Dead Center (The Rookie Club Book 1) (21 page)

"I can't wait," he said, blowing her a kiss. With that, she left Scanlan alone. She hurried to the lot, hoping to catch Hailey and get her take on it.

But Hailey was gone.

Her cell phone rang as she turned to walk toward the parking lot. "Vail."

"Jamie. It's Chip Washington. I got a call that you found a photo of Devlin at Marchek's. Does it link him to her murder?"

"News travels fast."

"I talked to Evidence, but they couldn't say who was in the picture. Can you tell who it is?"

"We can tell all right."

"Who?" He sounded breathless.

"Are you running?"

"Sorry. Just walking up stairs. Who is it? The picture, I mean."

"Scott Scanlan." Jamie described the photo Marchek had taken. "He must have seen them arrive at the station."

"Christ. And there was only that one photo?"

"Yeah. Unfortunately, just one."

"Damn," he muttered.

She sighed, feeling the same way. "Thanks for getting the warrant."

"Yeah. Don't worry. I just wish it had helped more."

"We'll nail him," Jamie said. "I'm going home for some sleep."

"Okay. Have a good night and keep me posted."

"Will do." Jamie ended the call, and found her car in the lot. Revving the engine, she lit a cigarette as she headed for home. She had a momentary thought about settling in for a quiet night of rest.

Then she wondered where Tony had been all day, why he hadn't answered her calls. An image of him hanging in a closet made her shudder. He'd promised on Lana's grave that he wouldn't do it again. Not here, not in her house. Christ, not Tony.

She sucked hard on the cigarette, drove too fast, and prayed he had kept his promise.

Chapter 20

Hailey was three blocks from the police station when her cell phone rang. She knew who it was without glancing at the phone. She was frustrated, angry. She felt the tension between them and hated it. Sighing, she reached over and touched the green circle. "Wyatt."

"I'm on my way home," he said. "Can you please come for one drink?"

"I should get home, Buck."

"Twenty minutes. I want to talk about this. I want to explain."

She hesitated.

"It's Friday night. I won't get to talk to you again until Monday. Please."

She glanced down at the clock. It was only nine. The girls would be in bed. John would be catching up on correspondence or reading
The Economist
. She could still be home by ten. He never went to sleep before eleven or so. "Okay, but just one drink. And just talk." The weekend belonged to her family. It felt like Buck owned her during the week, so she was adamant about weekends. Plus, the firmly drawn lines helped her keep the two worlds separate, and for whatever backwards reasoning, the rules also kept her from feeling too much guilt.

"I promise," he assured her, sounding relieved. "I just want to talk. Thank you."

She hung up, changed lanes, and waited at the turn signal. Behind her, the driver of a Camaro revved his engine. Friday nights brought out the worst. More of every crime happened on Friday night. Payday, the end of the work week, it was a heyday of lawlessness.

Hailey just hoped there were no murders tonight, though she knew it would be someone else's turn. She already had one too many on her plate and until her partner was back, it felt like working the equivalent of four cases.

She arrived at Buck's apartment at 9:20 and parked up the street from the entrance to the building. She normally parked across the park. If someone noticed her car there, she could point to a half dozen restaurants and bars she might be at. Here was too close. For a moment, she considered moving, but couldn't rouse the energy. After this week—Natasha, the Dennigs, Scanlan—she was ready to put the job aside. Ready to watch Camilla and Ali argue over whose turn it was with the Barbie car. Ready to spend some time on the couch with John, to watch a movie about horses or baseball, anything but murder.

Hailey stared at the facade of Buck's building. It wasn't too late to go straight home. She'd promised him twenty minutes. She was angry, but didn't want the relationship to end, especially not like this. She locked her gun in the glove box, stood from the car, and set the alarm with the key fob. She put her purse over one shoulder and across her chest and walked to the apartment door.

It was dark and the single old light over the doorway gave off only a pale amber glow. She was rarely here in the dark. Maybe one other time before this and it crossed her mind that it wasn't a very safe entryway. She pressed the buzzer for his apartment and heard the click of the door unlock. She stepped inside and felt her purse catch on something. She reached back, turned, and someone bulldozed her into the dark apartment stairwell.

Before she could scream, a man was on her back. She fell to the floor. "Buck," she called out but her sound was muffled. The strap of her purse was coiled around her neck, tightened on her throat. She tasted the dust of the old rug, saw white stars in her vision as the strap cut off her air. She dug her fingers into her neck, struggled to pry the strap loose. She sucked a breath, tried to roll to one side.

He pinned her down with his hips, held the strap like reins. Buck, she thought. Where was Buck?

The strap loosened for a fraction of a second. She gasped a breath. Her eyes seemed to bulge in their sockets. Frantic, she reached down and clawed at his ankle, felt her nails dig into his skin.

The pressure loosened momentarily. She struggled left, then right. The strap crushed her throat again. Her vision blanked. She choked, struggled to scream. She blinked, saw black as she started to lose consciousness. Blood surged in her face like a pounding drum. Black. It was all black.

She heard a click above her.

"Hailey?"

She fought to scream, but the sound caught in her throat, faded out.

She heard Buck again.

I'm here. I'm right here. Help me.

Black swam across her vision. Then bright white lights. She heard footsteps and tried to yell.

Louder. Someone was coming.

The strap went slack. She sucked in air, panted. Tried to move. Couldn't.

More running.

A sound like a hand hitting glass. The door clicked opened, slammed closed.

Buck's voice. "Christ. Christ."

His touch was cool. His hand tingled against her skin.

She looked at him. Spots in her vision blocked his face. She tried to smile.

Then everything went black.

Chapter 21

When Jamie woke on Saturday morning, Tony was still asleep. He'd been asleep when she arrived home the night before, too. At ten-thirty, she left for errands, leaving a menu to a local pizza place and a check with a note. When she returned home at four thirty, Tony was gone—no note, no message. The check sat untouched on the counter. The backpack he'd brought with him sat beside the couch. The blankets he'd used as covers were in a heap at the far end of the couch, the pillow on top. He was obviously coming back, but where would he have gone? With no car, no knowledge of the area. He might have had money but she couldn't imagine he'd gone sightseeing. And it was impossible to picture him looking for a job in the state he'd been in. The library seemed unlikely. The only thing left was alcohol. He had gone somewhere to drink and the thought of him out there, drunk and still drinking, made her a little sick to her stomach.

She spent a quiet evening alone, ate a Lean Cuisine chicken teriyaki, washed it down with Coke. It was a typical Saturday night, but somehow worrying about Tony left her feeling more hollow than usual. She was used to being alone. What she wasn't used to—and didn't want to get used to—was worrying about someone else.

When the phone rang at nine, she snatched it up, hoping to hear Tony's voice. Even drunk, it would have been a relief.

"It's Tim."

Jamie sank back down. "You're out?"

"Yeah. I got released about an hour ago."

She didn't respond, couldn't think of anything to say.

"I wanted to thank you for the help with Ed Goldman and everything."

"Sure. You're welcome."

There was a pause. "J, can I see you when this is over?"

She shook her head, cleared her throat. "I don't think so, Tim."

"How about the phone? Can I call you?"

It was a bad idea.

"Please. Just once in a while?"

"I guess. I can't promise I'll answer," she added truthfully.

"Okay," he said. "Thanks."

There was a pause. "You're welcome" didn't sound right.

"I'll talk to you soon, then."

"Bye, Tim."

"Bye, J."

As she hung up, nostalgia caught in her throat.

She stood and found her cigarettes, lit one. The smoking didn't help. Trying to distract herself, she logged on to the computer to catch up with the cases the online group was working. A few others were logged in, and the group spent an hour corresponding about the case in Chicago. When they were done, Mary Dodgson, a forensic psychology Professor, IM'd her privately to ask about Devlin.

JVail How'd you hear about that one?

The screen remained blank for thirty seconds and for a moment, Jamie assumed Mary must have gotten up from the computer.

MDod We got the update from you this morning.

Frowning, Jamie stared at Mary's words.

JVail I wasn't on this morning.

Jamie watched the cursor blink on the screen. Waited for a response. Nothing came. She heard the ping of a new e-mail and changed screens. When she saw Mary's e-mail address, she opened the letter.

The e-mail simply listed a Chicago phone number.

Her pulse humming, Jamie dialed the number from her cell.

"Jamie?" Mary asked.

"Yeah. It's me."

"We were on for more than hour this morning. Are you okay?"

"It wasn't me, Mary. I've been out most of the day. Didn't log on until just now."

Mary paused. "Someone have access to your computer?"

Jamie thought about Tony. It didn't make sense. He didn't even know anything about Devlin. "What time?"

"About ten a.m. Chicago."

That was eight o'clock in California. It couldn't have been Tony. At eight o'clock, they were both still asleep.

"What's your password?"

Jamie frowned.

"I mean, is it easy to guess?"

"It's my birthday." Fear danced up her spine.

"Birthdays are easy to get."

"Christ," Jamie breathed.

"It makes sense now," Mary commented.

"What does?"

"You—or whoever was pretending to be you—asked some pretty basic MO questions. I wondered if you were just trying to get a fresh perspective. I think I even commented on it, and you responded that you'd had a long night."