See Jane Die (32 page)

Monday, November 10, 2003
9:00 a.m
.

F
or a long time after Mac left, Stacy sat alone in the interrogation room, thinking of what he'd said to her. The expression in his eyes when he said it.

She'd let him down. Lied to him. Betrayed his trust.

I'm not going to throw away my career for your sister. Are you certain you want to?

You're losing it, big time. And I'm not sure I want to be around to pick up the pieces
.

She didn't blame him for being disappointed in her. She passed a hand across her face. She wouldn't blame him if he requested a transfer. He would be right to go to the captain.

She prayed he didn't, anyway.

And she prayed she could win his trust back. The question was how. She figured it began with honesty.

Stacy returned the tape to Evidence, then went in search of her partner.

Mac wasn't at his desk. He was in the building, she knew because his sport coat hung over the back of his chair.

Mac had many fine qualities, though neatness wasn't one of them. His desktop was a jumble, the top covered from
corner to corner with reports, files, empty coffee cups and a copy of
USA TODAY
.

As she reached for the newspaper, her gaze landed on a photograph peeking out from a manila folder. She flipped it open. It was a crime scene photo. The victim was a woman. It looked as if she had been beaten to death. The beating had obliterated much of her face. She was naked from the waist up.

Stacy stared at the image, something about it plucking at her memory. Her path had crossed this woman's. But when? And why?

“Our dead hooker from the other day,” Mac said from behind her.

She turned. “You collar the pimp yet?”

“Can't locate him. We figure he skipped town.” He shrugged. “He'll be back. They always come back.”

“There's something familiar about her.”

He reached around her, picked up the photo. “Something familiar? What?”

“I don't know. Name?”

“Went by Sassy. Real name was Gwen Noble.”

Neither rang a bell. Stacy shook her head, and he dropped the photo into the file and flipped it shut.

“I'm sorry, Mac,” she said softly. “Damn sorry.”

“For what?”

“You know.”

He was silent a long moment. His expression revealed nothing of his thoughts. Finally, he spoke. “I want to trust you, Stacy, but I don't know if I can. Partners don't lie to each other.”

He put subtle stress on
partners
. She knew he was referring not only to their professional relationship but their personal one, as well.

She had waited so long for him, she prayed she hadn't blown it.

“You're right,” she said. “Give me another chance. I won't let you down again.”

“Even if it's for your sister? Before you make me that promise, think it over carefully, Stacy.”

A fellow detective passed by them, angling a curious glance their way. Stacy took a step back, putting greater distance between her and Mac. “I have. I want you to trust me. It's important.”

His gaze followed the other detective. “Okay…partner.”

She went light-headed with relief. “Coroner call on Jackman?”

“Not yet. But I heard from Doobie.”

Stacy stilled. She experienced a tingle of excitement. “Where is he?”

“At this moment, I have no idea. But tonight at midnight he'll be in the alley behind Big Dick's.”

Stacy smiled. Now they were getting somewhere. Barring a natural disaster or the arrival of judgment day, she would have her sister's boater's name tonight.

Monday, November 10, 2003
11:15 p.m
.

J
ane sat on the guest room bed and watched her sister prepare for her meeting with Doobie. “I want to go.”

“Forget it.”

“That's not fair.”

“Get over it.”

Jane frowned. “Will you at least listen to me?”

“No.”

Jane plowed on, anyway. “Who better to convince Doobie to give this guy up? I was there. I was the one hurt.”

“You're a civilian.”

“And the last time I checked, this meeting wasn't official police business. In fact, from where I'm sitting, it's
my
business.”

“Has anyone told you that you're a major pain in the ass?”

Jane ignored that and leaned forward. “Look, it makes sense, Stacy. Who better to convince him to turn over the name than me? By his own account, he's haunted by what happened. By what he did to me. I can beg. Be pathetic. I'll wear my eyepatch.”

“No.”

“He's a snitch. He narcs on friends for profit. If all else fails, I'll offer him money. A lot of money.”

She saw by her sister's expression that she was reaching her. “It could be dangerous,” she said.

“I'll have two hotshot DPD detectives as bodyguards.”

“Mac's not going to go for it.”

“I'll sweet-talk him.”

The front bell sounded. “That'll be him,” Stacy said dryly. “Give it your best shot.”

Jane climbed off the bed and crossed to the intercom. It was, indeed, Mac.

She buzzed him up, then met him at the door, Ranger with her. He stepped into the foyer. “Stacy ready?”

“We both are.”

“Excuse me?” He looked past her, toward Stacy, who had emerged from the guest room.

“She thinks she's coming.”

“No,” Mac said. “No way.”

Jane quickly laid out her reasons.

Clearly, he wasn't impressed. “It's not going to happen.” Mac looked at Stacy. “Tell her to give up.”

Stacy looked amused. “Hardheadedness runs in the family.”

“You can't stop me,” she said. “The alley behind Big Dick's. Midnight. I'll drive myself.”

Mac looked helplessly at Stacy. She shrugged. “She's made several good points.”

“Dammit. I
should
let you drive yourself.”

Jane smiled sweetly. “Anyone else want a coffee for the road?”

They both did and Jane gave the two some privacy while she brewed the coffee. She smiled as she heard them whispering, then Stacy laugh. The sound was husky, part invitation, part pleasure.

About time, she thought. Stacy had longed to meet someone special; she deserved love.

She prepared the three travel mugs, then called the pair to the kitchen. Stacy looked flushed, her mouth just kissed.
Jane averted her gaze, longing spearing through her. For her husband. Their physical relationship. His emotional support.

She missed him terribly.

As if reading her mind, Stacy gave her a quick hug. “It's going to be okay, sis.”

It was, Jane told herself as they made their way to Mac's sedan. After tonight she would be one step closer to ending this nightmare. And having her husband—and her life—back.

 

They spoke little on the drive across town. It had begun to rain shortly after they left the loft. The interior was silent save for the intermediate swoosh of the wipers.

When they reached Big Dick's, Mac drove around to the alley entrance. He parked, shut off the car and looked at her. “Wait here. Stacy and I will make certain it's safe.”

She agreed, but the moment the two detectives were beyond earshot, she got out of the vehicle. She wasn't about to take the chance of missing Doobie, of having his getting cold feet and skipping out. Not when the answer she had wanted for so long was so close. Not when her and Ian's life depended on that answer.

Jane climbed out of the car. The rain was cold; it stung her cheeks. Heart pounding, she made her way quickly into the dark alley. She heard Stacy and Mac talking. Heard Mac call Doobie's name.

Only silence answered. “We're early?”

“He's late.”

“And it had to be raining.”

“Got a light?”

“Got it,” Stacy responded.

A moment later a beam of light cut through the darkness and rain. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Mac swore.

“Is that him?”

A second of silence commenced, followed by his terse “Yeah, it's Doobie.”

“Is he dead?”

“As a fucking doornail.”

Jane made a sound of denial. No!
It couldn't be
.

She hurried forward, stopping short when she saw Mac and Stacy. They squatted beside a prone figure. He lay facedown on the grimy, wet pavement.

Judging by the angle of his head, his neck had been broken.

Tuesday, November 11, 2003
6:45 a.m
.

T
he captain stared at them, face growing redder by the moment. He looked like a tick about to pop. Or a firecracker about to explode. That they were in for it was obvious. And it was her fault.

Stacy sent Mac an apologetic glance. In the next moment, their captain let loose. “You both are in one big world of hurt! What the hell did you think you were doing?”

“We arranged a meeting with the snitch—”

“You involved a civilian! Judas priest!”

“Checking out a tip—”

“On what case? Your sister's?”

Stacy straightened at the sarcasm in his voice. “Yes, sir. I've kept you abreast of her situation, the threatening messages, the mutilated baby doll left in her loft. And you are aware of her assistant's murder yesterday—”

He came out of his seat at that one. “Of course I'm aware. I'm aware of every murder that goes down in my jurisdiction!”

“Of course you are, sir. I simply meant—”

“My detectives are not authorized to mount their own investigations.”

“You gave me permission to follow up, sir—”

“Shut up, Killian.”

She followed him to his feet. What she was about to say would not be appreciated by her superior. But she had to say it—Doobie's death had changed everything for her. It proved—in her mind—that Jane's boater wasn't simply a twisted son of a bitch, he was a cold-blooded killer.

“With all due respect, Captain Schulze, I'm beginning to suspect the wrong man's in jail. Ian Westbrook did not kill Elle Vanmeer, Marsha Tanner or Lisette Gregory. I believe current events prove the one sending my sister the threatening messages did. He killed Ted Jackman. And now Doobie, to keep him quiet. Ian Westbrook was set up.”

“You're personally involved, Killian!” he shouted. “We've made our arrest. The guilty party's in jail.” He drew a breath and swung to face Mac. “I'd expect a little more common sense out of you, McPherson.”

“Yes, sir.” Mac cleared his throat. “However, I believe there is merit to Detective Killian's concern. The man sending Jane Westbrook the messages is, in my opinion, dangerous. He has escalated the level of threat. His next step may very well be to physically harm her.”

Mac continued. “If the story Doobie told me about the boater was true, and I believe it was, then the person we're dealing with is a psychopath who will not hesitate to kill. He most probably killed Doobie. And Jackman as well.

“That said, however, I don't share Detective Killian's opinion regarding Westbrook's innocence. The evidence supported our arrest and I'm sticking by it.”

“Finally,” the captain muttered, returning to his seat, “sanity.”

“Request authorization to continue,” Mac said. “I'll check into Doobie's past. His family. Maybe one of them will know this friend. Have a name.”

“Fine.” Captain Shulze yanked open his desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of antacids. He popped a couple of the
chalky disks into his mouth, chewing furiously. “Quit speculating and solve it. I want a suspect. And I want him in jail.”

“Yes, sir,” Mac murmured. “Thank you, Captain.”

Stacy sent Mac a grateful glance and backed toward the door. Captain Schulze stopped her before she escaped through it. “I've never questioned your priorities, Killian. I don't want to start now. Is that clear?”

She said it was. Crystal clear.