London remained quiet for long seconds, studying her. Reid shifted uncomfortably. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything more, so she had to give London the time she needed to read between the lines.
“She physically abused you.”
Reid nodded.
“How bad?”
“Bad.”
“Where is she now?”
“Dead. Thankfully.” Reid realized, too late, how that sounded. “I didn’t kill her.”
“I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it if you did.”
There was a long silence between them.
London finally leaned back and sighed heavily. “If I was your friend—which I’m not, by the way, because my friends don’t make me ride in the back seat behind the dog, ditch me at the precinct and speed away, or lock me in a car with childproof locks—I’d probably say something like, I’m sorry you went through that. You didn’t deserve it. No kid does. And if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”
“Then it’s a good thing we’re not friends.” Reid let out an audible sigh of relief. “Because my friends don’t get all sappy like that.”
“Everyone needs at least one.”
“Sappy friend?” Reid asked, amused.
London nodded. “Someone who knows your darkest secrets and still has your back.”
Reid knew it was her turn now to read between the lines. In no uncertain terms, London was committing to their partnership. This clever rookie was also offering Reid her loyalty, friendship…and maybe something more. There was definitely something between them. She was sure of it now. A spark of electricity. A connection. The moment felt surreal. For the first time in her life, she didn’t want to run as far and as fast as she could. “Do sappy friends ask for a secret in return?” She cleared her throat. “To, you know, balance out the scales of their friendship?”
“They don’t have to. Such secrets are usually shared on a voluntary basis when the moment is right.” London stood from the table, stepped to the fridge, and grabbed what looked to be an entire cheesecake and a plastic container full of syrupy strawberries. Without bothering to ask Reid if she wanted some, she grabbed two small plates from the cabinet and served them each a slice with a generous helping of strawberries. She returned to the table, her expression serious and difficult to read.
Reid waited for London to sit down before she took a bite. She’d have to run a few extra miles tomorrow to make up for all these calories. Totally worth it. “Wow.” She closed her eyes to savor the richness. “Did you make this?”
London nodded. “I found the recipe online.” She set a napkin in her lap. “You have scars, don’t you?”
Reid looked up from her plate but didn’t answer. She felt her wall of thorns and barbed wire shoot up around her in an instant.
“I have a theory about the killer,” London said gently. “That’s why I’m asking. I need to know.”
Having lost her appetite, she set down her fork. “I have scars,” she confirmed, her walls anchored and fortified.
London pushed her plate aside, cheesecake untouched. “From what?”
Reid shrugged. “Cigarettes…lighters…small torches.”
“Burns.” London glanced across the kitchen at Mug, no doubt putting two and two together, now comprehending why Reid had adopted him. “Where are the scars located on your body?”
“Back and stomach, mostly.”
“Where you can cover them up with clothes, so they’re not readily visible.”
Reid simply nodded. She had never felt so exposed and vulnerable in her life. Surprised to find herself on the verge of tears, profound grief and shame welled up from some long-forgotten place. She wasn’t normally a crier, though she’d certainly been doing her fair share of that lately, since the captain’s death.
The instinct to run or fight suddenly kicked in. With razor-sharp focus, Reid snapped to full attention. It probably wouldn’t end well if she punched London in the face, so all that left was fleeing the scene, which she happened to be particularly good at. Feeling the cabin walls close in around her, Reid stood abruptly from the table. Mug was at her side in seconds.
“Wait,” London said, rising from the table alongside her. She reached out to set a hand on Reid’s arm.
Reid sent her a look of warning. It took every ounce of willpower not to jerk away. Mug stepped closer and growled at London.
Chapter Thirteen
“Don’t you see?” London peered into Reid’s eyes, ignoring the menacing teeth that were now bared in her direction. “The killer can’t cover his scars. He doesn’t want to be seen because he’s disfigured in some way.”
Reid let out a breath. Mention of the killer brought her back to the present, reigniting her need to solve this case. The storming seas within her instantly calmed. “He was physically abused—maybe even sexually abused—by an older woman. That’s why he’s having sex with them postmortem.”
London added, “A grandmother, aunt, neighbor, babysitter. It could’ve been anyone.”
“But how’d he find out my grandmother abused me?” Reid asked.
London thought for a moment. “Is it in your medical file?”
She shook her head.
“But isn’t that something your PCP would’ve made a special note about at some point?”
“I’ve had the same doctor since I was sixteen. I never told her what my grandmother did.”
“Right, but I’m sure she noticed the scars and asked you about them.”
“She did,” Reid confirmed.
“And?”
“I told her I had an accident with boiling water when I was a kid.”
London’s mouth fell open. “And she never questioned you about it?”
“I wove a very convincing tale.”
London was quiet for a moment as she thought. “Did you ever file a report or tell the police about what she did?”
“No.” By the time the courts granted her emancipation, all she’d wanted to do was move on with her life and never look back.
“Did you tell a friend, girlfriend, school counselor, priest—anyone?”
She shook her head.
“How about a support group?”
Reid gave herself a dope slap, instantly regretting it as the lump on her forehead made its presence felt. “How could I forget about my support group? Going there is the highlight of my week because I love to talk about myself and share the painful memories of my past.”
London stared at her for long seconds. “Is that a no on the support group?”
“Smart, tough, and discerning. I see now why you were promoted to detective.”
“You just called me smart and tough,” London said with a grin.
“What I said wasn’t meant as a compliment.” Reid shook her head. “Might as well add resilient. You’re apparently immune to my insults.”
“Come on, you must have told someone.” London glanced at Mug. “What about him?”
Mug had already returned to the blanket. He lifted his head at the mention of his name.
“He plays things close to the vest,” Reid joked. “He would never go spilling my secrets around town.”
London was suddenly serious. “Think about it, Reid. Have you ever told him what your grandmother did to you?” she pressed. “Have you ever told him about the burns?”
She thought back to the endless hours she’d spent at the hospital with Mug, whispering words of encouragement as he went through the excruciating process of healing from second- and third-degree burns. That was the only time she’d ever spoken of her past. She’d told Mug about her own burns—even showed him the scars on her back and stomach. “I told him. But that was a long time ago,” she said, thinking back. “Six years.” London listened closely as she shared Mug’s story.
“Could someone have overheard you in the hospital?”
She shook her head. “Mug had a private room. I made sure the room was empty before I spilled my guts.”
“And you
’re positive that’s the only time you’ve talked aloud about what your grandmother did to you?”
“Other than today, that’s it,” she confirmed. It struck her then that Mug, the only living being she’d chosen to confide in, had quickly become her best friend and most-trusted confidant. She suddenly found herself wondering if the same would happen with London. Was it already happening?
“The killer must have been listening somehow.”
“We know he’s adept at eavesdropping, so it’s definitely possible. But why’d he wait six years to start this killing spree?”
London shrugged. “Maybe something happened to set him off.”
The notification of her grandmother’s death flashed through her mind. She recalled her own conflicted feelings that had simmered for months like a slow cooking Crock-Pot—relief that her grandmother was finally gone, grief at losing the only family she had left, and anger over the abuse. “Maybe she died,” Reid said finally. “Maybe the woman who abused him died. That could be what set him off.”
“First thing we should do is visit Angell Animal Medical Center. We need to get a list of everyone who worked there six years ago.”
Reid nodded, grateful that London was working the case with her. This breakthrough wouldn’t have happened without her.
“Now that we’re partners—and well on our way to becoming sappy friends—do you have the sudden urge to invite me over for pizza and a mov—?”
“No.” Reid stood, grabbed a biscuit from the box of treats on the counter, and tossed it to Mug. His powerful jaws made an audible clack as he caught it in midair. She glanced at her watch: 2:38 p.m. “Let’s head to the hospital.” If all went well, they’d have the killer in custody before dinner.
* * *
Behind the wheel of Boyle’s truck once again, London was still sifting through the pieces of what Reid had shared with her. Learning she had been physically abused as a child was disturbing. But finding out about the scars, who gave them to her, and how they got there was disturbing on a level beyond her comprehension. She did her best to stay focused on the case, but her mind kept returning to Reid. She wanted to ask more questions, to delve deeper into what happened, when it started, how long it went on, and when it finally stopped, but it was really none of her business. She recalled the moment in their conversation when Reid had been ready to bolt. Her heart went out to the detective.
London realized she couldn’t relate to Reid’s experience—not even remotely. Her own grandmother had been her best friend growing up. In all the years she’d known her, Nana never even said an unkind word in her presence. She couldn’t imagine what going through something like what Reid had would do to a person. No wonder Reid was a loner. It all made so much sense now.
Reid clearly carried that shame with her everywhere she went. London imagined it was like hauling a leaden boulder in a backpack on a mountainous trek, day after day, and never arriving at your destination. The boulder’s size and weight made it impossible for Reid to carry anything else.
Still, even after today’s revelation, London sensed there was something more that Reid wasn’t sharing. Something deeper. Her only plan at this point was to be patient and show Reid that she could be trusted.
* * *
London got them to Angell in under thirty minutes. No small feat, Reid noted, impressed. London kicked ass on the road.
They walked into the lobby, flashed their badges, and asked to speak with the person in charge of personnel. Moments later, they were shaking hands with the human resources director, George Mustaro, inside his office.
He brought up a long list of employees on his computer. Each name was linked to a personnel file and photo ID. “Do you want access to the employees at both locations? We have a second office in Waltham.”
“We’ll start with this one first,” Reid said, studying the screen over his shoulder.
“Want me to print out all these files?” he asked, swiveling around in his chair to peer up at her over his bifocals.
She shook her head. “It’ll be faster if you lend us your office and computer. We can eliminate each employee, one by one.”
He frowned. His thick graying mustache twitched like a nervous rodent on his face. “How long do you need?”
Reid had always hated mustaches. She cleared her throat, trying hard to keep her eyes on his, but her gaze kept returning to the massive strip of hair above his lip. Did he even have an upper lip? She couldn’t tell. “Hard to say how long it’ll—”
“About two minutes,” London interrupted. “We’ll be out of your hair in no time.”
Had London just made a pun about his ghastly mustache?
“Then have at it.” He grabbed his mug off the desk and left.
“I was half convinced that thing was about to leap off his face and start populating the planet with a whole new species,” London snarked.
“You and me both,” Reid said, laughing. She leaned over to have a closer look at the computer screen, set her hand on the mouse, and scrolled down the list of names. “Two minutes, huh?” As she continued scrolling, she cast a glance at London. “Shall I add speed-reader to your growing list of qualifications?”
London pulled out a memory stick from her pocket. “We’ll download everything and take it back to the precinct for a closer look.”
Reid released the computer mouse and stood. “You just carry that around with you wherever you go?”
“You’ll never catch me without the five basics.” London reached inside her pocket and opened her hand to reveal a tiny spritzer of hand sanitizer, a pink tube of ChapStick, the smallest travel-size toothbrush Reid had ever seen, and a pack of gum.
“Spearmint or peppermint?” Reid asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Polar Ice.” London tossed her the pack of gum.
By the time she’d peeled the foil wrapper from the stick of gum, started chewing, and realized it was her new favorite flavor, London was finished.
Reid second-guessed her decision to focus solely on employees from the Boston office. “Maybe we should upload the list from Waltham while we’re—”
“Download. Not upload.” London pocketed the memory stick with a satisfied smirk. “Already done.”
She scratched her head. “Why am I here again?”
“Because you’re the best homicide detective around.”
“Clearly.” Reid raised an eyebrow. “Evidenced by my savvy tech skills. The idea to download all relevant data to a memory stick was exactly what I would’ve done. I was just waiting to see if you’d think of it first.”
“Flash drive,” London said.
“Huh?”
“People don’t really call it a memory stick anymore.”
“My point exactly. I’m not even sure why Boyle saddled you with me as your babysitter.” She remembered feeling resentful over having to train the rookie. Scratching her chin, she began to wonder if it was really the other way around. Was Boyle thinking she’d lost her investigative finesse after the captain’s death? Because London was clearly more than capable of running an investigation on her own.
“Anyone can learn the tech side of things.” London stepped closer and held Reid captive in her brown-eyed gaze. “It’s your instincts that no one except you can teach me.”
Without warning, the moment grew intimate. Reid couldn’t pull her gaze from London’s. She felt the heat radiating from London’s body and heard her steady breathing. She smelled the subtly intoxicating aroma of London’s perfume, like tiger lilies dipped in vanilla. An electric current of attraction sizzled in the narrow gap between them.
How could she go from feeling annoyed by London’s mere presence to feeling attracted to her in the span of a few days? Attracted, she realized, just scraped the surface of what she was feeling. There was something deeper here.
Still holding London’s gaze, her mind raced. She never mixed business with pleasure. All of her encounters were one-night stands. Nothing more. That was another thing she had i
n common with the killer. True, one-night stands were a million miles from having sex with a corpse. But emotionally, they both accomplished the same thing: keeping everyone at arm’s length.
From the moment she freed herself from her grandmother’s reign, she’d adhered to the same doctrine with unrelenting rigidity—never let anyone inside. The only exception to that rule was Mug.
“There could be another trigger for the killer,” she said, breaking their eye contact and taking a step back to reclaim her personal space.
“Other than the death of the old woman who abused him?” London perched on the edge of the desk.
She nodded, still mulling over her theory. “He was in a relationship and got dumped.” The more she thought about it, the more it fit. That’s why he’d waited six years before circling back to Reid. He’d been watching her—no doubt about that—and probably for a while. Maybe he’d even kept tabs on her since learning of her past, six years ago. If he’d been watching her and eavesdropping on her life for the past six years, he’d know she led a mostly solitary existence. It would have eventually become clear to him that she kept everyone at a distance. If he’d been in a relationship when she clearly avoided them, he’d feel superior to her. He’d start to believe he had emerged from the abuse unscathed.
If he was dumped, which she now felt certain he was, he’d experience conflicting feelings of camaraderie and resentment toward her. On the one hand, he’d feel like she was beside him, walking the same path, a twin soul on the planet who truly understood him. On the other, he’d be enraged at the thought of joining her as an outcast to society. Nothing but damaged goods.
When it came down to it, Reid knew that was how she felt about herself. She, too, was damaged goods.
In a state of delusion, he might even believe she had intentionally pulled him down with her. Misery loved company.
She finished sharing her theory aloud, then stopped pacing and set her hands on her hips. “He’s dangerous. He has nothing to lose anymore.”
Sylver and Gold Page 11
