Deadworld (37 page)

Jackie made her way through the clothes on the floor, spilled mail off her entry table, and hit the intercom button for the downstairs entry. “S–sir?” She was forced to clear her throat to get the word out. “What are you doing here?”

“I stopped by on my way in to give you a file you might want to look at before you come back.”

“A file? For what?”

“Your new partner,” he said. “Figured you might like to get a head start on him so you can be a bit more up to speed when you come back.”

Jackie let her head sag against the wall. New partner. Holy hell. The thought had been completely gone from her mind. “Let me get something on, and I’ll come down and get it.”

“Just buzz me up, Jack. I’ll hand it to you.”

And see my place? I don’t think so.
“That’s okay, sir. Just give me one sec.”

“Jack! For Christ’s sake. We could have been done already. Buzz me up.”

Jackie jumped at the startlingly loud volume of his voice and hit the button without even thinking. “Shit.” She was standing there in a knee-length T-shirt that stated ALL GOOD THINGS COME IN SMALL PACKAGES. Jackie opened the hall closet and pulled out an overcoat—a button-down, belt-at-the-waist, traditional khaki-colored raincoat that had been a gift from Laurel on Jackie’s first day on the job. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d worn it. She yanked it off the hanger and barely got it wrapped around her as Belgerman walked up to the door. She stepped halfway out and held the door closed against her foot. A couple inches of space did not afford much of a view, or so she hoped.

“Looks like I woke you up, Rutledge.” He smirked at her appearance. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were rather happy to see me.”

It took Jackie a moment, looking down at herself, to realize what he was getting at. It looked as though she might be naked beneath the overcoat. She could feel her cheeks begin to flush. “You did, sir, but that’s okay. I should probably be getting up now anyway.”

He glanced at the door. “Hiding someone in there, are you?”

“What? Oh. God, no. I was just sleeping, sir. I’m not much of a morning person. Sorry.”

He laughed kindly. “Don’t be. I was just giving you shit. You going to keep me standing out here in the hall like your local Jehovah’s Witness?”

Jackie glanced back into her dumping ground of an apartment. It was not the home of a well-adjusted agent. It was an embarrassment. “The place is kind of trashed. I haven’t really done any cleaning since I’ve been off. If it’s all the same, sir, I’d rather you didn’t see it this way.”

Belgerman looked over her head through the crack in the door. “I’ve never pictured you as the neat and tidy sort, Jackie. And you’re talking to a guy who lived on his own until he was thirty-two. I’ve seen and lived in my share of trash heaps, so quit worrying.”

She winced, keeping a firm grip on the door handle. “I know, but, uh . . . it’s bad.”

John rolled his eyes. “How many times have I been out here, Jackie?”

“You’ve never been here, sir.”

“Exactly,” he said. “I don’t care if you’ve been punching holes in the walls. I know how hard this is. I’ve been there. I lost a partner to some gunrunners about fifteen years ago. One of the shittiest times of my life. I think I can see past the mess. Honestly, I’m curious. I’m not your father.”

Jackie looked up into his very fatherly eyes. He’d always had some of that feel about him. She had more respect and admiration for his work than anyone. And somewhere, buried in the vaults of her mind, a twelve-year-old girl desperately wished she could have had a father just like him. Her shoulders slumped, and Jackie let go of the door.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said and stepped back in to give him access. She wanted to run and hide, shut herself away in her room and make him put the file down and leave. After closing the door, she found him standing at the threshold of the living room.

“So this is the infamous piano,” he said.

Jackie leaned against the wall behind him, arms crossed over her chest.
Please, please, please don’t ask me to play.
“Yeah, that’s it. Doubles as a bar.”

There were three empty tequila bottles sitting on top, a half-empty bottle of red wine, half a dozen Chinese-food cartons, and a mostly eaten package of Oreos. None of this would have been so bad if it weren’t for the pair of flies eagerly buzzing around the treasure trove. If he didn’t go in any farther, he would miss the kitchen, where every last dish and cup sat unwashed in the sink and overflowing onto the counter.

“You have a cat?” Belgerman turned to face her at last. His face was slack, noncommittal.

Jackie looked around but didn’t see Bickerstaff. This only meant one thing. He had smelled the cat—or, rather, the cat box. Another one of those things she had been meaning to get to, but it had never made it on the to-do list above drinking or channel surfing. He had to be thinking she was completely disgusting.

“Bickerstaff,” she said. “Big, fat tabby.”

He smiled. “That’s not a name you came up with, is it?”

“He was a gift from Laur.”

John nodded. “I figured. Been a rough couple weeks.”

It was a statement of fact. He knew. What could she say? “It has. I’m . . . spinning my wheels here, sir. I, um . . . I don’t know how not to work.”

“You’ve never taken more than two days’ vacation in eight years, Jackie.”

“Really?” That fact had never occurred to her. Vacations were not something she had needed or wanted.

“It’s good to take time away from the bureau on occasion. Helps maintain perspective,” he said. “But losing your partner and friend is not the way to do it.”

Where was he going with this? “No. Guess I’m living proof of that.”

“It will get easier, Jackie. Not in a few days or even months, but it’ll happen.”

Months. She could not handle months of this. “How did you deal with it, sir? When you lost your partner, I mean?”

He chuckled. “I worked. A lot.”

Jackie nodded and said nothing. Work would be good. Work would get her out of this depression pit and give her something worth doing. More importantly, work would occupy her brain enough to keep every damn thing from reminding her that Laurel was dead and no longer a part of her everyday life. And where the hell was she anyway? Two weeks and not a peep. She thought she had felt her presence several times, but no appearances. Even a “Hello, how are you?” would have been nice.

“I also spent time away from my house,” he added. “Movies, golf, a Cubs game, anything that would provide a distraction. You sit around drinking all day, it just festers and gets worse.”

She winced. It certainly did not look like things were getting better. “It um . . . looks worse than it is, sir. I haven’t been downing gallons of booze a day. I’ve just been a slob.”

“Not here to judge, Jackie. We all have our ways of dealing with pain. I don’t want to see you making things worse though. If it’s too much of a struggle—”

“No!” Her voice was too loud, desperate. “I mean, I’m getting there. I’ll get out more, do . . . something. You’re right. Distractions would be good.”

John nodded, his eyes sweeping around the room again. “You want to start coming in again, Jackie? Office stuff, mind you, no investigating until your thirty days are up, but if you want to be in the office around the guys and distract yourself with some paperwork, I think that would be doable.”

“Seriously?” She wanted to hug him. “That would be great. I need to get out of here, and there’s plenty for me to do that doesn’t involve chasing bad guys.”

“Would give you a chance to get used to your new partner also, before you’re back out in the field.”

“Yeah. That would be a good idea,” she said. New partner. The two words sounded completely alien. “So who is it? Anyone I know?”

Belgerman handed her the file. “His name is Ryan Mc-Manus, out of the San Francisco office. Mostly gang-enforcement stuff, but wants to do homicides. Steady, levelheaded guy. I think he’ll suit you.”

Jackie stared at the name printed on the folder tab. It should have said
Laurel Carpenter
. “Can I come in tomorrow then?”

“This decision isn’t entirely mine, Jackie. You need to get Tillie’s agreement as well.”

Aunt Matilda, the office shrink—the wise old lady who had the uncanny knack for knowing exactly what you didn’t want to talk about, and to whom Jackie owed visits. Tillie had extorted future visits from her after Laurel had died in order for Jackie to stay on the case. Nobody in the world terrified her more.

“Great. So much for that idea.” Jackie made no effort to hide her annoyance.

John laughed. “I think she’ll be amenable to you coming back, as long as she knows you won’t be out in the field. She’s dealt with partner loss before. She knows how hard it is, Jackie. Besides, aren’t you seeing her today anyway?”

“Shit!” She had completely forgotten. “What time is it?”

Belgerman looked at his watch. “Nine forty.”

“Fuck! Fifty minutes.” Jackie hurried toward her bedroom. “You could have said something sooner! I look like shit.”

“You look fine,” he said. “You want a ride in?”

“No, I’m good. I’m going to shower right quick. I’ll see you there, sir.”

He chuckled. “I’ll see myself out then. Just remember to remain calm, Jackie. Tillie only needs to see you’re not losing it.”

“Okay, thanks.”
So, lie through my teeth,
Jackie thought. For two weeks that was all she had been doing. But this was a chance to get out of the hellhole of her apartment. She needed to work, needed the routine of her life to return, because outside of work, she had nothing—she was nothing. She only had to convince the omniscient, brain-scanning Dr. Erikson this wasn’t the case.

KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018

Copyright © 2011 by Jim N. Duncan

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

ISBN: 978-0-7582-6789-4