The Enemy Inside (29 page)

The polite, but uncaring doctors also jarred her memory, and the nurses reassuring her that her father had been called, but her mother would have to remain overnight.
 

Then the slow ride home in the car, followed by the crush of loneliness and fear that always plagued her. Not fear for her mother—who was always fine the next day—but fear for what she knew was coming next; fear because she would be alone with
him
, all night.
 

The kind of fear that was worse than the experience itself.
 

With effort, Berg pushed the unsettling memories aside and concentrated. The files each contained the images and medical details of all the unidentified Jane Does who had been the victims of violence and had disappeared without checking out. They sifted through the pile, narrowing the number down to twenty-five by only considering young women who had been raped.

“Check out this one. What do you think?” Berg asked, handing over an open file containing an image to Jay.
 

He looked up and took the file from her and read. “She’s battered and very swollen. It makes her features hard to identify. But the frizzy hair and eye color match Melissa’s, sure. No name, address or date of birth, but thought to be in her late teens. Hard to tell because of all the bruising and swelling to her face, plus the mud in her hair is hiding its real color. But everything else fits, including the broken nose. It could definitely be her,” Jay replied.

“Let’s go get the hitchhiker files.” Berg sensed a case-breaker.

They stopped off at the station and collected the hitchhiker files, then decided to go back to Berg’s to investigate their hunch.

Using a corkboard and drawing pins she produced from her hall closet, Berg pinned up the photos of the women next to a card of basic particulars.

“Melissa Shipper. Caucasian. Killed execution style recently,” she read. “Amelia Smith. Caucasian. Went missing two years ago, body found a year ago, cremated.”

“Dr. Dwight got anything on that mito-whatever DNA he was running on those bone fragments?”

“Not yet. It’s taking longer than he thought. He hopes he’ll get something in the next week, though.” Berg continued. “Rosario Gonzalez. Hispanic. Missing for nine months. No body ever found. Anita Fuller. African-American. Missing for thirteen months. No body—”

“And the DNA of the last two, along with Melissa’s, turned up in a shoebox in a trucker’s trailer.”

“Yep, exactly. Last one. Cyan Trevillian. Caucasian. Missing two years. No body ever found.”

They each opened a hospital file, checking the injuries report, appearance, and estimated ages. Any possible files they put to the side with the one matching Melissa.

They occasionally took a break to make fresh coffee, but in only a few hours they read the entire pile of hospital files and set aside ten, including the one they suspected was Melissa’s.

When he was sure she wasn’t paying attention, Jay looked up from his files and studied Berg as she read. A long, dark tendril of hair had escaped her barrette, and she pushed it behind her ear with her delicate fingers.
 

He thought she was a walking puzzle, so standoffish, yet soft and so caring when it came to people like Karen. A tough cop, yet she was vulnerable and she had clung to him desperately as they kissed at the restaurant. He took a deep breath. Ever since their encounter the night before, he could smell only her, like her scent was burned into his nostrils.
 

He was dying to kiss her again . . .
No!
he reminded himself.
She’s still your partner. And she has the program to think of.
 

He was in unfamiliar territory. He had spent the last ten years carefully avoiding emotional attachments, and yet love snuck up on him when he least expected it. He had no idea what to do, or how Berg felt. “What’ve you got?” he eventually asked.
 

“A few matches. You?”

“Same.”

They reviewed the possible matches together. After an hour of sometimes-heated debate, they narrowed it down to five files, one for each woman.
 

“I think they’re all a pretty good match. And now we’ve got a new link between them—”
 

“Yes! They were all in a hospital before they were reported missing and never went home,” Berg finished.

Chapter Thirty

It was after dark by the time they finished, so against her better judgment, Berg opened a couple of celebratory beers as they sat on her couch together, each at either end like grade school students at their first coed dance.
 

Berg sipped her beer, not wanting a repeat of the previous night’s events, no matter how badly her body might argue otherwise.

“Your place is very sterile, like a hospital,” Jay said as he looked around.

“As opposed to what? Your place? Which looks like carnival gypsies live there?”
 

“Touché, Detective Raymond,” Jay said with a smile.

Jay flicked on the small LCD television with the sleek remote, and one of the local news stations automatically filled the silent room with low chatter. The media had pounced on the possible idea of a serial killer murdering truckers in their midst, and the detectives could almost hear their glee.
 

Despite consistent denials from the CPD, each news station was trying to out-sensationalize the other, dredging up so-called experts and profilers to discuss the murders around the clock to ensure terrorized viewers were glued to their television screens.

“No one is mentioning my arrest for Rogers,” Berg said. “At least that’s something.”

“I guess Reinhardt’s warning about media leaks to do with your case sunk in. Even Consiglio’s not dumb enough to ignore a direct order from the board.”
 

After a few minutes, they switched off the feeding frenzy of journalists who seemed determined to whip the community into a panic.

Berg scraped the files together into a rough pile on the table. They had decided to interview the admitting nurses in the morning to see if they remembered anything.

“Look at all these files.” Jay moved closer to Berg. “So many women who received no help, no justice. They just slipped through the cracks.”

Berg grimaced. The idea of so many lost women almost caused her physical pain. “And those are the ones we know about. I can’t stand it. I can’t think about how our system fails women every day.”

Jay shook his head in understanding. “Unbelievable. This is meant to be the country of possibilities. So what do you think is going on? Why have these women disappeared from the hospital, and why have traces of four of them shown up on or around our dead guys?”

“I have no idea.” And she didn’t. She felt the answer was there, tantalizingly close, but it eluded her.
 

There was silence as they both swigged their beers, lost in their thoughts.
 

Berg grimaced and rubbed her eyes. “Apart from Melissa, Anita, and Rosario, who we are pretty sure were raped by Taylor, maybe it’s just simple evidence transfer? Melissa’s DNA can be explained on Taylor if he raped her. Amelia’s on Winchester? That’s harder, especially since she’s dead. Maybe he gave her a ride at some point . . .”
 

They drank in thoughtful silence. Jesse jumped up, sat between them, and looked at them with adoring eyes.

“I would hate to think it’s the lab. But strange DNA keeps showing up on murder victims, and my DNA did show up on Rogers . . .” Berg tried to talk around her dog.

“That can’t be it. It’s the best lab in the country for a reason. Nothing like this has ever happened before.”
 

Berg nodded. “Taylor and Dell were violent rapists and murderers, or attempted murderers in Dell’s case. What about a vigilante?” Berg asked.

“Awesome. How do I thank him?”

“I mean it. These cases are linked, they have to be. The women, Taylor, Dell, the rapes. I can feel it.”

“According to our chief, it’s just random, unlinked motorway crime that will be solved in a jiffy.”

“Yeah, but he’s got his head so far up his ass he could crap his own tonsils.”

Jay chuckled. “So if it’s a vigilante, then it’s someone related to one of the cases. These crimes started with Taylor, so what about a family member of one of the original raped hitchhikers?” he asked, warming up to the idea.

“Which family?” Berg shook her head.
 

Jay thought for a moment. “Melissa’s Uncle Ted is definitely unhinged . . . consider this. Melissa calls from the hospital and tells him she was raped and beaten. He loses it, takes her home and hides her, gets her to tell him everything. He eventually tracks down the rapist and exacts a bit of retribution, military style. It wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility that Shipper had a hair of Melissa’s on his clothes that ended up on the body. Or maybe she was there, watching him get her revenge.”

Berg smiled, finishing his train of thought. “He gets a taste for the torture and keeps going on innocent truckers and motorists, reliving the crime, unable to quell the rage. Maybe he decides to be Chicago’s next superhero and coerces the hospital volunteer, Irene, to tip him off about other rapes.”

Jay nodded. “Doesn’t explain why he killed his own niece or Amelia’s DNA on Winchester, or how he met Irene. But it does explain the rest. Particularly if we can find a link between him and this unknown volunteer. Maybe he’s worth a revisit first thing tomorrow?”

Berg smiled. “Absofuckinglutely.”

They clinked their bottles together and finished off their beers.
 

Uncomfortable in the sudden silence, Jay fiddled with his beer bottle as Berg placed hers on the coffee table.

Jesse leapt down off the couch and trotted to the kitchen in search of food. Without their furry divider, Berg found herself acutely aware of Jay’s presence.

Jay sighed. “I guess I better go.”

Berg ran her tongue over her bottom lip as she tried to think of a reason for him to stay. “Sure, I guess,” she answered, nodding.

Jay hesitated, noticing Berg’s indecision. “I . . .” Unable to even finish the thought, he launched himself at Berg, wrapping his arms around her and burying her underneath his hard body on the couch. His mouth sought hers as he pulled her closer.

Berg wrapped her legs around his waist and threaded her fingers through his curly hair. Kissing deeply, they fumbled at each other’s clothing, desperate to feel skin on skin. In seconds, Jay removed Berg’s suit and shirt, revealing her bra and cotton panties.

Berg, fumbling with the buttons on Jay’s collared shirt, gave up and ripped it open, pressing her chest hard against his as the buttons fell to the floor.
 

“I want to feel you inside me,” she whispered before running her tongue down his neck and nibbling the stubbled skin. “Fuck me. Please.”
 

Jay groaned and slid down between her legs, trailing his tongue on the seam of her panties and rubbing his rough cheeks lightly along her sensitive inner thighs.
 

Every nerve on end, Berg responded with a quiver of delight, pulling him back up so she could taste his mouth again. She moved her hands down from his chest, brushing his nipples, to his pants, urgently feeling around for his belt as he settled between her thighs.

“Are you sure?” he whispered between kisses. “I don’t want to push you.”

Berg’s hand was in his pants, and she was stroking him with an expert touch.
 

He groaned. “Fuck, Berg, what about the program?”

“Fuck the program,” Berg muttered, pulling him down to her lips. “Fuck everything . . .”
 

Her words could have been a bucket of cold water for the affect they had on him.

“Stop,” he murmured, wrenching himself away. “This . . . this . . . isn’t right . . .” He lifted himself off Berg and moved back to his side of the couch.

Berg was stunned.
 

Jay struggled to do his pants up over his erection and flung his torn shirt back on. “I want you, you have no idea how much. But we have to do this for the right reasons. You have the program to think of, and I shouldn’t be pushing you. I’m so sorry,” he said.