Fractured (8 page)

“Call your friend Montoya at the FBI.”

Not a bad suggestion. Montoya was a profiler she'd met when she worked the case of the Northwoods killer, which had not been the finest time of
his
life, but Bryce knew Ellie respected the man's insights and they had been pretty accurate. He'd consulted with her on other cases as well.

“I might. Now that there is a pattern, maybe we can come up with something, but we just don't have any physical evidence at all. Not a hair, or a fiber, or even a weapon.”

“Just the bodies.” Bryce wrapped his hands around his cup.

They still hadn't really talked about his trip to New York. That was also keeping her awake.

*   *   *

Maybe it was
time to say something.

Middle of the night? She wasn't sure it was a good idea, but then again, she'd put it off during dinner—she'd put it off for several days, in fact—and it was not going to get any easier. She liked to think he was intelligent enough to know that.

Ellie took in a breath, let it out slowly, and just said it. “How long will you be in New York? You've not been very specific.”

“It might be a few weeks or maybe even longer.”

“I see. That makes sense considering the purpose of your visit.”

“I wasn't sure what kind of reaction I might get.”

Running a finger around the rim of her cup, she gazed at him. “What exactly did you expect?”

“For you to say I should go for as long as I needed.”

“Is it disappointing I'd be supportive?”

“I don't know.”

“Bryce, I can hardly ask you to put your dream second to me, when my job impacts our lives almost every single day. I'd like to think I'm more reasonable than that, and more realistic. This is your vision of your life and you should follow it.”

He didn't look thrilled with her response.

“Your self-reliance leaves me off balance,” he said, turning his head to look out the window at the chill black of a January night.

“My self-reliance is what you like about me,” she contradicted. “If I needed you, I think you'd turn and run.”

The hell of it was she could be right. That seemed to be exactly what he was doing anyway.

 

Chapter 7

Georgia was in an ethical dispute with her own psyche, but was just too fascinated to step in and end it.

No true physician allowed this situation, and yet here she was still stretching boundaries. She pursed her lips and then asked a mundane question. “How did you feel?”

Jason Santiago was a bit different than her usual patient. He dealt with personal issues so directly he probably didn't even need her, but there was no argument he was carrying a lot of baggage around, so talking to someone was not a bad idea.

He looked perplexed. “About what?”

“When you discovered so long after the fact that your father had passed away.”

He thought it over for a moment, but then just lifted his shoulders. “I don't think I felt much of anything. It was no big secret he was going to drink himself to death. If anything, I was kind of surprised it didn't happen earlier. I was pretty happy it didn't happen in a drunk driving accident where he took out someone else too so I'd have to feel guilty about that.”

“You'd feel more compassion toward a stranger?”

“He wasn't a man who inspired a lot of deep feeling.” The detective lounged back in his chair, his long legs extended. As usual he was dressed a little carelessly, this afternoon in worn jeans and a denim shirt, his hair curling over his collar. He was attractive, but in a bad boy sort of way—never mind he was a police officer. She knew he'd been in trouble with his job a time or two because he'd freely admitted it. It didn't surprise her at all. If anyone would bend the rules if it needed to done, her impression was he would. For her part, she'd much rather be on his side than pitted against him.

“I sense you aren't all that interested in talking about your father.”

“What you sense is that there isn't much else to say. He and I existed in a state of mutual indifference until I was old enough for him to tell me to get out. I didn't know he'd died for months because I hadn't seen him in so long no one knew where I was or if I was even alive. I was stationed in California at the time. As far as I'm concerned, he died anyway the day my mother walked out when I was five years old.”

“You're angry with her.”

“I'm pretty pissed she left me with him, but otherwise, I don't remember her all that well. Give me a break, after all, like I said, I was five.”

“Do you think that is why you don't trust women?”

He looked at her with those very vivid blue eyes. “Dr. Lukens, I don't trust anyone, man or woman, and if you did my job, neither would you. I've seen examples of man's inhumanity to man that make me want to wake up screaming at night.”

It wasn't at all unusual for police officers to suffer from depression, and he also carried the burden of his less than idyllic childhood, plus active military service, but he wasn't clinically depressed as far as she could tell. That didn't mean he didn't have issues, but she didn't think that was one of them.

Georgia asked carefully, “An interesting statement. Do you?”

“Literally wake up screaming? No.”

He wouldn't, she already knew that about him. She'd first seen him for mandatory counseling by order of the police department after he'd been shot in the line of duty and he'd been pretty unfazed by the event as far as she could tell. This particular patient was suffering from an entirely different sort of problem.

“Speaking of that topic, I understand you and Detective MacIntosh have a new case.”

“She told you about it?”

“You know I don't directly discuss anything a patient and I say during a session. That policy is why you can freely say anything you want to me, and have the confidence I will never tell her or anyone else either.”

His grin was irreverent. “You are a hardass about that, true.”

“I assume you want me to be.”

He sobered. “I don't even know why the hell I come here half the time.”

That sounded familiar, but she'd heard it more than usual lately.

Georgia said noncommittally, “Most people find it helpful to discuss their problems. I doubt my input is a miracle cure, I've never thought so even from when I first went into active practice. It's more saying the words out loud instead of ignoring what is troubling you.”

“This case would trouble anyone.”

She'd seen that horrific picture and didn't disagree but had to choose her words carefully. “I am not a detective but it is an easy assumption the two of you are working on the recent similar murders that have been very brutal according to the news.”

“For a refreshing change of pace, the media is telling the truth.”

“It sounds like you are dealing with someone who might be acting out their anger at the world in an interesting way.”

“Do you think?” Jason Santiago shook his head. “A sick one, that's for sure. Tell me, Doc, who wants to destroy someone's face? Not to mention punch holes in their chest in a religious symbol.”

“I don't know.” It was the truth. She'd been thinking about it quite a lot.

“Neither do we unfortunately.” He shifted in his chair and changed the subject to why she suspected he came to see her in the first place. “I have a feeling Ellie and Grantham are having some kind of problem.”

Now they were getting to it. It was no secret Ellie had only recently moved in with her lover, so Georgia responded neutrally, “When two people decide to live in the same house it is often a difficult transition.”

“Yeah.” He ran his fingers through his hair, which he often did. “Kate and I … we just expected it to be different when we decided to live together. All sunshine and happiness and not just sex and the occasional night out. There was toothpaste in the sink and mutual laundry and all that sort of crap. We just weren't good on an all-the-time basis.”

“Are you hoping they aren't either?”

“Who? MacIntosh and Grantham?” He tried to look disassociated and failed.

He'd just called her Ellie, but it was MacIntosh now. “Detective, you know exactly who I mean.”

“I don't know if I'm hoping for anything.”

He was, though. Police officers might be used to people lying to them, but so was she. Half of what she did was sift through the falsehoods to try and find a truth.

“Maybe you should tell her about your feelings.” Georgia had wondered about it all along. As far as she could tell, Ellie MacIntosh was completely unaware of her partner's attraction to her, and they dealt with each other on a professional level pretty well. Personally, Georgia was like a voyeur, looking in and waiting to see what might happen next.

That ended the session. He got restlessly to his feet and said in an unemotional voice, “I've a bit of a problem with that advice, Doc. I've never really loved anyone my entire life. It's like trying to teach a cripple to walk. I need to get the hang of it first, don't you agree?”

Unfortunately for him, she did.

*   *   *

The screen door
banged repetitively in a thin January wind as they pulled up.

It was an interesting lead, and Ellie glanced at her partner as he parked the car in front of an old house that had a buckled sidewalk with snow-encrusted dead weeds growing out of the fissures. “Now this place I can see our second victim visiting, but not our first.”

“Busted-down crack house.” Santiago unsnapped his seat belt. “Besides, the professor didn't come here, but the killer might have. I'll be about two seconds. This guy isn't going to talk to me according to my source, but what the hell. It's worth a shot.”

“
You'll
be about two seconds?” She opened her door. “Last I checked this was my job too. I'm going with you.”

“The fuck you are.” Santiago looked at her over the top of the car, his eyes unrelenting. “No. This is a gang neighborhood and they don't like cops. At all. Take the keys and be ready to drive if we have to leave in a hurry. That will be much more helpful than you walking with me to the door. You are, at this moment, a liability.”

It was true that their arrival did seem to draw quite a bit of interest from the locals. Two Hispanic men had come onto the porch of the house next door, one of them smoking a cigarette—hand-rolled, so maybe it wasn't a legal substance, hard to tell—and neither one of them had a coat on despite the temperature, their muscular arms covered in tattoos.

Santiago tossed her the keys, giving her little choice but to catch them. “No flirting while I'm gone. You have some admirers.”

She could deal with his attitude 90 percent of the time since she'd gotten used to it, but not right now. “I see them. I'm going to stand right here and watch you walk up to that door. If there is any hint of trouble, I'll call for backup and be right behind you.”

“Sounds good to me.”

The scenario did make her slightly nervous, but she'd be an idiot if it didn't. Still, Santiago had done the legwork on this and she'd back him up. Knowing the contact would probably not talk to him, he must have a reason for coming to this questionable neighborhood.

At least she hoped he did. He had his faults, but usually stupidity wasn't one of them.

Someone answered the door and he leaned on the jamb, casual and conversational, but his right hand hovered near his coat and Ellie could see Jason was not as relaxed as he appeared. After a brief conversation through the screen, he turned and came down the broken steps.

“Okay, drive,” he ordered as he got into the car and slammed the door. “Do it.”

She did, pulling away from the curb quickly and gunning the motor. The shabby houses flashed past. “Did he tell you anything?”

“Nope.” Santiago looked unfazed. “Unless you count the advice that I should take my questions and stick them up my ass.”

“So what precisely did that visit accomplish?”

“I want the dealers to know we're looking for someone. So Ramon, who has no teeth due to meth and smelled like a wet ashtray by the way, won't help me, fine. But someone might if he talks about it. He has friends in all the wrong places.”

Detective Jason Santiago had worked homicide a lot longer than she had, so Ellie weighed her response. “You don't think anyone will come forward voluntarily, do you?”

“Drug dealers? Hell no.”

“Not even Gurst?”

“He's our best bet, but I doubt it.”

She stopped at a corner and waited for the light. “Then?”

“They might hesitate to sell to whoever is buying if they seem unusual. At that point, our killer has to find a new source so he starts asking around a little. It's like tossing a stone in a pond. The ripple effect could pay off. Even those two gang members might help us out. You know they are going to ask what we wanted and if Ramon wants to keep good relations with his dangerous neighbors he might tell them, and they might mention it to someone else, and so on. I doubt the person doing this is one of the usual bad guys. If they aren't, then the idea of loyalty of any kind goes out the window. The drug culture is a unique entity.”

Maybe it
would
work. She wasn't at all positive it was worth risking their lives to go visit some pretty sketchy people on such a long shot, but she'd done worse than pay a call or two in a bad neighborhood, and maybe he was right.

“So now? What's next?”

“Yeah, well, we need to go shopping.” Santiago didn't look pleased at all, his expression surly. “That damn governor thing. For God's sake, I'm completely uninterested.”

Metzger had stopped by her desk briefly and informed her that he'd told her partner she was going to be the fashion consultant. She found it paradoxically funny and annoying. At the moment, considering Santiago's expression, it was amusing.