You Can't Hide (7 page)

Neither am I crushed and shattered.
She narrowed her eyes at the glass, visualizing Reagan standing on the other side, arms crossed over his wide chest. Glowering at her. He used his size effectively. The way he’d leaned over her, studying her as he’d played that damn tape recorder. She’d expected him to try to intimidate her. He’d tried. Unsuccessful y. But he had managed to shock her. That she could readily admit. To hear her own voice, saying such obscene things… To know her fingerprints were on instruments of Cynthia’s mental torture… She was still shocked, underneath. But quickly the wave of rage had overtaken the shock, jarring her senses back to life.

Someone had done this. Someone had orchestrated what was nothing less than the murder of Cynthia Adams.
And that someone set me up for the fall.
Quite skillful y, too. That she could admit as well. She’d never been in Cynthia’s apartment. Never touched her belongings. Never had cause to touch her medication. Never sent her any gifts that could have been perverted to such an end. Yet her fingerprints had been found, as had her own voice.

Reagan had been quite serious. He’d believed she’d done this terrible, vile thing. He’d all but accused her with words, but his eyes had said what his words had not.

26

Karen Rose

[Suspense 5]

You Can't Hide

And in so doing, he’d stood up for Cynthia Adams.

Tess’s quiet sigh seemed to roar through the silent interview room. Aidan Reagan had stood up for Cynthia Adams’s rights even as she’d lain dead on the pavement.
What the hel kind of
doctor are you?
he’d asked. There had been anguish under his rage last night. He’d cared about Cynthia, when he thought she didn’t. He was a good man, Murphy had said. A good cop. Tess certainly hoped so. She hoped he was the kind of cop who would see past what was obviously planted evidence, who could look beyond his own preconceived notions about what the hell kind of doctor she really was.

Her anger now ebbed enough to focus, she dropped her eyes from the mirror to the pictures Reagan had so conveniently left on the table. He probably hoped she’d break down under the weight of her own guilt and confess what she’d done.

Sorry, Detective. Not today.
Tess picked up the picture Murphy had found on Cynthia’s floor. The last picture Cynthia received, its timing impeccable. She’d heard the story of Melanie’s suicide from Cynthia, of course. Many times. Melanie had threatened to kill herself, but Cynthia had not honestly believed her sister would actually do it. Then one year ago today, Cynthia had arrived at Melanie’s apartment to take her sister out for her birthday dinner only to find Melanie dead. Swinging from a noose, a note pinned to her white blouse. Tess brought the picture closer, turned it to eliminate the reflection of the overhead lights on the photo’s glossy surface. Ah. There it was. The note pinned to Melanie’s blouse. So this picture was taken before the police took her body down, she thought. Taken by whom? The police? It didn’t have the look of a police photo. Cynthia? Unlikely. The report had her well into a breakdown by the time the police arrived on the scene of Melanie’s suicide. Melanie herself in some bizarre last kick at her older sister? It was possible, especially as Melanie had been very specific as to the time Cynthia should arrive that night a year ago. It was as if she planned for Cynthia to find her hanging that way. That she set up a camera to flash her picture minutes after her death was not so inconceivable after all.

But who could have gotten their hands on this picture? Who would know this much about Cynthia’s past? Cynthia had been very clear on the need for total confidentiality, worried that any leak of her sexual compulsions would cost her her job at an upscale financial planning firm. Cynthia would not have shared any of this information willingly. Who would want Cynthia dead? And why? But perhaps the most pressing question of the hour kept circling her mind. “Why use me?” she murmured.

Tess blew out a breath and gave in to the urge to check her watch. She’d been sitting alone for sixty-three minutes, dammit. Where was Amy?

Aidan stood on the other side of the mirror, watching her. After that one moment of gross shock, she’d regained her composure and hadn’t lost it again. Behind him, the door opened, then closed and Aidan smelled faint cinnamon and strong cigarette smoke. Poor Murphy. He’d been chewing cinnamon gum the entire four months they’d been together as a stop-smoking aid. Looked like the stress of the last few hours had knocked his partner off the wagon. “You smoke the whole damn pack, Murphy?”

“Half.” Murphy cleared his throat roughly. “How’s she doing?”

“Seems to have recovered well enough.” She’d been staring at the mirror with steadfast calm mixed with defiant challenge for the better part of an hour. He could have, should have let her go. He knew that. They didn’t have enough to hold her, that was for damn sure. Yet still he stood, frozen in place.

Watching her as she watched him right back.

She stirred him, Aidan had to admit. He didn’t think there was a man alive who could look at that face, that body, without being stirred, and Aidan was certainly alive. But there was more to his response than the outer package. There was a quiet dignity in the way she waited.

27

Karen Rose

[Suspense 5]

You Can't Hide

She’s a psychiatrist,
he told himself. Trained in hiding her emotions. Trained in waiting out long periods of silence. Kind of like cops. He had something in common with Dr. Tess Ciccotelli. He didn’t like that.

On the other side of the glass there was sudden movement as she sighed, her shoulders slumping for the briefest of moments. She dropped her eyes to the pictures he’d left on the table and calmly placed the police photos of Cynthia Adams’s impaled body to one side. She then chose the picture of Cynthia’s sister hanging for closer scrutiny, her black brows drawing together as she stared.

“Why use me?” she murmured, barely loudly enough for them to hear.

“That’s a damn good question,” Aidan murmured back.

“You know she didn’t do this,” Murphy said quietly.

Aidan sucked in one cheek. “I don’t
know
anything yet, Murphy. And neither do you. But I do appreciate you giving me the time to come to my own conclusions. You could have pul ed rank and dismissed her already.” If the tables had been turned, had Aidan been the trainer and Murphy the new kid on the block, Aidan probably would have done just that. “Why didn’t you?”

Murphy sighed. “Maybe because, until I saw her face when you confronted her with the tape, I wasn’t entirely sure either. She’s angry with us both, but I hurt her and that she won’t forgive easily. Is her lawyer coming in from another planet, or what?”

“I expected her to get here a half hour ago. Her lawyer’s name is Amy Miller.” Murphy stiffened, almost imperceptibly. “So you know the lawyer?”

“I’ve met her before,” Murphy said briefly. “Never worked with her.”

Aidan turned his attention back to Ciccotelli who was studying each picture with singleminded focus. He’d left the pictures with her on the off chance they might break her down, but he hadn’t really thought they would. “I’m willing to admit she’s unlikely as a murderer, Murphy. But it’s possible she was shocked because we caught her.”

“You believe that?”

“No. I think she’s too smart for that. I think she’s too smart for all of this. But we have evidence that says otherwise and we just can’t ignore it. What’d the SA say?”

Calling States Attorney Patrick Hurst had been Murphy’s excuse for stepping out, but Aidan suspected it was just as much the need to escape Tess Ciccotelli’s hard stare. And to smoke half a pack of cigarettes.

“He was torn.” Murphy huffed a mirthless laugh. “Patrick knows her, too. He couldn’t believe any of this. He said he wants more of a motive. More proof a crime actually occurred.”

Aidan frowned. “A woman’s dead. Since when is that not a damn crime?”

The door behind them opened, letting in a breeze and the heady scent of expensive perfume, followed closely by a thirty-something woman in a professional navy suit. Her blond hair was swept into a neat twist and small diamonds twinkled in her ears. Her green eyes were hard, her mouth unsmiling, giving her an overall dour appearance. “Since nobody pushed the dead woman off that balcony, there’s no damn crime,” she said. “I’m Amy Miller, Dr. Ciccotelli’s attorney and I’m taking her out of here. Now.” Then she stopped and blinked at Murphy. “I know you.”

Murphy nodded once. “I’m Detective Murphy. This is my partner Detective Reagan. You and I met at the hospital last year, Miss Miller.”

Her eyes narrowed in speculation, then widened in recognition. “You sat by her bed.” Her head shook in disbelief. “You
know
her. How you could possibly believe she had anything to do with this? You should be ashamed. Why aren’t you out finding out who really pushed that woman to jump, because it sure as hell was
not
Tess Ciccotelli. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to talk to my client.” She stared pointedly at the switch on the wall. “In private.”

Murphy flipped the switch to the speaker. “Why didn’t I think of that?” he muttered sarcastically. “Finding the real killer. Hell.”

Aidan watched as Miller perched on the corner of the table and Ciccotelli tapped her wristwatch, her brown eyes snapping mad. He turned to Murphy, wanting an explanation of how he’d come to sit next to Ciccotelli’s bed in the hospital, but his partner shook his head wearily.

28

Karen Rose

[Suspense 5]

You Can't Hide

“Not now. I’m going home to catch some sleep. Tomorrow we can check the safe-deposit box and poke around to see who wanted Cynthia Adams dead.”

Aidan stood another minute, watching Ciccotelli with her attorney. The Miller woman was talking, asking questions but Ciccotelli just pointed to the mirror. Miller threw an annoyed look over her shoulder and moved her body to block Aidan’s view. Of course a defense attorney would champion her client. No shock there, but it looked like Murphy’s involvement went a lot deeper than he was willing to say. Aidan wondered if they’d been romantically involved, Murphy and Ciccotelli. He’d never heard any stories about Murphy’s love life, no girlfriends, current or past. It was possible and the notion disturbed him. Murphy’s easy-going veneer hid a deep concern for the people, the dead he represented. Still waters ran deep, Aidan’s mother used to say. The right woman might find that depth… attractive.

Aidan clenched his teeth, watching as Ciccotelli gathered all the photos, tapping them into a neat stack. He pictured how all those curves would fill a man’s hands. His partner’s hands. He didn’t like the picture at all.

He watched as she gathered her things and came out of the room, her lawyer at her side. She didn’t look at all surprised to see him standing there and he didn’t like that, either.

“Detective,” she said in the same even voice she’d used the night before. “I know you were in court the day Green was tried and I know what you think of me. To say you are wrong would do no good at this time.”

The even keel of her voice made the hackles on his neck stand straight up. He held her eyes and nodded. “I’d have to say you’re right, Dr. Ciccotelli. It would do no good. We have to look at the evidence we’ve gathered. For Cynthia Adams’s sake.”

“Tess.” Her attorney pul ed at her arm. “Let’s go.”

“No, Amy. Wait.” She looked away for a brief moment, then back up, her gaze penetrating and… sad. It threw him. Just a little. “Detective Reagan, somebody wanted Cynthia dead and it wasn’t me. Please.” Then she did the unexpected, grasping his forearm, making his entire arm jolt. His heart took off at a gallop and there was suddenly not enough air in the room. He couldn’t seem to look away from her dark eyes. “Find out who did this,” she whispered fiercely. “They used me to hurt one of my patients. Cynthia died thinking she’d lost her mind. That I’d forsaken her, too. I know what you think of me. But last night you cared about her. Please make whoever did this pay.”

Then her hand was gone and so was she, leaving him to stare after her. And wonder.
Sunday, March 12, 3:30 P.M.

Just another minute.
The elevator bell dinged and before the doors were ful y open, Tess was through them and into the police station lobby, breathing hard, Amy fol owing at a more leisurely pace. Being shoved into a suffocating elevator had put a cap on an otherwise sucky day. Tess flicked a glance at the glass doors that opened to the street.
Another minute.
In another minute she’d be out of the police station and…

And she’d still be in an inconceivable predicament. Tess smacked Amy’s helping hand out of her way, shoving her arms into her coat on her own as she walked. “You let me sit in that interrogation room for an hour because you went home to put on your damn suit?” she hissed. Amy lifted a single brow, managing to look affronted and dignified at the same time. “I thought it better to show up looking like a professional and not a street hooker.”

Tess buttoned her coat with jerky movements. “I do
not
look like a street hooker,” she bit out from behind gritted teeth, then saw one corner of Amy’s mouth quirk up and knew her oldest friend had met her objective. For a few seconds she hadn’t been thinking about that stark room with its two-way mirror or Aidan Reagan’s accusing eyes. Or Cynthia Adams lying dead in the morgue. Or the fact that her own fingerprints existed in a place she’d never been. She blew out an exasperated breath. “You’re just jealous I found this red jacket before you did.”

Amy chuckled. “You’re right. Macy’s?”

29

Karen Rose

[Suspense 5]

You Can't Hide

“Marshal Fields, sixty percent off.”

Amy’s grin went cagey. “And you’l let me borrow it?”

“Sure, why not? As long as you let me borrow your black sweater.” Tess passed the main desk, ignoring the desk sergeant’s blatantly curious stare. She’d come in between two grim detectives and was now leaving with a known defense attorney. Hell. It wouldn’t take a genius to put two and two together. By shift’s end it would be all over the precinct and she knew no cop here would shed a single tear. Instead they’d toast Reagan and Murphy for giving the shrink her just desserts.