Shield of Justice (25 page)

“We need a break on this case,” Henry said without preamble. He waved them to chairs in front of his desk and loosened the collar of his immaculate white shirt a fraction. The snowy collar contrasted dramatically with his deep mahogany skin tones. Regardless of the time, or the level of tension in his office, Captain John Henry was always the picture of composure. “When the media makes the connection between these dead prostitutes and the River Drive rapes, they’re going to have a field day with us. We have one—and
only
one—thing going for us at this point, and that’s the psychiatrist he’s contacted. We’ve got to use her, and soon.”

Rebecca’s throat constricted and her head pounded. This was the last thing she expected, although if she had been thinking clearly she should have anticipated it. Where Catherine was concerned, she seemed to be incapable of thinking like a cop.

“No, sir. You can’t—” she began, only to be interrupted by Watts.

“Uh, what she means, Captain, is that the shrink’s probably a long shot. You know, a red-herring kind of thing. The perp’s not going to be stupid enough to come after someone we know about.”

Henry looked at Rebecca strangely but directed his reply to Watts. “That’s not what our experts tell me. They say that he’s delusional, and that his distorted sense of vulnerability is his weak spot. He’s arrogant enough to believe that he can snatch someone right out from under us and get away with it. We need to use that to our advantage.”

“Well, it’s not going to be her,” Rebecca said harshly, finally finding her voice. “I’m sorry, sir, but I just can’t allow it.”

Watts gave a small sigh and gazed out the window, waiting for the axe to fall. All he heard was the captain’s voice, oddly soft.

“Sergeant, you’ve had more to deal with lately than any one person should, and you’ve done a fine job. Now let me do mine.”

“Not with Catherine, Captain. Please.” She leaned forward in her chair, her hands gripping the arms so tightly the tendons stood out in stark relief beneath her skin. Her face was taut with the effort it took not to bolt to her feet and shout at him. If shouting didn’t work, she was prepared to beg.

The big man regarded her with compassion, but his voice was stone. “It’s not up to you, Sergeant. We’ll let the doctor herself decide.”

Rebecca was about to protest again when she saw his gaze divert to the squad room behind her. With a sense of dread, she turned to see Catherine enter in the company of one of the night patrolmen. Attired in a cream-colored silk suit, the psychiatrist looked fresh and alert despite the hour; her face, as always, was composed and elegant. Rebecca jumped to her feet, more vehement protests on her tongue, when Watts quickly stepped between her and her superior.

He whispered urgently, “Not now, Sarge, for Christ’s sake. You’re no use to the lady if the Cap pulls you off the case.”

Rebecca slowly settled back into the chair, waiting in stunned silence, avoiding Catherine’s gaze as Henry rose to greet her. She didn’t trust herself quite yet as she struggled to clear her head. Watts was right…again. There was nothing she could do to change what was happening. Now more than ever, she needed to be sharp.

“I’m sorry to inconvenience you at such an early hour, Doctor,” Captain Henry said politely, standing to shake her hand. “Phillips, bring another chair for Dr. Rawlings,” he instructed the uniform.

“That’s quite all right, Captain. If you hadn’t contacted me, I would have called you myself.” Catherine glanced quickly at Rebecca as she took the proffered chair, realizing that this was going to be even harder than she had expected.

Rebecca looked shell-shocked, and the sight of her dazed distress tore at Catherine. Even someone with Rebecca’s incredible reserves had a breaking point. Catherine knew what she was about to do was going to add to the physical and emotional strain the detective had been under since Jeff Cruz’s death, but she had no other choice. She would just have to convince Rebecca that she would be fine.

“We’re hoping that this killer will contact you again soon, Doctor,” Henry began.

“He already has. He called at three this morning.”

“Bastard,” Rebecca swore swiftly.

Catherine continued, staring fixedly at the man behind the desk. “He told me he had murdered a girl tonight, a prostitute. Is that true?”

The captain looked at Rebecca for confirmation.

“We’re not sure yet,” Rebecca responded, her face a mask of tension.

Catherine contemplated Rebecca’s inscrutable expression, then said softly, “The truth, please, Rebecca.”

“Yes,” she replied between gritted teeth, her ice blue eyes hard as she finally looked at Catherine. She saw the flash of sorrow, quickly hidden, in the deep emerald gaze that held her own. Beneath the pain in Catherine’s eyes was a tenderness that hurt.

“He said
I
killed her,” Catherine continued, her usual composure slipping for an instant as her voice broke. She took a deep breath, and her face was calm again. Only her eyes, glittering emerald stones, betrayed her rage. “He said that he killed her because I wouldn’t meet with him as he had asked.”

“That’s bullshit,” Watts interjected abruptly. “Uh, pardon me, ma’am, but nobody killed that girl except the person who crushed her skull, and it sure wasn’t you.”

“He said that he would kill one woman for every day I delayed. In my professional opinion, I believe that is entirely possible.”

“Catherine, you can’t let him make you feel responsible,” Rebecca protested desperately. “It’s just a trick to trap you into seeing him. I won’t let you get involved in this—he’s deadly, for God’s sake!”

Catherine saw Watts grimace and the captain’s formidable countenance darken with anger. She suddenly realized that Rebecca was jeopardizing her entire career out of fear for her safety. She understood it; she, too, would do anything within her power to keep Rebecca from harm. But, just as Rebecca had responsibilities and obligations, she did also. At the moment, however, she needed to keep Rebecca from destroying her career with another ill-timed outburst.

“I’m afraid you have nothing to say about it, Detective. What I choose to do about this situation is none of your concern.” She turned her back on Rebecca’s stunned face and said to Henry, “What is it you have in mind, Captain?”

“When he calls again, I want you to agree to meet him. You’ll never have to actually engage him; we just need to lure him out into the open so he can be apprehended. We’ll attach a recording device to you, and we’ll know where you are every second. You’ll be quite safe.”

“He’s lying, Catherine,” Rebecca said flatly. “A million things can go wrong when you’re wearing a wire, and we won’t be able to put a tail too close to you because it might scare him off. You’ll be alone with him—with plenty of time for him to kill you before we could reach you.” She met the astonished eyes of her superior officer without flinching. “Tell her, Captain. Tell her that you’re asking her to risk her life.”

Catherine turned slightly in the chair so that only Rebecca could see her face. She reached a slim-fingered hand and rested it protectively on Rebecca’s clenched fist. “It’s all right,” she said quietly. “I know you’re worried, but this is something
I
must do. Please, Rebecca, trust me.”

Rebecca’s fist slowly relaxed and her fingers entwined fleetingly with Catherine’s. Their eyes met and silently spoke.

I need you.

And I need you.

Rebecca squeezed Catherine’s hand briefly, then let go and straightened her shoulders, facing Henry squarely. Her voice was steady. “If she’s going to do this, I want it to be my show. I’ll call the shots all the way, and I want to be her backup.”

Captain Henry contemplated the two women. They were not physically touching, but the connection was nearly palpable. One was a stranger he felt he knew; the other was a cop he was just beginning to understand.

He settled back in his chair and nodded. “You’ve got it, Sergeant. Don’t screw it up.”

They waited in tense silence. Catherine had called Hazel Holcomb and arranged for coverage at the hospital; her home and office phone numbers had been patched in to a line at the station. She, Rebecca, Watts, and several other detectives were crowded into a small room filled with stale smoke and littered with half-filled paper coffee containers, soda cans, and fast food wrappers. Catherine had no chance to speak with Rebecca privately, so she contented herself with watching the detective work.

Rebecca had shed her jacket and leaned against the desk, one slender hip balanced on the edge, her sleeves rolled up to reveal her tanned, muscled forearms. A phone was tucked between shoulder and chin as she scribbled notes while she talked. Her height and leanness were accentuated by the fine tailoring of her shirt and gabardine trousers, the only interruption in the elegant line of her body the slash of leather across her back that secured her weapon to her side. Catherine had never felt so far from her, or more captivated by her. Every ounce of Rebecca’s exceptional skill was displayed in her sure, certain movements, underscored by the steely determination in her face and the absolute command in her voice. Here was the strength that defined her.

The detective had been on the phone for nearly an hour, demanding surveillance equipment, requesting particular officers for special assignment, setting the wheels in motion to create an enormous web designed to trap her prey. To the other cops in the room, she appeared focused and self-contained. They were used to her calm under pressure and took no notice of the tension betrayed in the brusque tenor of her voice and the clenched muscles of her jaw. Catherine, however, knew her in a way that they did not, and she appreciated the effort such command presence demanded. She was too sensitive to the nuances of behavior to miss the signs of agitation and stress that Rebecca thought she was hiding.

Catherine wanted desperately to touch her, talk to her, make some connection with her—anything to let her know how much she cared, and how much Rebecca meant to her. She was continually frustrated in her attempts to draw Rebecca aside by the arrival of yet another person who had to see the Sarge on some urgent matter or by the constant ringing of the phones with yet another decision for her to make. When Rebecca did glance her way, there was the barest flicker of warmth before her eyes became impenetrable again. Whatever she was feeling toward Catherine at the moment, she hid well.

The low level of conversation in the room halted abruptly when the red phone, the one that was receiving calls forwarded from Catherine’s home, rang. Twice before it had rung; both were patient-related calls. This time even the ring seemed different. Catherine waited for Rebecca’s signal, then they both picked up at once.

“Hello?” Catherine said.

Rebecca could detect no nervousness in her voice. Even though she expected it, her stomach still tightened at the next words.

“Hello, Dr. Rawlings,” the smooth, well-modulated voice said. “Did they find the girl yet?”

“What girl?”

“The one I left them. The one I killed for you.”

“Yes,” Catherine replied at a nod from Rebecca.

“Are you ready to meet me now, or will I have to kill another one tonight?”

“Where?” Catherine answered quickly, no longer looking at Rebecca. She would have to let her instincts guide her now. It was she, after all, he had chosen to contact, and she had the expertise to deal with him.
Oh God, I hope.

“I can’t tell you that now, can I, not with someone listening. We must keep it a secret a little longer. Drive to the statue of St. Joan in the park. You’ll find an envelope under three bricks on the left side. Read the instructions and do as they say. And remember, Dr. Rawlings, I’ll be watching you the entire time…just as I watched the others.”

“When?”

“Seven o’clock tonight.”

“If I come—” The line went dead.

Catherine looked to Rebecca, the receiver still gripped in her hand. Her heart was pounding, and that surprised her. She thought that she had been ready to hear his voice again, but his intimate, seductive tone had unsettled her. That was a good thing to know, because she needed to be in control of herself when they finally met. Instinctively, she knew that they would, even though Captain Henry had assured her that it would never get that far—that the police would apprehend him before he ever actually got near her. She didn’t really believe that and, she was quite sure, neither did Rebecca.

“Time?” Rebecca asked sharply, but she already knew the answer.

Someone confirmed that the conversation had been too short for a phone trace. She went to the attached tape recorder, pushed rewind, and played the tape for the others in the room. For some, it was their first exposure to the sound of his voice.

Watts finally spoke, breaking the tense silence. “It won’t play, Sarge. There’s no way we can stake out the meeting place, because we won’t have enough advance notice of where it is. A wire won’t help much if we’re too far away to get to her in a hurry. He’s got the upper hand, which means that we might lose. It’s got a bad smell to it.”

Rebecca studied the disheveled man whose very presence she had resented up until now, and she couldn’t help wondering if he had spoken first so that she wouldn’t have to. And he was right. If she had said the same thing, there always would have been some suspicion that she had not acted impartially—that her judgment had been clouded by her personal involvement in the case. Those who knew her well would never believe it, but, still, her reputation would be tainted. She owed him, and she wasn’t sure she liked that prospect.