She slaps the file against his chest as she walks by him, maintaining its possession. “I’ll have him in a dress and heels by the end of the week, Chief. So he looks real pretty when he delivers that report.” The sound of her shoes echo down the hall.
Chief laughs heartily. “Gronkowski, you’ve got your work cut out for you, in more ways than one.”
“Don’t I know,” he says, shaking his head as he walks from the room. Stopping at the outer edge of Chief’s office, he peeks his head back inside the doorway. “Uh, Chief. For future reference…it’s ‘hit the
nail
on the head,’ and ‘link in the
chain
.’”
“I know. That’s what I said.” Chief wads up a piece of paper and wings it at him. Tony catches the paper ball with swift reflexes. “Get on it, Gronkowski.”
Gina and Tony take separate paths. Tony casually meanders to his station, while Gina makes a beeline for Dr. Ryan’s office. Her door is open. Dr. Patricia Ryan sits at her desk, head down, writing. Gina stands outside and knocks lightly on the door casing.
Dr. Ryan does not look up as she responds, “It’s open.”
Gina enters the room slowly. Dr. Ryan finally looks up acknowledging her guest. “Detective DeLuca. I’ve been expecting you. Please, have a seat.”
Gina sits down in the chair in front of Dr. Ryan’s desk. “Busy day, huh?” She attempts to make small talk.
“Ms. DeLuca, I know you didn’t come here to talk about my busy day.” Dr. Ryan lays her pen down and removes her glasses, looking sharply at Gina. “I know what you’re here for, and I must regrettably inform you, you’re not going to get much information. Even therapists who work for Vanguard PD are held accountable to patient confidentiality. You’re wasting your time, Detective. And mine.”
“The department doesn’t consider investigating a string of murders a waste of time.”
“I see,” Dr. Ryan says, sitting back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, her hands primly pressed together in her lap. “There are innocent people murdered in this city every day. Instead of finding justice for them, the department has chosen to focus its time and manpower on tracking down the murders of convicted rapists and child molesters. My thanks to the city for having their priorities in order.”
Gina looks at her quizzically, slightly thrown off. “I understand your distaste for the situation. However, I have a job to do. Unfortunately, it starts with you.” Gina opens the file in front of Dr. Ryan, displaying photographs of the victims. “Do you recognize any of these men?”
Dr. Ryan remains distant, her back against her chair, her eyes fixed on Gina, purposely refusing to look down at the photos. “I’ve already told you my relationships with clients are strictly classified.”
Gina sighs and responds sympathetically, “Dr. Ryan. You know there are ways the department has of getting around confidentiality. Please don’t make this any more difficult than it already is.”
Dr. Ryan leans up on her desk toward Gina, her body language intense. “Difficult? Let me tell you about difficult,
Detective DeLuca
,” reiterating her name sharply. “Pretend for a moment that you are me, and I am a client. I stroll in here and tell you how I met a fifteen year-old girl online. Convinced her to invite me over when her parents were out of the house. And how I held her down on her bed and raped her because, of course, she wanted me to. And that I may be proud or indifferent of that fact.” She takes a moment, transitioning from feeling to detachment. Her body language softens. She leans back into her chair, fidgeting with a pen in her hand. “Then you have to explain my actions, make me feel like I’m actually human. When what you really want to do is hang me up by my balls in the middle of town square so the entire world can see what a heartless, guiltless animal looks like.” The pen snaps in her palm.
Gina sits speechless.
“My files are closed.” Dr. Ryan leans forward closing Gina’s file and hands it to her. “Maybe yours should be too.”
Gina gets up to leave, responding as she walks to the door, “I’ll be back.”
Dr. Ryan busies herself with paperwork. “I’m sure you will.”
EARLY EVENING. VANGUARD Police Department. Gina walks the long corridor to her desk in a frustrated state. She has been following leads for hours, coming up empty-handed. As she rounds the corner, she spots Tony kicked back in her chair, his feet propped up on her desk, sorting through a pile of paperwork.
Oh great
, she thinks.
Upon seeing her, he flashes a lavish smile. “How’d it go
partner?
”
Gina smacks his feet down off of her desk. “Don’t get too comfortable. You’ll be back at your own desk before you know it.” She sits down across from him, burying her head in her hands.
“Not so well I take it?” He throws a stack of files her way, grinning. “Here. Have a look. See what you come up with.”
She looks at him, annoyed by his playfully handsome demeanor. She opens up the first file, leafing through it eagerly, looking to Tony in disbelief. She shuffles through the other files. Each one a detailed account of every murdered rapist’s history, including psychological evaluations and victim statements. “How’d you get these?
Where
did you get these?”
“My charm, DeLuca, my charm.” He leans toward her, his hands nimbly assembling a piece of paper into a paper football.
“Are they legal?”
“The
documents
are legal.” He smiles.
“Gronkowski, are these files admissible? Can we use them to build a case?” Gina whispers, closing the manila folder, she looks around suspiciously.
“Don’t sweat the small stuff, DeLuca. The bottom line—we need information to establish a pattern. We figure out the puzzle, we catch our vigilante in the act.” He flicks the paper football in her direction. It lands on top of her stack of files. “You got the pieces right there. At the end of it all, it won’t matter how we acquired them, just as long as we got ’em.”
She gets up from her chair, pushes the paper football off the documents, loading them into her briefcase.
“Come on DeLuca, don’t be such a stickler. Do you know how many strings I pulled to get those? I thought you might show a little gratitude.”
“I’m not an ingrate. I’m simply smart enough to take these elsewhere before I tear off into them.” She flings her briefcase over her shoulder and talks in a low voice, “What are the chances you could get some info on Dr. Ryan?”
Tony’s ears perk up, the tenacity returning to his face. “Now you’re thinking.” He slaps his hand affirmatively on the desk.
“Shh.” Gina looks around surreptitiously.
“I can probably swing that. She give you a vibe?”
Gina doesn’t answer, continuing to gather her stuff.
“Where you going to look those over? You wanna grab some coffee?”
“Home. There’s a hot bath calling my name,” she replies.
Tony smiles mischievously. “You need someone to wash your back?”
“I think I can handle it.” She returns his smile. “I’ll call if I need any help.” She zones in on the paper football lying on the table with intense concentration, biting her lip for increased focus.
“You don’t have my number.” Tony continues to play.
She flicks the paper football in his direction, its destination perfectly resting half on, half off the side of the desk. Touchdown. Her eyes trail back up to Tony’s. “Exactly,” she says.
He watches her walk away, shaking his head, unable to rein in his admiration.
Chapter 3
LATE EVENING. DETECTIVE Gina DeLuca’s house. Her place smells of cucumber melon bubble bath and scented candles. On the coffee table in the living room, files are scattered about, accompanied by Sticky Notes outlined in bright red ink and diagrams attempting to make sense of the chaos within each manila sleeve.
Music blasts from the radio, Sheryl Crow’s
C’mon C’mon
album, track eight
Lucky Kid
. Gina dances down the hallway in a black bra and matching panties, her hair soaking wet, her aroma good enough to eat from her bubbly indulgence. Her body keeping time with the music, she makes her way to the kitchen pulling a whiskey bottle from the top of the refrigerator.
“‘Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, you’re a lucky kid,’” she sings along with the radio as she drops a few ice cubes into a short glass, topping it off with the high-octane oak-colored liquid. Tipping her head back, her lips part, her mouth wet, her throat warms with the contact.
“Hmm,” she groans, a pleasurable smile forming. She moves methodically to her coffee pot in preparation for her five-thirty wake-up call.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
The urgent sound coming from her front door sends her into alert mode. She quickly throws a robe on over her attire, scooping up her handgun while in transit. She stands warily to the side of the door casing, “Who is it?”
“Tony.”
Tony?
She mouths the name perplexingly to herself. “How’d you get my address?” she asks absentmindedly before fully considering who she’s talking to.
“Uh, gee, it’s this little thing called my job.
Detectives
…they’re supposed to be good at finding things. Come on, Gina, I got something you are going to love.”
“Typical,” she says dryly, releasing the deadbolt. “That’s what all the boys say.” She peers through the chain, scanning Tony up and down through the tiny crack, a wry smile forming as she sees him standing there, fidgeting. It’s obvious he can hardly contain himself, a file tucked securely under his arm.
“Come on, Gina. Quit playing.” He looks from side to side, “This is it,” he says jockeying the folder from under his arm.
“Alright, alright.” She releases the chain, pulling the door open for him, as she uses it to hide her nighttime attire.
Tony busts in, slaps the file down on the island in the kitchen, the adrenaline in his system responsible for his choppy pacing. Gina closes the door behind him, holstering her pistol in its rightful place, her breadbox.
“Take a look,” he says, his knuckles knock on the file, as he props himself up against the counter.
Gina opens the file to find Dr. Patricia Ryan’s name and a much younger picture of her staring back, a graduation picture from West Point, Class of 1985. “Wow. She was beautiful.” Under the picture is a New York State rape report. The pieces coming together as Gina looks up at Tony, stunned.
“She was raped her senior year at West Point. Date rape. Frat party. She knew the guy.”
“Most of them do.”
“The police were out looking for him the next day, after she filed the report. Got a call from Campus PD. They found the guy dead in his dorm room. O.D.’d on Special K.”
“Karma’s a real bitch sometimes,” Gina defends, shrugging her shoulders.
“Karma Schmarma, Gina.” Tony paces, his eyes diverting from the file to Gina, distractedly. “The guy was an athlete. Star running back. Full scholarship. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Oh, because jocks always make the best sense. I see where you’re going with this Gronkowski, and I don’t like it. She’s a psychologist with the department. You realize where you’re going here? When you start blaming your own? That’s dangerous territory, Tony, and you know it.”
“Dammit, Gina. Yes, I know that.” Frustrated, he slaps his hand down on the counter top. “But we can’t ignore the possibility just because she’s one of us.”
Gina makes her way around the island, preparing a drink for Tony, as he seems to need one.
“His teammates reported they were due to be tested two days after the party. Why would the guy do Special K when he knew he was up for testing?”
“I don’t know. Why would the guy go on a drinking binge when he knew he was up for testing?” She slides the drink in front of him. “We could go tit for tat on this all night.”
He takes a swig from the glass.
“What about his previous drug tests? Any of them come back positive?” she asks.
“Nope. Clean as a whistle. I’m telling ya, I just got this feeling, Gina.”
“Ahhh,” she exhales frustrated, winding her hands around the back of her neck, her head tips up toward the ceiling, as she spins in circles. Tony watches her, his mind momentarily pulled from the task at hand.
“I got this other feeling, too. That maybe you should put some clothes on.”
She stops spinning and looks to him annoyed. “You come to my house uninvited, shake up my relaxation time, and think you can tell me how to dress?”
“You’re distracting.” He takes another drink.
She follows suit, meeting her mouth with her glass, deliberately running her tongue over her top lip slowly removing any remnants of the toxic substance. “Get over it, Gronkowski.”
He shakes his head, smiling.
Setting her glass down, she paces from one end of the kitchen island to the next, pondering Tony’s suspicions. “So, you’re implying the overdose was not an overdose at all. Do you really think she would have had the knowledge or the wherewithal as a college student to get her hands on Ketamine and know how to administer it at a lethal level? The kid was a football player. How would she have overpowered him to get the stuff in his system? That’s a stretch Tony. We’re talking Gumby here.” She holds her arms extended from her sides for affect.
“I know…it sounds a little far-fetched. But get this, Dr. Ryan’s uncle was a Chief at Highland Falls PD. The case was in his jurisdiction. Her father was tight with Daniel Pinkard, Chief of Police for NYPD at the time. They came up in the same neighborhood, roomed together in college. Suicide, Gina. They dismissed the case. Said the kid committed suicide.”
“So now, you’re not only questioning one of your own. You’re questioning the integrity of two other police departments and their chiefs?” Gina takes another drink, shaking her head. “You gotta have more than a hunch to make that kind of accusation. I don’t like it, Tony. At least now I know what to get you for Secret Santa this year. Some brass ball paperweights…big ones.” She chuckles. “God Gronkowski, do you hear what you’re saying?”
“I know. I know. But you can’t tell me all of these guys coming up dead…every single one of them has been in her psychological care at some point and time...that’s not a coincidence, DeLuca. Maybe it’s not her, directly. But whatever the hell is going on, it’s connected to her somehow.” He pours himself another drink, sitting down at her dining room table.