Fractured (11 page)

She actually thought that might be true, which was saying something because she wasn't enjoying herself much either. When they emerged, the sky was starting to go from azure to indigo, and as they went up the cement steps, the first thing they saw was a patrol car in the parking lot next to Ellie's vehicle. One of the officers, in earflaps and a heavy jacket, was writing down the license number.

Santiago flicked off the flashlight and handed it back. “Someone was paying attention. If they called in our car being here, maybe they saw whoever left. This could be just what we need.”

She fully understood the flicker of excitement in his voice. The best part of any investigation was the possibility of that first break. Santiago said loudly as their shoes crunched the crisp snow in the parking lot and they approached the cruiser, “I'm just reaching in my coat for my badge. We're Milwaukee homicide.”

The second officer had gotten out of the car when he caught sight of them. He nodded but his hand rested on his hip near his sidearm, and in this neighborhood she didn't really blame him.

“Detectives,” said the one with the earflaps, after taking care of examining their credentials. “I've heard of you. Northwoods killer case. You mind telling us why you're here?” He was thick-shouldered and had the accent of a true Wisconsin native, his cheeks ruddy from the cold.

“Murdered man in that house right there a few days ago.” Ellie pointed across the street. “Mind telling us why you were checking out my car?”

The second cop was younger and slimmer, a red-head with an angular nose and sharp chin. “There's a gang of local kids that keep breaking into the school. We drive by now and then, just in case we can catch them at it. We had to wonder what someone might be doing parked here. This car doesn't exactly match the neighborhood.”

“I think we may have crossed paths with those kids.” Santiago briefly outlined what had happened.

“Sounds like them. They just hang out as far as we can tell, though there's some interesting graffiti on the walls. Short of burning it down, they can't hurt much as you probably saw. The school corporation took everything usable to the new elementary.”

Ellie asked, “Any way we could get some names and talk to these kids? They were sure watching us across the street. Maybe they saw something that might give us a lead, if not on the day of the murder, at some other time. We think the victim might have done what they are doing and taken advantage of an empty house and moved in. We can't ID him and no one seems to know how he came to be there. He was robbed but we think it was to deflect us, because the murder sure seemed personal.”

The thin cop nodded, his face grim. “We heard about it from the officers who responded to the initial call. I'm not ashamed to say I'm glad I wasn't on duty. I understand he was pretty slashed up.”

There were certain sights she couldn't erase from her memory as well and he was right, that happened to be one of them. “We've worked a few brutal cases and this qualifies.”

“As for the names of the kids, we can ask some questions. So far we've just told them to get out and stay out but it wasn't worth hauling anyone in. We have enough real problems out there.”

Santiago turned to her, his blue eyes intent. “How about if we just leave a note?”

“A note?” It was impossible to look at him as if he wasn't insane.

“On the door. Attach our cards and ask them to come forward. Mention we don't give a shit about them getting into the school, but they could be heroes if they had info we need.”

“Oh sure, they're going to call the police voluntarily.”

The thickset officer said, “Hey, worth a try.”

 

Chapter 10

Georgia stirred her coffee and carefully set aside the spoon on a napkin. She said, “You're particularly troubled why?”

Rachel was an interesting patient. This was her regular appointment and today she seemed much different. More confident and less subdued, with a hint of gloss on her lips. She wore a tailored blazer over a much shorter skirt and shiny pumps with an actual heel. Today was obviously not a dark, worn flats sort of mood. She worked at a local hospital, she'd explained on her initial visit, in something to do with administration.

“I'm having more trouble with my roommate. I might ask her to leave. I'm just not good at confrontation. Maybe you can help me.”

Maybe, maybe not. She hadn't decided yet if Rachel was a cooperative patient.

“What has she done that bothers you besides the incident with the shoes?” Georgia could believe the confrontation part. Rachel was not the personality type to enjoy an argument.

“She borrows things and doesn't ask.”

“Have you considered talking to her about it?”

Rachel lifted her head and stopped restlessly adjusting her skirt. “I
have
talked to her about it. Nothing has changed.”

After taking a sip of coffee, Georgia asked, “How do you think she'll react if you suggest she moves out?”

It was true her roommate sounded like a compelling study, but Georgia was more interested in Rachel.

Her patient took a minute but answered slowly, “I'm not sure. I'm afraid to actually do it.”

“Because she gets angry?”

Rachel nodded and her voice was barely a whisper when she responded, “She might be.”

An easy guess. All along she'd had the sense that Rachel was being manipulated. “Outline to me why you think so and maybe add why you'd put up with it.”

“I'm not very strong.”

She could beg to differ. Georgia's opinion was that the woman sitting in the chair so demurely across from her desk had more inner strength than she gave herself credit for, but a lot of patients hid behind their insecurities.

“Let's talk about that. Do you believe you will actually ask her to go?”

Rachel took a moment, but then shook her head. “No. I don't want the argument.”

“Why? If you are in the right and it is your apartment, maybe you need to stand up for yourself.”

“I think she'll just say no.”

Unsurprised, Georgia reflected that this roommate sounded like a classic bully in the sense that she simply plowed over Rachel most of the time, but she might be just as much a prisoner in one aspect of their relationship. “Why do you think she would do that?”

“I don't know, but it worries me.”

“Worries you in what way? Do you think she threw away the shoes to deliberately hurt or annoy you?”

“Her winter coat is missing too. I peeked in the closet.”

Another non-answer. Georgia rethought and tried again. “Can you tell me how you feel about her?”

This time Rachel stood and walked across the office, but a lot of patients did that to avoid the face-to-face confession. She stopped at the window. “I hate her sometimes and yet I still like her … her companionship. Does that make sense?”

“Sense is what you make of it. You don't wish to be alone?”

“Who does?” Rachel asked it simply, and Georgia couldn't disagree, so she tried another tack.

“If you didn't live with her, what kind of person would you choose?”

Rachel wasn't unintelligent, just uncertain personally. Her smile was cynical. “You mean if I didn't have to settle for her as a roommate? I might choose someone who wasn't so selfish. She does not compromise, and I mean that, Dr. Lukens.”

This was why Georgia was sure sexual conflict was in the mix. Lea somehow represented a strong figure to Rachel, and she needed it, but without the threat of an actual male. “You don't often talk about your relationships with men.”

“No.”

It was a very predictable answer. Georgia asked gently, “Keeping in mind you can tell me anything, why? You are an attractive young woman. Surely they approach you.”

“I only go out with Lea and men love her.” Rachel turned and smiled thinly. “I'm invisible when I'm with her, so your question is moot. I go along, they ask
her
out, and that is the end of it. I learned that a long time ago.”

“What about your date a few days ago?”

“I already told you he was really interested in
her
. I'll never see him again.”

“Are you interested in dating
other
men?”

“Or do I like women, you mean?” Rachel's laugh was dry. “I'm not a lesbian, if that's what you're asking.”

“I admit I am trying to define your interaction with Lea. Love/hate relationships are seldom healthy.”

Silence. Rachel appeared to be thinking it over and dipped her head in a mannerism Georgia was coming to know very well, so that a veil of hair obscured her face. Eventually, she said, “I shouldn't have said I hated her. I'm afraid for her, actually. She's larger than life in a way. Impulsive and promiscuous; she drinks too much, dresses in provocative clothing, and she seems to be getting more and more reckless. One day I am afraid she just isn't going to come home.”

“And then you'll be alone.” That was the problem, Georgia understood. She'd seen it too many times with both men and women who put up with abusive spouses or domineering parents, or even employers who took advantage of them; the fear of solitude overrode their resentment and anger.

Something is better than nothing
.

Rachel looked up. “Yes.”

“This symbiotic existence the two of you share, is she aware of it? Has it occurred to you that perhaps you represent security and discipline to her, much as a parent cares for a child?”

“Quite frankly, I have no idea what she is thinking most of the time. Or if she's even thinking at all. She just dumped her last boyfriend.”

“And you liked him?”

Rachel considered before she answered but she usually did. “She distrusts men who are nice to her. I've actually tried to convince her to make an appointment with you but she just laughs at the idea of therapy.”

“Does she laugh at you for coming to see me?”

“I think she's worried I talk about her.”

The evasion was typical and Georgia thought maybe her patient was becoming uncomfortable, which was not her goal. Besides she
did
talk about her. “That's possible. Now then, when you were here last week, you said you had some exciting news coming your way.”

The subject switched then to Rachel's job, how she expected a promotion soon from the glowing review she'd just gotten from her supervisor, her normally passive expression becoming animated. When the session was over, Georgia jotted down a few notes in her chart.

Patient shows classic signs of dependency and denial, focusing on her roommate's behavior rather than examining her own lack of self-esteem. Once again did not bring up her childhood or details of her current social life. No overt hostility, but a blatant avoidance of whatever is truly bothering her.

Very unlike her next patient, she thought as the light on her desk blinked, indicating someone was in the waiting room.

*   *   *

Jason hated grocery
shopping. It was up there with laundry and cleaning the bathroom in his opinion. He'd finally hired a housekeeper to do both of the latter, mostly because he could afford it since he lived a simple life aside from his sometimes really interesting job, and his apartment was cheap. He did eat out quite a bit, bachelor style, but he got tired of it, hence this trip to the closest supermarket.

The deli had a line, so he skipped that in lieu of the produce aisle, reminding himself some vegetables would not be a bad idea, and french fries did not count. He picked up some leaf lettuce, tomatoes, shallots, and tossed in an avocado, then bought fresh shrimp. He had about one recipe he could pull off if he discounted burgers in a pan on the stove, and that was a decent shrimp salad thanks to eight months of being stationed in Hawaii at one point in his military career.

Then he took out his phone and reminded himself he was an idiot.

Confirmed fact.

She answered on the third ring, her voice as businesslike as ever. “MacIntosh.”

“Yeah, I know who I'm calling,” he said, further proving his lack of any good sense whatsoever. “Don't you even look at the caller ID number?”

“
You
are criticizing
me
for phone etiquette? You must be joking. What?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to talk about the case over dinner. With Grantham out of town and all.”

It took a minute, but then she said carefully, “What makes you think he's out of town?”

“Jesus, MacIntosh, I'm a detective and I heard half of your conversation. A kindergarten kid would have picked up on the fact he's not in Milwaukee right now.” Jason stepped back to let a young woman push her cart past him, nodding in response to her murmured thanks. “If you are busy, that's fine, I just wondered if maybe you … weren't. Busy, that is.”

Oh yeah, very smooth right there
.

Another pause. “Well, actually, I'm not and the case is bugging me too. Okay. Where?”

“My apartment.”

“You're going to cook?” She sounded irritatingly amused.

“Sort of. You're not allergic to shellfish, right?”

“No.”

“Seven thirty.” He ended the call, forgetting to say good-bye, which was just par for the course, and then he went off in search of frozen garlic bread.

It wasn't like they'd never had dinner together before. Several times, in fact, when they'd worked their last case and went north because it looked like a killer had a hard-on for him, thanks to his friendship with a murdered beat cop.

So, just dinner. Nothing. A blip on the screen, maybe.

“Excuse me again.”

Jason glanced up, chagrined when he realized he was standing in front of the freezer and the same dark-haired woman was trying to get through the aisle. He moved back. “Sorry.”