Night Shift (21 page)

There had been a water cooler, she remembered. And a ceiling fan. She had watched the bubbles glug in the water and the blades whirl sluggishly. For hours. Her mother had forgotten her. Until,
suffering from the same bug as her sitter, Cilla had lost her breakfast all over the squad room floor.

Shaky, Cilla wiped a hand over her damp brow. It was an old memory, she reminded herself. And not all of it. After she had been sick, her mother had cleaned her up, held her, taken her home and pampered her for the rest of the day. It wasn’t fair to anyone to remember only the unhappy side.

But as she stood there she could feel all too clearly the dragging nausea, the cold sweat, and the misery of being alone and forgotten.

Then she saw him, stepping from another room. His T-shirt was damp down the front. Jackson was behind him, his hat in place, his face sheened with sweat and nerves. Flanking him was Althea.

Jackson saw her first. He took a hesitant step toward her, then stopped and shrugged. Cilla didn’t hesitate. She walked to him to take his hand in both of hers.

“You okay?”

“Sure.” Jackson shrugged again, but his fingers held tight on hers. “We just had to clear some things up. No big deal.”

“I’m sorry. Look, if you need to talk, you can wait for me.”

“No, I’m okay. Really.” He lifted a hand to adjust his cap. “I guess if you screw up once you’ve got to keep paying for it.”

“Oh, Jim.”

“Hey, I’m handling it.” He gave her a quick smile. “I’ll catch you tonight.”

“Sure.”

“We appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Jackson,” Althea put in.

“I told you, anything I can do to help Cilla, I’ll do. I owe you,” he said to Cilla, cutting her off before she could shake her head. “I owe you,” he repeated, then crossed the room into the corridor.

“I could have told you that you were wasting your time with him,” Cilla stated.

Boyd only nodded. “You could have told us a lot of things.”

“Maybe.” She turned back to him. “I need to talk to you, both of you.”

“All right.” Boyd gestured toward the conference room. “It’s a little quieter in here.”

“You want something cold?” Althea began before they settled. “I think they’ve finally fixed the furnace, but it’s still like an oven in here.”

“No, thanks. This won’t take long.” She sat, Althea across from her, Boyd at the table’s head. She wanted to choose her words carefully. “Can I ask why you brought Jackson in?”

“You worked together in Richmond.” Boyd shoved a file aside. “He had a drinking problem that got him fired, and you took over his job. He wasn’t too happy about it at the time.”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“Why didn’t you tell us about it, Cilla?”

“I didn’t think of it.” She lifted a hand. “I honestly didn’t think of it. It was a long time ago, and Jackson’s come a long way. I’m sure he told you he’s been in AA for over three years. He made a point of coming to see me when I was doing my run in Chicago. He wanted me to know he didn’t blame me for what had happened. He’s been putting his life back together.”

“You got him the job at KHIP,” Boyd added.

“I put in a good word for him,” she said. “I don’t do the hiring. He was a friend, he needed a break. When he’s sober, Jackson’s one of the best. And he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“And when he’s drunk, he breaks up bars, threatens women and drives his car into telephone poles.”

“That was a long time ago,” Cilla said, struggling for calm. “And the point is, he is sober. There are some things you have to forgive and forget.”

“Yes.” He watched her carefully. “There are.”

She thought of her mother again, and of that painful memory of the squad room. “Actually, I didn’t come here to talk to you about Jackson. I got another call at home.”

“We know.” Althea’s voice was brisk and professional. “They relayed the information to us here.”

“Then you know what he said.” Finding Althea’s cool gaze unsympathetic, Cilla turned to Boyd. “He wants to hurt you now. He knows you’re involved with me, and he’s dragged you into whatever sick plans he has.”

“They traced the call to another phone booth, just a couple of blocks from your house,” Boyd began.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Cilla slapped a fist on the table. Pencils jumped. “He’s going to try to kill you, too.”

He didn’t reach for her hand to soothe her. At the moment, he thought, she needed him more professionally than personally. “Since I’m protecting you, he would have had to try all along. Nothing’s changed.”

“Everything’s changed,” she burst out. “It doesn’t matter to him if you’re with the police or not, it only matters that you’re with me. I want you off the case. I want you reassigned. I don’t want you anywhere near me until this is over.”

Boyd crushed a disposable cup in his hand and tossed it in a wastebasket. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous. I’m being practical.” She turned to Althea, her eyes full of pleas. “Talk to him. He’ll listen to you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “I agree with him. We both have a job to do, and at the moment you’re it.”

Desperate, Cilla whipped back to Boyd. “I’ll go to your captain myself.”

“He already knows about the call.”

She sprang up. “I’ll tell him I’m sleeping with you.”

“Sit down, Cilla.”

“I’ll insist he take you off the case.”

“Sit down,” Boyd repeated. His voice was still mild, but this time she relented and dropped back in her chair. “You can go to the captain and request another officer. You can demand one. It won’t make any difference. If he takes me off the case, I’ll just turn in my badge.”

Her head snapped up at that. “I don’t believe you.”

“Try me.”

He was too calm, Cilla realized. And too determined. Like a brick wall, she thought in despair. Going head-to-head with him when he was like this was futile. “Boyd, don’t you realize I couldn’t handle it if anything happened to you?”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “I think I do. Then you should realize I’m just as vulnerable where you’re concerned.”

“That’s the whole point.” She broke down enough to take his hands. “You are vulnerable. Listen to me.” Desperate, she pulled his hand to her cheek. “For eight years I’ve wondered if it had been anyone else in the room with my mother that day, anyone else but my father, would she have been sharper, would she have been quicker? Would her concentration have been more focused? Don’t make me have to ask that same question about you for the rest of my life.”

“Your mother wasn’t prepared. I am.”

“Nothing I say is going to change your mind.”

“No. I love you, Cilla. One day soon you’re going to have to learn to accept that. In the meantime,
you’re going to have to trust me.”

She took her hand away to drop it into her lap. “Then there’s nothing more to say.”

“There’s this.” He pulled a file closer. She was already upset, he mused. Already on edge. But they couldn’t afford to wait. “John McGillis.”

Her head aching, Cilla pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “What about him?”

“He’s dead.”

Slowly she lowered her hands. “Dead?” she repeated dully. “But he was just a kid. Are you sure? Are you sure it’s the same one?”

“Yes.” The man wished he could spare her this. The cop knew he couldn’t. “He committed suicide about five months ago.”

For a moment she only stared. The blood drained out of her face, inch by inch, until it was bone white. “Oh, God. Oh, dear God. He— He threatened, but I didn’t believe—”

“He was unstable, Cilla. He’d been in and out of therapy since he was fourteen. Trouble with his mother, in school, with his peers. He’d already attempted suicide twice before.”

“But he was so quiet. He tried so hard to make me—” She stopped, squeezing her eyes shut. “He killed himself after I left Chicago to come here. Just as he said he would.”

“He was disturbed,” Althea said gently. “Deeply disturbed. A year before he contacted you, he was involved with a girl. When she broke things off, he swallowed a fistful of barbiturates. He was in a clinic for a while. He’d only been out for a few weeks when he made the connection with you.”

“I was cruel to him.” Cilla turned her purse over and over on her lap. “Really cruel. At the time I thought it was the best way to handle it. I thought he would be hurt, maybe hate me for a little while, then find some nice girl and … But he won’t.”

“I’m not going to tell you it wasn’t your fault, because you’re smart enough to know that yourself.” Boyd’s voice was deliberately devoid of sympathy. “What McGillis did, he did to himself. You were just an excuse.”

She gave a quick, involuntary shudder. “It’s not as easy for me. I don’t live with death the way you do.”

“It’s never easy, not for anyone.” He opened the file. “But there are priorities here, and mine is to make the connection between McGillis and the man we’re after.”

“You really think John’s the reason I’m being threatened?”

“It’s the only thing that fits. Now I want you to tell us everything you remember about him.”

She released her death grip on the bag, then carefully folded her hands on the table. As clearly as possible, she repeated everything she’d already told him.

“Did you ever see him with anyone?” Boyd asked. “Did he ever talk about his friends, his family?”

“He was always alone. Like I told you, he used to call the station. I didn’t meet him face-to-face for weeks. After I did, all he really talked about was the way he felt about me. The way he wanted us to be together.” Her fingers twisted together. “He used to send me notes, and flowers. Little presents. It isn’t that unusual for a fan to develop a kind of fantasy relationship with a jock. But then I began to see that it wasn’t”—she cleared her throat—“it wasn’t the normal kind of weird, if you know what I mean.”

Boyd nodded and continued to write on the pad. “Go on.”

“The notes became more personal. Not sexual so much as emotional. The only time he got out of hand was when he showed me his tattoo. He had these knives tattooed on his chest. It seemed so out of character for him, and I told him I thought it was foolish for him to mark up his body that way. We were out in the parking lot. I was tired and annoyed, and here was this kid pulling open his shirt to show me this stupid tattoo. He was upset that I didn’t like it. Angry, really. It was the only time I saw him angry.
He said that if it was good enough for his brother, it was good enough for him.”

“His brother?” Boyd repeated.

“That’s right.”

“He didn’t have a brother.”

She stopped twisting her fingers. “Yes, he did. He mentioned him a couple of times.”

“By name?”

“No.” She hesitated, tried to think. “No,” she repeated, more certain now. “He just mentioned that his brother was living out in California. He hadn’t seen him for a couple of months. He wanted me to meet him. Stuff like that.”

“He didn’t have a brother.” Althea turned the file around to skim the top sheet again. “He was an only child.”

Cilla shook her head. “So he made it up.”

“No.” Boyd sat back, studying his partner and Cilla in turn. “I don’t think the man we’re after is a figment of John McGillis’s imagination.”

Her head was pounding in a dull, steady rhythm that made her ears ring. It was too much to absorb all at once. The phone call, Nick’s visit, the reminders at the station house. John McGillis’s suicide.

For the first time in her life, Cilla was tempted to shut herself in her room, lock the door and escape into a drugged sleep. She wanted peace, a few hours of peace, without guilt, without dreams, without fears.

No, she realized. More than that, much more than that, she wanted control over her life again. She’d taken that control for granted once, but she would never do so again.

She could think of nothing to say to Boyd as he followed her into the house. She was much too tired to argue, particularly since she knew the argument would be futile on her side. He wouldn’t take himself off the case. He wouldn’t believe her when she told him they could have no future. He refused to understand that in both instances she was looking out for his best interests.

Going to the kitchen, she went directly to the cupboard above the sink. From a bottle she shook out three extra-strength aspirin.

Boyd watched her fill a glass from the tap and swallow the pills. Her movements were automatic and just a little jerky. As she rinsed the glass, she stared out the window at the backyard.

There were daffodils, their yellow blooms still secreted in the protective green. Along the low fence they sprang up like slender spears, promising spring. She hadn’t known they were there when she’d bought the house.

She wished they were blooming now so that she could see those cheerful yellow trumpets waving in the breeze. How bad could life be if you could look through your own window and see flowers blooming?

“Have you eaten?” he asked her.

“I don’t remember.” She folded her arms and looked out at the trees. There was the faintest hint of green along the branches. You had to look hard to see it. She wondered how long it would take for the leaves to unfurl and make shade. “But I’m not hungry. There’s probably something around if you are.”

“How about a nap?” He brought his hands to her shoulders and massaged them gently.

“I couldn’t sleep yet.” On a quiet sigh, she lifted a hand up to lay it over his. “In a few weeks I’ll have to cut the grass. I think I’ll like that. I’ve never had a lawn to mow before.”

“Can I come over and watch?”

She smiled, as he’d wanted her to. “I love it here,” she murmured. “Not just the house, though it means a lot to stand here, just here, and look out at something that belongs to me. It’s this place. I haven’t really felt at home anywhere since I left Georgia. It wasn’t even something I realized until I came here and felt at home again.”

“Sometimes you find what you want without looking.”

He was talking of love, she knew. But she was afraid to speak of it.

“Some days the sky is so blue that it hurts your eyes. If you’re downtown on one of those days when the wind has swept through and cleared everything, the buildings look painted against the sky.
And you can see the mountains. You can stand on the corner in the middle of rush hour and see the mountains. I want to belong here.”