Cold Target (7 page)

“Who is it?” she mouthed back.

“A Detective Gaynor.”

“Speak of the devil,” Sarah muttered.

For a moment, Meredith thought she must have conjured him. It was an unwelcome thought. But she nodded and went into her office. She picked up her phone. “Detective?”

“I wondered whether Mrs. Fuller has had any more problems.”

“No. Why?”

“He had a warning. If he goes near her, let me know.”

“Thank you. I'll pass that on to Nan.” She paused. “Will there be departmental charges?”

“No.”

“May I ask why?”

“If he were fired, who would he blame?”

She was silent for a moment. He was right. A man with nothing to lose could be very dangerous. “And if he attacks someone else?”

“As far as we know, he hasn't. No complaints. He has a good record.”

“Except for beating his wife.”

“Look, Ms. Rawson, I don't like it any more than you do, but he'll be watched carefully now. One wrong step and he's out. He knows that. But I think he would be far more dangerous to your client if he lost his job. He wouldn't be able to find another in law enforcement. He would go after her for ruining his life.”

“You sound as if you know that firsthand,” she said.

“I do. A lady I liked a lot was killed that way.”

She heard, or thought she heard, emotion in his voice. “Is that why you were in the courtroom?”

“I was the one who recommended that he not contest the charges, or the divorce. I told him I'd better not be wrong in not pressing for departmental action. If he so much as calls Nan, let me know.”

“Thank you,” she said. “You could have told me that then.”

“Yep,” he said cheerfully.

“Why didn't you?”

“Because you were glaring at me.”

She probably had been. She had been so sure he was there to support Fuller.

“Just thought you should know.” He hung up.

She stared thoughtfully at the phone in her hand. One question answered.

She didn't think she would be as lucky on the others.

Why in the hell had he done that?

Gage seldom explained himself, especially to an attorney.

But he had seen the suspicion in her face and for some reason he wanted to explain. He had no idea why he mentioned April, the wife of his first partner.

He hadn't been able to save her, but perhaps he could save Nan Fuller. Perhaps his call would give Nan a little reassurance, and Gage intended to keep an eye on her soon-to-be ex-husband, even though it was no longer officially his job. He certainly hoped he had made a believer out of Rick Fuller.

He had another reason as well. He had not been able to resist picking up the phone this morning. She had stayed in his thoughts last night. Meredith Rawson had the cool demeanor of a society belle, but the sparks in her blue eyes were those of a true crusader. He had never cared for either. Yet the combination appealed to him. As did the wide mouth and firm chin. They kept her from being a traditional beauty but gave her an intriguing quality that lingered in his mind.

He replaced the phone in its cradle. Gorgeous eyes or not, she was not for him.

So why had he bothered?

He told himself he did it because of the Prescott case. She would have been around fifteen when the man died, and Prescott was a friend and acquaintance of her father. She might know something, even if she didn't realize it.

A leap in logic.

An excuse.

Dammit
.

He didn't need the kind of grief he was tempting by even thinking of the woman in any way but a professional one.

He picked up the phone again and called Dom Cross. Cross was one of the few people he trusted, perhaps because he was a maverick like himself. Cross ran a shelter for runaway and troubled boys in New Orleans. He was an ex-convict and made no secret of it. His background was one reason he'd been so successful with his young charges. He related to troubled kids far better than any establishment type could.

Dom had tried to help Gage's brother years ago but it had been too late. Clint had been too deeply involved in a gang to extricate himself. Because he'd had a cop as a brother, Clint had been given several passes by police who had found minute amounts of drugs on him. But then there was one time too many.

Gage wished Clint had never received a pass on the first offense. Perhaps that lesson would have stopped the progression of drugs and gangs earlier. It was one reason he said what he had to Meredith Rawson about the release of L.L.

“Gage!” Dom's hearty voice boomed through the receiver. “Haven't seen you for an age.”

“Three weeks,” Gage corrected.

“That's an age.”

Gage ignored Dom's somewhat cavalier sense of time. “What about a pickup game this afternoon?”

“I think I can round up a few of the usual suspects.”

“Good. I'll be there at six.”

“Loser buys the drinks.”

“A little confident, are you?”

“I know which kids to pick.”

“So do I.”

“I have a surprise on my side. Some new kids. Pretty damn good. It's what you get for finking out on me.”

Gage chuckled. Dom had conned him into the pickup games two years ago. The kids needed a righteous cop as a good role model, he kept saying. Problem was Gage had doubts about his own righteousness.

But he'd owed Dom for what he had tried to do for Clint. And damn if he didn't just like the man. He was the most persuasive charmer Gage had ever met. And Dom genuinely cared about boys who had no one else who cared. And he made other people care.

Gage also enjoyed athletics, particularly basketball. In high school, he'd played both basketball and football, then football in college until an injury had ended his pro hopes. And his scholarship.

Those pickup games at the shelter were the only competition he had these days.

“I'll be there,” he said with some relish. He always enjoyed tromping Dom.

five

N
EW
O
RLEANS

Meredith stayed at the women's shelter longer than she intended. She devoted at least one afternoon a week there to counsel the women on their legal options. Some, like Nan, she represented pro bono.

The questions were always the same. Custody. Protective orders. The return of personal property. Marital and child support. The husband almost always had been the dominant member of the family and had controlled all finances and purchases. The wife rarely had any resources of her own.

Today the list of questions was particularly long, and she hadn't left until nearly eight.

She headed for the hospital again.

Her mother was the same. The private duty nurse was the same one who had been there the night before.

At Meredith's unspoken question, she shook her head. “No change, Ms. Rawson.”

“She hasn't been conscious at all?”

“No.”

“Is there any way we can wake her? Any stimulus?”

Her expression gave Meredith the answer. Her oral answer, though, was more cautious. “You might discuss it with her doctor.”

“Does she know I'm here?”

“I don't know,” the nurse said honestly. “There's a theory that comatose patients feel the presence of loved ones, but no one really knows.”

The answer didn't comfort, or absolve, Meredith. Everyone should have someone with them. Someone they loved. Someone who loved them.

Now it was only her.

“Why don't you go out to supper?” she asked the nurse. “I'll stay with her until you get back.”

“Why, thank you,” the nurse said, then hesitantly added, “If you think it'll be all right with your father?”

Meredith wondered whether her father had bullied her like he bullied so many others. “Of course it is,” she said. “I'll ring for a nurse if there's any problem.”

“Then I'll do as you suggest. I'll be back within an hour.”

“Take longer if you like.” Meredith waited until the woman disappeared out the door before she took the chair next to her mother. She needed the time to think, to grieve, even to vent her anger. She had been given a task by a mother who'd barely acknowledged her existence, and then disappeared into a coma without giving her the information she needed.

“Dammit,” she said to the still figure. “Don't do this to me. Give me something to go on.”

But the figure on the bed did not move.

Meredith wanted to scream at her.
Why now? Why wait until it's too late
?

“Why didn't you care about me?” That question escaped her lips. She heard the plea in it. One that had echoed in her mind for so many years. The area at the backs of her eyes felt heavy with moisture, tears she was determined not to shed.

“Why?” she asked again. “If you care so much about losing a daughter, why didn't you love the one you had?” The pain was intense, the anger so powerful she could barely contain it. She wanted to shake her mother until she regained consciousness, until she could get some explanation. And yet she felt compelled to do this one last thing for her mother, despite the seeming hopelessness of finding someone lost thirty-three years earlier.

Had her mother agreed to an adoption, only to regret it later? Or had the baby been taken from her? If so, how? There had to be paperwork somewhere. She couldn't imagine her grandfather not making sure his grandchild went to someone safe. He'd always been possessive of everything in his life. He never threw anything out. The attic of her parents' house, which her mother had inherited from her father, was filled with his papers.

Perhaps she could find something there. Meredith decided to search her parents' house on Friday. Her father would be in court, and the housekeeper usually did her shopping then.

Meredith looked at her mother's face. Peaceful now, but thin. And aged. She was only fifty. This shouldn't be happening to her. If only she hadn't waited so long to go to their doctor. But there had been this meeting or that meeting, this project or that charity ball.

Meredith looked at the cards the nurse had handed her. Some had come with flowers. Other people had stopped in the room briefly. The cards included one from the mayor, several from members of the city governing board, one from the president of the symphony guild.

Meredith knew them all. She'd met them at various functions hosted by her mother. She stopped at one card. Judge Samuel Matthews, a member of the Louisiana Supreme Court and one of the state's most distinguished citizens. Some called him a kingmaker. Meredith had seen a photo of his daughter and her husband, a state senator and probable candidate for Congress, in the paper just a few weeks ago.

“You were loved,” she whispered to her mother even as she wondered how someone so well-respected could have been so reserved with her own family. Perhaps it had just been her mother's nature to give to strangers. No emotional price that way.

She closed her eyes, trying to think of instances that would give her more insight into her mother. Meredith had known for a long time her parents' marriage was a loveless one. They slept in separate rooms. They were always scrupulously polite to each other. She couldn't remember an affectionate gesture between them.

She knew about abuse. Her father had not been abusive, at least not physically. He just lived in his own world, totally absorbed by his practice. He had given her mother everything she wanted. Unlimited funds. Household help. Contributions to all her favorite projects.

Everything but love. At least Meredith had seen little evidence of love.

And her mother in turn had given her daughter everything, everything but the warmth and affection she'd craved. It had made Meredith tough. She'd built her own shell.

To divert her mind from self-pity, which she hated, she made a mental list of things to do. Search her grandfather's records first. Her mother's room next. There might be a diary or records of a list of the steps her mother had already taken to find her missing daughter.

Then Meredith would try to locate neighbors and friends of her great-aunt. Perhaps she had told them something. And she would try school friends of her mother. Perhaps they might know who the father was. He might know something.
Someone must
.

Her eyes were trying to close, and she looked at the clock. Midnight. The nurse had returned and quietly taken a chair in the corner. The machines clicked on, one pouring drugs and nutrients into her mother as another recorded her heartbeat. Steady.

A lump caught in Meredith's throat.

She finally rose.

“Good night,” she said to the nurse. “You will call me if there is even the slightest change?”

“Of course.”

“I know my father is paying you but …”

“I'll call you.”

“Thank you.” She left the room blindly and leaned against the wall outside. She hated to go. But her mother had asked one thing of her. It was doubtful she would ever wake, but if she did, Meredith wanted her sister next to her.

She left the hospital. A few staffers were visible but nearly all the visitors were gone. She went down the eerily silent corridors, out the door to the covered parking decks a short distance away.

Clouds shrouded any light from the moon and stars. Rain drizzled in the oppressive heat, cloaking the city lights. The covered parking lot had been crowded when she'd arrived earlier, and she'd had to take a place in the third tier near the back.

For some reason she felt a tingling along her backbone. Her mind issued warning signals.

There were no people and few parked cars. An eerie silence magnified the sound of her footsteps on pavement.

She glanced uneasily over her shoulder, then told herself to relax. She'd been on her own too long to frighten easily. She followed all the safety tips. Have keys in hand, walk swiftly and with confidence, be alert. Still, she felt a prickling at the back of her neck.