Sleight of Hand (41 page)

Mendelsohn's upper face was obliterated and there was another wound in his left upper chest.  She turned to Drake.  "You shot him?" 

"Spanos lent me his service piece.  I saw you lunge forward, so I took the head shot, figured it was safest."  He glowered at Kwon.

"Hey, I didn't hit her, did I?" the detective defended herself.  "You should always go for the biggest target, the body shot, so I did."

The thunder of footsteps rang out as other cops filled the room.  Cassie knew that there would be interviews and statements and forms to fill out, but she ignored the swirl of activity around her, content to be cradled, safe in Drake's arms.

<><><>

When Miller arrived a short time later, the noise level immediately dropped.  She called Kwon to her office first, then after she'd dismissed her, summoned Drake and Jimmy Dolan.  Drake held onto Hart's hand, and Miller nodded her acceptance of Hart's presence.  

Jimmy and Hart sat in the two chairs in front of Miller's desk.  Drake took his position behind Hart, one hand on her shoulder, the other still entwined with hers as she held it up to him.

"It's lucky for you that Dr. White's fax is timed hours before the shooting, otherwise we might have a mess on our hands," Miller began, addressing Drake.  "I know you already spoke to the Officer Involved Team.  But I'm interested in hearing exactly how you came to be using Officer Spanos' service weapon."

"Officer Spanos had something in his eye, obscuring his vision, so he gave me his weapon to use," Drake said, keeping his voice formal.

Miller cut him a look that said she didn't believe a word of it, but changed the subject.  "What's Mendelsohn's story?"

Jimmy answered.  "The whiz kids hit pay dirt with his computer.  Seems he kept a journal for posterity.  Documented how he'd spend all summer weeding through potential victims, then work to gain his special boy's trust.  It was all a game to him, outwitting third graders," he said with disgust.  

"He detailed various ways he'd manipulate the boys, coerce them into silence. Even how disappointed he was when he finally had to resort to violence to ensure silence and cooperation.  Like it was one big psychology experiment, research for a journal article or some shit like that.  Oh and if that's not enough," Jimmy smiled again, "he collected trophies from each boy and left detailed plans of each murder: time, place, method, observation point so he could watch his kids find the victim.  Whole nine yards."

"Too bad we couldn't have found him before he started killing.  If just one of those boys had come forward–"

"Pretty unlikely," Jimmy told her.  "Pedophiles are experts at manipulating kids–making them unwilling participants in their own abuse and too guilty and ashamed to speak of it later.  This guy could've kept operating for years."

Drake felt a shiver race through Hart's body.  "So, case closed on Mendelsohn, right?"

"Except for the shooting review.  Kwon's in with IAD now.  Three days inactive for both of you until Internal Affairs' and Dr. White's reports are completed."

"But, I just–"

Miller arched an eyebrow at him, and he shut up.  Jimmy raised a hand to cover his grin, but not before Drake caught it.  

"Take the holiday and don't argue, Detective," Miller told him, her glance settling on Hart for a moment.  "I told Dr. White you'd be in to see him on Tuesday."

Drake opened his mouth to protest the delay and thought better of it.  "Yes ma'am," he said meekly.

"Now get out of here, I've got a press conference to put together."

Jimmy started out the door, and Hart got to her feet.  "Any word on Virginia Ulrich?" she asked Miller.

"No.  Turns out she and her husband have separate bedrooms so he didn't know she was missing.  She could be anywhere."

"She'll go after Charlie, I'm certain of it.  Is someone guarding him?"

"He's under video surveillance, and we've got someone on the floor," Miller told her.  "Not that I expect her to get that far."

Drake watched as Hart chewed her lip, obviously not sharing Miller's optimism.  He tugged at her hand, leading her to the door.

"Drake," Miller called him back.  "Your father would have been proud."

He turned away to hide his smile.  It was probably the nicest thing Miller had ever said to him.

<><><>

It was so easy to lose yourself in the routine of a busy hospital, Virginia Ulrich thought as she sipped her coffee in the OR's nursing lounge.  So many people coming and going, each too busy with their own affairs to notice anyone else.  Especially if you looked and acted like you belonged there.

She turned the volume up on the TV.  The camera crews hadn't gotten to Three Rivers in time to film Hart's arrest, but they made up for it by re-broadcasting highlights of the press conference from yesterday and discussing the doctor's detention, while flashing the photo that had appeared in the paper this morning.  

The bitch got what she deserved.  She had no right to try to take Charlie from her, to make people think Virginia had done anything wrong, to pry into Virginia's private life.  Well, Cassandra Hart would think twice now, wouldn't she?

Virginia smiled.  Almost time to end the charade.  By now CYS should have backed down. She'd make sure things were all right on Peds, then change into her own clothes and go back to her own son, her own life.  And if CYS hadn't dropped the charges, then she'd head outside instead and talk to those nice people in front of the cameras.

No one was going to stand between her and her son.  Not now, not ever.

Virginia left the crushed coffee cup on the table behind her.  She took the stairs down to Peds and was about to step triumphantly to the nurses' station when she almost ran into two police officers.  She ducked back into the stairwell, leaving the door ajar so that she could hear what they were saying to the nurses at the desk.

"We need to find Mrs. Ulrich," one was saying.

"Why?"  Carol, one of Virginia's friends, snapped.  "You already took her son away, what more do you want?"

"Look lady, we need to take her in for questioning.  Have you seen her?"

"Not today.  What do you need to question Virginia about?  She hasn't been allowed near Charlie since yesterday morning."

"Something that happened last night.  If you see her, call security right away, okay?  There'll be a guard downstairs monitoring the video feed from her son's room as well."

"Yeah, right," Carol replied reluctantly.

Virginia pushed the door shut as the cops left the nurses' station.  Damn it, how had they known?  She'd been so careful, everything should point to Cassandra Hart, not her.

CHAPTER 32

Drake took a deep breath and opened the car door for Hart.  Her house didn't look so bad in daylight.  Looked like a nice, ordinary brick house dating from the nineteen-twenties.  Friendly porch, complete with swing, big picture window, solid oak door.  Nothing to be afraid of, nothing at all.

He took Hart's hand, and she led him up the steps.  This was nice.  Like coming home.  She opened the front door, and he made it to the threshold without a flutter of fear.  No pounding in his head and chest, no feeling of suffocating.

"Sorry about the smell," she said.  He was surprised that she sounded nervous.  

There was nothing to be nervous about.  Nothing at all.  He laughed and scooped her up into his arms, carrying her over the threshold, delighted by how easy it was.  Maybe that headshrinker knew what he was talking about after all.  Or maybe it was having Hart back–with her at his side, he could face anything.

"Put me down!" But her laughter joined his, echoed through the room.  It was good to see her happy again.  It had been too long, much too long.  He spun her around, ignoring her protests, then finally settled her back onto her feet.

"I want to see it all.  Everything."  The only other time he'd been inside it was only for a few moments.  A few terrifying, gut-wrenching moments.

Drake traced his fingers over the lace antimacassars draped over the arms of the ivory damask, camel-backed sofa.  One of the matching pillows flipped over, revealing the faint remnant of a purple stain.  

"Did you do this?" he asked, showing her the stained pillow.

Hart blushed and took it from him, carefully returning it clean side up on the couch.  "When I was four–grape juice.  Dad and I tried every stain removal technique we could find, turned it into a kind of science experiment."

Drake moved over to the mantle, inspecting the photos there.  Most were in black and white, a few aged to a sepia color.  He lifted one in a heavy silver frame.  A smiling woman with vibrant red hair and a tall, thin man wearing thick glasses staring out at the camera as if he were in shock.  Hart's parents.

After he'd been shot and released from the hospital, he'd painted a picture of them for her.  He was pleased to see she'd hung his small watercolor sketch over the mantle, a place of honor. Damn, had that only been a few weeks ago?  It felt like he'd gone decades without color or light in his life since he'd finished that painting.  As if without Hart in his life, his vision was darkened, lifeless.

He remembered White asking about Hart's life, how she never spoke of her past.  But Drake had also never asked.  She joined him at the mantle, her fingers stroking the top of the frame lovingly.  "Tell me about your Mom."

"She's an angel," she whispered, her voice suddenly sounding like a child's.  She looked up at him in surprise, her fingers touching her lips.  "Sorry," she continued in her normal voice.  "That was all my Dad ever said about her.  He couldn't talk about her, it made him cry.  But Rosa told me the story."

"What happened?"

"My mom died right after I was born."

"I'm sorry."  He took her hand and wove his fingers between hers.

"She did it for me.  When she was pregnant she found a swollen gland on her neck.  It was lymphoma and had already begun to spread.  But she refused to have any treatment that could hurt her baby, and she refused an abortion.   The doctors told her that she'd never survive the pregnancy and that I never would either."

"Wow.  How do you feel–I mean, knowing–"

"That I killed my mother, literally, just by existing?  How do you ever repay a gift like that?"

He put his arm around her.  "I'd say you've made a pretty good start.  I think your mom would be really proud of her daughter, and the person she's become."

She looked down into the fireplace, silent, and he knew that it would take more than words for her to believe that.  Hart had to prove it to herself, everyday.  Finally Drake could understand some of that passion that drove her so hard.  

"This is Rosa, right?"  His hand moved to a sepia toned print of a man in an English naval uniform and a woman with bright eyes and untamed dark hair.

"That's her."  Now she was smiling again.  "And my grandfather, Padraic Hart.  He came from Ireland."

She'd once told him how Rosa had risked her life for Padraic, given up everything to be with him.  He turned her to face him, tracing his fingers over her face, loving the faint hint of Alizarian crimson that colored her cheeks, the way she trembled ever so slightly beneath his touch, as if she were afraid to break a spell.  

God, he had missed her so much, he'd been such a fool to have let so much time go by.  What if he'd lost her this morning?

He shook the thought away and focused on Hart.  "No more ghost stories," he told her, leaning down to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead.  "I want to see upstairs."  He raised her hand and kissed it.  "Take me to your bedroom."

<><><>

Cassie led him up the steps.  Her face burnt with pleasure, embarrassment and sudden shyness.  She'd never brought a man here, not to this house, to the bed she'd inherited from Rosa, the bed carved by Padraic's hands.  What would Rosa think?

She suppressed a giggle and clasped Drake's hand tighter as her grandmother's voice came to her:
Never pass up an opportunity for good old fashioned fun, girl.  The kind where no one gets hurt and everyone's still friends in the morning.  Why else would God have made so many men, when just a few could have gotten the job done?

She stopped on the landing and turned to Drake in the dim light.  His hand rested on her hip, snugging her close.  It felt so right, his warmth and strength beside her in this house.  Like it was meant to be.  All the pain they'd both been through, it had somehow led here.  Led home.  But her home had never felt this full of life.  Drake's presence had banished the ghosts of the past.

She smiled up at him, suffused with a feeling of perfect contentment.   Together they moved into her bedroom.

The air was softly diffused by the morning breeze, almost as if it came from a perfume atomizer.  A rosy glow from the early morning sun shifted as the shadows cast by the lace curtains moved.  The room was chilly, she'd left the windows open all night, but it didn't feel cold.  Not with Drake beside her.

He turned her within the embrace of his arms.  Cassie circled her hands around his neck and stood up onto tiptoe, pulling his head to meet hers.  The kiss was soft, a gentle symphony of tastes and perfumes, spiced by an undercurrent of desire.  They moved slowly as if they had all the time in the world to explore, to pleasure.

Drake's fingers skimmed over her flesh in a delicate caress as he slid her shirt from her shoulders.  There was no lacey push up bra this time, she thought with amusement, but they didn't need it, she could feel that he was already aroused.

Cassie stepped away from his clever hands and shrugged out of her bra.  He looked down on her, watching as she shed her jeans, his mouth open like a schoolboy looking through the window of a candy store, knowing that the dollar in his pocket could buy him anything he wanted.  Naked before him, Cassie raised his hand, placing it over her heart, holding it there, feeling their pulses synchronize into one steady rhythm.  Then his hands and his mouth were on her, moving over her until she shivered with delight.