Authors: Virna DePaul
She watched him carefully. Considered what he was asking. Then nodded. “What is it?”
He struggled with his conscience. Normally, he’d never share what DeMarco had told him with another person, but Nina wasn’t just anyone. She was a doctor. She’d know what he was going through. And maybe, just maybe, she’d know of a way Simon could help his friend.
Briefly, he explained what DeMarco had told him about the shooting in New Orleans. Then said, “I was hoping you might be able to give me some insight into what he’s going through personally. He mentioned nightmares. That he was hearing things. That things started to go south after Billy Dahl was taken off life support.”
Nina nodded. “It sounds like delayed PTSD. He’s probably been dealing with the aftermath for six years, but because there was still hope—however slim—that Billy Dahl might make it, he was able to keep it out of his head. After Billy died...”
Yeah, after Billy died, DeMarco had been buried by guilt.
Cops often had a case where everything went wrong. Where innocents died. Often the wrongs happened because lieutenants or captains or commanders made a bad call, something that had weighed on Simon’s mind when he’d gotten his promotion. But other times, a simple traffic stop could result in a huge mess, leaving a cop scarred for life.
“I wish he’d shared more with me,” Simon said. “Maybe then I could have made him realize he had nothing to feel guilty about.”
“Have you shared your feelings about Lana? Not that I’m saying you blame yourself for her death,” she said quickly, “but I imagine it would be hard for DeMarco to share something so personal with you if you didn’t do the same.”
“Shit.” Simon sighed. “You’re right. I never shared my feelings with him. I’ve kept them to myself, just like he was doing. But I’ve been handling Lana’s death. He hasn’t.” When she said nothing, he frowned. “I’m sensing you’re not saying anything for a reason.”
“I think unless you’re willing to talk about something, you can’t really know whether you’re handling it or not. Have you ever talked to someone, really talked to someone about Lana’s death?”
“I talked to your friend Dr. Shepard.”
“You did that because you were told to. And I’m sure you didn’t truly open up to Kyle about how you felt. Am I right?”
“Probably.”
Nina nodded.
“So...you think I should talk to someone?”
“It might help.”
“Someone like you maybe?”
“I didn’t say that. But at the very least, talk to someone who cares about you. A friend.” She blushed. “I mean, I care about you. And I consider you a friend. But I know you probably wouldn’t feel comfortable sharing such personal thoughts with me.”
“Actually,” he said, “I think I’d feel most comfortable sharing personal thoughts with you.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh. Well, thank you. And of course, anytime you want to talk to me, about anything, I’m here for you. As a friend.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Will you do the same thing?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, who do you have to confide in? About Beth? About your sister? About anything else that troubles you?”
He saw her practically shut down. “I’ve talked to you about Beth. And my sister isn’t an issue. That was a long time ago.”
“You haven’t talked to me about how you
feel
about Beth. And come on, Nina. I don’t care how long ago it was. Your sister’s death still weighs on you.”
“To some extent, yes. I loved her. Of course I miss her. But I’m handling it.”
“I thought you just said that if you’re not willing to talk about something, you can’t know you’re handling it.”
“Touché.” She sighed.
“Does that mean you’ll tell me about it—tell me about Rachel—someday?”
She looked uncertain, was clearly struggling with an answer, and ultimately all she said was, “I’m hungry. Do you want to grab lunch?”
No, he didn’t want to grab lunch. He wanted to push her, to beg her to trust him. Instead, he said, “Sure.”
They gathered their stuff and were almost to the lobby when they heard a loud commotion. “Damn it, I’m looking for Nina Whitaker. I was told she was working with one of your detectives. I want to talk to her. Now.”
Automatically, Simon positioned his body in front of Nina’s, every nerve in his body alive and aware. A man who was speaking to the receptionist glanced up and saw Nina.
“You!” the man shouted. “You’re the one who wouldn’t let the cop interrogate that bastard who stole Becca. You’re the reason my child can’t sleep at night. The reason Becca’s asthma’s so bad she’s been back in the E.R. three times.”
Great, Simon thought, so this was Mr. Hyatt, Rebecca Hyatt’s father. Just what they needed.
“Back off,” Simon said. “Now.”
Hyatt’s gaze flew to Simon. “Are you the detective that let her hold you back? You shouldn’t have let her get in the way. You should have gone after the guy who had Becca Dee.”
Becca Dee?
BD.
The implications of what the man said rocked him. Simon strode toward him. “Your daughter—Rebecca Hyatt—you call her Becca Dee?”
“Yes! And it’s her fault—”
Suddenly, Commander Stevens was there, striding toward them, breathing heavy as if he’d run all the way down to the lobby, which was probably the case. Accompanying him was Gil Archer, who stepped slightly to the side. “Mr. Hyatt,” Stevens said. “Please don’t do this. What happened to Rebecca was not Dr. Whitaker’s fault. In fact, Dr. Whitaker was instrumental in finding your daughter. Without her...”
As Stevens handled the agitated father, he did so with considerable civility, which alerted Simon instantly. The guy was someone important—politically important—otherwise Stevens would be coming down on the guy more. He’d still be civil, of course, but he wouldn’t condone a man who walked into SIG headquarters and started screaming at the receptionist and a civilian.
Simon’s speculation was confirmed when Archer said, “Kevin, this isn’t the way to handle things. Your grandfather is a friend of mine. I told you we’d bring your concerns to Stevens. That I’d set up a meeting...”
Sensing Nina shift beside him again, Simon looked at her. Damn it, she’d gone pale again. He was getting far too used to seeing that look on her face—the one where she was trying to hold things together despite getting thrown one curveball after another.
Suddenly he remembered what she’d told him the first time she’d visited him at SIG. How Rebecca Hyatt’s father had focused his anger at his daughter’s predicament on her. Simon reached a hand down low, out of eyesight of Rebecca’s father, and grabbed Nina’s fingers. Her hand trembled, but she squeezed his hand back and laced her fingers with his. Brave woman, he thought.
“No,” Kevin Hyatt shouted, his face florid and filled with rage, “that other cop, Officer Rieger, said he almost had a confession out of that nut job. But this stupid shrink here decided to go all politically correct on everybody and shut down the interrogation.”
Shrink. The word sounded obscene coming from Hyatt’s mouth.
How many times had Simon used that word to describe what Nina did for a living? Ten? Twenty?
Had it sounded as disrespectful when he’d said it as it did now coming from this man? And hadn’t that been the whole point?
How much pain had his own thoughtlessness caused Nina over the past few days? Too much, he realized.
“I understand you are upset,” Stevens said. “Even enraged, and I know every father wants to protect his daughter, but this isn’t the way to do it.” He glanced at Simon, silently indicating he should get Nina out of here. That wasn’t going to happen. Not until he made sure Stevens understood the implications this man posed given his daughter’s nickname.
“I tried the regular channels. Filed a complaint, got a lawyer, but he said I could do nothing. But screw that. I’m going to the press and telling them everything I know. That you—” he pointed directly at Nina “—you did this to my daughter. Because of you, Becca Dee was out in the cold, locked in a frickin’ basement for hours. She had asthma. She could have died. Don’t think for a minute I’ll let you get away with this.”
Stevens placed his large body in front of the man, stopping his forward progression. His eyes narrowed in understanding. “Your daughter’s name is Becca Dee?” he asked quietly.
His gaze met Simon’s, who nodded. Then they met Archer’s.
Archer sucked in a breath. “You think—” he whispered, which told Simon that Stevens had talked with his friend about the initials...and probably Nina’s connection to the whole thing.
Was Archer the one who had urged Stevens to explore what Nina knew about the murders? If so, Simon had the strong urge to tell the man whose daughter he’d once dated to mind his own business.
“I need you to calm down,” Stevens said to Hyatt, cutting Archer off. “And I need you to come with me. I’d like to ask you some questions. About your daughter and your grievances against Dr. Whitaker. Can we do that?”
Hyatt stared at Stevens, glared at Nina over his shoulder, then nodded. “About damn time,” he muttered.
To Archer, Stevens said, “I’ll have to catch up with you another time.”
Archer nodded, then glanced at Nina and Simon, his gaze landing on their linked hands. Although his eyes widened in surprise, Simon didn’t let go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
A
S HE LED HER OUTSIDE,
Nina clung to Simon’s hand as if it was a lifeline.
Such hatred. Such anger. All that intensity scared her. And, for a split second, made her question herself. Could she have wormed the information out of Michael Callahan sooner? Should she have pushed him harder?
Simon turned to her and caught her gaze with his. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said.
Rationally, she knew that. She knew Becca Dee’s father was projecting. He hadn’t been able to protect his daughter and was turning his guilt onto someone else—her. His rage had probably been bottled up inside him ever since he’d heard his daughter had been kidnapped, just waiting for a moment to explode. Waiting—
“The nickname he used... Do you think he’s the one?”
Simon hesitated. “Anything’s possible, remember? But given your past with Davenport and the fact he broke into your house, I’m still more inclined to believe he’s the one responsible.”
“Even though your theory about wanting to eradicate mental illness could apply just as equally to Hyatt as it could to Davenport? Given that Rebecca—Becca Dee—was kidnapped by a mentally ill man?”
“Even then,” Simon said.
“Why?”
“The first homeless man, remember? He was killed before I met you. Before his daughter was kidnapped.”
“Oh. That’s right.”
“You okay?”
She squeezed his hand tighter. “With you here with me? Yes. I just wish we could figure out what was going on.”
“I know. But I promise, Nina. I won’t stop looking until I find out.”
With Simon’s promise, Nina’s nerves settled once more. He’d do everything he could. For her. For the two men who had been murdered. Even for Six. Right now, that was enough comfort that she was able to relax somewhat and enjoy her lunch.
That enjoyment was short-lived, however.
They were just paying their bill when a broadcast on the television set playing in the corner of the sports bar caught Nina’s attention. “Simon,” she said. “Look. It’s Davenport.”
Simon cursed, but the two of them went over to the television set and watched as Davenport held court in front of a camera crew. “He’s out on bail,” Simon gritted out. “And the first thing he’s going to do is hold a press conference? I can just bet what he intends to say.”
Illuminated by klieg lights from the news crews, Davenport’s tears shone on his cheeks. He insisted that a shrink, Nina, who was working with the DOJ and SFPD, had caused his daughter to commit suicide. He admitted to sending Nina a threatening letter, and even going to her house, but claimed that he’d just gone to talk to her. According to him, she’d been angry with him and retaliated by having him arrested for a crime he hadn’t committed, and that she’d corralled her boyfriend, Simon, into the mix.
After that, Davenport said, he’d been taken into police custody and treated despicably. Bullied and beaten. By Simon. Because he was engaged in a romantic relationship with Nina.
Just as he had when Hyatt had railed at her, Simon now surreptitiously grasped Nina’s hand, tucking their clasped hands behind his back so no one could see. Her fingers trembled and he squeezed, hoping she’d feel his reassurance through the pressure.
The lawyer who’d obviously orchestrated the event handed the man a handkerchief. “That’s all my client has to say for now,” the lawyer said into the microphones. “The SFPD has blatantly disregarded this man’s rights and favored one of their own. We are bringing suit to the SFPD for unlawful detention.”
The interview ended. With a sick feeling, Nina turned to Simon. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
“For what? This isn’t your fault.”
“Maybe not, but because of me, Davenport is making up lies about you. Stirring up more trouble between you and the public. That can’t be good.”
Can’t be good for his bid to be in management,
she thought.
But Simon didn’t appear concerned about that. “He’s not the first suspect to make unjust complaints about me and he won’t be the last, Nina. I’m not worried about it, and I don’t want you to worry about it, either. You have enough on your plate as it is.”
“You think?” she said as she laughed. “Besides, my plate is on the sparse side compared to yours.”
“Doesn’t matter. No matter how heavy our loads look right now, we’ll get through this, Nina. I will solve this case. And you will get your life back.”
* * *
L
ESS THAN AN HOUR LATER,
Simon’s phone rang. It was Stevens. The two of them appeared to be discussing Davenport’s interviews, as well as Rebecca’s father. When Simon hung up, Nina asked, “Hyatt?”
Simon shook his head. “He filled me in on what he and Hyatt talked about, and he agrees with me. He doesn’t think Hyatt had anything to do with what’s been happening.”
“And that upsets you? Because I can tell you’re upset.”