Retirement Plan (33 page)

Moreover, since the incident with Vic, she was positive she was a lesbian. Vic had opened the floodgates of a long-suppressed desire. Looking back at her life, she wondered if the other girls in high-school gym class felt the same way she did about the shower—firm young breasts defying gravity, soft curves of the waist and buttocks, and the dark, or sometimes pink, triangle.

She remembered Nancy Hodge in the second grade, a girl with a platinum ponytail and fair skin. She’d stolen pennies from her mother’s purse and treated Nancy to gum and peppermints. Was this thing alive in second grade? She didn’t even know the desire was possible until Chelsea Payne and Texas. Even in her neighbor’s arms, she’d questioned it.

When her mother sat her down and told her the facts of life, she didn’t tell Morgan about loving women. What would have been the point? A woman’s biology was connected to reproduction and that was connected with men.

So here she found herself at midlife, wanting a woman she hardly knew, a woman she’d screwed up with already.  Even if she could get past that, every lesbian in town had heard about her disgraceful behavior with Vic. She saw nowhere to turn for help. The only gays she knew were at the bar or in the consignment shop.

Morgan tried to focus on her work. She halfheartedly paged through the sniper file and the information they’d collected so far. CSI wouldn’t have a match on the latest victim’s fingerprints for several hours. But the surface evidence said that the guy was Ben Curry—another sex offender. The little girl they’d pulled out of the crime scene earlier was resting in the hospital, and in the morning the Cicero Police Department would contact her mother (if this woman was her mother).

The coffee at this hour was vile, even with a lot of sweetener and Coffee-mate. She’d raided the snack machine earlier, and she popped the last little powdered sugar doughnut in her mouth, then pulled a small notebook from her top drawer. She wrote the names of all the victims in sequential order. They were all men except for one, the drug-using prostitute, Tia Johnson.

Morgan stared at the name, then rummaged through the paperwork and pulled out the file on Johnson. The MO was nearly the same as the guy at the dump. She’d been shot in her apartment from a building across the street. The bullet was from a high-powered rifle. Neither body had been found immediately, which made the evidence more difficult to locate. They needed to find the place the shooter fired from. There probably wouldn’t be any casings, but they might locate something to help them identify the sniper.

Morgan flipped through the pages, looked at some pictures of the crime scene and a handwritten report that Redick had added. She didn’t remember seeing it before. Attached was a transcript of the interview with Ruby Burnett. At the bottom of the page, almost as an afterthought, he’d written: “Detective Holiday knows Miss Burnett. Babysat.”

She stared at the word “babysat” thoughtfully. Did Redick think she was too close to see something? What was there to see? Her own typed reports were in a separate folder. She spread the pages out on her desk. What did they really have? Even the most organized killer made mistakes. Those mistakes were clues—like the security light on the first killing. She skimmed the Joby Pratt interview notes. He’d seen the killer from his bedroom window, thanks to a security light. She studied the description the boy had given her. This guy was elderly with white hair. Had Ruby Burnett’s connection been another clue? Had her own proximity to the Burnett woman caused her to miss something? 

The room was quiet, the janitor gone. Morgan checked her watch. Nearly midnight. She wanted to be at the hospital early in the morning. It seemed silly to go home, but she wasn’t getting anywhere. Tomorrow CSI would have more on the latest victim. She also wanted to be in the room with the woman who might be Lori’s mother when she got her first look at the child. She stacked the reports in order, closed the files. Then she pulled the phone book from beneath the telephone, found, then dialed a number.

“Tallulah’s.”

“Is Sandy there?”

“Which Sandy, the boy or the girl?”

“Ah…”

“I mean biologically, sweetie.”

“He’s a performer.”

“Hey, Sandy, telephone.”

Morgan could hear music and laughter and felt even more alone. After what seemed like forever, Sandy came on the line.

“I don’t know if you remember me,” she said. “My name is Morgan Holiday.”

In a jovial tone, he said, “I remember you. What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“About Chelsea Brown?”

“Uh, yeah. Can we meet sometime soon?”

“I don’t know how much help I can be. Plus, I’m onstage in about five minutes.”

Morgan rushed to say, “I didn’t mean tonight.”

She heard a heavy sigh. “Come by the shop any evening this week.”

“Will she be there?”

“She’s on days. Goes home about three.”

“I’ll be there.”

Sandy laughed. “You lesbians. And you call us drama queens.”

Morgan grabbed her coat from the rack near the door and turned out the lights, then remembered him saying, “You lesbians…” It felt nice to be included in something besides her work.

*

The whole hospital was decked out for Christmas, with a tree in the lobby and a smaller version at the nurses’ station. The moment Morgan walked into Lori’s hospital room, the child held out her arms and said, “Where did you go?”

Morgan moved to the side of the hospital bed. “I had to go to work. But I’m here now. I told you I’d come back.” She noticed a tray with a half-eaten breakfast that was turning cold. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“I was, but I can’t eat it all.”

A woman in mauve scrubs appeared in the room and said, “This is her second tray. She’s eating well. Doesn’t like her pills though. Are you the social worker?”

Morgan noted that the nurse was holding a little white cup with more pills. She extended her hand. “Detective Holiday.”

“Eloise La Veck,” the woman said as she shook hands. “I’m the RN. The ward clerk told me our little girl had a visitor.” She dropped Morgan’s hand and said, “Can I see some identification?”

“Of course.” Morgan pulled out her badge and ID and laid them on the adjustable table next to the breakfast tray.

Nurse La Veck studied the ID, then said, “Good. We want to be careful.”

“I’ll be taking Lori downstairs in a couple of hours,” Morgan said. “Until then I’ll be sitting with her.”

The nurse turned her attention to Lori. “I have another pill for you.” She stepped to the opposite bed side and poured some water.

“Do I have to?” Lori whined.

“It’s a little one,” Nurse La Veck said, handing her the small cup with a single pill and then the glass of water.

The kid put the pill in her mouth, then the straw to her lips. She gagged once, swallowed, then coughed.

The nurse said, “There now. It’s over. You can go on with your visit.” She looked at Morgan and said, “I’ll be around the corner after I finish the med pass. Find me if you or Lori need anything.”

“Where am I going?”

“What?”

“You said I was going downstairs,” Lori said. “What’s down there?”

“Oh,” Morgan said. “It’s a big playroom with lots of great toys.”

“Will other kids be there?”

“No. You’ll have everything to yourself.”

“Will you be there?”

“Yes,” Morgan said. “I’ll be there.”

They watched television together. All the programs and all the commercials were about Christmas. The original
Miracle on 34th Street
began, Morgan pulled the most comfortable chair close to the bed, and she and the child watched it. Lori was asleep almost immediately.

Morgan saw the end of the film, then started flipping channels. She stopped at a documentary about the Asian girl who designed the Vietnam memorial. Ruby Burnett returned to Morgan’s thoughts. As a teenager, when she’d babysat for Ruby’s son Matt, she’d liked it there. The place had always seemed warm and homey. Matt’s grandmothers were nice. On Friday nights they played cards, and they usually left money for Morgan to order delivery pizza. One evening Matt had rented
Apocalypse Now
and pleaded with her to watch it with him. Vietnam was important to him.

“You’ve seen it several times. At least three of them with me.”

Matt grew serious for a moment. Then he said, “I know it was shot in the Philippines. But it must look like Vietnam. I’ll probably never see the country where my mother was born, but I imagine the jungle and helicopters. You know, Grandma Lois fought in Vietnam and brought my mother to America when she was shipped home.”

Morgan was surprised. “Fought? I thought she was a medic.”

“Yeah, that’s how she found my mother—in a hospital near Saigon.” Then Matt had told her the story. She’d heard it before, but Matt loved to tell it. Afterward he added something new. “I’m the only kid I know whose grandma had sniper training. She’s a skilled military sniper.”

Morgan cocked her head doubtfully.

“No. I mean it. Come with me.” He stood and beckoned to her. At the end of the hall, he opened the women’s bedroom door.

“Matt. You shouldn’t go in there.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, really, don’t.”

But he disappeared into the bedroom and a moment later returned awkwardly carrying a rifle. “It’s an M-16,” he’d said, holding it out for her inspection. “She’s going to teach me how to use it when I’m older.”

Morgan’s father was a policeman. He owned several guns, including a rifle. But seeing the little boy struggle to hold the assault rifle made her heart race. “Put that thing back. It could go off.”

With a wave of his hand, he said, “Oh, don’t worry. Grandma would never leave it loaded.”

A voice shattered the hazy image of Matt holding the rifle out to her.

“Detective Holiday.” La Veck appeared before her. “Your partner is in the hall.”

“What time is it?”

Nurse La Veck checked her watch. “One forty.”

Morgan looked toward Lori, who was lying on her side, still asleep. Morgan’s neck was stiff. She stood slowly, trying not to wake the little girl. Outside the doorway Redick stood waiting with two large containers of coffee.

“How you doing?” he said, holding out one to her.

Morgan took the coffee and peeled the top open. She watched the steam rise, then took a sip. “I’m okay. A little tired.”

Redick raised his hand to his bald head and patted it. “Your hair is a little…”

“Huh?” Morgan touched her hair. The right side felt a bit messed up so she smiled and tried to pat it down. “Now you know. I’m not a natural beauty. I have to work at it.”

Redick chuckled and took a sip of coffee. They stood quietly for a minute, then he said, “Remember yesterday when the owner of Curry’s building said the door to the roof had been tampered with?”

“Yeah, why? Does that have something to do with the shooting?”

“We went up to the roof this morning. Someone had been there, but it would have been impossible to shoot into the apartment below from there. I think our guy went up there to scout out a good position. Evidently he found one.”

“Has to be one of the surrounding buildings,” Morgan said. “There’s a warehouse behind the building and another apartment building next to it. The warehouse is empty. We need to search it first.”

Redick nodded. “Right now we need to take care of the kid. How’s she doing?”

“She had a big breakfast and slept through lunch.”

“The state police are downstairs with the woman—the mother.”

“Okay,” Morgan said. “I’ll wake her.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I just remembered. The only clothes she has are the ones we found her in. In fact, she doesn’t even have those. They were taken for evidence.”

“Bring her in the hospital pajamas. It won’t matter.”

“Right.”  Morgan took another long draw on the coffee and turned back to the hospital room.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Lois sat in the tiny, warm waiting room with Sophie. Daisy lay on the floor next to their feet. The dog had gotten free inoculations at the firehouse when she was a pup, and she hadn’t been to the vet that Lois knew of since eight years ago, when she and Sophie brought her in to be spayed. Back then, Daisy had been anxious, panting and trembling—she feared people because, with the exception of them, she rarely saw any. Today she was too sick or too old to do anything but lie there.

Lois fanned herself with an old, beat-up copy of
Best Friends
and complained about the heat again.

Sophie said, “Take your coat off. They’re working half-staffed this morning. We’ll be here a while.”

Lois shed her coat and tossed it on an empty chair next to her. Today’s newspaper was sitting on the counter. She returned the magazine to the rack and retrieved the paper, sat down again, and started putting the sections back together. Finally she began to read.  A moment later she said, “Dollar’s down again. Imagine trying to live on a fixed income.” Out of the corner of her mouth, she added, “We may have to keep killing people in Florida.”

Sophie whispered, “Quiet, someone will hear you.”

Lois started looking for the metropolitan page. A moment later, she said, “Hey. They found a body out at the landfill.”

A guy in a business suit sat at the other end of the room with a cat carrier in his lap. A little blond girl held onto the collar of a Pekingese while her mother stood at the counter waiting for someone to take her money. The little dog yapped at anything that moved.

Sophie whispered, “Think it’s our guy?”

“Probably. Says he’d been shot. They’re withholding his name pending notification of his family. We won’t know for sure for a few days.”

Sophie was silent for a minute, then spoke softly. “So he did fall through the window and into the garbage truck. We couldn’t have done that if we’d planned it. We may be getting better with practice.”

Lois shook her head. “When something happens that you don’t mean to happen, it’s not called ‘getting better.’”

“You just need a break, that’s all. Get your batteries recharged. Hell, if we get another job, I’ll do it.”