BLUE MERCY (36 page)

“Look,” he said, “I’m sorry Patsy’s dead. Really. I like the old man.”

“You mean Hagen?”

“Yeah. I know what you’re thinking. That I had something to do with Patsy being dead. That I was pissed at the old man. But I wasn’t. I’m not. It’s my own fault I got canned. And I hope whoever killed Patsy rots in hell.”

Kay couldn’t read Bates’s wild, darting eyes, but suspected there was truth behind them.

Finn met Kay’s gaze. Shook his head. “All right, Jerry, we’re done. For now. Now where’s the key to Bernie’s house?”

Bates waved to a hook near the door. The key hung from its twist tie. Finn grabbed it.

“You be good, Jerry,” Finn warned him as they left the house. And Kay guessed the junkie was still nodding long after they left.

In the street, Finn dismissed the marked unit parked across the street and took two Maglites from the Lumina’s trunk. He nodded to Eales’s house four doors down. “Crime Lab must be running late. You want to wait for them or go in and take a look around?”

They’d called the Mobile Crime Lab an hour ago, asking for a van to meet them at Gettings Street. With Bernard’s crucifix obviously stolen from the house, Vicki had agreed they should have the house processed. And even though Kay felt that deep, familiar twist in her gut as
she looked at Eales’s front door, she hoped they’d find answers beyond it tonight.

Finn must have sensed her apprehension. “Come on.” He handed her a flashlight and gave her a reassuring nudge. “Let’s just have a look-see.”

Mounting the steps to the front porch was easier this time with Finn at her side. She took one last galvanizing breath as he unlocked the door and followed him into the blackness of the foyer.

“What’s that smell?” she heard Finn ask beside her in the dark.

Kay inhaled. “Cleaner.” She grappled with the Maglite’s switch and panned its beam across the living room.

The place was empty. The old recliner, the sagging couch, the cigarette-burned coffee table with its porn magazines … all of it gone.

“When the hell did this happen?” Finn moved through the hollow living room, stopping at the kitchen.

“Everything was here last week,” Kay said, her sinuses stinging from the industrial cleaner. “This smells recent.”

“Why didn’t Bates tell us?”

“We didn’t ask,” she said. “Maybe he figured we knew.”

“Well, there goes any evidence.”

“Son of a bitch. This is my fault.” Kay scanned the empty room again, the shadows of Eales’s belongings still engraved in her memory. “I gave Eales’s brother the number of the detail company. I guess he’s finally decided to get rid of the place.”

“Well, I don’t blame him.” Finn was at the back window, overlooking the alley. “Looks like they parked a Dumpster out back. I guess they’re not finished.”

Finn directed the beam of the flashlight back to the foyer, and Kay raised her hand against the glare. “You okay to check the upstairs?” he asked. “I want to look over
things down here. See if the back door’s been jimmied or the basement window’s busted out. This guy had to have broken in before they cleaned.”

He waited for her nod, and when his flashlight turned away from her, Kay felt her heart kick into overdrive. She aimed her own Mag up the stairs. Took a breath and clamped down on the slow brew of emotions inside her.

She took the stairs quickly, chest tight, nerves jangled. She passed the back room after a cursory scan and took the corridor to Eales’s bedroom. Empty as well. Even his mannequin was gone. Kay imagined it in the Dumpster out back with the rest of his crap, with the dresser on which she’d seen the crucifix. The dresser that she’d hoped to get prints off tonight.

From downstairs she heard Finn heave open the basement door. Heard his boots thump down the wooden steps.

Then, Kay felt the subtle displacement of air. At first she wondered if Finn had the back door open and the night air was filling the empty house. Then she heard a car drive by out on Gettings.

Somewhere a window was open.

A burst of adrenaline fired through her. Kay killed the flashlight.
Was there someone else inside the house?
Cautiously, she moved to the door, unclipping her holster, her eyes adjusting too slowly to the darkness.

Kay tasted her fear now, dry and metallic in her mouth, as she moved into the corridor. Listening.

She felt the hot draft from the bathroom. Her bones felt cold and her muscles were heavy.
Relax, Delaney. Use reason. One of the cleaning crew had left the window open to air out the place.

But as she neared the doorway of the bathroom, something deeper than reason made her reach for her nine.

Instinct, or maybe paranoia.

She was too late. The Glock was barely in her hand when the dark blur came from just inside the room.

There was no making out his face. Barely enough time to register his size, as he exploded from the shadows. Silhouetted briefly by the gray light of the open window, he didn’t seem big, but he hit her like a Ravens linebacker.

Kay reeled back, down the short corridor and through the bedroom door. Her left arm pinwheeled, grappling for the support of the jamb. But she had no stopping power against his speed.

When she hit the floor, pain knifed through her ankle. Her head snapped back, and her skull struck the floor with the force of their combined weight. Her ears rang, and she saw flashes of light she knew weren’t there. She tried to yell, but her breath rushed out of her as he came down on top of her.

“You son of a bitch!” But the words caught in her throat.

And then Kay felt her empty gun hand. With a panicked glance behind her she saw the semiautomatic nestled in the shag rug. A sliver of light from the street snuck under the roller blind and gleamed dully against the gun’s black slide, the grip inches from her outreached hand.

Kay braced her heels and thrashed beneath him, trying to buck him off, trying to reach her gun. His knee dug deeper into her gut, and in the struggle she thought she felt his hand on her throat.

Only this time … this time she’d die before she lost her gun.

One more buck and a sharp twist, and her fingers closed around the gun’s grip. But he went for the nine too. His hand skimmed down her arm. In the thin shaft of light she
saw the tapered fingers, the skin smooth and polished, the knuckles bulbous.

His nails clawed at her flesh, and when she didn’t give up the piece, his fist came down hard. It smashed against the delicate underside of her wrist, bruising bone and muscle. A second strike, and pain flared up her arm. Kay cried out. Finn
had
to hear them.

She could barely feel her fingers on her gun. And the next time he struck, she dragged her arm away. He cursed when his fist met the floor.

But her hand was almost useless now. Barely able to grip the piece, she couldn’t be sure she’d be able to draw the five-pound pressure of the trigger.

And finally there was Finn. From downstairs he called her name. Then she heard him on the stairs.

Keep your gun, Delaney. Don’t let the fucker get your gun
.

She felt dizzy, her awareness sliding into a slow spin. Her assailant twisted away from her, and Kay tried to yell. To warn Finn. But her lungs were empty. Her fingers slid uselessly over the slick surface of her attacker’s dark bomber jacket.

She heard Finn start up the stairs and felt the churning of air as her assailant plunged through the door. Kay brought her gun up, trying to balance it in her good hand, but he was gone.

There was the sound of a scuffle, of Finn swearing, and finally of running.

“Go!” Her yell was a rasp in her throat. “I’m all right.”

Then she heard Finn crash down the stairs. More banging on the first floor, and Kay heard the slap of the back door … once. Then again.

It felt like whole minutes before she managed to draw a full breath. Wiping at her lip, she spat out blood and
searched the floor for her Maglite. She balanced the heavy flashlight in the crook of her arm and shifted the Glock to her left hand as she staggered down the stairs.

Her ankle felt weak and her head throbbed. She limped through the house. Through the kitchen, to the back. And when Kay kicked at the screen door, she welcomed the fresh night air.

To her right, the sound of running. A steel garbage can exploding across concrete. Then silence. And finally Finn swearing again somewhere in the dark.

He was holstering his Glock when he came back up the alley. “Son of a bitch just turned into the fucking invisible man.”

Kay holstered her own gun and leaned heavily against the railing.

“You okay?” Finn asked, coming up the steps.

“Yeah.”

“You sure?” He grabbed her flashlight and turned it on her. The beam caught the spatter of blood bright against her hand. “Is that yours or his?”

“That’s mine. But
this
is his.” And when Kay held up her fist, a half dozen dark blond hairs shimmered in the beam of light.

When he’d returned to the motel on Pulaski a half hour ago, he’d still been shaking. He’d barely escaped tonight, busting past the cop on the stairs, then tearing down the back alley with him on his heels. He knew he was home free when he ducked into a side alley and ran up Beason to
where he’d parked. But he was still shaking twenty minutes later as he’d cruised up The Block, looking for dope.

He looked at her again. The spider hadn’t moved from the center of her web. In the diluted light of the motel room, he watched her. Even when a dozy fly snared itself in the strands and the web pulsed and vibrated, the spider hung motionless.

He’d been so close tonight.

Delaney right in his hands. If she’d been alone, she would have been his.

Now he wanted her all the more. He couldn’t remember when something had mattered so much to him, couldn’t remember a time before the lust and the drive, the plan and its fulfillment. It was as if he’d never known anything else.

He should leave though. Bernard was right. It wasn’t safe.

Roach fingered the Spyderco, sending the knife into a slow spin. Letting
it
decide.

Five revolutions and it stopped, the blade pointing at him.

It was time.

He eyed the new vials of ketamine he’d scored tonight, looked up at the motionless spider, then fished out a fresh syringe from the side pocket of his laptop case. Tossing the wrapper to the floor, he pierced the vial’s rubber stopper with the needle and drew back the plunger. The clear liquid flowed into the barrel. Fifty milligrams. Sixty. Seventy.
May as well do it right.

He set the empty vial back on the nightstand, held the syringe up, and flicked the bubbles from the shaft. He hated needles. Still, he didn’t flinch when he drove it into the muscle of his thigh and waited for that rush to oblivion.

ELIMINATING LEADS
. That’s what Vicki wanted. Last night it had been Bates. And this morning, Scott Arsenault.

Kay scanned the disarray left in the wake of yet another search team. This one had invaded Scott’s condo.

The Web designer sat in one of his fine leather chairs, but he didn’t do so willingly. His hands were white around the armrests, and there was panic behind his eyes as he watched the team toss his home.

Vicki had had the warrant ready to go by the time she and Finn rolled into the office at nine.

They’d had a late night. The Mobile Crime Lab had arrived on Gettings Street after Finn’s failed pursuit of Kay’s assailant. Working with the portable halogens, the technicians had dusted the bathroom, the window ledge, and the back door on the slim chance that he’d left a print.

It was midnight before Finn steered them homeward, where he’d raided the icebox for a bag of frozen peas and iced Kay’s wrist. And later, when she’d finally found sleep in Finn’s arms, she’d been haunted by the shadowed images of the man she’d almost had in her hands … twice now.

Finn had pointed out that they had no real proof the man in Eales’s house was connected to the murders, and that they shouldn’t jump to conclusions. It could have been some punk spotting the open window and hoping for some quick loot, or a junkie or crackerjack looking for a stash.

Now, sitting in Scott’s posh condo, favoring her tender wrist, Kay wished she’d been able to see her attacker. Finn too hadn’t gotten any real look at him. The only vivid
detail she remembered was his hand reaching for her gun.

From Arsenault’s kitchen, there was the sound of shattering glass. Scott flew to his feet.

Finn caught the movement, and Kay saw his smile before he zeroed in on the bookshelves, shoving texts aside, pulling others out. The muscles along Arsenault’s jaw went mad as the books started to fall.

“Come on, Scott.” Kay took him by the arm and led him through the foyer, out into the corridor. “Listen to me. If you say anything in there, you’ll only make it worse.”

“How can it be worse?”

Through the open door came the clatter of something hitting the floor.

“Calm down.”

But Arsenault looked ready to explode. “What the hell do you want from me? I already told your partner where I was Saturday night.”

“Let’s go through it again.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. I called Patricia around ten thirty from home. I left a message. Waited twenty minutes. When she didn’t call me back, I met up with some friends at Cosmo. We stayed until last call.”

“You didn’t phone her again?”

“Yes. I tried from the bar around eleven. I didn’t bother leaving another message. But I’m sure you’re subpoenaing her phone records, so you’ll see my cell number there.”