The Silence That Speaks (27 page)

35

MANHATTAN MINI-STORAGE WAS
fairly quiet at this time of day.

Madeline pulled her car into the loading area of the narrow, gray building. She turned off the ignition.

“Now what?”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Janet replied. “You’re doing the work. I’m holding the gun. Now let’s go.”

They made their way inside the building, followed procedure on gaining access to Madeline’s storage unit and then headed there, Janet’s pistol jabbed firmly in Madeline’s back the entire time.

“Open it,” Janet commanded, the minute they’d reached their destination.

Madeline did as she was told. It took her a few tries to fit the key in the padlock hanging on the metal door as her hand was shaking so hard. She was nearing the end of the line. The minute Janet had that recording in her hands, she was going to kill her.

She had to buy time. Time to think of a plan of attack. Time to pray that Marc was somehow on his way to save her.

She turned the lock, swung it open and lifted it off. Then, she pulled open the heavy metal door, wincing as it brushed against her ribs.

Ignoring Madeline’s discomfort, Janet held out her hand. “Give me the lock and the key,” she said.

Madeline handed both to her.

Stuffing them in her coat pocket, Janet gestured for Madeline to lead the way. “Now, let’s go inside and find that recording.”

There was plenty of room for the two of them, just as Madeline had feared. The extralarge unit she’d rented was ten feet by ten feet—the size of a small bedroom. Even with everything stored in there, a clear path to the items and lots of empty space remained.

Janet could easily shoot her in here, slam and lock the door behind her and vanish in Madeline’s car. No one would hear a few popping sounds, not in Manhattan where the taxis, buses, construction work and crowds were loud enough to block out an alien invasion.

Madeline’s cold, dead body wouldn’t be found until the stench of her rotting flesh permeated the storage facility.

She wiped that thought from her mind. Her job right now was to stretch out the time it took her to produce that recording and to try to catch Janet off guard.

Madeline made her way down the middle of the unit, brows knit as she stopped to study one box after another.

“Hurry up,” Janet ordered. “And stop pretending you’re confused. You know where every damned thing in the world is. You could single-handedly organize the entire hospital. Plus, you’ve labeled every box.”

Madeline squeezed her eyes shut, wishing at that moment that she were a disorganized slob.

“Look what we have here,” Janet noted aloud. She waved the pistol at a stack of three boxes a little way down from where they stood. “If I’m correct, those are labeled Conrad’s Tapes, are they not?”

Son of a bitch, Madeline thought.

“Yes,” she said. “My guess is that one of those three boxes has what you want in it. The problem is, I don’t know which one.”

“Then we’ll look through them all.” Janet jabbed the pistol into Madeline’s back again, shoving her the short distance to where the stack of boxes was. “Take down the top box. We’ll start there.”

Gingerly, Madeline reached for the box, favoring her ribs as she did. Her visible discomfort gave her time to get a firm grasp on the fifteen-pound box until her hands were locked securely around it.

In one sweeping motion, Madeline whirled around and flung the box at Janet with all her might.

With a yelp of surprise, Janet fell back, landing on some rattan terrace chairs. The pistol clattered to the concrete floor, spinning in circles and sliding away.

Both women lunged at it at the same time, hitting the floor together.

Ignoring the sharp pain in her side, Madeline scrambled to her knees and crawled, stretching her arm out as far as it would go.

Her fingers brushed the barrel of the gun.

She was inches from grabbing it when Janet’s knee came up, slamming into Madeline’s ribs as hard as possible.

Crying out in pain, Madeline crumpled in a ball, rocking from side to side and gasping air into her lungs.

That didn’t stop her. Pain or not, she fought to regain her momentum and succeeded. She grabbed hold of Janet’s legs, dragging her backward while she dodged Janet’s kicking and the intended blows of her high heels.

“Let go of me, you bitch!” Janet said, panting as she struggled to reach the pistol, which was just out of her reach.

Madeline wrapped one arm around Janet’s legs and yanked harder, using her other hand to slam a fist into the small of Janet’s back—once, twice, three times—ignoring Janet’s howls of pain, desperate to stop her from reaching the gun first.

Janet went rigid, temporarily crippled by the blows, and Madeline used those precious seconds to hoist herself past Janet and grope for the weapon.

Her fingers had just wrapped around the butt of the gun when Janet reached up and punched her so hard in the face that Madeline saw stars.

She moaned and fell over onto her back, losing her grip entirely and giving Janet free access.

Janet took full advantage.

She grabbed the pistol, rolled over and sat up, aiming the gun at Madeline, who was still crunched on her back.

“Sit up.”

“Drop dead.” Madeline wasn’t dying without a fight. “You want the recording? Go get it. But you’ll never find it without my help.”

“Fuck you,” Janet gasped, barely able to speak. “I can go through boxes and find that tape all by myself. Goodbye, Madeline.” She aimed the pistol.

“Drop it!”
a masculine voice boomed out. “Or I’ll put a bullet straight through your head before you take another breath.”

Janet started, peering quickly over her shoulder and seeing Marc looming over her, a Glock aimed at her skull.

“You’re a big Forensic Instincts fan,” he said. “You know who I am. I’m the former navy SEAL. The one who can empty a round of bullets in you before your finger ever touches the trigger. Just try me. It won’t take a hell of a lot to make me do it.”

White-faced and terrified, Janet dropped the gun and held up her hands.

Marc strode over and scooped up the pistol. “And by the way,” he added, glancing at the weapon, “your safety is still on. Now get up.”

He continued holding his gun on Janet as she staggered to her feet, but his gaze darted to Madeline. “You okay?”

She nodded. “I am now.”

As she spoke, the sound of police sirens filled the air.

Marc glanced around and found a couple of electrical cords secured with twist ties. He picked up one cord, gripped the twist tie between his teeth and pulled hard until it gave way, releasing the cord. He spit out the twist tie and repeated the process with the second cord. Then he reached over to snatch one of the rattan chairs that had tumbled to the ground.

“Sit down,” he ordered Janet, slamming the chair into an upright position.

She eyed his gun, the rage in his eyes and then sat.

Using one strong hand, Marc yanked her arms behind her, then pocketed his weapon so he could tightly bind her wrists and then her ankles.

He studied his handiwork and nodded. “That’ll hold you while we wait for the FI team and the police to find us.”

He turned his attention to Madeline. “Come on, sweetheart.” He squatted down and lifted her gently in his arms, rising to a standing position. “Don’t move. We’ll get you fixed up.”

* * *

The Forensic Instincts van screeched into the storage lot the same time as the police cars did.

They interrogated the attendant at the front desk for the location of Madeline’s storage unit. Getting what they needed, they all quickly proceeded to the unit.

Reaching the open door, they stopped short, seeing Madeline clasped in Marc’s arms and Janet securely bound by electrical cords in a chair.

“You guys are slow,” Marc said drily. “I was about to leave you a note, drop this bitch off at the precinct myself and rush Madeline to the hospital. Looks like I’m going to have to conduct some remedial tactical-skills training at our office.”

Casey slid her pistol back into her handbag and stifled a grin.

“Nice work, navy SEAL,” she said. “But just know you had first-class backup right on your heels.”

Her humor vanished as she looked at Madeline, whose entire face was swollen and bleeding and who was contorted in pain in Marc’s arms.

“I’ll call the paramedics,” Harvey said, reaching for his cell.

“Not necessary.” Marc waved away the gesture. “I’m taking Madeline straight to the hospital. Once she’s been treated, you can interview her. Until then, forget it.”

Madeline shot him a look. “Do I have a ventriloquist?” she asked.

“Cute,” Marc muttered. “Very cute.”

A small smile, and then Madeline turned her head to face Harvey. “I’m okay. I can give you a statement now.”

“No, ma’am.” Harvey shook his head. “Your friend Marc is right. You need medical attention. We’ll meet you at Manhattan Memorial after we take Janet Moss in. She can join her daughter. We’re questioning her right now.”

“You have Diana?” Janet looked more horrified than she had when Marc was holding a gun on her. “Please, let her go. I’m the guilty party. I’ll tell you everything.”

Harvey arched a brow. “Including how your daughter killed Ronald Lexington?”

Janet’s face fell.

“Speaking of which,” Ryan said, walking into the storage unit. “Before Marc carries you off, Madeline, where can we find the recording of the Lexington surgery?”

“The second box down,” she replied. “That has the video recordings of last year’s surgeries. You should find Ronald’s about halfway down.” She paused, gritting her teeth against the pain for as long as she could. “But I still don’t know what’s on there that will incriminate Diana. If she did something, Conrad would have seen it, either during the surgery or when he reviewed the tape.”

“It’s not about
seeing
it. It’s about
hearing
it,” Ryan replied.

They all turned to look at him.

“While we were in the van, I did a full rundown on Diana Moss. Evidently she’s an audiophile and does blog posts on current, in-depth computer software. She’s really sharp—I’ve seen her posts, which by the way are done under the name Trix. In her most recent post, she mentioned that she’d just tried out new software called Audio Detracktor. Fortunately, so did I. The software separates sounds into discreet audio tracks so you can hear each one clearly and separately from the others. It’s awesome. Let’s use it on Conrad’s recording of Ronald’s surgery to see what it gives us.”

“Later,” Marc said firmly as he felt Madeline wince. “We’re going to the hospital. Bring whatever equipment you want there.”

36

THE MANHATTAN MEMORIAL
E.R. staff labeled Marc the biggest pain in the ass they’d encountered in years.

He didn’t give a damn. He hovered around like a mother hen while Madeline was examined, X-rayed and taped up. The ribs had been rebroken and there were bad contusions, not only on her ribs but on her face, chest and abdomen. She had cuts and scrapes everywhere, and it took quite a while to stop all the bleeding. The bruise on her face was swelling badly, and the nurse, Roberta Sanders—whom Madeline apparently knew well, and who was chatting with Madeline as if the professional ostracism of the past week had never happened—had applied an ice pack to the swelling.

“I gave you something strong for the pain,” Roberta said, “as well as something to help you rest. So don’t be surprised when you conk out.”

“Gee, it’s like being on the other side of an E.R. table.” Madeline gave a weak smile. “I’ll be a good girl and rest. I’ll drink plenty of fluids, too. Can Marc please stay with me?”

Roberta’s brows rose. “I don’t know why you’d want him to, but sure. Just buzz if you need me. Or if you want me to toss him out.”

Madeline’s lips twitched again. “Thanks, Roberta. I will.” She eyeballed Marc once Roberta had left. “My reputation in the E.R. is destroyed forever, thanks to you. Do you have to be such a tyrant?”

As she spoke, she reached out and took Marc’s hand, linking her fingers with his. “I love you,” she whispered. “Thank you for saving my life.”

He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Maybe. But I knew you’d come.” A huge yawn. “Tell your team they can come in whenever they want. The pain is subsiding. And other than being a little tired...” Madeline’s voice trailed off. She was sound asleep.

* * *

She awakened a few hours later to see an entire computer set up and the whole FI staff in her E.R. room. How could they all fit? she thought groggily.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Ryan greeted her. “How do you feel?”

Madeline blinked and looked around. She wasn’t in her E.R. room. She was in one of the big hospital suites that was usually reserved for high-profile, wealthy patients.

“I’m okay. The pain is better. What am I doing here?”

“You’re a VIP now,” Claire said with a smile.

Marc was sitting by Madeline’s side, hunched forward in a leather chair, staring at her as if she were a porcelain doll. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey back.” She smiled.

“You look better. There’s some color in your cheeks. But you’re going to be waited on by yours truly for the next few weeks.”

One brow rose. “Do you cook any better than you used to?”

“No.”

Everybody laughed.

“The police want to take your statement,” Patrick told her. “But they’re giving us a few minutes so you can see—and hear—what we did.”

“The recording,” Madeline said, suddenly wide-awake.

“Yup. Here it is.” Ryan pulled out his iPad and opened the first audio track. He then backed away so Madeline could hear.

The picture remained on the spot where Ryan had set it. It was the tail end of the tragedy, and Conrad was reopening Ronald’s chest, desperately trying to stop the bleeding that was soaking the entire O.R. table.

The audio played.

“I need more suction,” Conrad was demanding.
“Now.”

Ryan pressed the second track.

There was a flurry of activity as the surgical staff all raced to do their jobs.

Then the telltale third track.

The voice was quiet, but thanks to Audio Detracktor, it was crystal clear, and it was definitely Diana’s.

“Would you just die already?” she said under her breath. “What I did can’t be fixed. So die. Make our pain go away.”

Ryan stopped the recording. “There you have it. The last piece of evidence the cops need.”

Madeline’s eyes had filled with tears. “This is such a tragedy. No matter how justified Diana’s feelings were, she had no right to take a human life. I’m glad she’s in police custody. As for Janet...” Madeline sucked in her breath. “She told me everything. I can fill in all the details.”

“And you will,” Marc said. “Later. Right now, I’m giving the cops five minutes with you. And if your strength peters out before then, I’m tossing them out, too. Janet and Diana are both in custody. They can’t hurt you or Conrad anymore. The details on everything Janet said can wait.” He paused. “By the way, I called Conrad. He was stunned, but he’s very relieved that you’re okay. He’ll probably visit tomorrow. I asked him to wait.”

“Did you tell him about us?” Madeline asked.

“I’ll leave that to you. It’s your right to say whatever you choose to.”

“Thank you for that.” Madeline squeezed his hand. “He’s a good man, Marc. He’s going to be very happy for us. You’ll see.”

“Hey, are there wedding bells in the near future?” Ryan jumped in to ask.

“Oh, Ryan,” Claire groaned.

“What?” Ryan looked genuinely puzzled. “They’re crazy about each other. They have been for a decade. And they’re not getting any younger.”

“I give up.” Claire threw up her hands.

Casey coughed, trying not to laugh. Patrick was struggling to keep a straight face, as well.

“Gee, thanks,” Marc replied. But he grinned, for once unbothered by Ryan’s inappropriate comments. “How about letting Madeline and I talk about it first? Then we’ll let you know.”

“Cool,” Ryan said.

At that moment, Emma burst into the room, sans her candy-striper uniform.

“Free at last,” she said, spreading her arms wide. “A civilian yet again.” She looked immediately at Madeline. “How’s our patient?”

“Healing nicely.” Madeline clearly enjoyed Emma’s enthusiasm. She glanced at Casey. “It’s time for me to put in my two cents in a way I have no right to. I know Emma has a month and a half left of her probation, but in light of her amazing contribution to this case, I vote for cutting down some of that time.”

“I definitely agree,” Claire echoed at once.

“Yeah, me, too, you little brat,” Ryan said. “Although God help Yoda.”

Marc and Patrick were both nodding.

Seeing the team’s reaction, Emma almost jumped up and down. “Casey?” she asked.

Casey didn’t contemplate for long. “Probation over,” she announced. “You are now officially a member of Forensic Instincts.”

“Awesome!” Emma looked around eagerly. “Now I’ve been dying to know—do I get to choose my own business cards? No offense, but all of yours are kind of boring. I saw a cool purple-and-pink design online that I’m crazy about. Do I need approval? Or can I just order them?”

There was a cumulative groan as the team prepared themselves for Hurricane Emma and the next adventure that awaited Forensic Instincts.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from THE STRANGER YOU KNOW by Andrea Kane.