necessary, now.”
“He didn’t know that!”
Rick had been barreling toward them but stopped, as if repulsed by some invisible force or a very bad smell. “You two are fu—”
“Trina,” Maggie said.
“I left a patrol guy with her! Doc says she’ll be fine anyway, just a bump on the head. Do you know this guy isn’t who he says he is? Jack Renner is an old retiree who lives in a cabin in Tennessee.”
His words died off into the dark sky, disappearing into the breeze from the lake, and Maggie’s heart seemed to pause in its rhythm. Jack, too, had just been caught in his own web, and would not get out of it.
She stared at her ex-husband because she couldn’t bear to look at Jack. Her world was about to crash in on her, these past few months of secrets and lies and wondering every single waking minute if she had done the right thing and why. She should feel relieved, to have the decision taken out of her hands. Now she and Jack would both be exposed, she would be fired and possibly go to jail, but she would no longer have to lie to her coworkers, her brother, or herself.
But instead of relief or even fear, she felt devastation.
All of this flew through her mind in the split second before Jack opened his mouth to speak. And when he did, he said, “You’re right.”
She blinked.
So did Rick. He hadn’t expected an easy capitulation. “So who the hell are you, then?”
“I’m Jack Renner—yes,” he went on, seeing Rick’s expression, “that’s exactly why I joined the Minneapolis force, because they already had a guy named Jack Renner and that would make it easy to appropriate his history.”
“So what are you hiding? Are you even a cop?”
Jack spoke without anger, as if saddened by his own actions and the necessity of them, but Maggie could see the wheels in his head turning fast enough to smoke. “Oh yes, I’m a cop. But I knew if I was up front about the reason I went to Minnesota, and the reason I left there and came here, no force would hire me.”
He waited, forcing Rick to ask, “And what’s the reason?”
“The vigilante killer.”
Rick frowned. So did Maggie.
“He killed fourteen—I believe—in Chicago. But Chicago—well, it’s an unusual place. I couldn’t get my chief to listen to why I thought a bunch of dead lowlifes were killed by the same guy. He laughed me out of his office. Then they seemed to stop, so I thought okay, he was right, it was all in my head. Except that a few months later I went to training out of state and a guy from Minneapolis started telling me about these dead scumbags turning up. I went to my boss. He thought I was crazy, so I turned in my badge and packed up my stuff.
“At the MPD I tried to get a handle on him, but couldn’t. There was no way to predict who he’d hit next, or where. Just like here, he didn’t leave any evidence. When they stopped, I scanned the rest of the country for similar killings and found them here. I knew it would take forever to get into the detective unit since I hadn’t been at MPD that long, so I used the other Jack’s longevity to fast-track myself to promotion. That part was wrong. I’m sorry.”
Maggie studied her ex-husband. He had his arms crossed over his chest and didn’t appear to be buying a word of it, but his lack of interruption told her he was. Sorta. A little bit. But not enough to let her believe that Jack could talk his way out of this.
However.
Rick said, “So you lied because you wanted to chase this vigilante?”
“Yep.”
“Who is he?”
Jack attempted to look sheepish, a condition so alien to his makeup she could have laughed. “I have no idea. I’m no closer today than I was ten years ago. It seems like all I can do is follow him around like some weird kind of groupie.”
“Then why didn’t you ask for the case instead of letting Patty and the chief dump it on my desk?”
“When do they ever let us pick our cases?”
Rick snorted. “True.”
Maggie felt the straightjacket around her lungs begin to loosen, just slightly.
But then Rick said, “And what about that woman he killed? The one who left all those old folks to rot? MPD had a case like that.”
Jack shrugged. “Don’t know. That sort of thing is popping up all over the country.”
It chilled Maggie how smoothly he could lie. He had barely told Maggie anything about his past—of that miniscule amount how much might be true?
Perhaps none.
Not that it mattered, right? She kept silent to protect herself, not him.
But still the doubt burrowed into her heart like a grub, leaving painful, hollowed-out trails behind it.
“And what about Phoenix?” Rick asked.
She could see a muscle jump in Jack’s cheek, but he merely nodded slowly and told Rick, “Yes. There too. I’ve been following this guy all over the country. My chief in Maryville said I was obsessed and said I could resign or be fired. I tried to go over his head and now they won’t admit I was ever on the payroll. After that I learned to keep my theories to myself.”
“I knew it,” Rick said.
As if the idea had just occurred to him, Jack said, “Maybe we should convince the chief—assuming he doesn’t fire me—to assign the vigilante killings to me. I have the history and I’m willing to follow him to the next place he turns up. If he’s done here, of course, which remains to be seen. At least you could get it off your desk.”
Rick’s eyes narrowed, checking this offer for catches—of which, of course, there were many. It would look funny to IA, to anyone, really, if revealed within the department. If Jack actually solved the case there would be no glory for Rick. It would leave Jack free to continue dating his ex-wife. On the other hand, it would make Rick’s life easier and his clearance rate, never stellar, improve. But would that be enough to buy his silence?
“I still gotta tell the chief, you know,” he said, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.
Jack shrugged again, as if didn’t matter. “Sure. I get that.”
Maggie held her breath. She didn’t have Jack’s acting skills and couldn’t begin to behave as if it didn’t matter. Rick might not see all the implications, but if anyone started looking at Jack, really looking, that person might stumble into the black vortex of his actions over the years. And that cesspool could suck her right in as well.
“Or maybe you could,” Rick suggested. “Make a clean breast of it all.”
“Good point,” Jack said, waiting, as Maggie did, for the deal, the tit for tat.
It didn’t come. Perhaps the glut of information had simply confused Rick, or maybe he really did only care about one thing. “So are you two sleeping together?”
Jack’s mouth began to form the word no.
Maggie said, “Yes.”
“Well, shit,” Rick said.
“We’ve been divorced for years, Rick. What do you care anyway?”
His face screwed up into a disbelieving grimace. “Seriously? This guy?”
“Seriously. Not that it’s any of your business.” The best defense, after all. “Now do you mind if we call the medical examiner and do something about the dead body in the street? Or have you forgotten that—”
“How long?”
She hadn’t so much as glanced at Jack during this exchange. “A month. Anything else? Would you like an itinerary or maybe a checklist? Or would you like to do your job for a change?”
“Fine,” he said. “Whatever.” And walked away. At the door he turned as if for a parting shot, but if he expressed his disgust at the thought of the two of them entwined in passio
n, the words were lost in the rising wind. He lurched through the opening and disappeared.
Maggie let out her breath.
Jack seemed aghast. “Why did you tell him that?”
“He wouldn’t have believed a denial. Besides, I know him. He ignores anything he doesn’t like: criticism, CNN, sending out birthday cards. Let him think I’m sleeping with you. It’s the most effective way to keep him out of your life.”
“Oh.”
“You’re welcome.” If she hadn’t been so worried she might have enjoyed the discomfort on his face.
“But—are you sure you want to do that? I mean … people at work … if you have anyone else in your life, they might …”
Now she did grin. “Are you worried about my reputation, Jack?”
“No … it’s just …”
“No one is going to care except Rick—just because he shaves doesn’t make him any less of a Neanderthal where women are concerned. Don’t worry about that. Start worrying about what you’re going to tell the chief.”
He snapped his attention back from the impact of Maggie’s imaginary sex life on her career. “You think he’ll report me anyway?”
“Rick?” she asked, pulling out her phone. “Absolutely. Now, let’s get Dr. Palmer’s blood off the street before classes start in the morning.”
Chapter 34
Maggie sat at her keyboard, trying to pack all the events and discoveries of the past week into one comprehensive report. It wasn’t going so well.
Carol came by with fresh, hot caffeine and hitched one hip over the edge of the desk. “How’d he take it?”
“Not good.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised.”
“Me neither.” Maggie sipped the steaming liquid. “He learned how to give a guilt trip from our mother. First he said I’d been working too hard and needed a trip to Disney to get in touch with my inner child.”
“You have an inner child?”
“Nah, I packed her off to boarding school years ago. Then he put the girls on the phone to tell me about all the things they wanted to do with me in Mickey Mouse Land. That conversation got confusing—turns out he and Daisy do limit their access to commercial media so I’m not sure they understand exactly what Disneyworld is. They seem to think it’s a cross between a huge movie theater and the food court at the mall. But they damn sure knew that getting a tiara makes one a princess, so there’s no way Alex is leaving that park without shelling out for a mess of rhinestones.”
“It’s required, I’m afraid.”
“Then he tried to put Daisy on, but she refused. I could hear her in the background telling him to tilt at his own windmills. Then he reminded me of how Mom and Dad wanted to take us when we were kids but could never afford it.”
“Ooo, the parent card. Brutal.”
“Eventually I wore him down with tales of murdered children and mountains of paperwork.”
Carol played with her coffee stirrer. “All of which could wait for you until you got back.”
“Yes, but … I’m staying in touch with Trina. Melanie thinks it would be good for her to have someone outside the center to talk to. She won’t speak to her father.”
“That’s kind of you. But you know, Trina’s not your flesh and blood—”
Neither is Jack. But I feel the same reluctance to leave him, when I think he may be in trouble. “Don’t you start.”
“What can I say? I learned from my dear old mom, too. And your brother is right that you need a break. This has been a rough couple of months for you.” Carol watched her over the rim of her coffee mug, eyes too perceptive, concern too genuine. “You’ve been almost killed what, twice? Shot at, gassed—”
“I wasn’t gassed.”
“You’re still coughing.”
“Hardly at all.” Of course, right then her body betrayed her with a hacking rasp.
Carol abandoned the gentle route. “It’s changed you. All these experiences—I know at your age you tell yourself you’re invincible, but … it accumulates.”
Maggie kept her gaze on her keyboard, where her hands were still. Carol didn’t know the half of it. Maggie’s experiences during the past five months had definitely changed her and almost certainly not for the better. She’d become lost in a murky world where beliefs and assumptions changed with the wind, and if she had ever been on solid ground, she no longer knew how to find her way back to it. And she couldn’t tell Carol that. She couldn’t tell Alex. She couldn’t tell anyone.
Except Jack.
Maggie lifted her face to her friend. “I’m fine. Just too worn out for Dizzyworld right now.”
“Huh,” Carol said. “Okay.”
She did not even pretend to be convinced.
*
Jack pulled the chief’s office door shut behind him and moved along the blindingly white hallway. The official boss of the homicide unit liked the prestige and working conditions of the position and didn’t care so much about doing any actual work, so it hadn’t been hard to convince him to shuffle aside a resume exaggeration. The PD didn’t need bad press; best to dispense with the matter quietly. Jack would have to correct the record, of course, which he knew would require some good forgery skills and maybe some outside help, but he could do it. Good thing he hadn’t had to speak to the de facto boss of the homicide unit, Patty Wildwind, or the meeting would have had a very different outcome.
Jack had fessed up to only a fraction of what he’d told Rick, but the chief would never deign to go into details with Gardiner so Jack felt fairly safe in doing so. As a bonus, the chief promised to have the case transferred to Jack. Now he would be the official investigator of his own handiwork, in which he would, sadly, fail to make progress. This left Rick Gardiner free to focus his attention on other things. Jack hoped it would be any other thing besides Maggie and Jack.
He figured Gardiner could go two ways. He might redouble his efforts to ruin Jack, keep poking and prodding until he found something actionable. Or he might prefer to keep everyone’s attention off the fact that his ex-wife preferred another man’s bed to his and, as Maggie had predicted, ignore Jack’s existence. Jack bet on the latter.
At least he hoped for the latter.
Jack knew he couldn’t count on either Gardiner or the chief keeping every word to themselves. Cops didn’t keep anything to themselves. This meant he’d have to tell Riley something, an even more abbreviated version, in case rumors got back to him. Partners could forgive anything except being left in the dark. With luck Riley would be too occupied with his new girlfriend to spare Jack’s situation much thought. With a lot of luck she’d turn out to have the body of a Barbie doll combined with the brain of Marie Curie and the cooking talents of Rachael Ray, because Riley didn’t distract easily.
And if his patch job didn’t work, if nothing worked, his go-bag remained packed, an untraceable vehicle waited in storage, and he could be out of town in any direction in a half hour. Without the woman who had started it all to pursue he could head anywhere he wanted, to any place where future victims of bad people needed protection. He could even go home. The only flies in the ointment of relocation would be where to find decent pierogi, and not being able to say good-bye to Maggie.
He didn’t particularly want to say good-bye to Maggie.
He stumbled over that thought, both mentally and physically, and as he put out a hand to catch himself on the corner of a trophy case, his phone rang. The burner phone. He checked the number.
He answered it, saying, “Emma.”
She didn’t bother with a “good morning” or even berate him for missing Giles’s funeral. She said, “Tell me why my boss just showed me your picture and asked if I knew who you were. He says some cop in Cleveland sent it to him. What d’ya think about that, cuz?”
Jack leaned against the trophy case.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always I had the help of many people in writing this book, but in particular I’d like to thank the esteemed Dr. Doug Lyle and
my nurse sister, Mary, for their help with the medical topics.
Not having children myself, much research was required and so I turned once again to my local library, reading Burning down the House, by Nell Bernstein; A Playworker’s Guide to Understanding Children’s Behavior, by Andrea Clifford; Small Criminals among Us, by Gad Czudner; Lost Boys, by James Garbarino; Positive Youth Justice: Children First, Offenders Second, by Kevin Haines and Stephen Case; One Small Boat: The Story of a Little Girl Lost, Then Found, by Kathy Harrison; Warning Signs: How to Protect Your Kids from Becoming Victims or Perpetrators of Violence and Aggression, by Brian Johnson; Ghosts from the Nursery, by Robin Karr-Morse and Meredith S. Wiley; Savage Spawn: Reflections on Violent Children, by Jonathan Kellerman; Psychotherapists as Expert Witnesses, by Roger Kennedy; Born, Not Raised: Voices from Juvenile Hall, by Susan Maddon Lankford; Juvenile Crime: Opposing Viewpoints, Andrew C. Nakaya, Ed.; Girls & Sex: Navigating the Complicated New Landscape, by Peggy Orenstein; The Spiral Notebook, by Stephen and Joyce Singular; Raised by the Courts: One Judge’s Insight into Juvenile Justice, by Irene Sullivan; Nowhere to Go, by Casey Watson; and Healing Emotional Wounds, by Nancy M. Welch.
I also utilized many online articles and resources from the Ohio Department of Youth Services, the U.S. Department of Justice, the Native American and Alaskan Technical Assistance Project, and the American Psychological Association.
I’d also like to thank Michaela Hamilton, my wonderful editor; publicist Lulu Martinez; social media specialist Lauren Jernigan; and the rest of the fabulous staff at Kensington Press.
And as ever, my fantastic agent, Vicky Bijur, and Alexandra Franklin at the Vicky Bijur Literary Agency.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
New York Times bestselling author Lisa Black introduced the characters of Maggie Gardiner and Jack Renner in her acclaimed suspense novel That Darkness and continued their story in Unpunished and Perish. She is the author of seven novels in the Theresa MacLean mystery series and two novels written as Elizabeth Becka. As a forensic scientist at the Cuyahoga County Coroner’s Office, she analyzed gunshot residue on hands and clothing, hairs, fibers, paint, glass, DNA, blood and many other forms of trace evidence, as well as crime scenes. Now she is a latent print examiner and CSI for the Cape Coral Police Department in Florida, working mostly with fingerprints and crime scenes.
