Critical Pursuit (13 page)

NIGEL WANDERED
the beach, his camera always at the ready. He wondered if the dog cop had gotten his message. He’d seen nothing in the paper. But she was still being hounded about shooting someone, and that was a good thing. The last article said that the dead kid’s lawyer not only wanted the dog cop fired, but serving time.

The thought of the dog cop in prison made Nigel smile.

He wanted to be sure she got the first message before he sent the next. The next message
 
—the next Special Girl
 
—needed to be stupendous. Something that would make everyone stand up and take notice.

He smiled, finding amusement in the thought that he’d never really wanted attention until he learned of the dog cop. He was smart, very able to vanish when circumstances required he disappear, and he’d been proficient at hiding for years. But the knowledge that he shared a special anniversary with someone changed everything.

He took a picture of some children building sand castles
near the surf and quickly put the camera away to avoid the inquiring gaze of a vigilant mom. Nigel sauntered to the pier. There he was able to snap a lot of photos, making it appear like he was only interested in the sand and surf.

He’d be patient. He had time.
Hope you don’t think I’ve given up, Dog Cop. I never give up.

BRINNA STOPPED
by the house to pick up Hero, then headed for the beach, striving to keep sorrow from engulfing her.
I need some normalcy,
she thought. The only normal family she knew were the DiSantos. Tony would be either at the kayak rental kiosk or nearby. Brinna needed the loquacious Italian and his family to help mitigate the misery she felt.

The weather had cooled somewhat, but it was still going to be a hot day. With everything that weighed on her mind, it would be difficult to sleep under the best of circumstances.

She parked near the kayak outfitter and fed the meter. Hero bounded out of the truck, full of K-9 energy. Brinna threw a ball for him several times as she walked across the sand. As she’d hoped, Tony was there with a big bonus
 
—both of his granddaughters. Tony leaned against the rental kiosk counter. In front of him, running in and out of the small waves, huge smiles on their faces, were Carla and Bella.

“Hey, Tony, my good friend,” Brinna called out. “You loafing?”

Tony turned and grinned. He brushed sand off his hands and waved. “Brinna, my good friend. I’m babysitting.”

Hero bounded up to him, tail wagging. The man reciprocated by tumbling with the dog onto the sand in playful roughhouse, much to the delight of the two little girls, who squealed as they watched their grandpa and the dog.

After satisfying Hero with some scratching, Tony pulled a couple of beach chairs from the kiosk, and they sat while Hero trotted to the surf to play with the twins. He sat patiently while they tried to bury him with sand, getting up every once in a while to shake and spread sand everywhere, bringing screams of laughter from the girls.

Brinna watched the two girls and Hero play. “How do you tell them apart?”

Tony laughed. “They are bookends. My joy.”

“Have you been training them how to respond to strangers?”

“You bet. We go over and over it. Never, ever speak to strangers, I tell them.” He shook his finger. “And if a stranger touches either one of you, scream, I say. That Carla, she’s got quite a yell.”

“Good.” Brinna leaned back on her elbows and relaxed, happy that in this small circle, all was right in the world.

“YOU WANT TO QUIT.”

“We owe it to the innocent to keep fighting.”

“At least you have closure.”

“A kid like Heather, she’s just as important to her parents as Vicki was to you.”

Words and images from the night before replayed in Jack’s mind as if they were a collage on a DVD in a continuous loop. He lay on the couch, a fan blowing in his face, and stared at the ceiling, jarred to the core not only by Brinna’s words but also by his own.

“You can’t blame yourself for the evil in the world.”

How those words had come out without his even thinking about them was a mystery. The Bible preached good versus evil. He didn’t believe that stuff anymore, did he? He’d tried to ease Brinna’s angst. She clearly blamed herself for the little girl’s death. Why did he care?

The thing was, she’d sounded so much like he used to sound before Vicki died that it scared him.

Jack stood and walked to the bedroom. Opening the door, he stared into the room that was just as Vicki had left it one year ago. The bed was made; the book she’d bought on natural childbirth sat on her nightstand, along with a jar of cream she’d been using on her belly.

“Everything stopped when you left me,” he whispered. “How can I ever be the same man I was?”

He knew better than Brinna did what the Baileys would feel when they heard the news about their daughter.

“She accused me of being a quitter. I’m not. It just hurts so much. . . .” He leaned against the doorjamb and tears dripped down his face. “Maybe the secret is going back to the job and working it like Caruso, fighting a losing fight but being in denial about it.”

He knew that if Vicki were alive, they’d be on their knees in prayer about now. Jack hit his forehead with his palms, refusing to go there, refusing to admit there was a God to pray to. Instead he steered his thoughts to how good it had felt to be a cop for a short while. He’d functioned with his peers at the crime scene. Maybe it would be possible to bury himself in his work.

Yawning, he walked to the living room and lay down on the couch again.

The little girl. He’d studied the sad, decomposed body like he was a cop and not a broken shell of a man grieving his wife and daughter. There, in the harsh lights of a forensic team, he hadn’t just sleepwalked through pain; he’d been involved.

The girl’s murder stirred more than a little curiosity in
Jack. The urge to hunt the killer bubbled up in the recesses of his mind and he wondered if he should encourage it. All he’d initially wanted out of this patrol gig was survival for two weeks. He’d hung on to his empty life for a year. What did another week and a half matter?

His eyelids were heavy. As he faded to sleep, he decided working patrol would be a good thing if it left him this exhausted every day.

For the first time in a year, Jack slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Brinna shared snacks with Tony and the girls and napped for a bit on the beach before admitting she needed to go home and sleep in her own bed for a couple of hours before work. Fatigue would help her sleep despite the heat. She loaded Hero up, bade the DiSantos good-bye, and directed her truck home.

Her mood was mellow and relaxed until she reached her driveway and saw a familiar sedan at the curb. After pulling into the drive, the uneasiness she felt was confirmed. Her mother sat on the porch.

Sighing, Brinna patted Hero’s head and parked. She’d been ignoring her mom’s e-mail messages.

“Guess I can’t avoid her forever,” she told Hero. “I bet she wants to talk about the shooting mess.”
I’m just not sure I can deal with my mother with Heather on my mind. When it rains, it sure does pour.

She opened the door and let Hero out first. The dog
bounded out to say hello to Rose Caruso. Brinna studied her mom for a minute before following the dog.

Rose never left the house without being carefully dressed and made-up. Today, she was more than a little disheveled. Her tan slacks were wrinkled, and perspiration ovals showed under the arms of her light-colored blouse.

Rose was dark-haired, like Brinna, but green-eyed and a little thick in the hips. She seemed grayer than the last time Brinna had seen her, and her hair wasn’t as perfectly coiffed as usual. Brinna wondered if newspaper reporters had been bugging her mom, not only about the shooting but about the anniversary.

“Hi, Mom.” Brinna stepped onto the porch to give her mom a hug.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for days.” Rose’s voice was clipped, tense.

“I know; sorry. I’ve been kind of busy. What’s up?”

“It’s your father. He’s in the hospital. Brinna, he’s dying.”

“HE’S LIVED
in a bottle for twenty years; what did he expect?” Brinna turned away from her mother and shoved a glass under the tap for water, all the while stalling, wondering what it was she was supposed to feel.

“A little more compassion, Brin. He is your father.” Rose sat on the couch, head in her hands.

Brinna carried two glasses of water to the living room and gave one to her mother before sitting down in the chair across from the couch. “But are you surprised?” she asked.

Rose looked up, pain etched in her eyes. “Of course it’s a shock. I’ve been praying he’d change before it got too late.”

Brinna bit her lip. “Let’s face it. The bottle has always been more important to him than us.”

Rose shook her head. “I’ve seen you show so much care and tenderness for children, strangers. Don’t you have any to spare for your father?”

“What do you want me to say?” Brinna bristled, thinking,
All I’ve ever really known is an angry, drunk father.
“For a short
time he was a father to Brian, but he’s never been a father to me. Once he climbed into the bottle, he wasn’t much of anything.”

“That day destroyed him.” Rose choked back a sob. “He never forgave himself. Can’t you forgive him?”

She wiped her eyes with one hand and Brinna saw the struggle for composure.
That day
hung between them, and Brinna had no words.

“Unforgiveness will destroy you,” Rose said after a minute. She stood and hugged her arms to her chest. “The two of you are peas in a pod. He hides in a bottle and you hide in your job. Will you consider this from outside the safety of your uniform?”

Brinna blew out a breath and shook her head, choosing to ignore the peas-in-a-pod remark.
I’m nothing like my father.

“I don’t blame Dad for my kidnapping. I never did. The only person to blame is the kidnapper. The only thing I blame Dad for is not being a dad.” She chugged her water and willed herself to stay seated. “What about Brian? Is he coming home?”

Regaining her composure, Rose crossed her arms. “He’s flying in this weekend. Will you at least come with him and visit your father?”

Brinna closed her eyes and sighed. “There’s so much going on in my life right now.” She opened her eyes to find Rose staring at her and felt slapped by the grief and pain reflected in the gaze. Guilt at the attempt to avoid her dad swelled, and she gave up. “When Brian gets here, I’ll go with him, okay?”

Rose nodded, then smoothed her blouse. “Thank you. It will mean a lot.”

* * *

Brinna sat on the porch for a long time after her mother left. Hero dozed at her feet. After trying to call Milo and getting his voice mail, she brought a tall glass of iced tea outside and relaxed in her rocker. Sleep was impossible now. Her mother could make her feel guilty and sappy all at the same time. But her thoughts revolved around the fact that her father was dying and she felt nothing.

“SO HOW ARE YOU DOING
with O’Reilly?” Sergeant Rodriguez asked as Brinna and Hero jogged onto the K-9 training field early Wednesday afternoon. After Hero’s training ended, Brinna would go into service and finish out her shift.

Brinna shrugged. She’d anticipated the question and still struggled with how much to tell her sergeant. “So far, aside from the fact that neither one of us wanted the assignment, no problems. But it’s only been two days. Yesterday we were tied up with Heather all night. We haven’t gotten in much patrol time.”

“Sorry about Heather. Chuck told me what happened. He wants to keep it all under wraps as long as possible so no panic starts.”

“I agree with him to a point. I don’t want the investigation to be compromised, but I think parents need to know there’s a danger. This guy has already proved he’ll kill.” The fact that he chose to kill because of her was what galled her all the more.

Janet nodded. “Chuck said he’d meet with our homicide and talk about how to handle the press angle. He doesn’t want the press to sensationalize things and give the suspect who taunted you the attention he apparently wants.” She knelt down and patted Hero. “Besides, no one knows how releasing your connection to this taunt will affect all the shooting stories.”

“Tell me about it,” Brinna agreed grimly. “Shockley is doing her best to paint me as a little Hitler. She’ll probably try to pin Heather’s murder on me.”

“Not even Shockley could make that charge. Besides, the shooting review board will convene soon.”

“Really?” Brinna faced Janet as her stomach did flip-flops. “Have you heard something?”

“Just a rumor that the chief wants it to happen right away. He believes official findings will neutralize Shockley.”

“I hope so.” Brinna sighed and turned to the training field, but Janet stopped her.

“By the way, I got a memo from Officer Nugent. He wants me to write up a commendation for you.”

Brinna frowned; she rarely worked with the day patrol officer. “For what?”

“Apparently you pulled some guy out of a bathtub, saved his life.”

“The girlfriend beater? I just did what I had to do. It wasn’t heroic or anything. Anyone would have done it.”

Janet laughed. “I’m not sure about that.”

Brinna waved off the idea of a commendation. “What do you want me to do with O’Reilly tonight? I normally
flex on Wednesdays and leave a little early. Today I’m really tired.”

“You think he’s up to working by himself? Klein tells me there’s no one else to put him with.”

Chewing on a thumbnail, Brinna considered what she’d debated all day telling Janet
 
—that she feared Jack had a death wish. Jack would be yanked from patrol in a heartbeat. If she was wrong, she’d be doing him a huge disservice. But if she was right . . .

After a pause, she held Janet’s gaze. “I’m not sure. Like I said, we haven’t had much patrol time.”

“I’ll approve overtime if you want to finish out the shift.”

“If I don’t collapse, I will.”
I’d rather be working instead of dealing with the circus that seems to be going on in my personal life,
she thought grimly.

“Great. Let’s go train.”

For the next couple of hours, Brinna concentrated only on Hero, working hard to put her exhaustion, Heather, and her own father’s situation out of her mind. She ran her dog through an agility course, worked on some tracking drills, and let him run around with a few patrol dogs.

“He’s doing great,” Pops Davis, a senior K-9 officer, commented to Brinna as they watched Hero handle a timed run of the agility course.

Brinna beamed. Pops had been one of the strongest voices who fought Hero’s addition to the team tooth and nail. Very old-school, Pops’s objections were different from a lot of other officers’. Most just wanted the money to go elsewhere. Pops thought women were too soft to work with dogs. He’d
hated the fact that Hero specialized in search and rescue. It felt great to win him over to her side.

“Thanks, Pops. That means a lot, coming from you.”

The grizzled old cop rubbed his chin. “I know I was rough on him at first, but he has more than pulled his weight. So have you. Some old dogs can learn new tricks.”

“Glad to hear it.” Brinna laughed, feeling a lightness she hadn’t felt in a long time. She showed Davis the stopwatch. “Hero just beat his best time on the course by fifteen seconds.”

Pops nodded approval and went back to his dog and bite training. Brinna gave Hero his treats and some water. Driving home to drop him off before her shift, she realized how much she missed working an entire shift with her four-legged friend. But she only had a week and a half left to go with O’Reilly.

A fear nagged. What if the circus surrounding the shooting hadn’t abated by then? That the brass wanted to hurry the shooting review board to counter Shockley’s shrill cries of misconduct was a small bright spot.

O’Reilly himself was another worry. What if he did want to take a bullet? She’d had the chance to address the issue yesterday at Hof’s but chickened out.

At home she fed Hero, then climbed back in her truck and headed for the station. Clear skies, pleasantly warm temps. Brinna glanced at the ocean.
Now would be a great time for a long, long kayak paddle, way out in the middle of the ocean . . . away from phones, newspapers, money-hungry lawyers, and vicious child killers,
she thought wistfully.