Micki sat, engine idling, dead air against her ear. He was right. She’d sounded like a crazy person. Show up at a prominent doctor’s home in the middle of the night? To question her about two murders that had been solved?
Micki dropped the phone to her lap and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. She should be grateful—two cases cleared, right out of the gate. She should be giving herself a pat on the back for a job well done, instead of manufacturing complications.
A memory sprang up, as clear as if it had happened yesterday. It took her breath away.
“But I don’t want to go, mama. I don’t like her.”
“Could you behave for once, Michaela? I don’t know why you insist on making things hard for me.”
She needed sleep. Things would look different in the morning.
No, they wouldn’t.
Hank.
She glanced down at the phone, snatched it up and texted her friend.
Are you up?
He responded immediately. “Angels never sleep, just in case.”
They had a running joke about him being her guardian angel. If tonight was any indication, it wasn’t a joke. “Can I come over? I need to talk.”
“Putting coffee on now.”
***
Hank had been working on the Nova. She smelled the solvent on his hands; the night air clung to his denim jacket. She should scold him, but how could she? She was so thankful he was still up.
He stuck a mug of steaming coffee in her hands. “It’s decaf. You should be sleeping.”
She forced a smile. “Takes an insomniac to know one.”
He snorted and sat. “Heard you cleared two cases in twenty-four hours. Congratulations.”
“News travels fast.”
He laughed and sipped his coffee. “I have connections, you know.”
She eyed him over the rim of her cup, realization hitting her. “You’re the one, aren’t you?”
“The one what?”
“Who put a good word in for me with someone high up in the force. The one who recommended me for a spot in the Eighth.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“I suppose I should be pissed.”
“Only if you were stupid, which you are not. Besides, your transfer to the Eighth isn’t what you’ve come to talk about.”
“No, it’s not.” She paused, sipped the coffee, thoughts racing. After a moment, she lowered the cup and met his eyes. “Did you ever have a case that didn’t feel right? After you’d closed it?”
“Sure. Lots of ‘em.”
“Even after a dead-to-rights video and confession?”
“Maybe you’d better give me the details.”
She did, explaining about the coincidences between the two murders and about having uncovered that both suspects were clients of the same psychiatrist.
“I know I should move on,” she said, “but I know there’s more to this story. I know it.”
“What’s the shrink’s name?” Hank asked.
“Renee Blackwood. That mean anything to you?”
His eyebrows drew together a moment, then he shook his head. “Nope.”
“What should I do?”
“What do you think you should do?”
“That’s no help.”
He leaned forward. “What’s a cop’s most valuable tool?”
“I don’t know. Intellect? Training?”
“Instinct, Michaela.” He searched her gaze. “Yours is telling you there’s more to this story than what dropped into your lap. You have to act on it.”
“But—” She laced her fingers. “I’m the junior officer.”
“So?”
“Shouldn’t I defer to Angelo’s—”
“Respect, yes. Never defer. Not from what you know is right. Fight for it.” He held her gaze. “You’re a good cop now. I think you could be a great one.”
“Why?” The word came out thick.
“Because you’ve got heart, Micki. You care about doing the right thing. Don’t lose that.”
She reached over and squeezed his hand. “What would I do without you, Hank?”
His expression changed, grew sad. “You’d be fine, girl. You’re made of some pretty tough stuff.”
She put her head on his shoulder, imagining a world without him and feeling anything but tough.
Chapter Thirteen
9:45 A.M.
Dr. Renee Blackwood agreed to see them between appointments. Major Nichols had sanctioned the interview, but had warned them it was strictly to fill in the blanks. If Blackwood balked at the line of questioning, they were to back off.
Renee Blackwood’s practice was located on Magazine Street at Jackson Avenue, uptown. The trendy area was home to coffee shops and cafes, antique stores and boutiques. And, apparently, the offices of high-priced shrinks.
Micki climbed out of the Taurus and went around the vehicle to meet Carmine.
“Pretty nice digs,” he said.
Micki moved her gaze over the cottage with its lacy Victorian trim and deep, shaded front porch. Nestled between nearly identical cottages, one that housed an antique shop, the other an upscale women’s clothing boutique, the yellow and white structure was as welcoming as a spring day.
“You ever been to a shrink, Dare?”
“Yeah.”
“Always wondered what it’d be like. You know, if I’d come out less screwed up.”
“You wouldn’t. Trust me.”
He chuckled. “Didn’t come from that kind of a family anyway.”