This could be solved, Angie thought as she found her box cutter and began to slice carefully through the yellow tape on the first box. Her pulse raced in anticipation. It was possible.
She opened the lid, and disappointment stabbed—just one binder inside with some loose files, two rather skinny notebooks, and newspaper cuttings in a plastic sleeve. She told herself this did not necessarily mean the investigative files were incomplete.
It is not the size but the quality that counts.
She was lucky to have these at all.
Moving to the second, bigger box, Angie sliced the tape and opened the top. Her pulse kicked. Inside were several brown paper bags marked boldly as EVIDENCE. Almost shaking with adrenaline, Angie reached for her camera and took more photos. She set her camera down, then lifted out the bag on top. On the side the contents were marked as STUFFED BEAR, SAINT PETER’S HOSPITAL ANGEL’S CRADLE.
She hesitated, then, with gloved hands, she carefully opened the top of the bag. A teddy bear’s head peeked out, fur stiff with a dried brown residue. Blood—her blood. Time slowed. Her mouth turned dry. Carefully she slid the teddy out of the evidence bag and studied it—not dissimilar to the one she’d witnessed inside the new angel’s cradle bassinet that Jenny Marsden had shown her. This bear also sported a T-shirt imprinted with the words SAINT PETER’S HOSPITAL. But the letters on this little T-shirt were barely legible under the stiff brown residue. Her heart began to pound.
This is my blood I’m holding in my hands. From when I was four. This teddy was with me inside the cradle. A bolt of bright white light struck into her temple, sending mirrorlike shards of memory slicing through her brain. Pain seared across her mouth. Angie gasped. A woman screamed.
Uciekaj, uciekaj!
Run, run!
Wskakuj do srodka, szybko.
Get inside.
Siedz cicho!
Stay quiet!
Her world spiraled—as though she was driving into a blizzard at night, her car headlights bouncing off dizzying snowflake asteroids. Then came that haunting, tinny, horrorlike nursery rhyme tune.
A-a-a, kotki dwa . . . Ah-ah-ah,
two little kittens,
There were once two little kittens,
two little kittens,
they were both grayish-brown.
Shock—deep, seismic—gripped her and began to shudder her body. Banging sounded inside her head. Louder. Angie couldn’t breathe. Breathe, breathe, Angie . . .
More banging. Faster. Harder.
“Angie!”
She jerked herself back, and her gaze flared to her door. Someone was knocking—trying to get inside? Terror gripped her by the throat.
Siedz cicho!
Stay quiet!
Disoriented, she stared at the door, struggling to pull reality into focus. No one had called up to be buzzed into the building. Was it one of her neighbors?
More pummeling. “Angie? I know you’re in there. I saw the Nissan in your parking space downstairs.”
Maddocks?
Panic leaped through her. Her gaze darted around the apartment.
“I’m going to let myself in, okay? I’m coming in.”
Keys—she’d forgotten that she’d given him a set of keys to the building and to her apartment. With trembling hands, Angie tried to stuff the bear back into the evidence bag. But the shiny bead eyes held hers. She was suddenly incapable of putting the bear’s head back inside its dark prison. She took it out again.
The door opened. Angie froze, bear in gloved hands. Maddocks loomed in her doorway, all six foot four of him. Black coat. Ruffled blue-black hair. Red tie against a crisp white shirt. The day had stubbled his jaw, put shadows beneath his eyes and fatigue into the lines of his face. Under one arm he held Jack-O. In his other hand was a bottle of red wine and an envelope. His dark-blue eyes pierced hers.
“Angie—you okay?” He stepped into the room. His gaze shot first to her table, then flicked up to her whiteboard. “What’s going on?” He shut the door with the heel of his shoe and set Jack-O down. The three-legged animal hobbled over to the doggie bed that Angie had positioned near the gas fireplace for when Maddocks came to visit. The pooch curled onto his bed and eyeballed her suspiciously. Maddocks approached the table. His gaze dropped to the blood-stiffened bear in her hands, and then slowly he raised his deep-blue eyes to meet hers. Compassion filled his features.
A little voice rose inside her. You don’t deserve him, a man like this. You’re too jealous of him professionally. He will hurt you. You will hurt yourself by screwing this up. Better to walk first, before he does.
“This is old evidence?” he said. “From the cradle case? You got it from the VPD?”
Angie cleared her throat and slipped the bear properly back into the evidence bag. She resealed it. “You shouldn’t have come—I told you not to come.”
His mouth firmed. He went over to her kitchen counter, set down the bottle of wine and envelope, and took off his coat. He hung it over the back of a chair and began opening her cupboards. He found two glasses, which he placed on the granite kitchen countertop. “Give me a chance to at least apologize for dinner and to raise a glass for your birthday.” He uncorked the wine as he spoke, then poured two glasses. He brought them over and held one out to her.
She declined to accept the drink. She turned her back on him and snapped off her gloves. “I need you to leave, Maddocks.”
He set the glasses back down on the counter, then placed a hand on her shoulder. It was large. Warm. Solid. Like him. She stilled.
“Tell me about the IIO investigation. What did they say?”
She didn’t trust her voice suddenly. Inside her belly she started to shake again. He turned her around slowly. She looked up into his eyes.
“I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there for you today, Angie.” A pause. “What . . . was the ruling?” He cupped the side of her face. She ached to lean into his touch. But at the same time, she did not want his compassion or pity. That’s how her colleagues would see her when they found out about her probation—as pitiful. Some, like Harvey Leo, would even derive glee from her fall to the social media desk. She had no intention of playing to their hand, would not become the victim, the disgraced detective back in uniform, the abused little girl left in a cradle with a sliced face and a bloody teddy bear and semen on a sweater.