Authors: Virna DePaul
“Not really. Not anymore. I’ve carved out a specialty at the hospital and it’s been enough for me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m really looking forward to getting started on these papers. And I’m sure you have plenty to take care of yourself,” she said with a bright, patently false smile.
He had a shitload of work to do, in fact. As such, he murmured a polite farewell and left. However, he did so begrudgingly, on the inside if not the outside.
He didn’t like her shooing him out of the room simply because he’d been asking her personal questions, even if they’d been personal questions about her job at the hospital. It made him realize how very little of herself she’d actually revealed to him over the past week. She’d revealed some things, sure, but not a whole lot, and only when she was pushed.
To prove his point, Simon summarized what he did know about Nina and how he’d found out about it.
She’d worked with an older woman with a fondness for porn, but she’d only told him that after her purse had spilled and given him a glimpse of that porn DVD.
She’d told him about Davenport’s cards and letter only after he’d confronted her about being scared.
She’d informed him that she’d inherited her house from her grandmother, but only because he’d commented that it wasn’t what he’d thought a psychiatrist would own.
She hadn’t told him about her sister—he’d found that out on his own. And although he knew her physically—how her body responded to his, how soft her skin was, how tight she fit around him, how heavenly her arms and scent were when they wrapped around him—he’d discovered all those things on his own, too, by touching her, tasting her, exploring her. Sure, she’d let him, of course, and she’d explored his body, too, to amazing result. But even in his arms, she’d kept herself apart from him.
Funny. Until now, he’d felt like he knew everything there was to know about her. But, man, he’d been wrong.
He didn’t know the most basic things about her as a woman—her favorite color, what she liked to eat, what kind of music or movies she liked... They’d jumped right past the getting to know you stage and straight into bed, and while that was great in many ways, it also made him feel a deep sense of loss at the thought that he wouldn’t be given the time to explore all of Nina’s small intricacies in great detail.
He couldn’t help wondering if her decision to work with geriatric patients was a result of what had happened to her sister. And to Beth. Had she decided not to work with teenagers or young people anymore because doing so brought back bad memories? It made sense.
It also made him wonder if she was truly fulfilled with her work or if playing it safe made her feel less passionate about what she did for a living.
In the end, he could wonder all he wanted. She obviously wasn’t going to volunteer the information and, really, he had no right to push her for it. Not if he wasn’t planning on sticking around.
With a sigh, Simon started work by checking up on Davenport’s recent credit card charges. Over the course of several days, he’d left a trail of credit card transactions for gas and food across the country. As such, the records supported his claim that he’d only recently arrived in California. “He must have hired someone to do the other things,” Simon murmured to himself. “It’s the only explanation.” And that seemed especially true after he got a preliminary report from forensics.
The muddy footprints found in Nina’s home weren’t a match for Davenport, who had smaller feet and had been wearing shoes with a different tread.
Again, that didn’t prove Davenport was innocent of any of the crimes Simon suspected he’d committed. After all, Simon had caught him fleeing from Nina’s vandalized home and he didn’t need Davenport’s footprints to verify that. To the contrary, a prosecutor could easily argue the muddy footprints belonged to Davenport’s accomplice, who’d left before Simon had gotten there. The presence of an accomplice would explain how someone could have left Nina a threatening letter or killed her cat even before Davenport had arrived in California.
But Simon needed additional proof of an accomplice’s existence before Davenport could be convicted. He doubted Davenport would be any help on that matter. No matter how hard Simon had pushed him, Davenport hadn’t been swayed from his fervent denials of working with an accomplice. According to him, he’d been alone when he’d entered Nina’s home, and the house had already been unlocked. He also claimed the house had already been open and trashed by someone else. And when Simon had told him about the bear left in Nina’s room, Davenport had looked genuinely shocked. Horrified. Even scared.
As Simon had already told Nina, part of him had believed Davenport’s denials. Now, the credit card records and the shoe prints seemed to support them, at least in part. Simon had to consider two possibilities: Davenport was either the best actor Simon had ever met, or he was telling the truth about working alone and being lured to California by someone pretending to be a reporter. If he was telling the truth, then a murderer was still on the loose. And that murderer was someone who had targeted Nina.
At that point, however, the question would be why? And what significance the initials
BD
would have for anyone other than Davenport. Was it possible someone else—someone other than her father—might want revenge against Nina because of what had happened to Beth Davenport?
She’d had a boyfriend, Nina said. One who had given her that bear with the ribbon in the first place. He rose, intending to go to Nina and get the name of Beth’s boyfriend, but just as he did so, DeMarco walked up to his desk.
“Simon,” his friend said, his voice and countenance grim.
Simon narrowed his eyes and assessed his friend. The other man looked beyond tired and beyond stressed. He looked run-down. Agitated. At the end of his rope. How the hell had that happened so quickly?
“I need to talk to you about something, Simon. Can we get that drink now?”
“Sure. But I was just going to run something by Nina. Something about who else, besides Davenport, might be responsible for carving the initials
BD
into our victims. Give me a second to do that and I’ll be—”
DeMarco shook his head. “I need to talk to you now, Simon. And you’ll want to hear what I have to say. Because I might know the answer to the very question you’re asking.”
* * *
S
IMON AND
D
E
M
ARCO WENT
to the SIG break room and talked over coffee. Simon listened as DeMarco explained about a horrible incident he’d gone through in New Orleans six years ago, when he’d been forced to shoot a street kid named Billy Dahl.
“Man, I’m sorry. That had to be tough.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Given the kid’s initials, I can see why you’d want to tell me about this, but there’s really no reason to think what happened six years ago is motivating these crimes. Nina’s the key, and we’ll confirm this, but I doubt she knew Billy Dahl.”
“You’re assuming the murders are connected to Nina because of the initials on her cat, the cards, the letters...But what if the murders aren’t connected to her at all? You have to consider them in isolation. And if you do that, you have to consider the possibility that they might be connected to Billy Dahl. Especially because of what Rita Taylor told you about someone wanting to falsely blame the murders on the police.”
“Okay, let’s assume you’re right. Let’s look at the murders independently. You think someone in Billy Dahl’s family is here in San Francisco, sending you a message? But why? It’s been six years. Why come after you now?”
“Because even though I shot Billy six years ago, he didn’t actually die from that injury until last year.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Do you remember last year when I had a family emergency? Right when Jase and Carrie were in the middle of The Embalmer case?”
“Yeah. I asked you about it, but—”
“But I blew you off. I blew everyone off who asked me about it. Well, it wasn’t really a family emergency. At least, not
my
family emergency. I went down to New Orleans because Billy Dahl’s family was pulling him off life support. He’d been in a coma since the night I shot him and they’d hoped he’d come back to them. But he didn’t and they’d decided to finally let him go.”
“And they called you and told you that?”
“His sister called and told me. For some reason, she thought I deserved to know. That I’d want to know. And she was right. I—I needed to see him before they pulled the plug.”
“And the rest of his family let you?”
“Yeah. They did. But not out of the kindness of their hearts. Because they wanted me to see exactly what Billy had become. Because they blamed me for what had happened to him. At least, his mother did.”
“And you think his mother is the one that killed Cann and Hastings.”
“No, damn it. But Dahl had brothers. Brothers with criminal records. I don’t know where they live now, but it’s possible...”
“Yeah, it’s possible. Anything’s possible. Too many things are possible. We have so many possibilities at work here that this investigation has turned into a circus. But we have to be practical. Your theory about Billy Dahl might be a possibility, but the best possibility is still the connection to Beth Davenport. Her father. And, like I said, given the footprints found in Nina house, maybe even her boyfriend.”
“So that’s what you’re going to check into next?”
“Yeah.”
DeMarco sighed. “Okay. But you’re going to have to pursue that lead without my help.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been having troubles. I have been for a while now. I thought I was handling it but things have been getting worse. I’m starting to hear things. Dream things. My memory is shot. I’m afraid...”
After a prolonged moment of silence, Simon urged, “What?”
“I’m afraid I’m losing my mind. Hell, I’ve even considered the possibility that
I
might somehow be responsible for the murders.”
Simon couldn’t help it. He snorted. “What? Like blacking out and committing murder in your spare time? Right.”
“Don’t dismiss it so easily, Simon. Didn’t you say there were a host of possibilities in this case? Okay, so I don’t think it’s really true. I don’t have huge memory blanks or periods of time I can’t account for. But the fact that I’d even consider it scares me. I need to take some time off. Get my head together. I’m sorry to bail on you just when this case is getting more complicated, but I think it’s best.”
It was best that DeMarco take an extended leave from work? The situation was definitely serious, then. Simon felt nothing but concern for his friend; that and a fair amount of guilt that he hadn’t realized his friend was suffering so much. He sought to reassure him now. “I understand, DeMarco. Don’t worry about the case. Do what you need to do to take care of yourself and know that I’m here for you. I don’t buy for one second that you’re involved in these murders. And as for Billy Dahl? You did exactly what you needed to do. I’d have done the same thing. So would have Jase. And Carrie. And Mac. And any other good cop. Unless you’d blame one of us for what happened, don’t blame yourself.”
“I’ll work on that, Simon. Until I get back, take care of yourself. And take care of your woman.”
“My woman?” Of course, Simon knew immediately he was talking about Nina, and having her characterized as his felt right.
Too
right. “Nina’s not my woman. She’s just—she’s just—”
DeMarco shot him a chiding look. “Please. I know I just told you I’m on the edge, but I haven’t completely gone over the bend, Simon. She’s your woman and you’re damn lucky to have her, for however long it lasts. Just like she’s damn lucky to have you. She’s not Lana. No, there are never any guarantees in life, but you’ve got your second chance at happiness with her. Don’t blow it because you’re scared.”
* * *
A
FTER TALKING TO
D
E
M
ARCO,
Simon continued going over the evidence in the homeless murders, trying to find the chain that would link Davenport, or even the boyfriend, Leo, to them. Just like before, he came up empty. Turned out, Leo was studying overseas in Italy. Simon called and spoke to the guy himself.
After that, he followed up on what DeMarco had told him about Billy Dahl. Not because he actually believed Billy Dahl’s death was connected to the homeless murders, but because no matter what he might believe, he didn’t leave anything to chance. He got hold of the reports on the shooting, and did some checking on Dahl’s immediate family, as well. Three of his six brothers had long criminal records, and two were in prison, one in California’s San Quentin Prison. But there was absolutely nothing to suggest they’d gone on a killing spree the past week.
In other words? Dead ends all around.
But what was worse than that?
When he wasn’t agonizing about how little progress he was making on the case, he was agonizing about his feelings for Nina and what he was going to do about them.
Nina had gotten bored working in the small office by herself and had decided to work at one of the empty desks across the room from Simon. At several points, he’d watched her when she hadn’t known he’d been doing so, and a secretive smile had played on her lips, as if she was recalling the passion they’d shared the night before. It had made his body ache to touch her. Kiss her. Make love to her over and over again. Several times, he’d wanted to go to her, but he’d held back, wanting to prove that he could focus on the job and not her.
Now, Simon gave in to the twitchy feeling in his stomach, left his desk, headed over to where Nina sat and hitched a hip on the desk. He checked around, confirmed that they were the only two in the room and leaned in close. She looked up from the papers she was scribbling notes on and focused her gaze on him.
“Don’t tell me this is one of those ‘about last night’ moments, is it?” she asked, an edge to her voice.
He let out a laugh and fought back the desire to cover her mouth with his, the way he had just hours before.
“Technically, it was this morning, but no, that’s not why I’m here. I—I was hoping I could talk to you about something. But it would have to be off the record. Just between the two of us.”