Shocking Pink (19 page)

I
t took Nick a week to act on his resolution to begin patching things up with Jenny. He had gotten involved in a particularly baffling string of robberies and had spent more time on them than he had intended. When he’d come home at night, he had needed to devote his attention to Mara, and by the time she’d been tucked in, he had been too whipped to face a heart-to-heart with Jenny.

Today, however, there’d been a break in the case. Arrests had been made, so he’d decided to knock off early, go home to his family and begin his and Jenny’s reconciliation. He’d stopped at the florist on the way and picked up some flowers for her. Nothing fancy, just a colorful spring bouquet, something to break the ice. While there, he’d had the woman put together a small bunch of daisies for Mara. From the florist, he’d gone to the Chinese takeout and gotten everyone’s favorites, even that sickly sweet chicken dish Mara loved.

Nick parked in his driveway, surprised to see Jenny’s car on the street instead of in the garage. He tooted the horn, a custom he and Mara had gotten into. Most days she barreled out to meet him, though a few he found her playing with a friend or in front of the TV, glued to a favorite cartoon.

Today was one of those exceptions. He collected the flowers and food and headed inside.

“I’m home,” he called, setting the bag of takeout and his keys on the entryway table. The mail was there and he shuffled through it, then frowned, suddenly aware of how quiet it was. No music or TV. No high-pitched giggles or pots and pans being moved about in the kitchen.

He glanced around.
Where the hell was the dog?

Jenny emerged from the hallway that led to the bedrooms. She had her purse and travel bag slung over her shoulder. “I hope those weren’t for me,” she said.

He realized he had the two bouquets of flowers cradled in his arms. “For you. And Mara.” He laid them on the table beside the bag of food, then turned back to his wife, a sinking sensation in the pit of his gut. “What’s going on, Jen?”

“I’m leaving you.”

He stared at her, not believing his ears. She’d said it so matter-of-factly, so bluntly, as if it meant no more to her than taking out the garbage. “You can’t mean that.”

“But I do.” She made a sound of contempt. “The only surprise here should be that I didn’t do this years ago.”

“What about Mara?”

“What about her?”

“Think what this will do to her, Jen. Jesus, for once stop thinking about yourself.”

“Thinking about myself!” Spots of hot color flew to her cheeks. “You’re the one who—” She bit back the words. “I am thinking of her. Living with parents who hate each other is a poor way to live. I want better for her.”

“Is that what you think? That we hate each other?”

Her expression softened. “Maybe not. We just hate living with each other.”

Nick glanced around, mouth dry, a kind of numbness coming over him. “Where is she, Jen? Where’s Mara? I want to see my daughter.”

“You will. Mara and the dog are at my mother’s.” Jenny readjusted the travel bag’s strap. “I didn’t think it would be right to subject Mara to what was sure to be a scene. I didn’t want her to feel like she had to choose.”

“Afraid she would choose me?”

Jenny flushed. “She’s six, she doesn’t get a choice, Nick.”

He closed his eyes a moment and sucked in a deep, calming breath. It wouldn’t do to get into a knock-down-drag-out fight with Jenny. She had made up her mind. He had to find a way to change it. “All couples have problems,” he said softly. “We need to work harder on solving ours, that’s all.”

She laughed. “You make it sound so simple. We don’t have a few little problems, Nick. We have nothing. Nothing in common. Nothing except sex, anyway. And we’ve even lost that.”

“I haven’t been here enough, I admit that. I ran from our differences instead of trying to understand them.” He lowered his voice. “Instead of trying to understand you. I’m sorry.”

She cleared her throat. “I am, too.”

He took a step toward her. “It’ll work, Jenny. We can make it work. We can patch this up.”

“Patch things up,” she repeated. “Like an old flat tire.”

“No.” He took a step toward her. “Like something worth saving.”

“How do you propose we do that, Nick? Between your job and Mara, you don’t have time for me.” When he opened his mouth to protest, she held up a hand to stop him. “I’m not jealous of the time and attention you lavish on our daughter. I’m glad. You’re a wonderful father. But before Mara, your job took all your time. You made room for her, but not me.”

“I’ll try harder,” he said quickly. “I’ll change.”

Her eyes flooded with tears. “Don’t you see? You shouldn’t have to ‘try harder.’ You shouldn’t have to ‘change.’”

“Jen—”

“You don’t love me, Nick. Not the way you love being a cop. Or now, the way you love your daughter.”

“That’s not true, Jenny. It’s not.”

“No? When’s the last time you’ve thought about me during the middle of the day? When’s the last time, in the middle of an important investigation, you’ve thought about us making love, or decided to drop everything and give me a call?”

“You’re not being fair.”

She narrowed her eyes, looking suddenly furious. “I’m being more than fair. And I’m being honest. I want more, Nick. I deserve more.”

“More,” he repeated, angry, too. Angry that she could so cavalierly discard their family. “A bigger house. A finer car? Like your dad gives your mom?”

She hiked up her chin. “That would be nice, sure. I grew up with the best things. Having anything I wanted. But you know what, I would have settled for being number one. I’m tired of waiting.”

“Settled? I guess that about says it all.”

“I guess it does.”

He fisted his fingers. “You’re not taking my daughter away from me.”

“I already have.” She started past him, heading for the door.

“Dammit, Jen…” He caught her arm. “You can’t do that. I’ll sue for custody.”

“Oh, please.” She jerked her arm free. “You think any judge would give you custody? With the cop’s hours you keep? With the life-style? I don’t think so.”

“I love my daughter. I won’t live without her.”

“She’ll be close enough for visitation.”

Visitation. Stolen hours with Mara, here and there.
He nearly choked on the thought; it welled up inside him in a wave of fury and disbelief. “Doesn’t family mean anything to you? Doesn’t this family?”

She reached the door and opened it, then looked back at him, her expression devoid of anything warm. “You only see one way to live, Nick Raphael. Only one way to love. That’s all you’ve ever seen. It’s always been your way or the highway.”

“What’s to discuss? Married people stay together. Families stay together. It’s important. It’s—”

“How can you not see the truth? Listen to you. You refuse to acknowledge anyone else’s ideas or feelings. When are you going to learn to compromise? To bend? When are you going to see there are shades of gray in the world?”

“Not about this.”

“Goodbye, Nick.” She hiked her bag higher on her shoulder and stepped through the front door.

He watched her walk away. And then, suddenly, he knew. It hit him like a thunderbolt.

Jenny had someone else.

Nick flew after her, catching her as she swung the car door open. He reached around her and slammed it shut. “Who is he, Jenny? I know you too well. You wouldn’t have the guts to do this otherwise.”

Her face flooded with color; he saw that he was right. “Son of a bitch. You’ve been cheating on me?” He took a step toward her, flexing his fingers, furious, betrayed. In all the time they had been together, no matter how bad it had sometimes been between them, he had never cheated on her. And he’d had opportunities, lots of them.

“Is this what ‘shades of gray’ are all about?” he asked, voice shaking with rage. “Fucking another man? Walking out on your marriage so you can be with somebody new?”

“Don’t be so sanctimonious.”

He laughed, the sound bitter even to his own ears. “I think I have the right about now. Don’t you?”

“I’m leaving.”

He caught her arm roughly, hanging on to control by a thread. “Who is he, Jenny? You might as well tell me, because I’m going to find out anyway.”

She hesitated a moment, then nodded. “All right. It’s my therapist.”

Her shrink.
He pictured her with the man he had met several times, a real smooth operator; a professional man who drove a sleek foreign car and wore European suits that probably each cost more than Nick’s entire wardrobe.

The kind of guy Jenny should have married in the first place. The kind of guy her parents had wanted her to marry.

Nick pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the overtime he had worked to pay for those high-priced shrink sessions. The off-duty gigs, thankless hours spent at restaurants and bars and high-school football games, hours he had wanted to be home with his daughter.

He’d done all that so his wife could be with another man.

So she could fall in love with another man.

“I could beat the shit out of you right now.”

She smiled, the curving of her lips brittle, contemptuous. “But you won’t, Nick. You’re not that kind of man.”

She opened the car door again, tossed her bag inside, then climbed in. She started the car and looked back up at him. “You’re not sorry to see me go, Nick. If you don’t realize it now, you will. I’m filing for divorce tomorrow morning.”

N
ick opened his eyes, realizing the phone was ringing. He looked around, disoriented. Then he remembered. He was in Mara’s room. After Jenny left, he’d gotten drunk. Stinking, fall-down, lousy drunk. Not too mature, but he’d figured he was entitled. What else was a guy supposed to do after his wife told him she had been screwing her shrink and then left him, taking his daughter and the dog with her? Yeah, sure, he was entitled.

Shit. Fuck. Son of a bitch.

Nick groaned and sat up. His mouth felt as though he’d mopped the kitchen floor with it. He passed a hand over his face and peered at Mara’s Minnie Mouse clock. 1:12 a.m.

How long had he been out?

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, his head screaming a protest. The phone rang again, shrilly insistent, slicing through his brain like a knife. “Okay, okay,” he muttered. “Give me a break here.”

He went next door to his and Jenny’s bedroom, grabbed the receiver and brought it to his ear. “Raphael here,” he managed to say, his voice thick.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart,” the contralto voice of the dispatcher said. “Got a homicide.”

Nick came fully alert. “Where?”

“One Concord Place.”

“Ritzy.”

“You could say that. The victim’s Mayor Pierpont.”

Somebody had whacked the mayor?
“On the way.”

Fifteen minutes later, Nick arrived at the Pierpont house. The first officers had secured the scene; Nick saw Bobby’s pickup truck, but not the coroner’s wagon. A crowd of what looked like neighbors had gathered.

Funny thing about murder scenes, Nick thought, climbing out of his Jeep, crowds of the curious always gathered, no matter the time, no matter the area of the city. It was like this weird energy floated on the air. For no reason at all, people woke up, they went to their windows and saw that something awful had happened, and they wandered out to find out what. Or to get a closer look. Like rubberneckers on the highway.

It complicated his job immensely. And even without complications, this one was sure to be a circus.

Speaking of which, the press arrived, spilling out of the news vans like clowns out of a burning house. He ducked under the yellow tape, ignoring a reporter’s shouted question, and headed up the flower-lined, brick walk. He let himself in the front door. Compared to the chaos outside the house, inside was deathly quiet. A half-dozen officers moved through the place, collecting evidence, taking photographs and talking quietly with one another.

Martha Pierpont—he recognized the mayor’s wife from seeing her on television with the mayor—sat on the couch, huddled under a blanket. Her teeth were chattering. A teenage girl, probably the daughter, sat beside her, though they didn’t touch in any way. The girl stared blankly ahead, her cheeks chalky white.

Shock, Nick thought, turning and starting for the back of the house, looking for Bobby.

He found him—and the honorable Mayor Pierpont—in the master bedroom. Bobby looked up from his notepad and frowned. “Man, what happened to you? You look like warmed-over shit.”

“Thanks.” Nick stopped beside his partner and glanced at his notes. “Jenny left me. She took Mara and the dog with her.”

“Damn. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” Nick struggled to focus on the scene. “What do we have?”

“One dead mayor. Shot five times. Another bullet embedded in the wall by the window.”

Nick crossed to the body and drew in a deep breath through his nose. Ed Pierpont was laying in a pool of blood, brains and assorted other gore. Half of his face had been shot away.

“Grisly, yes?” Bobby placed his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I didn’t vote for the guy, did you?”

“Nope. Didn’t trust him.” Nick met his partner’s eyes. “Suspects?”

“Confession. Wife says she did it. He was coming after her, said he was going to kill her. So she got his gun and shot him.”

“But she didn’t mean to kill him, right? She was terrified for her life. She didn’t know what else to do.”

Nick’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on his partner. “You got it, buddy. Self-defense, all the way.”

“Who’s the girl?”

“Their daughter. An only child. She called it in, pretty hysterical call. When we got here, the wife’s still holding the gun. We have to pry it out of her hands. Check this out.”

Bobby squatted beside what was left of Honest Ed Pierpont. Nick followed him. He pointed to the area that had been home to the mayor’s crown jewels. “Crime of passion, all right. Shot her husband’s pecker off.”

Nick’s stomach rolled. “But she wasn’t aiming. Just wanted to stop him.”

“Oh, yeah. One of those lucky shots.”

“Where the hell’s Doc?”

“Right here,” the medical examiner said, coming up behind them. “Don’t get your panties in a wad, Detective Raphael. I’m not as young as I used to be.” He took a good look at Nick and his bushy eyebrows rose. “You look like hell.”

“His wife left him,” Bobby offered.

“Sorry to hear that.” The M.E. cleared his throat. “I lost two that way. I blame the work.”

“It wasn’t the work,” Bobby said, his expression solemn. “He’s an asshole. I wouldn’t want to live with him.”

Nick made a sound of irritation. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to ask. Now, if you two are done dissecting my shitty personal life, we’ve got a homicide here.”

“So we do.” The M.E. knelt beside the body. “Why don’t one of you cowboys fill me in.”

Bobby did the honors while Nick went into the other room to talk with Martha Pierpont. Just as his partner had said, she confessed to having killed her husband. In self-defense. He was trying to kill her. All she could think was that this time he was going to do it, he was going to kill her. Something inside her had snapped.

In terror, she had run to their bedroom, dug his loaded gun out of their bedside table, pointed it at him and fired—continuing to pull the trigger, even after the gun was empty.

The shots had awakened their daughter, Patti, and she had come running. It was the girl who had called 911; she who had let the police in; she who had led the police to her father’s body.

As he questioned Martha Pierpont more, he learned that she had been under a therapist’s care for more than a year now. She wanted to see her, Martha said. Her name was Dr. Andie Bennett.

Andie Bennett.
A name out of his past. A person he hadn’t thought of in a long time now.

Nick experienced a momentary pang of curiosity and surprisingly, of pleasure. He hadn’t known that she’d settled in Thistledown after college, or that she had become a shrink, though there was no reason he should have.

Nick had kept up with Andie and her friends for a while after Leah Robertson’s murder. Because of the case. And because of his own personal interest in the girls. He’d known what had happened to the three, that they had been torn apart. And he had felt badly for them, especially for Andie. She’d been a nice kid caught in a bad situation.

Once, about six months after the murder, he had stopped by to check on her. She’d been doing fine, her mother had said. In school, trying to put the notoriety—and horror—of the experience behind her.

She had called Andie from her room, though neither mother nor daughter had seemed happy to see him. So, he’d let it go. The kid hadn’t needed him coming around, dredging up the past.

Now, it seemed, fate had determined that their paths cross once again. If this Dr. Andie Bennett was even the same girl.

Nice girl, Nick thought again, remembering her honesty and conscience, recalling her open, wholesome face. Too bad she’d chosen such a scumbag profession. He’d had a general dislike for shrinks even before his wife had decided to sleep with hers. He’d been in the middle of too many cases where the defense had brought in some high-priced, mumbo-jumbo-talking headshrinker who’d gotten a criminal off or easy time. It really burned his ass.

No doubt Dr. Andie Bennett would try the same thing with this case. Nick narrowed his eyes. He’d be damned if he’d let go that easily.

First thing in the morning, he would pay a little visit to Dr. Andie Bennett.