Why shed suddenly decided to investigate Sean Gallaghers disappearance, John had no idea. But her death had to be a coincidence. It couldnt have anything to do with his father.
But even so, names from Johns past flashed like a strobe through his head: Ashley Dallas, the young woman whose murder Sean had been investigating at the time of his disappearance; Daniel ORoarke, the man convicted of Ashleys brutal murder, who now sat on death row; and Johns own brother Tony, who had been in love with Ashley at the time of her murder.
For some reason Gail Waters had wanted to dig up that old tragedy, expose secrets that had been buried for more than seven years.
And now she was dead.
A coincidence, John told himself again. But a cold finger of dread traced up his backbone as he stood in the icy rain.
You want to notify the old man or should I? Cox was asking.
The old man Cox was referring to was Johns uncle and their commanding officer. Liam Gallagher kept himself apprised of every investigation the detectives conducted under his watch. His knowledge of all the uncleared cases in his jurisdiction was nothing short of phenomenal, and John had always held his uncle in the highest esteem.
But now a tiny doubt began to niggle at him. Liam had worked on the Ashley Dallas case, too. Had Gail Waters talked to him about Johns fathers strange disappearance?
Lets hold off on that. John stared at the note for a moment longer, then handed it back to Cox. A type-written suicide note always worries me. Id like to do a little more digging before we call in.
Cox groaned. I dont like the sound of that. Youre going to get a hard-on about this one, arent you? Youve got that look.
Im going to do my job, John said grimly. And so are you. Until we get the coroners report, were going to treat this as a homicide investigation.
Cox muttered an oath as his radio crackled. He pulled it from his belt and walked a few feet away to respond. John used the opportunity to examine the wall and floor of the roof at the spot from where he judged the victim had fallen. Slipping on a pair of latex gloves, he knelt and scoured the area with his flashlight, knowing all the while the rain had probably washed away whatever trace evidence, including fingerprints, that might have been left.
Meat wagons here, Cox called from the stairwell door. You coming?
Ill be there in a minute. John stood and gazed over the side of the building. Down on the street, a handful of bystanders had gathered at the fringes of the yellow tape.
As if sensing Johns gaze, one of them, a man wearing a black parka, a stocking cap and a muffler covering the lower part of his face, glanced up at the roof. Even five stories away, John felt a tug of recognition.
He knew the man only as Fischer, an informant hed used successfully in the past. John had no idea about the mans real identity, but he seemed to have an uncanny knack for showing up at crime scenes, particularly the ones John was called out on. He suspected Fischer not only had a police scanner, but an inside line into the department. Whatever his connection, his information had proved invaluable in the past.
As John watched, Fischer turned and headed down the street, his shoulders hunched against the sharp blast of wind from the lake.
John rubbed the back of his neck where the hair had suddenly stood on end. Fischer always gave him a case of the jitters, although he couldnt say why exactly. Maybe because there were elements of danger and distrust involved with all informants.
The door to the stairwell slammed shut in the wind and Cox disappeared. John saw that the building manager remained and had started across the roof toward him.
He was a short squat man, somewhere in his forties, who breathed in sharp, almost gasping puffs of air. In the dim light he looked eager and excited, his small dark eyes greedily taking in every last detail of the search.
Detective, if I may be so bold Rain glistened in the fringe of brown hair that circled the mans bald pate like a dingy halo.
What is it? John asked, annoyed at having his concentration broken.
Its something I, er, mentioned to Detective Cox, but he, er, didnt seem to take much notice. The man stuttered and stumbled over his words, as if extremely nervous. He wiped moisture from his forehead with the back of his hand. Its over there. He pointed to the stack of building materials near the stairwell door.
What is?
Im, er, not sure. Evidence maybe.
John said sharply, What are you talking about, Mr.
Dalrimple. Morris Dalrimple. My friends call me Dal.
Why dont you show me what youre talking about, Mr. Dalrimple?
The building manager touched his fingertips to his chin, then dropped his hand to his side. I think I saw something. If you would, er, just shine your flashlight over therea little more to your rightyes, thats it. Right there. And then if you would, er, kneel, like you did earlier
John complied, although there was something about Dalrimple that was a little unsettling. To be honest, the man gave him the creeps.
John focused his light on the stacks of building materials. From where he knelt he could make out narrow channels running through the crowded pallets of drums. He didnt see anything at first, but then he moved the beam back, playing it along one of the channels.
Yes, there it is! Dalrimple cried excitedly. He almost jumped up and down with glee. I thought I saw something in there earlier, although Detective Cox couldnt spot it. But if I may be so boldtall people, er, tend to overlook a lot of things. You dont concern yourself with places that accommodate only little peoplelike myself, for instance. I thought right off the space between the pallets might be a good place for someone to, er, hide, but Detective Cox was certain no one could fit in there. I must admit, since I, er, put on a little weight, it might be a bit of a squeeze
Dalrimple broke off in midsentence as John stood and strode to the pallets. He bent and angled his light into the long channel between the stacks of drums. Something was lying on the floor several feet inside. Lifeless eyes gleamed in the crisp beam from Johns flashlight.
John knelt and felt inside the channel. Using the flashlight as an extension, he dragged whatever was on the floor toward him, until he could reach it with his hand. His fingers closed around a scrap of fabric, and a tinny voice intoned, Ma-ma as he pulled a doll from its hiding place.
Well, Ill be! Dalrimple exclaimed, gazing down at the toy in Johns hand. How do you suppose that got in there? He started to touch the dolls mop of dark hair, but John jerked it away. Dalrimple looked crushed.
There could be prints, John felt obliged to explain. You understand.
Oh, of course. I know all about, er, police procedure. Mama and I never miss an episode of Cops. So what do you think about the doll, Detective? Is it evidence?
Possibly. Walking back across the roof, he stood at the edge where Gail Waters had gone over and fixed his light on the stack of pallets. The channel between was tight, but as Dalrimple had suggested, a small adult could manage to squeeze inside. A child could do so quite easily. And if she had been hiding in the space earlier, she could have seen what happened without being detected.
It was possible he might have himself a witness, after all. And if Gail had been murdered, it was imperative that he find the owner of the doll as quickly as possible.
It was possible he might have himself a witness, after all. And if Gail had been murdered, it was imperative that he find the owner of the doll as quickly as possible.
He turned to Dalrimple. Im going to need your helpDal. This is very important.
The little man almost glowed. Well, er, of course. Whatever I can do to be of, er, assistance.
Ill need a list of all the tenants in the building, and Ill need you to flag the ones who have children. Well start with the families who have little girls under the age of, say, ten.
Dalrimples brow furrowed. That could, er, take a while. Im not so good on the computer, and Mama doesnt like to be disturbed once shes gone to bed.
John grasped the mans arm. The problem is, I dont have a while. I need it now. Five minutes ago. You can help me out, cant you, Dal?
The man seemed torn for a minute, some internal conflictno doubt involving his mothercausing myriad expressions to flash across his face. Then he nodded, resolved. You can count on me, Detective. Ill do whatever I can to assist you.
Good, John said. Ill be sure to note your cooperation in my report.
Dalrimple said solemnly, Mama will be so pleased.
ZELDAS EATERY was closed on Sundays, and normally Thea loved to sleep in. Shed never been an early riser on weekends, but in spite of her late hours the night before, she was up by seven, tiptoeing around the apartment so that she wouldnt awaken Nikki.
Mrs. Lewellyn was gone, having gotten up sometime after Thea went to bed and let herself out of the apartment. Shed been sleeping on the couch when Thea got home, and Thea hadnt had the heart to disturb her. She made a mental note to call the older woman later and thank her for coming over the evening before on such short notice. Nikkis regular baby-sitter had already made plans when Thea had called from the diner about working a double shift, but Mrs. Lewellyn had been more than willing to step in.
Back in Baltimore, Thea had never had to worry about child care. Nikki had been enrolled in a wonderful preschool, and when Thea was kept late at work, her stepmother, Mona, who was employed in the same office, was usually available to pick up Nikki. And on the rare occasions when Mona couldnt do it, Kate Ramano, Theas best friend since high school, had readily stepped in.
Thea wondered what Kate and Mona thought of her now. Shed left Baltimore without a phone call to either of them. They had no idea where she and Nikki were, or the real story behind Ricks death, although Thea knew theyd both have their suspicions. They knew what her life had been like after the divorcethe midnight phone calls, the threats, the stalking.
Rick had made her life a living hell, and both Mona and Kate had been wonderful friends through it all. But they were human. Theyd have to wonder, at times, if Ricks shooting had been self-defense or premeditated. Hadnt they heard her say, more than once, how much she wanted him dead?
Shivering, Thea poured herself a cup of coffee, then clicked on the TV, leaving the volume on mute as she surfed through the cable stations, trying to find a local news broadcast. Shed seen no sign of reporters on the scene last night, thank goodness, but she could never be too careful. The last thing she needed was to have her face splashed across newspapers. What if the Mancusos saw her picture?
For a while last night, shed worried that Detective Gallagher might have recognized her from a wanted poster or police blotter or even a newspaper. Ricks murder, along with the disappearance of his ex-wife and daughter, was bound to have made front page in Baltimore. She couldnt be certain the story hadnt been picked up by one of the wire services and carried nationally, as well, even though shed seen no mention of it in the past four months.
When she and Nikki had first arrived in Chicago, shed scoured the papers and listened to news broadcasts daily, but the Windy City had its own headlines, its own problems with domestic violence.
And by the time Thea had had the nerve to venture out of their motel room and look for a newsstand carrying the Baltimore Sun, the whole grisly affair had been knocked from the pages by a bribery scandal involving high-ranking city officials. Thered been no mention of Ricks murder, no mention of the police corruption Thea had suspected for months.
Shed been left to imagine what the headlines must have been: VINDICTIVE EX-WIFE MURDERS DECORATED POLICE OFFICER. COP KILLER FLEES BALTIMORE WITH FOUR-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER. STATEWIDE MANHUNT FOR COLD-BLOODED MURDERER.
Thea sometimes still had a hard time believing how much her life had changed. Shed been a business major in college and had gone to work at her fathers private-investigation firm right after graduation. She hadnt been interested in field work, but she had been interested in numbers. Shed run the office efficiently, cutting costs and increasing profits with her innovative ideas. Now she worked as a waitress in a diner. Shed once been a respected member of the chamber of commerce. Now she was a wanted criminal.
Deep in thought, she started violently when the doorbell sounded. Her heart skidded against her chest as her head swiveled toward the door. Who in the world would be coming to see her at this hour on a Sunday morning?
Telling herself it was probably Mrs. Lewellyn wanting to chat for a few minutes, Thea hurried to the door. But when she glanced through the peephole, she gasped in dismay.
Detective Gallagher stood in the hallway, his blue eyes so piercing she could have sworn he had the ability to look directly through the door, straight at her.
Frantically she glanced around. Was there anything incriminating in the apartment? Should she hide? Pretend she wasnt home? Grab Nikki and make a run for it?
Smoothing her hands down the sides of her chenille robe, Thea tried to get her nerves under control. There was no reason to panic. Detective Gallagher was conducting a police investigation that she had inadvertently become a part of. All she had to do was convince him that she had seen nothing last night. She had no connection to the dead woman.
But suddenly the womans picture flashed on the TV screen, and for a moment, the smiling attractive face triggered something in Thea. Not recognition exactly, but a feeling that at sometime, somewhere, she and the dead womans paths had crossed.
The doorbell sounded again, and casting a glance toward Nikkis bedroom, Thea patted down her tangled dark hair and pulled open the door.
Detective John Gallagher was even taller than she remembered, and more formal looking than she would have expected for a Sunday morning, unless of course, he was on his way to church. But somehow Thea doubted that. He had the appearance of a man who lived and breathed his investigations. Police work would be his religion. She knew the type all too well.
He was dressed in a dark gray suit, a starched white shirt and a silk tie that were obviously expensiveand made Thea immediately suspicious. She knew what cops made, what they had to do to afford clothing like his. A shudder of warning rippled through her.
Good morning. His tone was cordial, but he didnt smile. His expression remained impersonal, his eyes very blue and very cold.
In spite of his grim demeanor, he was a strikingly handsome man, Thea realized. The kind of man who almost always spelled trouble.
He gazed past her shoulder into the apartment. May I come in? I have a few questions I need to ask you.