Fated (15 page)

“I saved the best for last.” Lisa turned the head to the other side, and Hart thought he knew what was coming. He was wrong.

“Oh my God.” He dug in his coat for his phone and leaned close to the victim’s neck.

“Isn’t that the strangest thing you’ve ever seen?” Lisa asked. And there was the glee. “There wasn’t a tattoo there. I’ve already checked.”

It wasn’t anything like the other marks either, not even Ben’s. This one was black, blistered, and looked like it had bled. Hart snapped a photograph, realized how close he was to the dead body, and straightened quickly.

“Is it a burn?” Freddie asked.

“A brand, yes. One gone pretty wrong, by the looks of things. So my guess is that the victim was awake when branded, and he struggled. The pain must’ve been—”

Hart snapped. “Yes,
thank
you, we get the picture.” He gritted his teeth and took a careful breath to stop his chest from heaving. Lisa blinked at him in astonishment, and he turned away.

“Can we get a copy of your full report?” Freddie asked, already backing up to the large elevator.

“Sure, I’ll e-mail one to the station.” Lisa began to zip up the body bag.

“Great. Thanks, Doctor Holden.”

“Come back any time if you want another look,” she said, and strained to push the drawer back into place with her hip.

“Well,” Freddie said as the service elevator doors closed. “No need to look any further.” She pushed the fifth floor button.

“Oh?”

“That woman is clearly the killer. She’s crazier than my great grandmother, and she thought Mother Theresa spoke to her in her dreams.”

“I think you’ve got to be a bit crazy for that job.” He wiped cold sweat from his brow.

“Medical examiners and cops both.”

“Pretty much. Where are we going?”

“There’s a vending machine on the fifth floor. I need a bottle of water.”

The elevator clearly hadn’t been designed for visitor use. Its protective rails on the side had been scratched by gurneys, beds, and kitchen trolleys. It rattled its way up to the top floor, and Hart closed his eyes on the sickening lurch. A mistake, it seemed, because instantly he felt like the walls were closing in on him, and he imaged the dreadful confines of a closed casket. He gasped and opened his eyes.

“You all right?” Freddie put a hand on his arms and pulled him through the opening elevator doors.

“I—”
am fine
, he wanted to say, but obviously that would be a lie. Hart had been under gunfire, had interrogated child murderers, had been through every up and down in his life and never felt like this. The idea of his father’s coffin—a sight he hadn’t faced yet and didn’t know if he could now—these murders, and the events of the past couple of days left him adrift on suffocating, humid grief mixed with an unhealthy portion of guilt.

“Take off your jacket,” Freddie said, but he shook his head and disappeared into the men’s room on their left.

After he dipped his hands under a cold stream of water and buried his face in them, as if he could wash away this ill-feeling that was starting to become more pronounced every day, Hart lifted his head and looked into the mirror for the first time in what felt like months. He might’ve shaved and brushed his teeth and made sure no toothpaste stuck to his chin, but he hadn’t stared himself in the eye in a long time. Where the water caught his brown hair, it stuck in uneven peaks against his forehead. His cheekbones appeared sharp under his currently pallid skin. He’d inherited his straight, delicate nose from his mother, but that wide, expressive mouth was all Dad.

Dad. Hart clutched at the white sink in front of him and let his chin drop to his chest.

Goddammit.
Hart couldn’t afford to fall apart here in the middle of the hospital, in the middle of a workday. “Brush it off,” he mumbled, patting his face dry with a piece of paper towel. He could have a breakdown later in the company of a glass of red or two.

Freddie stood waiting for him with a bottle of water clutched in each hand, one of them half-empty already. To Hart’s dismay, Toby was there right beside her, wearing a pair of green scrubs, a face mask hanging loose around his neck. Fifth floor: Operating Rooms. Hart bet there was a vending machine on every floor.

“I’m fine,” he said before either of them could utter a word. He took the water when Freddie offered it, though. “Thanks.”

“So I take it you had the pleasure of meeting Doctor Holden.” Toby’s tone was light, but Hart didn’t miss the tight lines around his mouth.

“Hm.” Hart screwed the lid back on the water bottle.

“I need to scrub my brain with bleach after that experience,” Freddie said, bringing the bottle of water back to her lips.

“And I need a shower.” Hart felt gross and sticky in his suit after the cold sweat.

“That can be arranged,” Toby said. Hart whipped his head around to glare at him as Freddie beside him spat water everywhere.

“Oh my God,” she huffed, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. “Look what you made me do, you bastard.” Laughing, she disappeared into the ladies’ room.

“Toby,” Hart began as soon as the door fell closed behind her, but Toby gripped Hart’s burn-free wrist.

“Don’t,” he said softly. “I know you’re going to try to cancel our dinner tomorrow, but please don’t.”

“This case just blew up, Toby.” Hart huffed a quiet laugh. “Again. I don’t think I can—”

“Yes, you can. Please.” Toby ducked his head, licked his lips, and lifted his eyes to Hart’s again. “Please don’t cancel.”

“Jesus.” He rubbed a hand over his face. How did anyone say no to that?

Toby stepped closer. “I really want to kiss you again.”

He cast a quick glance around, but the corridor was empty. Toby was a walking wet dream in his green scrubs. His hair was in disarray from a surgery cap, no doubt, and Hart found he’d give a lot to be able to mess it up more. A bit of human comfort wouldn’t go amiss right then. But he still felt horrible in his too-hot suit, and this was Toby’s workplace. He was about to say as much when the door to the ladies’ room opened, and Freddie stepped out. Her eyes widened even as Toby took a step back, giving her an evil grin.

“Well, I’ve got to go back to work.” Toby tilted his head in Freddie’s direction. “See you later, sunshine.”

“Later, gorgeous,” Freddie said.

“Let’s go.” Hart began to turn toward the elevators, but Freddie kept staring at Toby’s retreating back. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing to worry about,” she said absently. Then, apparently snapping out of whatever preoccupied her, she gave Hart a slow once-over. “Toby’s got it bad.”

“Whatever.” Hart rolled his eyes. “Let’s get out of here and grab some coffee.”

“I won’t say no to that.”

H
ART
GOT
behind the wheel, put the key in the ignition, but didn’t immediately start the car. Someone was standing outside the hospital doors with an IV pole in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other, and Hart had an unkind thought or two as he reached for his seat belt. Beside him Freddie dug out her tablet and started tapping away on it. He lifted his eyes to the rearview mirror. On the other end of the parking lot, two kids sat making out on a wooden bench beneath a weeping willow. Its branches hung low, tickling the surface of a little man-made pond. Hart wondered if they were patients, or just two kids looking for some space away from prying eyes. Two ducks took to the water when a black van pulled in from the street. For a beat Hart did nothing, then his entire body sparked with adrenaline.

“Get out of the car,” he yelled, throwing his door open. Freddie didn’t hesitate. She flung her handbag to the side, leapt out of the door, and sprinted away. Hart glanced over his shoulder for long enough to see her running toward the kids, and then he was up the steps, gun in hand, dragging the smoking IV-guy into the building. There was no one else in the hall, apart from Hanby, the security guard, who rose to his feet.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” the smoker croaked at him.

“It’s all right, he’s a cop,” Hanby said, pushing up against Hart. “What is it?”

Hart didn’t answer. “Get away from the windows,” he snapped, crouching down to peek through the glass doors. The black van drove slowly past, and in the distance he could see Freddie walking toward the hospital again, hands on her hips.

Textile Clean
, read white lettering on the side of the van.
Industrial cleaning of professional linens.

Hart glanced down at the gun in his hand, over his shoulder at the two men staring at him, and closed his eyes.

Fuck.

With shaky fingers he replaced the gun in its holster, and, while he wanted nothing more than to hide his face in his hands as he kneeled on the floor, he rose shakily to his feet.

“Stand down,” he said. “It’s all right. My mistake. Everything is all right.”

“Lunatic,” the smoking patient said, and Hart rounded on him.

“No,” he growled. “Lunacy would be smoking when you’re already on death’s doorstep.” He stomped angrily through the hospital doors and down its steps. Freddie said nothing when they got back into the Camry, its open-door alarm beeping desolately, but the look on her face spoke volumes. Had he really just yelled at a sick patient? Jesus. If Freddie told Miller, he’d be pulled off active duty for sure.

He didn’t feel like coffee anymore, but neither did he want to return to the station, so he pulled into the first coffee shop they encountered. Its too-small tables and uncomfortable sofas were full of kids on their laptops and phones.

“Let’s go sit outside,” Freddie said, accepting two coffees from the barista as Hart paid. He followed her out the back door to a small but neat courtyard that looked out over more parking spaces. The owners had put some effort into making it cozy by creating a barrier of potted boxwood plants and flowers. A mild geranium-scented breeze reminded Hart of Dad’s porch.

“I lost my mama, did you know?” Freddie handed him his coffee and sat down opposite him with her back to the parking lot. She was as much a cop as he was, and Hart recognized the favor she did him by allowing him to have his back to the wall. There was room on the bench beside him, but apparently this was to be a face-to-face sort of talk.

“I gathered from the way you talk about her,” he said. He didn’t feel like discussing this, but if they were to be partnered for the unforeseeable future, Freddie had a right to take a peek inside his head. He wanted to ask about her mother, but if his own loss still felt so raw in his throat it silenced him, how could he expect someone else to talk about theirs?

“Dad died of a heart attack. He was a—” Hart snorted at the memory, tracing the curl of a knot in the wooden table with his forefinger. “Mom called him a
bon vivant
. He loved his steaks still mooing, his wine dark and plenty, and his pipe in the evening.”

“Was it unexpected?”

“Yes.” He hesitated. “I don’t know. I hadn’t seen him in nearly a decade, so maybe it wasn’t and I just hadn’t been told.”

“That’s not fair,” Freddie said softly.

“It’s my own fault.” Bile rose from his stomach, and he gulped his coffee, wincing when it worked its way down. That was as much sharing as he could stand at the moment. “What about your mom?”

“She had a very rare kind of lung cancer. My dad left after my youngest brother was born, so it was rough.” Freddie flicked her eyes up at Hart, and for a moment he thought she’d say more, but she didn’t.

“What was her gift like? Did she see ghosts?”

“She saw something all right.” Freddie drank her coffee and shifted in her seat. “She could communicate with spirits or something, though she never talked about that so much. She read tarot cards too, palms, that sort of thing.” Freddie lifted her gaze from her cup, flashing Hart a guarded look through her eyelashes. He didn’t think she wanted to talk about this. “She was convinced the Predator was real. Anyway, you up for checking out Ben’s house?”

“We should wait for that warrant.”

Freddie nodded. “I’ll call in, see how long it will take. We probably won’t find anything useful there anyway. His will, if he had one, it might be with his lawyer.”

“Kathy might know who his attorney was. Maybe we should go see her again.”

“If she’s on nights, she’ll be asleep now.”

Hart drained the last of his coffee, took Freddie’s empty cup, and walked them to the trash can.

When he returned, Freddie asked casually, “You seeing Toby tonight?”

“I hadn’t planned to. Why?”

“No reason. Drop me off at the station. I have stuff to do, and you can check on Ben, and maybe….”

“Run into Toby again.”

“It’s not like either of you would mind.”

“Fine.” They got in the car. “What stuff will you be doing?”

Freddie huffed. “Important stuff. Now, mind your own business.”

Hart laughed softly. “Whatever you say, Fred.”

A
FTER
HE
dropped Freddie off at the station, Hart swapped cars and drove to the hospital, despite knowing better. He would take a look at that get well card, but truth be told, he knew he wasn’t going there to see Ben. Something defiant stirred in his gut. Something that told him, fuck the world, fuck its troubles and its murderers, fuck its unfairness that took a parent away from her children and then rammed a wedge between the survivors so they didn’t see each other for nearly a decade.

He’d do what his dad would have told him to do. Fuck it all and go have some fun. Something solely for himself and no one else. Hart got off the elevator at Ben’s floor, checked in with the nurse, and made his way to the room where Ben still lay breathing evenly. As he’d suspected, the card was from Kathy. A simple, but heartfelt wish for recovery. Hart gently put the card back where he found it.

“Is Dr. Darwin still in surgery?” he asked the nurse at the front desk.

The woman looked up and grinned. “No, he should be in his office finishing up some paperwork.”