‘Mrs Voss has tried to get her daughter psychological therapy,’ Trip added, ‘but we believe Voss scared off the first two therapists and wants to scare off Dr Fallon – today’s target. Mrs Voss told us that her daughter’s been seeing Dr Fallon for the last few weeks.’
Both Chicago cops’ faces had darkened. ‘If it’s true, that child has to be keeping one hell of a secret that Mr Voss doesn’t want getting out,’ Mitchell said, her eyes gone narrow and steely. ‘He was willing to kill a restaurant full of people today and he did kill two innocent people tonight.’
‘Seven actually, including Andy Gold,’ Adam said, his stomach giving a nasty lurch as he remembered the scene of the fire. ‘The house where Andy rented a room was burned to the ground earlier tonight. The family of four who lived there didn’t make it.’ He swallowed hard. ‘Mother, father, two kids. One still in a crib.’
Beside him, Trip sighed heavily. ‘I’ll never forget that sight,’ he said quietly.
Adam gave Trip’s shoulder a hard squeeze. ‘I’d be worried if you could. But, um, make sure you deal, okay?’ he added in a nearly soundless whisper. ‘Don’t do what I did.’
One side of Trip’s mouth quirked up and he nodded once, sadly. ‘Understood.’
On the screen, a muscle ticked in Reagan’s cheek, grown taut with unhidden fury. ‘This Voss needs to be put down.’
‘Easy,’ Mitchell murmured, patting Reagan’s clenched fist with unmistakable affection. ‘Papa Bear here has three daughters of his own. His youngest is still in a crib.’ Her tone was mild, but her eyes remained as angry as Reagan’s. ‘My son Jeremy’s fourteen, but he witnessed his birth mother being abused before she was murdered. It took years of therapy before he was . . . healed, at least. I hope this Dr Fallon can help Voss’s little girl.’
‘Fallon’s good,’ Adam said simply. ‘She’s helped a lot of kids.’
‘How does she connect to yesterday’s victim?’ Reagan asked, flattening his hands on the table, palms down. His eyes remained angry. ‘To Andy Gold, I mean.’
Adam was glad to see that Reagan’s anger hadn’t subsided, because neither had his own. ‘We don’t know.’ He lifted his eyes to look out the window again, found her smiling at Hanson, who’d taken the seat next to her. She was giving him back something small and square, something that Hanson put back into his wallet. A photo. Adam thought he knew which one. He had the other copy in an album in his apartment. He returned his gaze to the two detectives on the screen. ‘But I think it’s safe to assume that our cases are connected. We’ll keep you up to date as we investigate.’
Mitchell rubbed her eyes. ‘I read Tiffany’s texts on her iPad. She’d told her best friend – we assumed they were best friends from their text history, anyway – that Kyle told her that he’d bought her something special for Christmas. That he had an important question for her. She’d written “Tiffany Davis” over and over on a notepad on her desk.’
‘Oh no.’ Adam slumped, as did Isenberg and Trip. ‘She was expecting a proposal.’
‘That was our take,’ Mitchell said sadly. ‘We thought you should know.’
Adam rubbed his tired eyes. ‘Thanks. Dammit, this day has sucked ass.’
Isenberg gave his knee a quick pat. ‘Maybe have Dr Fallon ready. Just in case.’
Both Reagan and Mitchell straightened. ‘Your target?’ Reagan asked. ‘Why?’
Recognizing her slip, Isenberg winced a little, but answered. ‘Dr Fallon is one of our consulting psychologists. Highly respected by anyone who’s worked with her. Our plan was to keep her far from this investigation, for obvious reasons, but Shane demanded to meet the woman who his friend had tried to shoot. She was willing and established an instant rapport. Her specialty is children and adolescents who’ve suffered emotional trauma. Shane shared more with her than we would have anticipated.’
Mitchell’s eyes narrowed once again. ‘What have you not told us?’
Isenberg sighed. ‘It might not be related to this case. There was a crime committed in the foster home where the three kids lived. It was integral to their becoming . . . family. He was a minor at the time.’ She looked at the Chicago cops directly. ‘I don’t know you. I don’t want to risk this kid’s future when it may have nothing to do with this case.’
Reagan and Mitchell gave each other a long, long look, communicating the way longstanding partners often did. ‘All right,’ Reagan finally said. ‘We don’t know you either, so . . . I’m not going to say we’ll trust you. But we’ll work the case based on what we currently have. For now. You’ll share this information if it becomes germane?’
‘The very next second,’ Isenberg said soberly.
Trip cleared his throat. ‘I suppose this might be a bad time to ask if you’ll send us your crime scene photos,’ he said with his aw-shucks grin.
Reagan’s chuckle was deep and rich. ‘Well, yeah, your timing is pretty bad, but I’ll tell you the same thing I would have told you before you admitted to withholding information.’ He sounded genuine. Adam wanted to believe the two cops were as genuine as they seemed. His gut said they were.
‘Which is?’ Adam prompted.
‘That we have to run it by our boss,’ Mitchell said. ‘If Lieutenant Murphy okays it, then you’ll have them’ – her lips curved into a reluctant smile – ‘the very next second.’
Isenberg smiled and it changed her whole face. Made her look years younger. Made Adam wonder how old she actually was. Made him wonder what had happened in her life to make her look so . . . well, old the rest of the time. ‘Fair enough,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
Mitchell nodded. ‘My husband was raised in foster care. He was one of the lucky ones. He got a good family first thing, and they adopted him. I take it that Shane Baird’s experience was not as good.’
‘You take correctly,’ Adam told her. ‘Thanks. We’ll be in touch.’
Ending the call, Isenberg turned to Trip. ‘What did you really find at the lab?’
‘Andy Gold’s fingerprints came up in AFIS,’ Trip said. ‘His legal name was Jason Coltrain. He was born in Indianapolis. Was arrested for the murder of Cody Walton. Never charged. The victim’s wife was found guilty and is serving a fifteen-year sentence.’
‘That’s consistent with what Shane told us,’ Adam said, and told Trip the rest of Shane’s story of the murder, Linnie’s rape, and how Andy had been set free and made his escape with Linnie Holmes.
Trip’s eyes widened and he looked at Meredith, who was intent on whatever she was writing. No, Adam thought, she’s coloring. Shading whatever she’d drawn with the pink pen in her hand.
Of course she’s coloring. But Adam kept his smile inside, because it would have been too fond and Isenberg would have known he was compromised in a hot second.
‘She got Shane to confess to covering up a murder?’ Trip asked, wide-eyed.
‘She did,’ Isenberg said. ‘I think Shane wanted to tell, but she made it easier for him. What else do you know, Triplett? Because the lab could have just called you with the fingerprint results.’
‘We took the bomb apart.’
‘When?’ Adam asked, surprised.
‘When you were questioning the restaurant hostess.’
‘The team did?’ Adam pressed, wondering how extensive Trip’s skills really were. ‘Or you did?’
Trip shrugged. ‘I did,’ he said, adding quickly, ‘but I told you it was a simple device. Anyway, Latent got a partial print. So far it doesn’t match anything in AFIS.’
‘But if Chicago comes up with something at their new crime scene . . .’ Isenberg said.
Trip grinned. ‘Exactly.’
She rubbed her hands together. ‘What else you got?’
‘Finally,’ Trip drawled, ‘saving the best for last, we got a ballistic match on the bullet that killed Andy Gold. The same rifle was used in a robbery in 1988.’
Isenberg’s expectant glee became a frown. ‘That was thirty years ago.’
‘But we may be able to trace the rifle’s ownership,’ Adam said. ‘It’s possible.’
‘Zimmerman’s already got someone on it,’ Trip said. ‘That’s all I got.’