Every Move She Makes (16 page)

"Heaven help him," she whispered, then shivered.

She wrapped her arms about her. Too emotionally wound up to be cold, I
took off my jacket, draped it over her shoulders. "Better?" I asked,
grateful for the distraction of helping someone else. She nodded. "I'm
sorry. You were saying?" I looked around, saw Torrance talking with the
Incident Commander near the SWAT van. I motioned her away from the area.

"What was it you were about to tell me this morning? About the Scolaris'

marriage?" As we strolled away from the command center, Torrance looked
up, tensing as though worried I'd leave. But then I saw him look from me
to Mary, undoubtedly eyeing my coat on her shoulders. I guessed he
thought I wouldn't be going far without my coat, because he went on with
what he was doing. I had a feeling he wouldn't let me wander off for too
long. Not if Scolari was suspected of being around. "It's not on the
grapevine yet," she said, "but Patricia was going to leave him."

"She'd already booted him out."

"Honey, what I'm talking about was before he got caught with that little
bit of a records clerk. Patricia told me she thought he did that to make
her jealous." This was not the earthshaking news I'd expected. "The way
I see it," Mary continued, "he killed her after he realized she was
going through with the divorce."

"The PD's a regular gossip mill. What made this divorce so different?"

"Oh, it wasn't the divorce, let me tell you."

"What then?" I asked.

"Like I told your Lieutenant Torrance, it was who she was divorcing him
for. I think he couldn't take it." I waited for the announcement,
wondering who Scolari would most be upset by. Zimmerman, his former
partner? Scolari mentioned he didn't trust him. He'd certainly believe
it the ultimate betrayal, but I couldn't picture Patricia failing for a
man like Zim. "Well?" I

prompted.

"None other than josie Hilliard."

My jaw dropped. I stared openmouthed, but her face remained serious.

"As in Hilliard Pharmaceutical?" I asked in disbelief. I'd stood inches
away from this woman, Josephine, Josie Hilliard. She'd never said a
thing. Not a damned thing.

Except for her continent about being heavily medicated.

I barely heard Mary's words after that. Something about Patricia meeting
Josephine over cancer research. A million thoughts raced through my
head, the foremost being thatjosie Hilliard was one more strike against
Scolari-and that Torrance would consider it a major factor in his
investigation. Hell, I would. Though I told myself that this was San
Francisco, and the scenario was far from unheard of, the fact was that I
knew Scolari. He was a macho cop and a man's man. He took it hard just
being partnered with a woman. To have his wife leave him for a woman
would devastate and humiliate him. He'd take it as a direct attack on
his manhood. Especially when considering how very feminine Josephine
appeared. She was not a woman I would place as a lesbian. -ii anything,
she was the epitome of a trophy wife. I clearly recalled her husband,
Evan Hilliard, that night of Paolini's fundraiser. Handsome, fifties, a
good twenty years older than she. Society courtship, marriage. Did he
have an inkling? Josephine Hilliard. Another nail in Scolari's
motivation filled coffin. He politely respected the gay officers, but
would rather be dead than have anything to do with the gay lifestyle. I
still couldn't see him killing his wife. I took a deep breath, thinking
of all the weight Scolari had shouldered me with, whether he knew it or
not. if it was true that he had killed his gay wife-and I didn't want to
think it was-then I could see why Torrance might consider him a suspect
in the Soma Slasher slayings. The MOS were the same. We waited, but the
Hostage Negotiation Team's attempt to contact anyone in the evacuated
building apparently wasn't successful. If Scolari was in there, I could
do nothing to help him. Still, I needed to know he was okay, and I stood
riveted to the spot, unable to turn away even as the SWAT team tossed in
flash bangs before they entered. On the leader's signal, they moved.

Smoke drifted from the entrance, swirled about their feet. I knew the
drill, having trained with them when I was on the Hostage Negotiation
Team. In my mind, I saw them rushing in, the point man swinging his gun
toward the first door, crouching. Behind him, the second man would
follow, stand. One high, one low. The remainder of the team would race
in at their sign of all clear. They'd do this with each door they came
to, each desk, every obstacle ... I didn't want Scolari to die. Not
like this.

"Gillespie?" I jumped at Torrance's touch on my arm.

I hadn't heard him approach. "It's over." "Was it-" I cleared my throat.

I'd completely lost track of time. I'd been thinking about Scolari as my
partner, not as a suspect. Figured if I looked at the evidence, surely
I'd feel differently. "Was it him?" "We don't know. They didn't find
anybody." I exhaled slowly and told myself this wasn't happening. I'd
been in a robbery once-in a liquor store, off duty-and recalled how
disjointed my thought process was when it went down, that it was not
real, a test. I was going through the same thing now, except unlike the
robbery that had lasted all of three minutes, this surrealistic
nightmare seemed to go on forever.

"Why would he come here?" I pondered aloud.

"We were hoping you could tell us." I drew my gaze from the morgue
doors. "How would I know?"

"Partners ..

"Not by choice, I'm sure he'd tell you." I suddenly wondered why
Torrance failed to mention the relationship between Scolari's wife and
Josephine Hilliard. Mary had said she'd told him about it, so it wasn't
as if he hadn't known. True, the drive over here hadn't exactly
facilitated the atmosphere for conversation. I suppose he could have
slipped it in between his "Watch out for that car," and "Go, go, it's
green." All he had to do was say, "Oh, by the way, did you realize that
the woman you were speaking to back there was having an affair with your
partner's wife?" "I have no idea why he came," I said. My composure was
slipping. "Not at the moment."

"Has he contacted you at all? Since the other night?"

"Were you going to tell me about her? Josephine Hilliard?" "Has he
contacted you since then?" His expression never wavered as he enunciated
each syllable. Obviously that subject was off-limits. "No," I said,
looking away. The SWAT team wandered past us back to their van, weapons
slung muzzle down over their shoulders, their black masks pulled off. I
wanted to leave, to get away from the static of the radios, the
after-adrenaline shoptalk of the men, the faces that glanced my way,
making me wonder if they thought I knew where Scolari was hiding. "I
need to get to the office," I said, my patience running thin. "The
lieutenant's got a press conference. I was supposed to report to him on
what I found on the drug overdoses and the Slasher case." "I doubt he'll
miss you at the moment." I refused to acknowledge the truth of his
statement.

With a double homicide that had occurred in the very
bowels of the Hall of justice, the lieutenant wasn't thinking about me.

"Buy you coffee?" Torrance asked. I didn't answer right away, for the
simple fact I was still mad. He'd made it perfectly clear by wasn't
telling me that I wasn't a part of Patricia's homicide investigation. To
hell with him. I'd find out what I needed on my own. Even so, I couldn't
afford to make enemies with the man if I wanted to hellp
Scolari-which is why I attempted a smile. I'm pretty sure I failed.

"Okay. Just as long as it's away from here." "I'll drive." The farther
from the morgue we got, the more I knew I couldn't return to work. Not
yet. I didn't want to see the TV crews and press gathered on the Hall of
justice steps, calling out for more of Scolari's blood. He pulled into
the parking garage at Fifth and Minna, and we strolled into the
Starbucks. The aroma of freshly ground coffee was comforting, and I
hoped like hell the caffeine might give me the strength to go on.

Despite his friendly offer, inside he seemed distant, and I figured he
was still angry over my questioning his integrity when it came to
Scolari's guilt. "How about I buy you a cup," I said. "A truce." "It'll
cost you." He surveyed the coffee shop with practiced ease. "I'm
ordering a double." Torrance was a cheap date, his double merely black
coffee. We sat at the table, our backs to the wall, an eye on both
doors. Even without the murders we would have done the same, officer
safety ingrained in us since our early academy days. "You ever wish you
could just go into a joint, sit any where, and not think about where
your back is?" I asked.

We both knew what I meant: You ever wish you weren't a cop?

He sipped his coffee, watched the heavy pedestrian traffic gathering at
the corner, waiting for the light to turn green. A horn honked. Tires
screeched somewhere in the distance. "Sometimes," he said. We drank in
silence, perhaps both contemplating what life outside of law enforcement
might be like. About halfway through my latte, my pager went off. I
pulled it from my belt, glanced at the number, then replaced it. I
sipped my drink, pleased to see my hand remained steady.

"Anything important?" Torrance asked.

"Just my aunt. She's probably calling to remind me about some errand I
promised to run for her." "Would you like to use my phone?" I smiled. It
took all my effort. "My phone's in my car.

She can wait."

"I don't mind." Torrance handed me his cellular. he held it in my hand
for an eternal second, wondering what to do. "It's a personal call," I
said in a teasing voice. "You sure IA won't come down on you?" "I'll
take my chances." His smile was calm, unreadable, his gaze held mine. I
opened the phone. Punched in my aunt's number. It rang twice, then her
answering machine kicked on. Torrance watched. "It's me," I said before
the message finished. I paused, heard the tone, hoped Torrance didn't.

"No. I didn't forget to make dinner reservations for tomorrow night. I
told you I would ... Okay. See you then." I hit END, handed the phone
to Torrance, wondering if he would push REdial, to see the number. He
put the phone in his pocket, and I breathed an inward sigh of relief.

"Ready to go back to the Hall?" "If you are." I wasn't. I had no wish to
see crime scene tape still strung up, in places I'd considered safe all
these years.

As I expected, there was no peace from the media.

THEY were on the steps of the Hall of Justice when we returned, their
vans double-parked. We entered through a side door, having to show our
IDs to the officers posted there. Every exit, we found, was guarded in
the same manner, not a soul getting in without an ID, and everyone who
wasn't a uniformed cop passing through the metal detectors. If that
didn't bring reality crashing home, Scolari's picture posted at every
workstation did. Torrance and I kept our thoughts to ourselves, neither
of us needing a reminder of the horrific events of the day. Silently we
entered Homicide, and I wondered how I would gain three minutes to
myself in order to return Scolari's page. What I didn't expect was the
answer to be napping at my desk in the otherwise vacated office. "Reid?

What are you doing here?" Bettencourt opened his eyes and took in the
pair of us watching him. "Waiting for you. I was, uh ... ' He brushed a
lock of hair from his forehead. Very cute. Too bad the rest of the
package didn't match. "I wanted you to know I was thinking about you."