Every Move She Makes (26 page)

He brushed the tears from my eyes. "You have enough problems without the
added burden of everyone wondering if you're a snitch for IA." I hated
that he was right. "Then what? Go on pretending nothing happened?" "I
can't do that any more than you can. All I can do is suggest that we
be friends. Let's get through this investigation first, before we
venture elsewhere." "What if my sink gets stopped up in the middle of
the night?" It was out before I could stop myself. His gaze held mine.

"Heaven help the man that stands between me and my pipe wrench." I wish
I could say Torrance's response eased my mind. But he was dead-on when
he thought my being linked romantically with him would be a burden. Peer
pressure in the department was astronomical, to say the least, and if I
was going to expose myself to something of that nature, then I had
better be certain that a relationship with Torrance was what I wanted.

Before either of us could fantasize more about such double entendres,
his secretary knocked on the door, advising him that he was due in a
meeting with the special homicide team. Mathis was to be my
pseudo-baby-sitter, in case I had any dizzy spells, while Torrance and
the others went over the latest in the doctor's murder. Unfortunately,
Torrance took the Mead-Scolari case file, which meant I would have to
finish reviewing it at a later date. "You're not going to faint on me?"

Mathis asked, coming in the office and opening the blinds.

"Hardly. I haven't felt lighthearted since we left the hospital."

"What're you working on?" I pulled myself together, dismissed all
thoughts of Torrance, erotic or otherwise, from my mind. "Good
question," I said, eyeing my things, which Torrance had set up for me on
the worktable. Not that there were a lot of choices on what I could do.

I stared at the box labeled "Morgue," trying to remember why I'd even
started going over them. So many things had happened since then.

Scolari. He'd said something on the phone about the autopsies. What was
it? That if I reviewed the cases, I'd figure out that he wasn't the Soma
Slasher. "I'm reading about dead bodies," I told Mathis. "I'd tel I ya,
have fun, but that goes without saying for you homicide types," he said,
making himself at home behind Torrance's desk. "I wouldn't want to
corner the market on fun. Sure you don't want to join me?" "Uh, no.

Don't think so." He opened a People magazine-something I doubted he'd do
were Torrance not occupied elsewhere. The notes I had on the few cases
I'd already reviewed told me little, but I figured I might as well go
back at it. That settled, I started separating the cases into stacks of
male, female. After that, I sorted through the female, taking anything
that looked remotely like a Slasher case. It took about a half an hour
to go through them, but in the end I was left with a more manageable
seven cases that met my profile. Reviewing those took more time, since I
went over every detail and took copious notes. Five were confirmed Soma
Slasher cases, which I had been investigating anyway. One had no bearing
whatsoever, a suicide by knife. I tossed it back in the box with the
others. The seventh case, however, made me sit up. Her real name was
Tanya-Christy Tanya McAllen-and I thought of the Tanya reported murdered
at the Twin Palms. Yet it wasn't merely the coincidence of the name that
caught my eye. I compared it with the notes from my other cases. "I
can't believe it," I whispered after reading McAllen's report over
again.

"Find something?" Mathis asked, looking up from his magazine.

"Maybe." The MO was so close, I couldn't figure out how anyone in
Homicide had missed it. Of course, it was possible that it wasn't a
Slasher case-it might have been coincidentally similar, or the real
Slasher had copycatted that homicide. But I didn't think so. I wheeled
my chair over to the desk and picked up the phone, calling Gypsy's
office in Homicide.

Rocky Markowski answered. "Hey, Gillespie," he said. "How's it going?"

"Never better. Gypsy around?" "She stepped out a minute. Told me to
answer her phone, or else. Said she was expecting a call. What's up?"

"You know who's working the McAllen case? Happened about a year ago."

"Seems to me I recall Zimwit working on that right before he got
transferred out."

"Who got it when he left?"

"Good question. Hold on, Gypsy's back ... Hey, Gyps. McAllen? Year
ago."

"Case number, Rocky," I heard Gypsy say.

I read it off to him, and he repeated it. The clicking of a keyboard,
several moments of silence, then from Markowski, "You sure?"

"Says so right there," came Cypsy's reply.

"No shit." To me Rocky said, "Looks like it was assigned to you."

"What?"

"Sure as shit. Says so in the log. Went to Zim, then when he transferred
out, you inherited it."

"No way," I said.

"It happens. Hold on, let me see if I can find it." He was gone a couple
of minutes, searching, while I pondered how a whole homicide could have
been misplaced for a year. Had Zimmerman purposefully not given it to
me? Could that be why he'd been avoiding me all this time? Because he
knew if I was looking into the Slasher cases, I'd turn up this one and
uncover what he'd done?

"Nope, not there. Maybe check with Records."

"Thanks." I disconnected, called Zimmerman's office down in Property.

"McAllen," I demanded when he answered.

"What about her?"

"You were supposed to turn that case over to me.

What the hell did you do with it?"

"Gave it to you. Why?" "It doesn't bother you that no one's looked into
her case in over a year?"

"Hey, look, (' Gillespie. I interviewed the girl's boyfriend.

He was too stupid to commit the crime and lie about it. He had an
airtight alibi. There weren't any further leads, case closed. I can't be
bothered by something' that ain't my business anymore. It ain't my fault
if you misplaced it." I slammed the phone. I knew I couldn't prove that
he'd purposefully sabotaged me, since it would be his word against mine.

If he had any idea the case might be related to the Slasher cases, would
he have kept it from me? Could he have realized what he held? The
Slasher had yet to be dubbed that for another six months down the road.

The important thing was that I'd found it, and now I had to play
catch-up. What if there was some clue that would tie together the other
cases? What if there was some clue that would have prevented the other
six murders? I could only hope that Zimmerman wasn't so egotistical as
to destroy everything in it. Still, there was part of it that even he
would have a hard time doing away with. I picked up the phone once more,
punched in the number. "Records, Allison speaking." Hearing her voice
stopped me cold. I glanced at Mathis, then stopped myself from asking
Allison if she'd heard from Scolari-definitely not the thing to do with
IA sitting right there. ""Yeah, this is Gillespie from Homicide. I need
a case pulled, ASAP." I read her the number, furious over Zimmerman's
deceit, yet excited by the prospect that I was holding the autopsy from
a potential Slasher case that had occurred a good several months before
our first documented case. I wanted to confirm it by reading the police
report. And I wanted to see why no connection had been made. "Hate to
interrupt your literary break, Sarge," I said to Mathis as I cradled the
phone to my ear, "but I need to pick up a case from Records." He tossed
the magazine onto the desk.

"Promise I won't faint," I said. "You can stay here."

"Don't think so." In Records, I waited in line like every other officer,
while Mathis stood next to me, looking like he'd trade in his star for a
chance to strike up a conversation with a tall, blond officer reading a
report by the window. We had a saying in the women's locker room: If a
guy looked too good to be true, he probably was. Mathis fit that
description, and so did the guy he was staring at.

"For Pete's sake. Go talk to him," I said.

"Torrance'll kill me if I let you out of my sight." "I promise I won't
move from this line. If I go down, call 911. How far can help be?" He
seemed to think about it for all of three seconds before he wandered
over. He was still there, talking, five minutes later when my turn came
up. "Gillespie, Homicide," I told the clerk at the window. "Oh, Allison
said you'd be coming by. Hold on. I'll get her." She left. Another clerk
wandered up, asked if I'd been helped, then asked the next person in
line to step forward. A few moments later Allison wandered up with a
binder, which she dropped on the counter.

"Isn't there a copy of this up in your office?" she asked.

"One would think so. How long till I can get a complete copy of this?"

"You mean right now?" she asked, as though I were cutting into her
coffee break. I opened it and flipped through the pages. For a homicide
file, it was pretty thin. Apparently not that much follow-up had been
done on it. I could only hope that while Zimmerman had it, he'd followed
up on all the leads-assuming there were any leads to follow. "Do me a
favor," I said, closing the binder and giving it to her. "Make me a copy
of the original case report and any supplementals, then get me the rest
as soon as you can." When Allison returned with the copies, I glanced at
Mathis to make sure he was still occupied. He was, and looking radiant
for it. I leaned over the counter. "You hear from Sam?" I asked. She,
too, glanced over at Mathis. "Uh, no. Not in the last day or two." Her
answer shocked me, but I kept the surprise from my voice, having learned
during my first interview with Allison how easily she was distracted.

"Had he ever mentioned to you that he was considering leaving the
department?"

"I feel like I'm betraying him."

"I'm his partner," I said, reaching out, placing my hand over hers. "I'm
trying to help him."

"Well," she said, curling the edge of my report.

Today her long fingernails and matching lipstick were blood red. "He did
talk about just getting away from it all. You know, one day get in the
car, keep driving, never look back?" Hadn't everyone entertained that
thought? "When was this?" "I dunno. Maybe a couple of weeks ago? I
remember it, because we were meeting at that weird bookstore for coffee.

The one that sells all those spy books? They make great espresso." I
doubted Scolari went there for the coffee. Like Mathis, he was the
bottom-of-the-pot sort of guy. The longer it stagnated, the better
Scolari liked it. Mathis, glancing my way, didn't look like he was in
any hurry. "What was Sam doing at that bookstore?" "He talked about
going into the PI business. Said he needed information." Scolari hated
private investigators. Thought they were all wannabe cops. "So, how is
Sam doing?" I asked in

as casual a manner as I could under the circumstances.

"Pretty good, I guess. He didn't really say. He only called long enough
to ask about a report."

"Which one?"

"This one." She patted the McAllen binder.

I practically dragged Mathis from the room.

"You couldn't wait five minutes?"

"No.

But-" "It wouldn't work out anyway. You're IA, he's patrol," I said.