Denial (17 page)
Hancock was staring at him.
"When do we open her up, Doc?"
"Not surprisingly, you're just in time," Levitsky said. "Officer Malloy stayed with me until every one of Ms. Johnston's organs had been dissected. He has an insatiable interest in physical evidence."
"Absolutely fucking right," Malloy said. "And we're gonna need every clue we can get. I just interviewed the fag this whore lived with."
Hancock closed her eyes.
"An unemployed pastry chef.
A true flake
. And when you’re dealing with white trash like her, you can't expect—"
I drove an elbow into Malloy's mouth. He hit the ground with a thud and started writhing on the floor.
Hancock grabbed my arm and glared at me, one hand on her gun, then slowly let go. Her whole body seemed to deflate. She turned back to the table, reached out and rested her hand on Monique's ankle. "This girl is my niece, Dr. Levitsky," she said. "Please give us all the help you can."
"Shit! My teeth!" Malloy screamed.
Hancock stood there, staring at her fingers lightly stroking Monique's skin, then turned around and walked over to him. She grabbed him under the arm and pulled him to his feet. "I need everybody I've got on the job. So don't try taking any sick time," she said. "Go visit your dentist, get yourself fixed up and get back to the station." She let him sink back to the floor. She looked at me. "Remember. Anything you need."
* * *
I left the morgue around nine. I was past fatigue, into a kind of foggy second wind. I got in the car, turned it over and popped an old Ray Charles album into the CD player.
I wanted to visit Monique's apartment to get a sense of any other signature the killer might have left a the crime scene, but I felt the need to stop by the hospital to see Kathy first. I couldn't say why. Maybe she'd been right; maybe she was another one of my addictions. I put the car in gear and started onto Union Street, then stopped short when I noticed a small manila envelope — the kind I stored my stamp collection in as a kid — taped to the underside of the glove compartment. I grabbed it and ripped it open. A Ziploc bag of what looked like cocaine was inside, along with a small card. I took out the card first. One side was a schedule of church services at Sacred Heart. On the other, Hancock had written, "Whatever you need." Talk about picking your drug of choice. I tossed the card on the floor mat, fished out the plastic bag and rolled it between my fingertips. It felt soft and inviting. A pillow to rest my head. I swallowed and imagined not being able to feel my throat.
I pulled apart the plastic seal, took a pinch and spread it along my upper gums. They went numb immediately.
Numb
. Even as I basked in the absence of sensation, that word started to bother me. I thought again of Rachel's comment that I wouldn’t need the coke if I was in touch with my rage. I knew this was fact, knew it with dead conviction, yet I took a second pinch to dull my lower gums, then a third for my nose.
Dull
. Another word to dwell on.
The fog cleared, but I worried my clarity was another illusion of distance, like the romantic vision I had of the tankers in Chelsea Harbor.
I hit the gas, flew down Union and weaved through traffic on Boston Street to get to Stonehill Hospital. I took one of the spaces out front reserved for doctors. At the end of the row, Trevor Lucas’ vanity plate:
CMENOW
. It had taken me a while to decipher it the first time I'd tried. I thought he was being lewd. Now I read it automatically as ‘See Me Now,’ the cry of a certifiable egomaniac. I hurried up the steps, past the lobby and toward the elevator.
Kris Jerold, the receptionist, told me Kathy was still at rounds. "They're over in less than an hour," she said, fingering the three hoops through her ear. "I'll tell her you stopped by."
"You've changed your hair."
"It's salmon-colored now," she said.
"I think that's what caught my eye. It's very different."
"Thanks."
"How has she been?"
"Dr. Singleton?"
"Well, yes. Are we worried about someone else?"
"She's fine."
"Fine?"
She bit her lip. "Well, not exactly
fine
. She's... See, I'm buried right now. I can't really talk."
Just then the door to Kathy's office opened, and Trevor Lucas walked out. He took a few steps, spotted me and stopped.
I looked at Kris. "Not fine at all." I stepped to the corner of the reception desk.
"The slasher," Lucas said. "Do you know that was a Brioni suit? Four thousand dollars."
The one he had on looked at least that expensive. I glanced at the gold, monogrammed buckle of his belt, then at his alligator loafers. "I'm sure you've nipped and tucked your way into quite a wardrobe."
"People are addicted to different things."
Kris shuffled some papers, excused herself and walked off down the hall.
I noticed deep, raw scratches that started under Lucas’ right ear and ended at his tab collar. They were the only part of him that didn't look perfect. "Something attack you?" I asked. I squinted to get a better look.
He touched the broken skin. "One thing our little girl does not lack is passion. I don't believe you’ve ever really tapped into it. But you and I were over that ground last night."
"All I remember is you running away."
"I'm here now."
I was about to start toward him when Kathy appeared in her doorway. She looked as angry as I had ever seen her.
Lucas noticed me staring over his shoulder. He glanced back at Kathy, then moved off to the side so that the three of us were standing there like the points of a triangle. "Why don't you tell Frank why you clawed me?" he grinned.
"Go fuck yourself," Kathy seethed. "I didn't touch you."
"I made you jealous, didn't I?"
"Jealous of what? You're insane."
"No lying, Mouse."
Kathy looked at me. Sadness took over her eyes. "Please make him leave," she said.
Part of me wanted to see her pushed further, but a tear had started down her cheek. "Why don't you just take off," I told Lucas halfheartedly.
"
Tell
him
. Tell him how angry I made you. He hardly knows you."
Tears streamed down her face.
Lucas shook his head. "Amazing, isn't it. The way she changes moods on a dime." He looked back at me. "What do you make of it? One minute a scorned woman, the next a helpless child."
Kathy turned away. The side of her face was red and puffy.
My jaw tightened. "Did he hit you?" I asked.
"It doesn't matter," she sobbed.
I stared at Lucas. "Get out of here."
"You want to let her slide that easy, partner? A little damsel-in-distress routine, and she's off the hook. Don't even want her to explain what I'm doing here? What
we
were doing in
there?
" He nodded toward her office.
I did and I didn't.
"You're calling the shots," he said after several seconds. "Shall I stay or go?"
"I told you to leave. I meant it."
He looked over at Kathy. "She'll tell me everything in due time." He headed for the elevator.
I walked up to Kathy and lightly touched her face. Even after finding her with Lucas, I wanted to be close to her. But I didn't know exactly how. "Are you through with him?" I asked.
"I'll never see him again. Ever."
"I've heard that before."
She pulled her face away from my hand. "Leave me alone, then, if that's what you want."
"That's not what I want."
She softened, took my hand in hers.
"I want to try to understand what's been going on. With you. With us."
"I thought we agreed the first step was you focusing on your own problem. You know I don't want anyone else, but it's like you're not even here when you're on that shit."
I nodded. "I was all set to go to McLean."
"And..."
"It turns out I was right; Hancock had the wrong man. There's been another murder."
"What? What do you mean?"
"Another woman was hacked up last night."
"Tell me she wasn't from the hospital."
"She wasn't. She was a dancer at the Lynx Club."
"A
stripper?
"
"Yes. A stripper."
"Well, Sarah never did anything sick like that. What's the connection?"
I tried to be gentle. "The wounds were a lot like Sarah's."
She closed her eyes.
"Hancock wants me on the case."
She let go of my hand. "That doesn't change the fact that you need to detox."
"I will. When this is over."
"It'll never be
over
. You'll always have a reason to stay high, Frank. I don't think you're doing this for Sarah or me or Emma Hancock or anybody. We’re just the excuses you use to justify your habit."
"I can't walk away from this."
She rolled her eyes. "Then, please, stay away from me. OK?" She stepped back into the office and started to close the door.
I stuck my foot in the way.
Her face went blank. No sadness. No anger. "I'm not going to stand by and watch you destroy yourself. If you don't leave, I'll call security."
"You'll what?"
Her breathing quickened. "Get out, before I lose control."
I could tell she meant it. "Fine." I moved my foot. "But remember—"
She slammed the door.
I heard Lucas rev the Ferrari as I started down the steps outside the hospital. It lurched out of its space, then stopped short in front of me. "I could have told you: She's in no mood for company," he shouted.
I was in no mood to be fucked with. I walked over to him.
"My God, what a barracuda," he smiled, pulling on a pair of black leather driving gloves. "She'll chew both of us up, given the chance."
I rested my arm on his roof and grabbed his side mirror with my other hand. "She tells me you hit her hard."
He winced. "Could you move your hand? I just had the car detailed."
I left my hand where it was and looked over the hood. "Shines like new. Not that I would expect anything less from a cosmetic surgeon." I stuck my head inside. The champagne leather upholstery was in showroom condition. Matching burgundy and beige ornamental carpets covered the spaces where floor mats would sit. The gearshift knob had been replaced by a high-gloss ebony ball, inlaid with a pearl yin-yang symbol. "Obsessively maintained," I said, straightening up.
"And I'd like to keep it that way. So move your hand."
"I will. Don't worry. Just admit it.
You smacked her
."
He squinted up at me. "Do I look like Santa Claus?"
"Huh?"
"Don't let the color fool you; this is no sleigh. I have no reindeer. You do not get a wish list. I do not slide down your chimney to spread cheer and goodwill. I do not wear black boots and—"
"Enough, already. What the hell are you talking about?" I pushed on the side mirror. The metal creaked.
"Jesus, let that go!"
"Tell me you hit her. What's so hard about that?"
He shook his head. "Look, I hear what you're asking. And I agree. She desperately needs to have the shit knocked out of her. I mean, a severe thrashing. But that's not my job. It's yours. And you can't even stand to see her shed a tear. Go ahead and wreck the car if you want; I'm still not going to do your dirty work."
I stared at him.
"I'll tell you my bottom line: I'll drive her until you get up the courage to look under the hood and fix her yourself. I'll keep her oiled up nice. But I can't take responsibility for a major overhaul. After all, you're the one with the analytic training."
I focused on the point where his nose met his upper lip. A quick blow there can snap the nasal bone and splinter the maxilla almost beyond repair. But part of me was fascinated by a voracious bacterium. He was a living, breathing specimen of psychopathology.
"Hey, speaking of head cases of the female persuasion," he said, "you'll appreciate this." He pointed toward the windshield.
I meant only to glance where he was pointing, but my eyes stayed glued on a gold wire ring hanging off the rearview mirror from a few inches of nylon suture. How had I missed it? My pulse quickened. "What's that?" I asked.
"You'd never believe it."
"Try me."
"Let go, first."
I moved my hand to the doorframe.
"You don't recognize it?"
"No," I lied.
"Do you want to spin or buy a vowel?"
"Neither. This isn't a game."
"Everything's a game, Frank. Here's a hint: It belongs to one of the dancers we saw last night. Candy — the girl with the perfect tits. I threw her a ten-spot."
"The one that was pierced."
"Bingo."
"It's the
ring she was wearing
. Don't be afraid of words. It's her
pussy ring
. Can you say that?"
"How did you get your hands on it?"
"Say it.
Pussy ring
."
OK. How did you get her pussy ring?"
"It's a long story. You probably have places to go."
"I've got time."
"I knew you'd be interested. We're a lot alike." He flicked the ring gently with his gloved fingertip. It swung back and forth from the suture. "I drove by her apartment late last night. She likes getting off in the car." He gunned the engine and looked at my hand. "Feel it? She says it's like straddling a jet."
"Incredible. You had her naked? Right there?"
"Right here, my friend." He patted the seat. "And I grab her pretty much whenever I want. That's our deal."
"What deal is that?"
"It's a secret."
I didn't want to press too hard too fast. "Don't keep me hanging. Was she any good?"
"Good? She was
phenomenal
. No gag reflex whatsoever." He shook his head. "Do you know how few women can actually deep-throat? I don't mean take half of it. I mean swallow it whole." He moved his hands up and down over his lap as if her were guiding her head. "I had her going like a piston."
