He tensed. “Hey, Ginn. I’m so, so sorry about spacing the appointment. Why didn’t you call when I didn’t show? Why didn’t you remind me? Is everything all right?”
“It’s fine, Dad. I didn’t want to bother you—I know how busy you are with the investigation into those girls. And I want you to get whoever did this to them. I need you to do whatever it takes to put away those people who were abusing them.” Her voice caught on a surge of emotion. “They’re the ones responsible for hurting Gracie and Faith, and for abusing Lara, for putting them in harm’s way, and for harboring a killer,” she said, referring to the young local girls who’d been targeted by the Baptist. “I want you to put all of them away for a long, long time. And I’m fine. Honest. I can—I want to do this therapy thing on my own.”
Again, the image of Ginny trussed up like a cocoon in a polyethylene tarp swung into his mind. It sent ice through his chest. His hand tightened around his phone.
“What are you doing right now?” he said quietly.
“Why?”
“I just want to know. I want to be sure that you’re okay.”
“I’ve got someone over.”
“Who?”
A small beat of silence. “A friend.”
“Who?”
“Someone you don’t know.”
“A guy?”
“Yes, a guy. Dad, it’s—”
“Is your new roommate home?”
“Yes. And even if she wasn’t, I’d be fine. Is this . . . this is all because of Mom, isn’t it? Did she just call you?” Maddocks hesitated, and Ginny continued before he could answer. “Listen, Dad, Mom did ask me to go live with her and Peter. I said no. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go backward. I want to face this. Here on the island. I like my new school. I like my new friends. I’m happy in my apartment—”
“Ginn, this is not your—”
“If you’re going to say it’s not my decision, it is. I’ll be nineteen in four months.” His mind instantly shot back to the barcode girls. Even the eldest among them was not close to nineteen. “I need to get over this on my own, and I told Mom so. And I won’t slip on the counseling sessions, I promise. I rescheduled, and I can get myself there on public transit. I can do this, Dad.”
“What time did you reschedule for?” he said.
“Next Thursday. Six o’clock, after my classes.”
“Okay, this is how it’s going to play, kiddo. I’ll be waiting in my vehicle outside your apartment at five thirty next Thurs—”
“It’s not necess—”
“It is, Ginn. For me. It’s necessary for me, too, to be there. Okay? Please.”
A hesitation. “Sure, Dad.”
“And afterward, you and me, we go out for dinner and catch up. Promise me.”
“Promise.”
Maddocks signed off with his daughter, his heart tight. He checked his watch again. He also needed to call Angie. He was itching to know how her meeting with the old nurse from Saint Peter’s had gone. He started to dial her number, but the hospital doors slid open and in came Holgersen, his jacket and hair glistening with rain, Jack-O tucked awkwardly under his left arm.
“Sarge!” he said, loping hurriedly over. “We’re needed back at the station. Stat. Zina’s counsel wants to deal—Zina’s offering information on the barcodes.”
CHAPTER 3
Angie watched Jenny Marsden disappearing down the dark street and into the mist. The old nurse was right—a secret could own you. A secret was powerful. But only to the degree that revelation thereof threatened one’s social relations. And she did feel threatened by this one. This secret of her past painted her as victim. It made her feel vulnerable. And the old-boy cops with whom she worked in sex crimes, and homicide—where she really wanted to be—had noses for hot blood, fresh wounds. Like a wolf pack, they tended to turn on any perceived weak link among them. And kill it. A primal survival instinct perhaps, because a group was only as strong—or as fast—as its weakest link. And cops were all about depending on their pack for survival.
Angie’s method of coping as the only female among the group was simple—someone bullied or baited her, she punched hard and straight on the nose before her opponent could sink his teeth into her fragile spots. It worked. Especially on misogynistic asses like Harvey Leo. Which was why she did not want to go public with this. Not yet. Especially not while she was under investigation for use of excessive force. She had zero intention of becoming a poster child for police brutality, either. The MVPD would hang her out to dry if that happened—she was certain of it. The force was already struggling to rebuild its reputation after internal leaks to the press during the Spencer Addams investigation.
When she saw Jenny turn the corner, Angie walked slowly back up the brick alley. Once more she stood in front of the dimly lit service entrance. She closed her eyes, feeling the cold, smelling the rain, listening to the sounds of the city, trying to take her mind back thirty-two years, trying to recall the moments right before she’d been stuffed into the baby box here.
Mist and wetness cloaked her. She could scent the dampness of the bricks and that strange metallic smell she associated with coming snow.
But no memories whispered—nothing at all.
She crossed over to the cathedral, climbed the stairs, and pulled open the heavy wood door. The space inside was cavernous, solemn. Candles flickered—little gold tongues of light licking at stained glass and shadows. Behind the altar hung a sculpture of Jesus, his head bowed under his brutal crown of thorns, hands and feet nailed to the cross. Angie tried to hear it again—the thin, sweet, angelic mezzo-soprano tones of “Ave Maria,” the hymn her adoptive mother had been singing in this cathedral on that fateful Christmas Eve over three decades ago. The same song her mother had sung while rocking mindlessly in her chair at the Mount Saint Agnes Mental Health Treatment Facility on the island two weeks ago. Hearing the melody that day had started to stir to life dark memories locked deep inside the vault of Angie’s soul. She called the sounds to mind . . .
Ave Maria . . .
Gratia plena, Dominus tecum . . .
But no memories rustled to life this time. Instead, the strange Polish words she’d also recently begun to remember echoed through her brain.
Uciekaj, uciekaj! . . . Wskakuj do srodka, szybko! . . . Siedz cicho!
Run, run! Get inside! Stay quiet!
The voice was a woman’s. Had the woman been yelling at Angie to get inside that cradle? To shut the hell up once she was inside? Angie returned her thoughts to her dad’s confession.