Shadow Man (15 page)

85

the contraction, and I am cursing like I have never cursed before, blasphemous, horrible words to make a biker blush. There is the smell of blood and of the farts that have been escaping as I’ve been pushing. I think, there is no beauty here, and I want to kill all of you. Then the pain and pressure increases, something I would not have thought possible. I feel like my head should be rotating around, I am cursing with such terrible abandon.

“One more time, Smoky,” Dr. Chalmers says from between my legs, still calm in this maelstrom.

There is a gushing, sucking sound, and pain, and pressure, and then—she is out. My daughter has emerged into the world; the first sounds she hears are words of profanity. There is a silence, some snipping sounds, and then something that pushes all the pain and anger and blood away. That stops time. I hear my daughter crying. She sounds as pissed off as I had been moments ago, and it is the most wonderful thing I have ever heard, the most beautiful music, a miracle beyond my capacity to imagine. I am overwhelmed, I feel like my heart should stop beating. I hear that sound, and look at my husband, and I begin to bawl.

“Healthy baby girl,” Dr. Chalmers says, leaning back as the nurses clean Alexa and wrap her up. He looks sweaty, and tired, and happy. I love this man that I wanted to swat just seconds ago. He has been a part of this, and I am thankful, though I can’t stop crying or find the words. Alexa was born just after midnight amid the blood and pain and profanity, and that was something you get only a few times in life—a moment of perfection.

She died after midnight as well, taken back into a womb of darkness from which she would never be reborn.

I come to, gasping, shaking, and weeping. I am still in the hospital room. Jenny is standing over me. She looks stricken.

“Smoky! Are you okay?”

My mouth feels gummy. My cheeks are cracking with the salt of my tears. I am mortified. I shoot a look toward the hospital door. Jenny shakes her head.

“No one else has been in here. Though I would have called someone if you hadn’t woken up soon.”

86

C O D Y M C F A D Y E N

I gulp in air. They are the deep, gulping breaths of post–panic attack. “Thank you.” I sit up, there on the floor, put my head in my hands. “I’m sorry, Jenny. I didn’t know that was going to happen.”

She is silent. Her tough exterior has faded for a moment, and she looks sad without pity. “Don’t worry about it.”

These are the only words she says. I sit there gulping air, my breathing getting calmer. And then I notice something. Just as in the dream, the pain of the moment is rushed away.

Bonnie has turned her head, and she is looking at me. A single tear rolls down her cheek. I stand up, move to her bed, take her hand in mine.

“Hi, honey,” I whisper.

She doesn’t speak, and I say nothing more. We just stare at each other, letting the tears roll down our cheeks. That’s what tears are for, after all. A way for the soul to bleed.

12

S
AN FRANCISCANS DRIVE
a lot like New Yorkers: They take no prisoners. Traffic is medium-heavy at the moment, and Jenny is intent on ferocious negotiations with the other vehicles as we drive back toward SFPD. A symphony of honks and curses fills the air. I have a finger stuck in one ear so I can hear Callie as I talk to her on the cell phone.

“How’s it going at CSU?”

“They’re good, honey-love. Very good. I’m going over everything with a fine-tooth comb, but I think they covered every base, from a forensic standpoint.”

“And I take it that they didn’t find anything.”

“He was careful.”

“Yeah.” I feel depression knocking, push it away. “Have you checked in with the others? Any word from Damien?”

“I haven’t had time yet.”

“We’re almost back at the station anyway. Keep doing what you’re doing. I’ll check in with everyone else.”

She is silent for a moment. “How’s the child, Smoky?”

How is the child? I wish I had an answer to that. I don’t, and I don’t want to talk about it right now. “She’s in bad shape.”

I click off the phone before she can reply, and stare out the window as we travel through the city. San Francisco is a maze of steep hills and
88

C O D Y M C F A D Y E N

one-way streets, aggressive drivers, and trolley cars. It has a certain foggy beauty I’ve always admired, a singularity all its own. It is a mix of the cultured and the decadent, moving fast toward either death or success. At this moment, it doesn’t seem so unique to me. Just another place where murder happens. That’s the thing about murder. It can happen at the North Pole or on the equator. It can be committed by men or women, youths or adults. Its victims can be sinners or saints. Murder is everywhere, and its children are legion. I am filled with darkness right now. No whites or grays, just solid coal pitch-blacks. We arrive at the station, and Jenny moves us out of the still-busy river of the street into the more peaceful parking lot belonging to SFPD. Parking is hard to come by in San Francisco—God help anyone stupid enough to try and pirate these spaces.

We head in through a side door and make our way down a hallway. Alan is in Jenny’s office with Charlie. Both are engrossed in the file in front of them.

“Hey,” Alan says. I can feel his eyes examining me, taking stock. I don’t acknowledge it.

“Any word from the others yet?”

“No one’s talked to me.”

“You come up with anything?”

He shakes his head. “Not so far. I wish I could say that the cops here are fuckups, but they aren’t. Detective Chang runs a tight ship.” He snaps his fingers, smiles at Charlie. “Oh yeah—sorry. And her faithful sidekick too, of course.”

“Blow me,” Charlie replies without looking up from the file.

“Keep at it. I’m going to call James and Leo.”

He gives me a thumbs-up, goes back to reading.

My cell phone rings. “Barrett.”

I hear James’s sour voice. “Where the hell is Detective Chang?” he snarls.

“What’s up, James?”

“The ME won’t start cutting until your little friend shows up. She needs to get her ass over here now.”

He hangs up on me before I can reply. Asshole.

“James needs you at the morgue,” I tell Jenny. “They won’t start without you.”

S H A D O W M A N

89

She smiles a little smile. “I take it the dick is pissed off?”

“Very.”

She grins. “Good. I’ll head over there right now.”

She leaves. Time to call Leo, our rookie. A disconnected musing as I dial: What kind of jewelry does he wear in his ear when he’s not on the job? It rings five or six times before he answers, and when he does, the sound of his voice puts me on alert. It is hollow and terrified. His teeth are chattering.

“C-C-C-Carnes . . .”

“It’s Smoky, Leo.”

“V-v-v-video . . .”

“Slow down, Leo. Catch your breath and tell me what’s happening.”

When he speaks next, his voice comes out as a whisper. What he says fills my head with white noise.

“V-v-video of the m-m-m-m-murder. Terrible . . .”

Alan is looking at me, concern in his eyes. He can tell that something’s happened. I manage to find my voice. “Stay there, Leo. Don’t go anywhere. We’ll be there as fast as we can.”