"You're preaching to the choir, woman." Any hint of a smile was gone. "This is an ugly one, Cori."
"They're all ugly, my friend." Cori let go of the zipper fob and gave that old leather jacket a pat just where it covered his heart.
"You speak the truth, but this falls on the far side of hell."
"Duly noted." She gave him the once over and then gave it to him again as she said: "You look good. I like the shaved head. Makes you look like that movie star guy, Jason something. Turn." She put a finger against his jaw and turned his face just in case he had forgotten how to do it. "Man, those doctors did a good job. You can hardly see the scars."
"I can feel them. Always will, truth be told," he answered.
"Yeah? Well, shit happens. Get over it."
Finn chuckled when she let him go.
"It feels like forever and a Sunday since I've seen you."
"I've been crying in my beer, too," Cori answered, but Finn was not fooled. Her smile had softened and the pat she gave the scar that ran from his ear to his chin was gentle. She had missed him, he was sure of it. Had he asked outright, she never would have admitted it though.
Cori had stayed away from Finn for the last six months as much for her own sake as his and Bev's. The last thing she needed was the kind of trouble Finn had brought down on his head. Her job was just too important. The really last thing she needed was to get involved with a married man, especially one she worked so well with. Partners were a lot harder to come by than lovers. Not that Finn ever once gave any indication he felt that way about her. All she ever heard about was the beautiful Beverly. Cori couldn't blame him; his wife was a looker. Still, when he took her arm and stood her aside as the coroner's attendants went upstairs with their gurneys, there was that thrill. When Finn let go of her arm, they walked down the rest of the way in sync as they always had.
"Just passing through, Cori, or checking to make sure your old partner hasn't been tied to a stone and thrown in the river?" Finn asked.
"Silly you. We're in a drought. There's no water in the river. Besides, they wouldn't go to all that trouble. If they were going to take you out they would have just tossed you off a building and been done with it." Their shoes hit the marble floor at the same time. She pointed left. "Let's talk in here."
Cori opened the dining room's double doors with both hands and went inside. Finn followed in her wake. He should have known it wasn't going to be smooth sailing, but by the time he figured out that she was leading him into a storm it was too late.
Bob Fowler was waiting.
***
"You should have told me the captain was here, Cori. Or maybe the captain could have just said hello to me himself when he came in."
Finn planted himself near a sideboard that ran half the length of the room. His legs were splayed, and his hands were fisted in his jacket pockets. Bob Fowler had staked out the bay window overlooking the front yard at the foot of the impressive dining room table, and Cori took a neutral position at the head of it. She and Finn exchanged a glance: his was one of reproach and hers one that said 'bite me'. This wasn't an ambush, just an under-the-radar-get-together because the higher ups were nervous. Bottom line, Fowler was going to have this meeting with or without her. It was better with her.
"Three news crews. Two reporters from the Times. TMZ, of course. Harvey Levin himself is out there. It's a media zoo. Have you talked to them yet, O'Brien?"
Fowler unclasped his hands, squared his shoulders, and pivoted so that he could speak to them directly. Finn thought him very Kennedy-esque with his tousled hair and fine suit and photogenic face. He didn't know the captain well enough to dislike him, but he disliked the implication that he, Finn, was a novice.
"I talk when I have something to say, and even then I don't like it much."
"Best you get to like it a little more when it comes to talking to me. You will report directly to me and not hold anything back. I will control the info stream to the media on this one."
"Getting down to their level is an art, if you ask me. I'll be happy to learn it from you, Captain."
Finn's lips twitched. The cut was instantly distasteful and he wished he could take it back. Fowler may not have been welcoming, but he had been fair when Finn arrived at the division. Above that, he was right about the situation and right, in the next instant, to call Finn out.
"You aren't the only one who is licking your wounds, detective. When you killed a cop, every cop in the country took it on the chin so don't get defensive."
"That officer was beating a defenseless man. He beat me. He would have beaten us both to death if I hadn't stopped him."
"And it's over and done. You were acquitted."
"I never should have been charg–"
"That's enough," Fowler ordered.
Fowler might have been waiting for Finn to squirm but he realized soon enough that wasn't going to happen. He also knew that O'Brien had a right to his anger but this wasn't the time or place to relive recent history.
"I'm not minimizing the impact of what happened to you. What happened to the other officers involved was bad, too. None of it should have gone down but it did, and now is not the time to argue vice or virtue. There are, however, a few things I would like to say.
"A week isn't long enough to know a man, and I don't pretend to know you. Therefore let me tell you something about me, and how I'm feeling about you catching this call. As a private citizen, I'm happy you'll be handling this. You've got something to prove, and that will make you work harder."
He put his hands flat on top of the gleaming table, and held Finn's gaze.
"Speaking as a cop, I'd like to see you screw up and get the hell out of my life."
His chest rose and fell with one deep breath and he righted himself again.
"Speaking as your captain, I want to assure you all the city's resources are at your disposal. Two little girls getting killed in their beds and a nanny executed is worse than our worst nightmare. I want this wrapped up fast, correctly, and professionally. I'm going to do everything I can to help you make that happen."
"Understood, but why bring Detective Anderson here to tell me that?"
"West L.A. agreed to a temporary transfer," Fowler answered. "She's going to partner with you on this one."
Bob Fowler looked her way and so did Finn. She was toying with her mother necklace: a gold chain with a pink glass bead for her daughter and a blue one for her grandson. Finn had never seen Cori without it, and he had never seen her anxious without touching it.
"I thought you were working on the councilman, Cori? The assault with intent? That's a big one. Could put you on the fast track," Finn said.
"Jones is going to wrap it up. It's not that big a deal." She dropped the necklace, put one hand behind her back and took hold of her purse strap with the other. The only thing she didn't do was make eye contact with Finn.
"Bull," Finn snorted. He turned to Fowler. "Schumacher is next up on the rotation."
"Schumacher won't work with you. None of them will," Fowler said.
"So Cori is my test case? If she comes out of this alive everybody will stand down for the Irishman? Is that what you're telling me?" Finn's brogue hung under his question like a safety net ready to catch him should he go too far with his words.
"There's no coercion. I do what I want," Cori said.
It didn't matter how she objected, neither man was listening to her. Fowler moved quickly, going the length of the table and stopping only when he and Finn were eye to eye. It was clear he hadn't been born in a suit; there was still a lot of street cop in him.
"Any other time I'd bust you for a comment like that," he growled. "It is disrespectful to everyone, not the least of whom is Detective Anderson. You will offer her an apology when we are done here. Further down the road, when you've had time to reconsider, I will expect you to apologize to me for implying that I would knowingly put any of my people at risk."
Fowler pivoted and went toward the window. H
e turned once more and came back. He turned again, talking as he paced.
"The press, your fellow officers, maybe even the victims' relatives will be wondering if you're the right man for the job. You will be under a microscope, O'Brien, and that means Wilshire Division will be, too. I will give you every chance to prove yourself including seeing that you partner up right. Anderson has a track record with you and it has not escaped my notice that it's an excellent one."
Fowler paused and clasped his hands behind his back.
"You know one another, you bring complimentary sensibilities to this investigation. Anderson is a gift that I suggest you accept graciously. If you aren't up to it, let me know now. I want this investigation above-board."
"I appreciate Detective Anderson's willingness to assist, but I respectfully request reassignment myself," Finn said.
"Impossible." Fowler wagged his head as if testing how much room there was between a rock and a hard place. "There was a stringer at the station when this came in. He knew you were on the call. If I pulled you, the press would make it look like a departmental vendetta. There are a lot of people who think you're a hero for what you did out on the street. If you'd been killed, they probably would have petitioned the pope and made you a saint."
Fowler pulled out an upholstered dining room chair and sat down. Cori moved toward Finn. When she was so close that he could smell the scent of her hairspray, he inclined his head and she lowered her voice:
"We don't need anyone else. We never have."
"We're wasting too much time." Fowler rapped his knuckles on the table. "I'm not going to beg for your cooperation or explain myself further, O'Brien. Give the word and you walk, no questions asked. There's nothing I can do to get rid of you unless you screw up or voluntarily take a hike. I hope you don't do the former because I want this investigation clean. I doubt you'll do the latter because then you're out of options with the LAPD. Now, are you going to work with Anderson or what?"
Cori's elbow met Finn's. If she said it was good, then it was. He returned the pressure just before he said:
"Let's do it."
They walked out of the room together. Fowler went outside to meet the press; Cori and Finn went to commune with the dead.
CHAPTER 6
Finn spent twenty minutes giving Cori the guided tour of the death rooms. They spoke in hushed tones, made notes, speculated, and traded preliminary strategies. Cori left her mother self behind, Finn left Alexander to sit quietly in the corner of his heart, and they focused on the newly departed because that was their job. The only time Finn lost that focus was when he looked up to point out the bruises on the woman's wrist to Cori and looked past her instead. Elizabeth Barnett was standing in the doorway; beautiful as he knew she would be, numb, as he knew she would be. Cori looked over her shoulder. Neither of them said a word. They just watched Elizabeth Barnett until she turned toward the stairs and walked on.
Now Finn sat on a velvet-covered, moss colored barrel chair. His feet were apart and his notebook was in hand. He felt outsized even in the cavernous room and rough in the fancy chair, but these feelings were nothing new. Whether he stood or sat, whether the house was fine or humble, he was never comfortable in this gut-wrenching moment. No one knew that but him and Cori, and that was a testament to how well he did his job. His job was to play the room, offer a phrase of condolence and a murmur of disbelief and shock that reflected the survivor's own.
When that was done, Finn changed.
He became a cop, watching for signs that the people in the room might be more than they seemed. The tinge of brogue made his condolences sincere, but his piercing blue eyes and larger-than-life presence made people think twice about lying. Though Finn thought this a sad talent, he embraced it. Yet in this house of unimaginable grief, in front of these two rich and beautiful people who had lost their children, his words of sadness seemed small and unimportant for the first time. Finn felt seventeen again, facing his own parents after Alexander's death. Even for a cop whose job it was to investigate violent crimes there was always an emotional line that, when crossed, made the heart crumble and the gut shiver. For Finn, that time was now.
Behind him, Cori cleared her throat. When he chanced a glance, she raised an eyebrow like it was a flick of a crop to his flank. Time's awastin'. The first 48 and all that. Bob Fowler hovered behind her, curious to see how the rabid dog that had been sent to his pound would handle himself. Finn got on with it.
"We know this will be difficult, Mr. and Mrs. Barnett, but you are the only ones who can help us. Are you understanding me?"
Elizabeth Barnett turned her blue eyes on him. If Finn's looked like an icy stream then hers were the color of a warm lagoon. Sam Barnett kept his eyes forward. They were dark but of no particular darkness. The husband didn't look at Finn, but he was the one who spoke.
"Of course. We'll do anything. Naturally. Anything there is for us to do. I mean whatever is done… Should be…naturally…"
He spoke in a flat, quick cadence without shading or emphasis. It was as if the connective tissue of language was missing and, when he could find no sense in his words, he let them trail away. Realizing what had happened, he looked at Finn, his eyes darted to Cori and then they went back to Finn as if he couldn't tell the difference between them. His hand worked his wife's like bread dough. He raised an arm and put it across her shoulders. When she bent beneath its weight, he took it away only to put it around her again a minute later. There was a small tick on the left side of Sam Barnett's mouth. If he could have jumped out of his skin he would have done it and, no doubt, the skin would have carried on while the man ran away to hide. Finn looked at the woman, waiting to hear her voice but when she didn't speak he prodded.
"You have to help us, too, Mrs. Barnett. Do you understand?"
Elizabeth Barnett sat in front of him more beautiful in her pain than any woman decked out in diamonds and fur, but the person of her was below the surface. Her thoughts were of birth and death, and why the latter followed so closely on the heels of the former. She wouldn't cook in her own kitchen without feeling the plunge of the knife into her daughters. She would never look at her husband or her house without imagining screams that, more than likely, had never been. If anything, there would have been whimpers and calls for mama. It was better that she imagined screams.
"Mrs. Barnett? Missus?" Finn said softly, but she didn't hear him.
Her attention had wandered to the entryway. She tilted her head back, stretching the white skin of her throat, her fingertips splaying out against it. Finn scooted in the little chair and followed her gaze. The others in the room did the same. Fowler looked away and Cori's hand went to her mother necklace when they saw what had caught the woman's eye.
The first body was being brought down the stairs; a tiny mummy zipped into a plastic bag and strapped onto a collapsible gurney. Finn looked back at the Barnetts. The woman's bottom lip was caught so tightly between her top teeth Finn expected her to draw blood. She pulled herself erect. She breathed in short puffs, her nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed. Beside her, Sam Barnett moaned and dropped his head into his hands.
On the heels of the first team came a second, the form on the stretcher was smaller still. Elizabeth jerked through the sequence of movements once more. This time Finn touched her hand and she looked at him as if this was an affront. Just as she was about to speak, the man walking backwards down the stairs lost his balance. They all heard his exclamation and the clang of metal against wood. Finn started to rise, Cori and Bob Fowler took a step forward when the body slipped under the straps, but it was Elizabeth Barnett who was on her feet, crossing the marble-floored foyer, before anyone could stop her. She helped the attendant regain his balance, cupping his elbow, putting her other hand on his back. Embarrassed, he mumbled something and hoisted the gurney level. Together with his partner, they eased it down the last few steps before Elizabeth Barnett stopped them again.
She moved to the side of the gurney and looked do
wn at the swell of the body. In the next moment, she grasped either side of the bag and centered it on the stretcher, pulling the straps tight as if tucking the little girl in bed. Her lips moved and though Finn strained to hear what she said, he could not. When she was done, Elizabeth Barnett moved away. The men holding the stretcher looked after her. Bob Fowler seemed to bow his head as she passed. Finn O'Brien and Cori Anderson watched her: Cori with curiosity and Finn with admiration and heartbreak. Only Sam Barnett did not look at his wife. Yet, when she returned to the living room he knew she was there. He stood up and opened his arms. His wife walked into them. He enfolded her, holding her tight until she couldn't bear the embrace and stepped out of it. When she took her seat, Elizabeth Barnett's eyes flickered to Cori only to slide back to Finn as if his gaze was easier to hold.
"Forgive me. I'm afraid I've forgotten where we were."
CHAPTER 7
Could you have made someone angry?
Do you have a disgruntled employee?
Is there someone at your club who hates your guts?
Do you have marital problems?
Money problems?
Is there something else between the two of you?
A meddling mother-in-law? A relative? A teacher? The gardener? A lover? A client? The paperboy?
Phone calls? Letters? Unwanted e-mail? Changes in routine? People hanging around? New people in your life? Old friends you've set aside?
Have you done, said, or thought anything that could make someone crazy enough to do what was done in your home? To your children. To the nanny.
Exhausted mumbles, tearful mutterings, and flashes of lucidity filled the next hour. Through mostly successful attempts to control themselves, the Barnetts answered questions – together and separately -until it was clear nothing was clear to them.
Elizabeth Barnett lasted longer than her husband but only by ten minutes. When they called it a day, Finn was waiting for Cori in the foyer. They left the house together and stood on the steps under the brick archway, surveying the people gathered on the street. School was out long ago. Children had been added to the mix of spectators. Husbands now stood with their wives, home early from work after fielding frantic phone calls.
Severed Relations Page 3
