Blown Away (9 page)

The use of her work nickname made her stomach loop the loop. “Where's the envelope?”

“Wallet pocket of my jeans.”

“Do you have the money?”

The kid looked as indignant as a naked teenager could look. “Well, duh. Think I'd do something this stupid without seeing the green first?”

“Of course not,” Emily lied. “I'll check it out. You stay here and…well…” The kid was standing a lot taller than a moment ago, and she bit her lip to not laugh. “Want to cover up?”

He looked down. “Uh, yeah, that sounds good.”

She grabbed a blanket from her trunk and tented it across his lap. Then hustled to the clothes. T-shirt and shoes were clean. No underwear—kid went commando. She rifled the Levis and found the cash, along with keys, condoms, and peanut shells. Finally, she fished out a large white envelope. The outside was blank except for a single, manually typewritten sentence.

to bambi on her big four-o

Cursing the tremble in her hands, Emily pulled her folding knife and slit the envelope down the side, preserving the flap for DNA testing. She worked carefully, not wanting to nick herself and bleed on the evidence.

The card inside was ordinary Xerox paper, folded twice. Construction-paper candles and cakes adorned the front. Under them was a message handwritten in red crayon. She sniffed to ensure it wasn't blood—heavy, waxy, nope, it's Crayola—and read the words aloud.

that you made it this far, dear emily

She opened cautiously to the inside, half expecting it to blow up in her face.

does so Boggle the mind! happy birthday!

“Oh God,” she whispered. The
B
wasn't lowercase, but capital. The only capital on the card. Therefore, not boggle as in overwhelmed with amazement, but Boggle as in the game.

“Dispatch!” she radioed. “Send chief of detectives to this location Code 13.”

“Already en route,” Jodi radioed back.

Back to the card. No signature. Left side blank. On the right side, under the “Boggle” scrawl, a small envelope was taped at the corners. She unstuck one end, tugged out the glossy cardboard inside. Flinched at the oval face smiling back.

“Emily! Hey!”

She whirled to see the kid banging his forehead on the window. She rushed over, flung the door wide, waved her police card in his face. “What kind of sick game are you playing—”

“He said your present's inside the library!”

Her mouth dried up.

“That's the last part of the message,” he explained. “For the five bills, I had to hand you the envelope, let you read what's inside, then say your birthday present's in the library.”

She blinked rapidly, trying to think. “What would you have said if another officer had arrived first?”

“That I have a message for Emily Marie Thompson, and I'd deliver it when you arrived. Dude said Bambi's your nickname and Child's your hubby's name, but your real name is Thompson, so don't get confused.” His grin turned sly. “Scuse me for saying so, but isn't this a little too, you know, public? For a married lady? What if your husband finds out?”

She grabbed the radio mike.

“The subject is a delivery man,” she told the shift commander. “The Unsub paid him $500 to deliver a birthday card.” She provided details, relieved to see the sheriff's car bounce into the lot. Marty's protectiveness was definitely welcome now. “Do you agree with my assessment?”

“Yes,” he said. “Has backup arrived?”

“Sheriff just pulled in.”

“OK, I'm sending you inside to find out,” he said. “Annie's four minutes out. I've mobilized SWAT, the canine unit, and the county bomb squad.”

“I'm only guessing, boss,” Emily warned. “I might be wrong.”

“You might be right, too,” he replied. “Which is why you need to get inside. But watch yourself. No unnecessary heroics, none of that ‘he surrendered' baloney from before. You hear me, Detective?”

“Loud and clear, sir.”

“Good. Look around, then get out. We'll let SWAT clear the building.”

“Copy that!” Emily said, glancing at her prisoner. “Listen, kid, you've been really cooperative,” she said. “Keep it up and I'll talk my boss out of pressing charges on the striptease. Meaning there's no jail, and you'll have a great story for your buddies. How 'bout it?”

The kid's eyes said yes-yes-yes, but his lips felt compelled to add, “And the money?”

She didn't have the heart to explain Branch would seize it as evidence. “By all means, keep it,” she said. “Buy yourself some underwear.” She locked the car, though it wasn't really necessary. The kid's eyes gleamed with beer and adoration. He wouldn't miss this for a boatload of rubbers. She pulled her Glock, then stared in horror as her backup trundled into the light.

“Well, if it ain't the Vagina Monologue,” Sheriff's Sergeant Rayford Luerchen sneered. “No wonder everything's screwed up around here.”

Emily made a sour face, wondering what god she'd offended to merit this as backup. “We're going in,” she snapped. “Stay to my right so I know where you are—”

“Uh-uh,” Luerchen interrupted, pointing to the chevrons on his sleeve. “I outrank you. I'm in command. Don't worry, hon. I'll be sure to mention you in my report.”

“This is my case,” she growled, sticking her face in so close she smelled his onion breath. “This lunatic is after me. If you have a problem being backup,
hon
, I'll wait for my own people.”

Luerchen scowled. “Hey, you wanna take the bullet 'stead of me, be my guest,” he said. “What is this present, anyway? The dispatcher didn't say.”

Instead of replying, Emily keyed her microphone. “We're entering the library now.”

“Affirmative,” the shift commander said. “Be careful.”

She tightened her grip on the Glock as sirens filled the heavy air. “Sergeant,” she murmured as she eased through the front entrance, “I believe the Unsub's left us a…”

Chicago
August 1971

“Hold the peanut still, and he'll come get it,” Alice Kepp whispered. “He won't bite you. Animals are our friends.”

Brady's face torqued into total concentration as he pinched the peanut between his thumb and index finger. The gray squirrel advanced slowly but was unafraid, conditioned by the nut trails they laid out while Dwight was in Atlanta hosting an insurance convention.

“Come on, buddy,” Brady whispered. “I've got your treat right here.” The squirrel tiptoed to the boy's hand and lifted its mouth to the nut, like a friendly dog accepting a Milk-Bone.

“He's got it,” Alice said, relieved her lesson about being nice to animals was paying off. “Let go so he can eat.”

The boy flicked the nut straight into the squirrel's eye, causing it to screech and dart away.

“Brady!” Alice scolded, slapping the boy's hand. “Why did you do that?”

“I don't like squirrels,” Brady said, looking wide-eyed at his mother. “Why did you hit me, Mom? That's Father's job. He doesn't like it when we don't follow his rules.”

Alice enveloped Brady in her slender arms. About a year ago her son had started using his slingshot on the squirrels, raccoons, and cats wandering their double lot. She confiscated it. He threw rocks instead. When she asked why, he replied, “I dunno.” She mentioned it to Dwight, but he only chuckled. “Good for him,” he said, waving his hand in dismissal. “Goddamn things dig the hell out of my gardens.” Alice said it seemed to go deeper than that. “Brady just seems so furious when he does it, honey. Maybe we should talk to the pediatrician.” The suggestion earned her a ringing slap. “All boys throw rocks at animals,” he growled. “They're warriors, not florists. My son is perfectly normal and doesn't need his head shrunk.”

“Mommy didn't mean to hit you, baby,” Alice said, rubbing Brady's thick hair. “You didn't do anything wrong. Mommy made a mistake and feels bad. You're a good boy, and Mommy loves you.” His silence encouraged her. “Let's not tell your father about this, OK? It would only make him angry. We don't want him angry at us, do we?”

“No,” Brady said. “My behind hurts when Father gets angry.”

“Then you won't say anything, right?”

“I won't, Mom. I promise.” His half smile filled her with unease. It was almost like her son knew the value of this information and intended to hold it over her. But that was crazy! Brady was six years old!

She hugged him close, not knowing what else to say.

Tuesday, 4
A.M
.
Fifty hours till Emily's birthday

“He won't hide this present,” Emily decided after a quick glance around. “It'll be in the open. He wants me to find it.” She trained gun and flashlight on the string of chairs in the back of the cavernous reading room. “That's where we'll begin. Let's go.”

“Should I turn on the room lights, Commandant?” Luerchen said, voice dripping sarcasm. “So we can actually see something?”

“Switches are on the wall behind you,” Emily muttered.

Luerchen vanished from her peripheral vision. She white-knuckled the Glock, heart thumping in her ears as she crept forward.
What am I doing here?
her inner civilian screamed as she moved deeper into the gloom. A proper building search involved head-to-toe body armor and snuffling German shepherds.

Blam!

She yelled as her Glock bucked in her hand, blowing a neat little hole in the carpet. The sudden flash of the bright overheads was so startling, she had accidentally pulled the trigger. She slapped her ears to make the ringing go away.

Luerchen snickered as he slid back on her flank. “Glad you insisted on going first. If I'd been in front, you'd have shot me in the ass.”

Emily blew out her breath, furious with herself. “I didn't realize my finger was on the trigger,” she said, watching blue gun smoke curl toward the windows.

“No kiddin'. You see anything yet?”

Emily stared into now-bright nooks and crannies. “Negative.”

“Me neither. Keep looking. And keep your fuckin' finger off the trigger.”

She carefully surveyed the room. Tons of books, miles of shelving, computers, magazines, DVDs, videos. Nothing she'd deem a “present.” The sirens grew louder as the ringing in her ears faded.
SWAT will be here any second, take over. The Unsub doesn't want that. He clearly means for me to find it. That's the whole point of delivering the birthday card.

She spotted a thatch of hair, brown and spiky with gel, peeking over the back of the centermost reading chair—the only one turned away from the entrance doors. “That's the present!” she hissed, pointing with her Glock. “Cover me!”

“Backup's only seconds out,” Luerchen objected. “We're waiting right here for SWAT—”

“Cover me!” Emily snapped, barreling ahead, Glock darting left-right-left as every nerve ending begged the Unsub to appear so she could dump all eighteen rounds in his miserable face. “I've got your back, Emily!” she heard Annie cry behind her. Luerchen was barking into the radio, “Dispatch, we found the present!” Emily spun to clear the area of threats, then yelled, “It's a man! Checking for vitals!” She looked over the top of the chair, gagged.
Run!
her mind screamed.
Let the real cops deal with this!
She ordered her feet to stay put—
you are a real cop, act like one!
—and wiped her sweat-drenched hand on her shirt. She placed two fingers on the man's carotid artery. No pulse. She shifted her fingers.
Yes!
“He's alive!” Emily shouted.

“The man's alive, repeat alive!” Luerchen barked. “Hustle those paramedics!” He ran to the chair, waving his shotgun like a magic wand. “What do we have here. Oh shit!”

Emily's mouth was so dry, she couldn't speak. Instead, she prayed the balding middle-aged man with the purple gym shorts would survive. It didn't look promising. The double-edged silver dagger was shoved in to the handguard. It split his left breast in two, its ropelike handle covering his nipple and its razor-sharp tip protruding from his back, below the shoulder blade. Blood leaked from both sides.
Not nearly enough for such a grievous injury
, some detached part of her brain noted.
Drained elsewhere, dumped here.
Silver handcuffs hung from his hands, which were folded in his lap. “Holy Christ,” Emily heard Luerchen breathe. She followed his stare, and her eyes widened at the rolled-up card protruding from a hole drilled through the man's right shinbone. Her entire body shuddered.

“Aw, you're not gonna heave, are you?” Luerchen said, quickly backpedaling.

“No!” Emily coughed, doubling over, feeling like she'd drank sewage. “No way I'm—”

Too late.
She blasted Luerchen with pizza, potato chips, and coffee. His cussing was explosive, and she burned with humiliation. Avoiding Luerchen's murderous glare, she spit coffee grounds from her teeth and grunted into her radio, “Dispatch, advise responding units that…never mind.” She waved at the Whitman's Sampler of cops, SWATs, and firefighters charging her way. “I felt a pulse!” she cried. “He's alive!”

A Viking of a paramedic ran up, equipment jangling. He clomped a stethoscope to the man's chest, bellowing, “Alla ya shut up! I can't hear!”

The hubbub stilled. The SWAT lieutenant motioned his black-clad troops to the children's library in the basement and fanned the uniforms across the reading room. Annie hustled up, examined Emily top to bottom. She squeezed her shoulder, then wheeled off after Luerchen, who'd retreated to the front entrance. Emily turned back to Viking, who was listening with closed eyes. Five excruciating seconds later, he opened them and shook his head.

“I felt a pulse!” Emily insisted. “I did, in both my fingers!”

“Could have been your own you felt, Detective,” a new voice said.

She turned and saw Chief Cross. No surprise there.

What did shock was his appearance. Stubbled face. Torn jeans, wrinkled navy sweatshirt. Beat-up Nikes without socks, badge flopping crooked from a neck chain. Submachine gun pointed at the ceiling, sleep sand crusting his bloodshot eyes. She'd never seen Cross less than perfectly kempt. The effect was unnerving. He'd clearly been asleep when all this erupted.

“That happens when you're under stress,” Cross continued. “You think it's the victim's pulse, but it's really your own because your heart is hammering and you want it so damn bad.”

“I'm not doubting what you felt, uh, Emily is it?” Viking said. “But the man's gone.”

She bit her lower lip, ordered herself to look at the corpse.
Do your job,
she told herself as she took in the man's terrible wounds.
Clear-eyed, dispassionate, iron grip on emotions.
Like Branch. Like Benedetti. Most of all like Cross, the patron saint of coolness under fire. Look for clues, connect the dots, and you'll find the Unsub.

Heated voices made her turn to the entrance doors. Annie was shoving Luerchen. Emily excused herself and went over.

“You froze!” Annie hissed. “You did nothing while your partner was in danger!”

“Bullshit!” Luerchen sputtered. “I was with her every second.”

“Emily was already with the victim when I came in. You were standing right here with your thumb up your ass.” Annie pushed her face into his. “You were scared.”

“Go fuck yourself, Bates!” Luerchen said. “I backstopped your pal one 100 percent. You tell that lie to anybody else and I'll kick your ass into next week.”

“Yeah, right. I'm only gonna say this once, Ray,” she said, her tone so chilling Luerchen backed up several feet. “Stay away from this case. You're a walking, talking disaster, and I won't have you endangering my friends.”

Luerchen went white with fury. “You haven't heard the end of this,” he muttered, backing toward the parking lot. “Neither of you.”

Annie blew him a kiss. He gave her the finger and stomped out. “Great job,” she said, turning to tousle Emily's hair. “You responded exactly the way you should have.”

“Thanks,” Emily said, blowing out her breath.

“As for the hole in the floor, here's what we're gonna do.”

“Hole? What hole?”

Annie snorted. “Ray already ratted you out, dear. I, uh, counseled him that nobody likes a tattletale, least of all me.” Wide grin. “But he's a weasel. He'll find Halfass and make a preemptive strike on you in revenge. A complication you don't need right now. So I'm telling him, I did it.”

Emily stared. “Lie to Cross? Are you out of your mind? He'll hang us both!”

“No guts, no glory.” They talked several minutes. Then Annie waved over the chief, who'd come into the room from a fire exit. He limped their way.

“You like waving red capes in front of bulls?” Emily demanded.

“Just nod when appropriate. I'll handle the rest.”

“Annie, please, don't get yourself jammed up for me.”

“Nonsense. This is what family does.”

Emily sighed. All she could do now was play along.

“Chief, I have a problem,” Annie said, arranging her face into an Oscar-winning look of contrition. “I accidentally discharged my weapon into the floor.”

“What? You're kidding,” Cross said.

“Afraid not, sir.” She held out her submachine gun, pointed to the floor near the reception desk.

“You're SWAT,” Cross said. “And an army sniper instructor. How could that happen?”

“Carelessness. I entered the reading room just as Detective Thompson reached the victim. My finger was on the trigger, ready to engage targets, because she was exposed to attack. Somehow the overhead lights flipped on, engaging my startle reflex. Kablam.”

Cross surveyed the room. “Where was Detective Thompson's backup in all this?”

Annie tapped the floor with her foot. “Right here. While Emily put her life on the line, Sergeant Luerchen guarded the entry doors to thwart any escape by the Unsub.”

Long pause, then, “You know, the first rule of guns is you never put your finger on the trigger unless you intend to shoot.”

“I know that, sir. I feel like a stupid rookie.”

“That's not true,” Cross said. “You're a very good officer who made a mistake. It happens.” He looked at Emily even as he spoke to Annie. “You understand that bullet could have taken your partner's life, Sergeant?”

“Crystal clear, sir,” Annie replied. “From now on, finger off the trigger till I need to shoot.”

Cross sighed. “All right, all right. Since you'll punish yourself worse than anything I can dream up, there's no reason to pursue this further. Excellent job in here.” Cross swung his eyes to Emily. “Goes for you, too, Detective. Are you all right?”

“Yes, sir. Just a little shaken up.”

“Take a few minutes to get yourself together, then go debrief Branch. He's in the parking lot.”

“Sounds good, sir.” She spotted Luerchen peeking through the front door, and her anger boiled. “Did he rat me out?”

Cross looked at her. “Come again, Detective? I didn't quite hear you.”

The question let her compose herself. “Uh, I was wondering if you ran into my backup officer before you came in? I wanted to compare notes, but he's not in the room.”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Cross said. “Sergeant Luerchen introduced himself, and we had a long conversation.”

So Cross knows we're lying!
His nice-nice was a trap, and Annie was snared but good. Maybe she could reduce the damage by confessing. “Chief, it wasn't Sergeant Bates—”

“Interesting man, Luerchen,” Cross continued as if she hadn't spoken. “He talks so much yet says nothing of interest. I quit listening to his story halfway through. Carry on, both of you.” He turned and limped toward the corpse.

Annie smiled and, when he was out of earshot, said, “Listen, I know you don't like Cross. Not without reason since he rides you like a plow horse. But he's not only a taskmaster. He's a really good guy with more than one side to his personality.”

“Be nice if he showed us the human one,” Emily snorted.

“He just did,” Annie said. She waved at the coroner on the other side of the room. “Now tell me everything that happened.”

Emily did, finishing with the Vagina Monologue crack.

“That's pretty creative for someone with brains of Play-Doh,” Annie said. “Maybe Ray's the Unsub. He hates you enough.”

“I thought of that. But he's too stupid, and Lucy was dead before I met him.” Emily said. She bade Annie good-bye, then walked over to Cross. “Thank you, Chief,” she said to his back.

“I wouldn't thank me just yet, Detective,” Cross said, turning to look at her. “You and Sergeant Bates will serve one-week suspensions for lying about the shooting.”

Emily stared.

“Luerchen's an idiot,” Cross continued. “But he's also right. You shot the floor. Sergeant Bates is fanatic about cleaning her weapons after every use, and there was no gunpowder smell in her submachine gun. Therefore, she never fired it.” He pointed at her. “Your accidental discharge was entirely understandable, and I would not have disciplined you for it. The lie is not acceptable. I cannot be misinformed about anything in this case. Hence the suspension. Not for the mistake, but the cover-up.”

Emily wanted to argue, but what was the point? “Yes, sir,” she mumbled. “Starting now?”

“Hardly, Detective. I can't afford to be without two officers right now. I'm suspending the sentence till the Unsub's safely behind bars.”

“Uh, yes, sir,” Emily said, knowing a break when she saw it. She turned, straightened, and pushed through the entrance doors toward whatever came next.