She rolled her eyes. ‘Thank God,’ she muttered, then sighed. ‘May I be excused, Detective Kimble?’
He winced at the formality. ‘Of course. But, um . . .’ He dug a hotel key card from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘The hotel manager said to feel free to clean up in room 1254. Use the shower. If you want.’
Staring at the card, her throat worked as she tried to swallow. ‘He offered?’
‘I asked.’ It was the least Adam could do for her, when he wanted to do everything.
She hadn’t taken the card yet. ‘I don’t have any clean clothes.’
‘There should be some in the room. I asked Scarlett to bring you some of your things.’ Scarlett and Deacon had been walking into the lobby as he and Trip had been leaving the little meeting room.
‘Scarlett’s here?’ she asked, a hopeful note in her tone.
‘Yes, but she’s interviewing the other restaurant customers.’
‘I see.’ She took the key card with trembling fingers, careful not to touch him as she did so. She still didn’t look up at him and he wanted to grab her chin and force her to, but he hadn’t earned the right to do that, either. ‘That was kind of you. Thank you.’
She rose again, then was through the door and gone. Colby gave him a sympathetic look. ‘We’ll make sure she’s safe. Not okay, just safe. I’m not sure we can make her okay.’
Adam nodded, his throat suddenly too thick to speak. Colby’s subtle nudge was right on the money. No, she’s not okay. Neither am I. And the blame for that lay squarely on Adam’s shoulders. So was the fix. Tonight. He’d fix it tonight. Or at least he’d start the process. For now, he’d make sure she stayed safe.
He sent a text to Isenberg. May have a suspect. Stalked Dr Fallon recently. Pls obtain surveillance tape from high school running track – every am for last 3 weeks + Kroger nearest her residence – last 3 Saturday am’s. Also St Germaine’s, Sunday am mass, last 3 weeks. He added Meredith’s address from memory and hit SEND.
Isenberg replied immediately. On it. Do you have a name/description?
No. She won’t say. Confidentiality. But she told me where/when to look.
No legal protection for her. She’s not MD. Make her tell you.
Adam frowned, his fingers dialing Isenberg’s number before he realized that had been his intention. ‘You make her tell you,’ he said to his boss when she picked up.
‘Is she gone?’ Isenberg asked.
‘Yes. She’s gone to wash that boy’s brains from her hair,’ he said acidly.
Isenberg sighed. ‘Do we have an ID on the boy?’
‘No, not yet. The area hasn’t been cleared by the bomb squad. I’m about to start interviewing witnesses. Scarlett and Deacon should have already gotten started. Hopefully we can get a composite description or even photos.’
‘The plates we got from the video the kids gave Agent Taylor were from a car reported stolen two years ago.’
‘Figured they would be,’ Adam said, but he was still disappointed.
‘There’s a woman in the back seat of the SUV. The windows are heavily tinted so the driver’s face can’t be seen, nor can the woman’s, but we know she was there.’
‘The “her” the boy was worried about.’
‘That’s my assumption, but she could be an accomplice.’
True, he thought, grateful for her objectivity. ‘How long will it take you to pull the videos I asked for? I’ll come to the precinct to review them.’
‘I’ll assign someone to retrieve and review the footage ASAP. You stick to the scene. I’ll let you know when we have something solid on the stalker.’
‘Thanks. I’ll keep you in the loop with the questioning.’
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Saturday 19 December, 5.55 P.M.
‘Miss Johnson? The doctor will see you now.’
Linnea blinked sleepily. The woman in scrubs was standing right in front of her. Calling her Miss Johnson? Oh. Right. She gave herself a little shake. Denise Johnson was the name on her fake ID. Useful little thing, a fake ID.
Good for hospitals, clinics, pharmacies. And the occasional arrest for prostitution. The charges hadn’t stuck, of course. He’d smoothed it all out and she’d been released – with an apology, no less. He had his fingers everywhere. He had eyes everywhere. Maybe even here, in the free clinic. So get this done and get out of here before he catches up to you.
Linnea rose unsteadily. So tired. Her grip on the here-and-now had started to fracture. She needed to sleep, but every time she’d closed her eyes she’d see Andy crumpling to the ground. Gone, gone, gone. Forever.
‘Thank you,’ she managed and started to follow the nurse.
‘You left your bag,’ the nurse told her.
Linnea turned slowly, feeling like she moved through molasses. Oh. Right. The plastic bag she’d taken from the little hotel she’d walked to after abandoning his SUV. She frowned at it. Oh. Right. It held her bloody jeans. She looked down. She was wearing polyester pants that were way too big. She’d found them in the hotel’s laundry closet.
The nurse picked up the bag. ‘Come with me. We’ll get you fixed up.’
‘Nice,’ Linnea murmured, her eyes stinging. ‘You’re being nice to me.’ It had been so long since someone had. Someone other than Andy. He’s gone. I’m alone.
‘I try, sweetie.’ The nurse touched her back lightly. ‘This way.’
Linnea found herself in a room painted bright yellow with pictures of puppies and kittens. It made her smile. ‘This is new,’ she said, and could hear her words slur.
The nurse smiled back. ‘Dr Dani wanted to brighten the place up when she took over as director.’
Linnea blinked again, harder this time, trying to focus when everything was swirly. Dr Dani was the doctor she’d seen last time. ‘She’s still here?’
‘Yep,’ the nurse said cheerfully, and started to take her blood pressure.
Linnea jerked back. ‘Positive,’ she said. ‘I am, I mean.’
The nurse held up gloved hands. ‘I know, honey. You’re in our system.’
Denise Johnson was in their system. Not me. Not Linnea Holmes. Nobody knows me.
Except Shane. Don’t forget about Shane. The third of their musketeers. Three kids, terrified in foster care, banding together. Promising to always be there for each other. Shane would help. If he knew.
But he wouldn’t know, because Linnea would never tell him. She’d been ashamed before, but now? She’d killed Andy. She’d all but pulled the fucking trigger. Shane would hate her forever and that she couldn’t bear. Then she really would be all alone.
‘Hmm,’ the nurse hummed. ‘Your blood pressure is low. Do you want to tell me what happened?’
Linnea shook her head, then realized she’d have to tell them if she wanted help. ‘Rough sex,’ she whispered.
The nurse nodded once, lips pursed. ‘Let me get Dr Dani.’
A minute later the doctor came in. Her hair was the same, black with two bright streaks of white framing her face. Her much thinner face. ‘Hello,’ Dr Dani said.
‘You got skinny,’ Linnea blurted out. ‘What happened?’
The doctor slid onto a stool, her odd eyes assessing. One blue, one brown, they seemed to see way too much. Just like the last time Linnea had been here. ‘I got stabbed last summer,’ Dr Dani said matter-of-factly. ‘I’m better now, but still trying to regain a few pounds. What happened to you? You’ve lost more weight than I have.’
Linnea swallowed hard. ‘I’ve been . . .’ Not stabbed. But messed up. Broken. Scared every damn minute of every damn day. ‘Okay,’ she finally said lamely.
‘All right,’ Dr Dani said with a shake of her head. ‘Tell me what happened, Denise.’
Denise. Linnea wondered if anyone would ever say her real name in kindness again. She pointed to the bag she’d taken from the hotel. ‘My pants are bloody.’
‘I’ll take care of it,’ Dr Dani said, not taking her eyes from Linnea’s face. ‘The nurse said you’d had some “rough sex.” Are you still bleeding?’
‘A little.’ But only because she hadn’t moved too much. If she had to move fast or run again like she had an hour and a half before? She might bleed out before she got to kill Andy’s killer.