“They’ll find Eales. He’s too stupid to stay hidden long. Where the fuck is Coombs? What’s he doing?”
Finn put out his own cigarette and joined her.
“We got him, Kay. It’s just a matter of time.”
“And how much time does he need to kill another woman?”
“We’ll get him before then.” Finn reached over and placed his hand over hers on the rail, gave it a squeeze. He saw her tension ease then, but only marginally.
Still, standing here, just as on the night Joe Spencer had
first introduced them on this very terrace, Finn felt a peace he hadn’t in a long while. Felt, for the first time in months, that a future with Kay might be possible.
Another siren erupted to the south.
“I can’t stand this waiting,” she said. “We should call the DA again.”
“He’ll call.” He turned her. “Maybe you should get something to eat.”
“I can’t eat now.”
“We haven’t eaten since breakfast. Besides, even when this DA calls, we’ve still got to wait for Vicki. If you want, I can go get something.”
“No, you’re right. I’ll go. I can’t sit around here anymore.”
He walked her down to the street. “Hey, you did good today, Kay. We’re gonna get Coombs. And you just watch, they’re going to give you
another
Bronze Star.”
“Yeah, right.” She shot him a smile as she headed down Frederick Street.
Finn loved that smile.
75
AS KAY WALKED THE HALF BLOCK
to the public parking garage where all the Central cops parked their personal vehicles, she wished she’d bummed a second smoke off Finn. Her nerves felt raw and she was on edge. Another siren blurted at the far end of the one-way street, and Kay’s heart jumped.
She wanted this over. She wanted Coombs. She wanted to sit across from him in an interview room, to look him in the eye, feel his energy, and smell his sweat. And more than
anything, she wanted to witness that moment when Coombs realized, in spite of all his cleverness, she’d got him. Because only then could Kay begin to forgive herself for Spencer’s death.
Entering the ramp of the public garage, Kay gave Manuel, the nighttime attendant in the booth, a nod. She wondered if Coombs had gone home yet, if he knew they’d been there. What would he do when he found out?
And would Eales try to contact him? Kay knew Coombs couldn’t have helped with his brother’s escape from the courthouse. It had been opportunity, not planning, that had led Eales out that window this afternoon.
Bernard. Where was he? She almost felt sorry for the poor bastard now, and she hoped they’d take it easy on the big, sad fuck when they found him. All this time Billy Coombs had let him take the fall for the murders. He’d convinced Bernard—with his alcoholic blackouts—that he’d murdered three women.
Or had Bernard known all along?
No, Kay didn’t believe he had. His confession had been a last-ditch effort to cover for his brother. He probably hadn’t thought he’d need to until Kay had enlightened him with the truth.
On the fourth level of the garage, she started down the north row to where she’d parked the 4Runner this morning. She hated that the shadows still spooked her, and in the dim light of the concrete structure, she felt a glimmer of the fear that had haunted her for the past year. Only now, she could process it logically. She knew she had nothing to fear from Bernard, that he wouldn’t come after her. Facing him in that holding cell, she’d put that demon to rest, even though the residue of it would probably always be with her.
The 4Runner sat in the back corner, crouched under a burned-out light fixture. Kay flipped through her key ring in the shred of light that filtered in from the street, then unclipped her cell phone. She had the sudden urge to call Finn, to thank him and tell him she loved him.
Only then, as small chunks of safety glass ground beneath the soles of her duty shoes, did Kay realize the lamp mounted over her car wasn’t just burned-out.
Valley
.
But the thought came too late. Even as she felt the burst of movement behind her and swung her elbow in a wide, defensive arch, Kay felt the prongs touch the back of her neck. No maneuver could have protected her against the stun gun. The surge ripped through her. Her muscles spasmed, and the blood roared in her ears.
And as she went down, Kay had the overwhelming urge to apologize. To Spence and Valley. To her mother, her father. And to Finn.
76
BERNARD DIDN’T KNOW
where he was going. On foot, he’d followed the Key Highway, zigzagging down side streets and alleyways until he staggered into the Locust Point rail yards. The suit Patsy had arranged for him through Grogan was ruined; the jacket was split at the shoulders and the pants were torn over his right knee.
All his life he’d never known luck. But today …today Lady Luck had handed him the mother lode. Just taking a piss when he’d seen the open window. He hadn’t stopped to think. No, sir. Just move. Follow his nose. Nothing to lose. His fly was still unzipped when he’d hit the concrete
of the side street and tried to roll, his shoulder cracking under his weight.
He knew instantly that he’d dislocated it. It had happened before, as a kid, coming down wrong after a basket shot. Billy’s asshole dad had told him to buck up as he wrenched it back in for him. Bernard fixed the shoulder himself this time, in a side alley off Grant, wadding the jacket under his armpit and smashing his shoulder against the filthy brick wall.
The pain was hot now, shooting down his arm and back. Three hours ago, he’d risked sneaking into a Rite Aid and lifted a bottle of Excedrin. Rattling another four into his palm now, Bernard swallowed them dry.
He hadn’t been surprised to spot the patrol car parked outside his house. Another in the back alley behind Jerry’s.
Four blocks west he found an unlocked storage shed in a narrow alley running north from Fort Avenue. Inside, he pulled two lawn chairs together, put his feet up, and listened to the rain on the aluminum roof.
Where to go? Even if he had the money for a cab, he couldn’t go up to Patsy’s house. The police’d be there too. He wondered about her old man. Probably blamed Bernard for his daughter’s death. Goddamn Roach. After everything he’d done for him. Kid never had no respect. Bad enough the little prick had led him on about the dead women, but then to kill Patsy. That just wasn’t right. Then again, the kid never had been too right.
It was because of Roach they’d had to move those couple times. Once when the neighbors’ cat wound up dead in the trash. And again when it was Johnny Newcomb’s dog. Bernard had known Billy’d done it. He’d threatened to toss the little bastard’s bug collection for getting him in shit. Always creeped him out having them around anyway. Big-ass tropical cockroaches, scuttling
around in the old, cracked fish tanks the kid had salvaged.
It was a few years later that Bernard had finally taken care of the lot. After finding one of the roaches in his Cheerios, he’d smacked it with a rolled-up
Penthouse.
Hit it a dozen times, then finally crushed the damn thing under his boot. Billy had come in, started wailing like a girl.
Bernard had had it.
He’d busted into the kid’s room, taken every last filthy tank, and smashed them into the street below. Roaches running in every goddamn direction. Kid never forgave him for that.
In the musty silence of the storage shed, Bernard stretched. The lawn chair bowed under his weight.
He’d been thinking about those fucking roaches ever since he’d heard Patsy was murdered.
And then, suddenly, Bernard knew where he could go for the night.
77
“I’VE GOT JUDGE WATTS
on call for this.” Vicki sounded tired over the phone. “He’s ready to sign when you get the paperwork here.”
“I have it now.” Finn hunt-and-pecked his way across the keyboard and finally hit PRINT. “Pittsburgh’s on board in case Coombs has gone home. Just got off the phone with the DA.”
The printer in the boardroom whirred to life.
“Oh, and we got the results of the dump on Patricia Hagen’s line.” Finn pushed aside several reports and pulled out the phone company reports that had come through the fax only ten minutes ago. “One of the incoming calls the
night of Hagen’s murder is from the Pittsburgh area code. Probably Coombs’s cell. I just have to check Kay’s notes to confirm.”
“All right then. Anytime you’re ready.”
“We’re ready.”
“Good. Meet me at my office.”
Finn hung up and grabbed the affidavit out of the printer. In the side office, he rifled through the paperwork and phone messages across Kay’s desk, searching for anything that might have Coombs’s number on it. He knew she’d called him at least once for the key to Eales’s house.
He rummaged in her desk drawers until he found her police notebook, and when he removed it, he uncovered a five-by-seven photo. It was a shot of him, two weeks ago, at the burned-out Dutton warehouse, squatting over the shadowed remains of Valerie Regester. Kay must have pulled it from the rest of the crime-scene photos, kept it for herself. Finn liked the implication and left the picture.
Flipping through the pages of careful notes in her police notebook, Finn found Coombs’s numbers. His cell was a match.
“Hey, Finnerty.” Stan Kimble from the night shift stood in the doorway. “Jane Gallagher’s asking for you. Line three.”
“Tell her to talk to the spokesperson,” Finn said, picking up the phone and punching an open line. “I’m busy.”
He jabbed at the number pad, dialing Kay. He’d expected her back by now, and she needed to be part of this. She deserved to have her signature on the paperwork.
Sitting at her desk, Finn listened to the hollow rings stretch across the line, and an irrational fear settled over him. That fear made sense when it wasn’t Kay who answered her cell then.
78
KAY FELT THE LISTING
of the car first. Smelled fine leather and aftershave. The dashlights glowed pale green, and over the radio Tony Bennett sang Louis Armstrong with k. d. lang. She thought of Jonesy humming along in the cutting room, thought of Valley on the slab. And then she remembered the voltage surging through her body in the parking garage.
Kay swallowed the instant panic.
Assess, Delaney. Look for the out
. Through half-lidded eyes, she saw his fine hands wrapped around the wood-grain steering wheel, saw the stun gun. Then she spotted the hypodermic in his lap. Fear coiled deep in her bowels.
Don’t panic
.
Her hands were numb, tied behind her. But she felt no bonds on her ankles.
Keep calm. Don’t let him know you’re conscious
.
Moving only her eyes, she looked across the narrow space at Billy Coombs. Streetlamps blurred past, their light making the fierce angles of his clean-shaven face appear to melt in between sweeps of the wipers. She eyed the syringe again, the needle exposed.
Don’t let him stick you, Delaney. Whatever you do. He sticks you, and it’s fucking over
.
She’d kick the shit out of him before then.
Think. Like any abduction, the longer you wait, the less chance there is of escape.
He would have to get her out of the car. She could run then. But how far would she get? She’d have to take him out first. Somehow.
“I know you’re awake.” His calm voice startled her. “I bet your head’s killing you. It’s the depletion of blood sugar you’re feeling. Six hundred thousand volts will do that to
you. Converts the blood sugar into lactic acid. Fucks with the muscles. You probably know that from the Academy though, huh?”
The dash clock read nine twenty. They’d been driving what, ten, fifteen minutes? They couldn’t have come far. She tried to spot a landmark, a building, anything to give her bearing. But it was just another back street. Row houses and cluttered stoops, trash cans and chain-link.
Three more minutes and the big car stopped. Coombs threw it into reverse. Turning in the seat to look out the back, his hand brushed her hair. Kay saw his thin smile.
When he killed the engine, she could make out a concrete overhang. Were they under a bridge? Another garage? She tried to crane her head, her body still quivering from the voltage. She heard his seat belt retract, then the squeal of leather as he turned in his seat to face her.
Where was the syringe?
Keep your eye on the needle, Delaney. Where’s the fucking needle?
“You’re making a big mistake,” she said, and hated how weak her voice sounded.
“I don’t think so.” Another smile.
And then, somewhere in the shadows below the dash, she felt his hand. Hot and damp through the thin fabric of her suit pants.
Don’t react. Don’t give him the satisfaction
. His hand moved up, caressing her thigh. Would he rape her? He hadn’t with the others. He inched even higher.
“You son of a bitch!”
And then Kay saw the hypodermic.
Kick him, Delaney. Move! What the fuck are you waiting for?
But even if her body could cooperate, he was too fast. She caught the flash of the needle, then heard her own pathetic cry as the tip drove through fabric and into her thigh.
Ketamine. Had to be. It burned going in, the heat spreading through her leg and settling in her hips even as
she tried to wrestle herself free from it. Jonesy’s words ran through her thoughts:
fast-acting …blocks nerve paths … paralysis … unconsciousness.
How long had he said it took? Minutes? Or only seconds?
Coombs opened the driver’s-side door. The dome light glared for a moment. She saw his shadow pass in front of the car’s hood, and when he swung open her door, she almost spilled out onto the concrete.
Run!
But the world spun. She was floating. She would drift away if he let go of her. Her legs felt rubbery as he guided her up a short ramp to a door. He propped her against the wall, one hand pinning her, the other working a key.