Broken (4 page)

Hysterical shrieking coming from the lounge interrupted Berg’s search. She and Arena hurried out to see Elizabeth Young being held back by a patrol officer.

“What happened?” she screeched, her desperate blue eyes wide, searching. “Mom! Daddy! Em!” she screamed as she took in the fire damage then stared, confused and unblinking, at the brown stains on the rug.

Berg hurried to her side, motioning to the officer to take Elizabeth out of the house and crime scene. “Elizabeth?” she asked as they stood on the front lawn.

The girl nodded frantically.

“It’s okay, your Mom and Dad aren’t here.”

“Em, I mean, Emma?” she blurted.

“She’s been taken to Saint Anthony’s ER. Can you get in touch with your parents? You’ll all want to get over there as soon as possible.”

“Why?” she asked. “What’s happened to Em? Oh my God!”

“I’m sorry to say, but your sister was attacked. Does she have a boyfriend?”

Elizabeth’s legs gave way and she slumped in the officer’s arms. “No,” she replied, staring at Berg with pleading eyes.

“Can you get in touch with your parents?” Berg asked again.

The girl just stared, clearly not comprehending. Her eyes looked dull, no light at all shining in them.

“Elizabeth?” Berg repeated gently.

Elizabeth opened her purse with a trembling hand and took out a small silver older model cell. “I . . . I . . . can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t tell them . . . not this . . . not Em . . .” The dull shock disappeared from her face and tears streamed down her cheeks, smearing her mascara into black rivulets. “Please,” she said, holding out her phone.

Berg took the phone as Elizabeth collapsed into sobs. She moved out of earshot to make the call, leaving the distraught girl in a ball on the icy lawn.

Chapter Three

Paint a perfect picture. Bring to life a vision in one’s mind.

The beautiful ones always smash the picture.

Always. Every time.

–Prince, “The Beautiful Ones”

B
erg shook her head at Arena as she gently closed the door of Emma Young’s ICU room. “It’s not looking good,” she said quietly as Arena stood up expectantly.

Out of respect for their anguish, Berg had elected to interview the family alone while Arena sat in the waiting area.

“She’s not going to make it?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” she answered glumly. “The doctors and neurologists are running tests, but at this stage they can’t detect much brain activity. She’s in a coma, on full life support. She’s got massive head injuries—the whole left side of her skull was crushed due to repeated blunt-force blows. They’re not even sure there’s any point taking her to surgery even if they can stabilize her first.”

“Fuck. The family give you anything to go on?”

“Not yet. They also didn’t know about any boyfriend, or any trouble with old boyfriends. They are so shocked they could barely speak. The sister, Elizabeth, did most of the talking for them. Let’s go for now. The hospital is about to do a rape kit. Pray for some usable DNA.”

“Jesus. I hope we catch this fucker.”

“You and me both, Arena,” Berg said grimly. “Let’s catch a few hours’ sleep and have another run at it in the morning.” She headed off down the noisy corridor.

“Or . . .” Arena called after her, his voice rising over the beeps, hisses, and wails of the ICU equipment and the frantic voices of the bustling medical staff.

Berg turned impatiently. “Or what?”

“Want to go to the deli and get a hot cup of coffee? It’s freezing and I’m too hyper to sleep now anyway. I can’t get the vision of her lying there on the concrete floor of the garage out of my head.”

Berg looked at him and crossed her arms. “I don’t think that’s a great idea, Arena.”

“Why? What do you think I’m gonna do? Pounce on you in the middle of a crowded deli in front of other CPD officers? You’ve made your feelings for me quite clear. Even Helen Keller couldn’t ignore your
fuck off
vibe. I’m asking as one colleague to another to have a cup of coffee and go over a case, okay? It’s on your way home and don’t try to tell me you could sleep now anyway!” Crossing his arms as well, Arena stood blocking her exit and practically huffing with indignation.

Berg sighed as she mulled his offer over. He was right—there was no way she was going home to sleep now. Besides, partners discussing their cases over coffee was so typical it would be weird if they didn’t do it occasionally.

“Okay, fine. Let’s go,” she said begrudgingly.

Fifteen minutes later they arrived at the popular cafeteria-style deli near the 12
^th,
which was still busy serving cops and civilians despite the late hour. They bypassed the famous sky-high corned beef sandwiches and nursed a hot cup of black coffee each in a retro booth at the rear of the original 1940s space.

“So I put in a call to Metra Police while you were with the parents. They will send over the security footage from the 95
^th
and 47
^th
Street Metra trains first thing,” Arena said as he ripped the tops off two packets of sugar and dumped them into his steaming cup.

“Good. I’ll talk to the family again, then interview the neighbor who found her,” Berg said, taking a sip. “We’ve got an appointment with her boss in the morning. He runs a graphic design business in Kenwood. Emma was his PA. Then we can—”

“Looks like we’re not the only ones in need of hot caffeine tonight.” Arena nodded toward the entrance.

Berg looked over her shoulder and stared as she spotted Jay leading a very young, very pretty woman into the deli. Her heart sank as they each ordered and collected a latte then sat at a table near the counter.

“We should call them over,” Arena said as he stood up and raised his arm to wave.

“No! Don’t,” Berg muttered, pulling him back down into the booth roughly.

Arena looked at her, surprise on his features. “What’s the problem?”

“Nothing,” Berg replied. “He may not want to be disturbed. It looks like he’s on a . . . date.”

Arena stared at her for a moment, then back at Jay, before nodding. “Ah, okay. I see what’s going on here.”

“There’s nothing going on here!” Berg whispered.

“And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Arena asked. His eyes were sympathetic as he waited for a response.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you’re done, I’ve got to get home.” Berg stood up to leave.

“Berg, stop,” Arena said softly, motioning for her to sit back down. “Just give me two more minutes, then you can run out of here, okay?”

Berg was reaching the end of her limited supply of patience, but sat down anyway.

“What is or is not going on between you and O’Loughlin is none of my business—”

“You got that right.”

“—but, if you’re not together romantically, it’s because one of you doesn’t want to be. And if it’s not you . . .” He shrugged. “Look, you’ve known him long enough to know what he’s like . . . he’s always in it for the chase. If he wanted you, he’d have made his move by now.”

Berg looked away as Arena continued talking softly.

“I get it. He was your partner for two years before the promotion. It got very intense during the Leigh thing, and you thought he might die. It’s totally understandable. After two years, you worked well together, but he’s not your partner anymore,” he said, gesturing wildly. “I am! You need to let him go and you need to learn to trust me.” He leaned back in the booth. “All right, you can go.”

Berg slid to the edge of the booth and looked toward the front of the deli where Jay and the woman sat together. Clutching his cup in both hands, he leaned his tall frame over the table toward her. She was blond and looked young—only twenty-three or twenty-four at most—and chatted animatedly as Jay listened. He smiled as she talked, watching her face closely as the expressions changed, oblivious to Berg’s intense gaze.

She looked back at Arena’s understanding face. “You know what? I think I need another coffee.” She smiled wanly.

“Coming right up,” Arena said as he jumped out of the booth and wandered to the counter.

“Any leads in the Emma Young case?” Jay asked the detectives early the next morning.

Arena and Berg sat in front of his desk in the hard wooden chairs that used to belong to Leigh.

The new captain looked tired and rubbed his eyes, and Berg resisted the urge to ask him if he’d had a late night.

Don’t jump to conclusions
.

She had repeated that same reminder to herself all night as she’d once again stared at her bare white ceiling, her heart inexplicably pounding.

“Nothing firm, we were about to go through the surveillance from Metra when you called us in,” Arena answered.

“What are your initial impressions?” Jay asked Berg.

Arena crossed his arms in irritation. “Hello? She’s not the only detective in the room.”

“Sorry,” Jay said, not looking away from Berg. “We’re just used to working together . . .”

Berg smiled then cleared her throat, uncertain how to feel about the thrill that had shot through her at Jay’s comment. “I’m not sure yet. The family was too distraught to give me anything last night. They didn’t know about any boyfriend, current or otherwise. It might be a random attack, but there was no forced entry into the house. If so, she’s likely to have been followed from the Metra.”

Jay nodded. “Okay, keep me apprised.” Frowning, he went back to his paperwork.

“Actually, could we have a word?” Berg asked Jay before looking at Arena. “In private.”

Arena moved closer and touched her arm lightly as he spoke in her ear. “You sure?” he whispered.

With a quick nod assuring him she was fine, Berg watched as Arena left, closing the door behind him. She noticed that the long crack in one of the glass panels near the door had never been fixed.

It seemed ironic that Jay was the owner of the same office he had almost destroyed on a daily basis slamming the door behind him. The object of his ire had typically been the now transferred and demoted Chief of Detectives Antonio Consiglio, yet another man who had been neatly deposed by Leigh’s manipulations. Not that they were sad about it—Leigh’s hatred of men had only been matched by Consiglio’s hatred of Berg and Jay.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Jay asked, raising an eyebrow and nodding at Arena’s retreating figure.

“Nothing. He’s overly protective. Kind of like a guard dog,” Berg replied, smiling slightly.

“He clearly doesn’t know you very well, then, if he thinks you need any kind of guard dog.” He leaned in and placed his fingers on the desk so close they were almost touching. “What can I do for you?”

Shit
.

Now that she was actually in his office, she wasn’t sure how to handle it. “Nothing much. Just worried about you, that’s all. Hoping you went home and got some sleep and didn’t work all night?”

Lame.

Jay smiled, reaching out one finger and lightly brushing the side of her palm.

Berg’s heart rate increased exponentially at the touch.

“That’s sweet, but no such luck. I was working till the early hours.” He sighed.

“Working,” she repeated, pulling her hand away. “That’s it?”

“Yes, working.” Jay’s brows gathered together as he looked at her. “Why?”

Berg shook her head—she wasn’t interested in any more lies. “No reason.” She opened the door and walked out of the office, slamming it behind her.

So much for not jumping to conclusions.

“You okay?” Arena asked as Berg sat down at her desk. He was staring intensely at his computer screen.

“Yep.” Her tone left little doubt—the subject was closed. “What you got?” she asked, moving her chair closer so she could lean in.

He turned his screen toward Berg and they viewed the footage together. “Surveillance from the 47
^th
, around six last night.”