Dead Center (The Rookie Club Book 1) (36 page)

He didn't ask what. He knew. He didn't even look at her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I should have done something back then."

She saw the slow tremor in his hands work its way up his arms, but she didn't stop—couldn't.

"When he was on top of me," she said.

Tony shook his head. "Don't."

Her own shoulders quaking, Jamie gripped her hands together to fight off the trembling. She shuffled through the pile of stuff between the seats in search of her cigarettes. She found them, fumbled with the pack. It fell onto the floor, cigarettes spilling.

She wanted to reach it, but couldn't imagine leaning down to pick it up. She let it go, turned to Tony. "I have to. I have to talk about it. Please, Tony. We never talked about it."

He clenched the steering wheel, sped across the bridge. "No," he said, jaw clenched.

She stooped again for her cigarettes, couldn't reach them. She shifted in her seat. There was no outlet for the anxiety that coursed through her. "He's dead, Tony. He's dead and I still can't close my eyes without seeing him on top of me, coming at me."

As they neared the end of the bridge, Tony jerked the car to the slow lane. He looked at her face and swung the car off into the vista parking lot on the north side of the bridge. It had a name, but she couldn't remember it.

He spun the car into the nearest parking spot and yanked on the emergency brake. Then he pushed the car door open and tumbled out.

Jamie moved more slowly. The seatbelt wouldn't come undone. The harness rubbed along a bruise, making her wince. But she followed. Cracked the door, pushed it open. Pulled herself from the car. Above them, the sky dazzled, the blue flowing right into the color of the bay. The city buildings stood like a row of pencils in the distance. She thought for a moment of 9/11, of the buildings across the country that had been standing one minute, gone the next. She thought of Mick, but mostly she thought of Tony.

A few cars were parked in the lot despite the cold weather. A Japanese tour group stood a few yards away, cameras aimed at the cityscape across the water.

Tony headed for a quiet corner.

Jamie limped behind.

When he reached the railing, he hung his shoulders. He stared down into the water. When she reached him, he turned to her. "Don't do this now," he pleaded. "Not after all this time."

But Jamie didn't stop. "I always blamed myself, Tony. I should've stopped him. I always thought he was creepy. I always hesitated to take his candy. But that day, when we were in the back, when he locked that door—" She shuddered, imagining the man who had worked in the small corner grocery store. Tall and thin, he stood partially stooped over as though always eyeing the floor for a nickel someone had dropped.

He'd been a quiet man with round hazel eyes and a soft, round face. Not like her father and Pat, who were always scruffy; this man didn't have facial hair.

Whenever Tony and Jamie had gone alone to the store—usually sent by Pat or her father to pick up milk or bread—that man always offered them a piece of candy from a tin behind the register. Sometimes it was butterscotch, sometimes chocolate. Her favorite were the little rolls of tart candies. Tony used to go in for baseball cards, too.

That day the man told Tony that he had some extra packs of cards in the back. He'd locked up the store, walked to the storeroom.

Jamie had hesitated, but Tony had gone ahead. "No big deal," Tony said. Jamie had followed.

The musty smell of the room, the damp floor were as clear to her today. She saw rows of boxes piled up against the walls, threatening to fall at any moment. It had felt like a maze of cardboard and steel shelves. She shuddered now. "I thought he was coming for me," she told Tony. "I was sure of it."

He backed from the railing, pushed past her. "No."

She grabbed on to him as he went, his motion sending agony through her. She bit back a cry of pain but didn't let go.

People stared. She didn't care.

She clutched his arm, forced him to face her.

She kept her voice low. No one could hear. It was just them. "I thought he was going to rape me, Tony."

Tony shook his head. Tears streamed down his cheeks, eyes pleading with her to stop.

She didn't let go. She couldn't now. "I never thought it would be you."

Tony reared his head, a painful cry exploding from his throat.

People stared. Jamie waved them away.

Tony dropped to his knees. "God, no. Jamie. Why did that happen?"

She fell too, tucked her head into his shoulder as he gripped her. Beyond the pain, she felt herself let go. All those years ago. All those years of hiding it, of pretending it hadn't happened—of Pat and her father ignoring the blatant pleas for help.

"I don't know, Tony. I'm so sorry."

"God," he choked, sobbing.

They stayed there, embraced until she felt the rocking of his chest still. Even then she didn't loosen her grip, didn't wipe her own tears. She let them remain where they'd fallen, long overdue.

Finally, she spoke, "I'm here now, Tony. It's over. It's over for both of us."

And, she thought, maybe for once she was telling the truth.

Maybe they could finally begin the process of putting that horrible day behind them.

Chapter 36

When Jamie arrived in the conference room, Hailey was already waiting. Jamie was surprised to see the rookie, Mackenzie Wallace, was there, too.

Mackenzie rose from the table and stepped toward her. Her brown eyes were wide and wise. She looked older to Jamie, more mature. Shit, the rookie had grown into a full-fledged cop. Mackenzie hesitated for only a fraction of a second before she wrapped her arms around Jamie. "I'm so glad you're okay." She squeezed gently.

"Thanks, Mackenzie." Jamie closed her eyes for a moment. "I'm actually surprised to see you here."

"I'm on loan to Hailey for a couple weeks," the rookie said.

"Paperwork only," Hailey added before pushing a chair toward Jamie. "You sure you want to be here?"

Jamie just smiled. There was no good answer to that.

Tony had been surprised that she
was
coming in today. Jules had tried to deter her. But no one was going to forbid it. Not after yesterday.

Jamie had waited until most people would be gone for the day. She wasn't ready to answer questions just yet, but she needed to stay in the game. She felt close and didn't want to lose ground. Or maybe it was because at home alone it was too easy to remember what had happened. She wasn't prepared to face it all yet.

She and Tony had spent a quiet day in the house. He'd made grilled-cheese sandwiches for lunch, burning both of them. She didn't mind. He'd spent as little time learning to cook hot foods as she had. They had talked little, but the biggest piece of what needed to be said was already out. The rest would eke out over time. Mostly, she was relieved at the comfortable silence.

Tony had intended to start his rehabilitation this week, but since her attack, it hadn't come up again. And she was thankful. He'd stayed with her last night, sleeping in the bed beside her. It had been decades since they'd shared a bed, but it felt the same as always. Tony was her brother, the closest thing she'd ever have to a sibling—the closest for either of them now.

Every time she stirred, he woke too. She hadn't thanked him. She knew she didn't need to. They'd been apart for years, but they'd found each other. He'd found her. Thank God for that.

Tony had driven her through the city, dropping her at the building at almost six in the evening and telling her he'd be back at nine. They had planned to grab dinner on the way home—take-out, probably. She couldn't see dealing with the stares she'd get at a restaurant, considering the cuts and bruises on her face. Plus, sitting too long hurt.

Mackenzie and Hailey waited until Jamie was seated. Neither commented on how long it took her or on how bad she looked. Mackenzie's were turning greenish. Hailey probably had some, too. Sitting there, the three women represented three of Marchek's final four victims. The fourth was being sent home tomorrow. Jamie had already contacted the victim's husband to let him know Marchek was gone. Dead. No more women would suffer at his hands.

Hailey spoke first. "The medical examiner called on the autopsy."

Jamie knew Hailey meant Marchek's. She was thankful not to hear his name out loud.

"He had an explanation for the aspermatic samples we got from his victims."

Jamie took a slow, measured breath, tried to listen analytically.

"Seems he had an anatomical anomaly called retrograde ejaculation. It's rare and, in his case, probably congenital. Instead of exiting through the urethra, the sperm is passed in retrograde fashion into the bladder."

Jamie listened. "So there would be DNA sample in his urine but not in his semen."

Hailey nodded.

"He probably figured it out after his first arrest." She paused. "Or maybe not." We'll never know now, she thought. Thank God. "How about Devlin?"

"We're focusing on the list of awards," Hailey told her. "Roger tested Natasha's trophy for transfer evidence and confirmed Tim wasn't hit with her trophy."

Jamie nodded. "That's encouraging. Tim didn't win anything. So maybe the killer hit Tim with his own trophy. Who else is on the list?"

Hailey slid a piece of paper across the table. Jamie turned it around and scanned the names.

Someone had made a small hash mark next to David Marshall's name. Jamie looked up, raised a brow. "Your captain?"

Hailey shrugged.

She returned to the list. Cameron Cruz had received an award. Linda James. She recognized most of the names but none stood out. "You have the other list?"

"There are no other crossovers," Hailey said. "Just Marshall."

"The only other person who touches both lists is Devlin herself," Mackenzie added.

Jamie frowned. "What do we do about Marshall?"

"I had his trophy sent to the lab."

"Does he know?"

Hailey shook her head.

Christ, she hoped the captain of Homicide wasn't Devlin's killer. Jamie stared at the list again. She scanned the titles on the names—captain, lieutenant, sergeant. "This is the whole list?"

Hailey nodded.

Jamie frowned. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed the lab's number. "Roger, please," she said when someone answered.

Hailey and Mackenzie exchanged a glance.

"Roger here."

"Roger, it's Jamie."

"Hey. How are you?"

"I'm alive."

"Yeah. I heard about what happened. Your gun's down in ballistics," he added awkwardly.

"Roger, I'm calling about something else."

"Sure." He sounded relieved.

"You won an award at the banquet, didn't you?"

"Uh, yeah. I used it to test against the mold we cast of Tim Worley's head injury."

Jamie nodded. "That's what I thought. Thanks, Roger."

"Is that it?" he asked, sounding perplexed.

"That's it." Jamie ended the call and set her phone on the table. She touched the paper between them. "That's not a complete list."

Hailey frowned, scanning the list. "It only includes police."

"Right."

"You think we're looking at someone from criminalistics or administration?" Mackenzie asked.

She shrugged. "Natasha's list includes a guy in the lab, doesn't it?"

Hailey nodded. "And another from administration."

"I'll get the rest of the names together now," Mackenzie offered.

"I've got to finish up some things before I can head home," Hailey said. "We'll talk in the morning?"

Jamie nodded.

"You going to be okay?" Hailey asked.

"I'll live."

As Hailey stood, there was a knock at the door. It swung open to reveal a young man, looking terrified.

"Hey, Dave," Mackenzie said.