BLUE MERCY (25 page)

“We’ve got a vague description of the car she got into on Wilkens the night she was killed,” Finn said. “And it could vaguely match the ’96 Impala Bates has parked in the back alley. His license was suspended, but that doesn’t mean shit.”

“Anything else?”

“Not unless you count personal impressions and gut feelings.” Finn looked tired, and every bit as frustrated as Kay. “This guy’s got hinky written all over him, Sarge.”

“Well, hinky’s not enough.” Vicki shifted in her chair, tugging at the hem of her midthigh skirt, clearly feeling the heat as well. “I’m going to tell you the same thing I told you about Arsenault. You need more probable cause. You’re already skating on thin ice with the radio car you’ve got parked outside Bates’s house. I’m surprised he hasn’t gotten a lawyer screaming harassment already.”

Vicki stood and moved for the door. “Get me something on him, guys. Anything. Put him with Beggs somehow. Get his picture down there on Wilkens, see if any of the girls have seen him. Connect him to Regester. Find out where he was those two nights. Hell, if you can find something from the past murders to link to him, I could probably get you into that house. But right now, with no PC, you’re not setting foot through his front door.”

“Not to mention,” Gunderson said, nodding for Vicki to stay, “we got the brass to worry about.”

“What’s going on, Sarge?” But Kay knew what was coming. Her chest tightened and the room got hotter.

“I’m taking a lot of heat on this one, Kay. I hate to say it, but they’re talking task force.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” And if Vicki hadn’t already been at the door, Kay would have stormed through it.

“Listen, Sarge,” Finn argued, “Kay and I are all over this investigation. You know we’re working it harder than anyone can work a case. We’re going to get this guy.”

“And maybe a little help won’t hurt,” Gunderson added.

But he was wrong. “This is bullshit,” Kay said then, no longer able to contain herself. “You get a half dozen other
detectives on this, trampling our evidence, pushing suspects the wrong way, yapping about it to their buddies down at the bar, and you’re going to turn this case into one huge cluster fuck real fast.”

“Kay, look, my hands are tied.” Impatience twitched at Gunderson’s already tight jaw. “All I’m doing is warning you there’s rumblings, and honestly, I got no idea how long I can keep those dogs at bay.”

Kay shook her head and stood at last. “Fine. Well, I guess we’ve got a case to put down. Is there anything else you want to warn me about?”

Sarge shook his head, and Kay blew past Vicki, out the door, before he could change his mind.

“Sons of bitches,” Finn said under his breath, joining her at her desk where she was furiously rearranging case files. “You okay?”

“Fucking great.” She shoved several files aside, in search of the list Alexander Hagen had given them. “At the rate we’re going, by next week we’ll have a three-fucking-ring circus all over this case. And as soon as the media gets wind there’s a task force, we’ll be spending most of our time dodging cameras and mikes. That is, when we’re not running circles with our heads up our asses delegating tasks and typing up ten-page reports in triplicate to justify to the brass why they’re paying overtime to a half dozen detectives.”

Finn was silent for a moment. She didn’t need to look at him, could tell by his breathing that he was trying to bring his anger in check. When he put his hand on her shoulder, he gave it a squeeze. “We’ll get him, Kay, I’m not letting the brass take this case from us.”

And Kay wished Finn actually had a say in it.

“I
know
we can get this guy, Finn,” she said finally. “We don’t need a task force. We need a goddamn break.”

FROM HIS PARKED CAR
across the street he watched her windows, the warm yellow glow pushing out into the steamy Baltimore night. She’d drawn all the blinds but one, and he caught glimpses of her passing the bare pane. She was pacing. Or maybe cleaning. He couldn’t tell from the angle.

He’d watched her leave the Pen today from where he’d parked outside the gates on Madison. He’d thought of Bernard, wondered if he’d heard yet about the dead prostitute he’d left in the trash. If he knew it was him. Well, Bernard would certainly know about this next one.

When she passed the window again, Roach felt a quickening in his groin. The sensation surprised him.

Lifting the can of Tab, he tossed back the last of the sweet soda. It had gone warm and flat, and the car smelled of onions from the steak hoagie he’d bought earlier at the Cross Street Market.

He and Bernard had had hoagies the night they killed Annie Harris. Or rather, the night
Bernard
had killed her. Bernard had picked her up, brought her to the house to share their high. Bastard thought he’d get lucky, and when he didn’t, he’d hauled off and nailed her square in the face. She’d gone down like a sack of wet laundry. But it had been the crack of her skull against the coffee table, and the perfect twist of her head, that had ended Annie’s life. She was dead before she hit the floor.

There hadn’t been any blood. Nothing more than a trickle from the skank’s nose. Even once he’d dragged her dead weight to the bathroom and slopped her into the tub, filled it with warm water, and taken out his knife …even
then she hadn’t bled much. Not with her heart already dead in her chest.

He’d learned from that first one. From Annie Harris.

The next couple he kept alive. Passed out from heroin. He’d watched the thick blood pump from their opened wrists. Could almost feel his own heartbeat fall in sync, the drumming in his chest keeping cadence with the steady rhythm of the blood’s flow until the pulse faded and the bathwater turned crimson.

She passed by the window again. Her hair looked wet and he imagined her in his bath.

He could take her tonight.

But better that she come to him. It would be more thrilling that way. To see her step through his front door, then the gradual look of shock as realization hit. That was worth the wait.

KAY WASN’T TAKING THE THREAT WELL.
Finn had seen the beginnings of it in the office earlier, after Gunderson had warned them of the possibility of a task force. But now, when she opened her apartment door for him at ten o’clock, the idea of her investigation being taken over was clearly exerting a toll.

Her hair was wet from a shower, and she wore a T-shirt over an old pair of his boxer shorts. She didn’t smile. Didn’t invite him in. Just turned back into her apartment, expecting him to follow.

Last night, after leaving Jerry Bates on Gettings Street, they’d come back here. Both discouraged, both wired. They’d made love, and even though Finn wondered if
Kay’s motivation in bed had more to do with countering her frustration, he’d stayed the night.

He wasn’t sure whether she’d been expecting him tonight, but after fruitless hours of going over Hagen’s list of employees back at the office, Kay had disappeared and Finn had started to worry.

Now it seemed that his worry was warranted.

Kay was drunk. “Lightly drunk,” his mother would have called it. Still, drunk was drunk.

“I’m in the office,” she said, heading down the hall and leaving him to close the door. When he caught up with her, she’d settled in behind the cold glow of her computer monitor. At the corner of the desk, amidst texts and papers, Joe Spencer’s tabby crouched under the single lamp, soaking up the heat.

“I swung up to Pikesville after you left the office,” Finn said. When he set the cardboard box from the crematorium onto Kay’s desk, he saw her stiffen. He’d called in a favor from a friend of his ex-wife’s, making arrangements to have Valerie Regester’s remains picked up from the OCME when Jonesy was done with her earlier in the week. Cremation had been the only realistic option, and it had saved Kay money as well.

“I also called up to Dulaney Memorial and they’ve got a spot reserved for her in the mausoleum whenever you want to take her up.”

Kay nodded stiffly, staring at the box on her desk. Then, as if the subject was too sensitive, she pointed to her computer monitor. “I was just checking Scott’s website for messages.”

Finn hated that she used Arsenault’s first name. The image of the Web designer’s smug face bloomed in his mind, and as he remembered the way Arsenault looked at Kay, Finn’s hatred grew more.

“Finding anything?” he asked.

“No. Unless Scott’s using a screen name, it looks like he’s keeping a low profile.”

“And the details he said he’d remove?”

“They’re gone.”

“Yeah? I wonder for how long.” He stood over her, watching her click through the links.

“They’ve caught on to Beggs now. A lot of messages about her.”

It was all speculation though.

“And the site’s up to almost nineteen thousand hits,” Kay said. “Of course, not all the messages on the board support Eales.” She read several of the posts, but Finn wasn’t listening. Instead, he was taking in what had become of Kay’s life. The texts. The photos. Copies of case reports. She’d surrounded herself with Eales. With death.

“Kay.”

She continued reading messages.

His eyes went to the half-drunk bottle of Silent Sam on the desk and the empty tumbler. Nothing wrong with a drink now and then. Most of the guys on the unit drank. Often too much. It helped to blur what they saw every day. Made them forget. But Finn suspected Kay was dulling far more than the job now.

“Kay, come on. Why are you reading this bullshit?”

“Because he could be on here, Finn. Whoever killed Valley, and Beggs, he’d want to see what people are saying about his murders.”

“All right, well, why don’t you take a break now?”

She read another post out loud. Someone speculating on how long it would be before the next victim.

“Kay.”

Her hand froze over the mouse. She looked up at him.

“Why don’t we go for a coffee?” he asked.

“It’s late, Finn.”

“It’s never too late to be sober.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Finn. I’ve had a couple.”

“More than a couple.” He reached past her shoulder, took the bottle of vodka. “How can you do this?”

“Do what?” The edges of her anger were dulled by the alcohol.

“Christ, Kay, you’re the one who got
me
into AA.” Finn turned from the office. She caught up with him in the kitchen as he tipped the neck of the bottle into the sink.

She was too late to save it and swore at him.

His mother had been a drunk. Worse than him. And as the last of the vodka splashed down the drain, Finn felt as if he were twelve years old again. “You gotta stop this, Kay.”

She held up one hand to silence him. When he took her by the shoulders, her eyes came up. They were slow.

“Look, I
know
you’ve been through a lot. I’ve had to sit back and watch all of it.” He tried to temper his tone. “But it’s time to get past it, Kay. It’s time to see that you’ve got the power to do something here, that
you
control your life, not Eales. If you’re serious about putting this case down, this isn’t the way to do it. Trust me, I know.”

He brought the emptied bottle down onto the counter a little too hard. The noise made Kay start. When he turned from the kitchen, she caught his arm.

“Don’t go.”

Finn shook his head. “I want to support you, Kay. Really, I do. I want to be there for you. I want to be
with
you, but I can’t when you’re like this. Don’t you see that?”

“Finn—”

“Damn it, Kay, I love you.”

He hadn’t expected her kiss then. Didn’t have time to back away. She was too close, and the smell of her too enticing. When she took his mouth, he tasted the vodka on
her lips. It was the closest thing to a drink he’d had in months.

The desperateness in her response, the yielding, assured Finn he could stay the night if he wanted. But not this way.

If Kay needed help, it couldn’t come from him. Not when he wanted her so badly. Not when he wanted to pour himself a drink right now and join her.

“No, Kay,” he said, withdrawing. “I’m not doing this. Not like this.”

She caught him at the door. He couldn’t tell if it was the vodka that caused her loss for words then or if she truly didn’t know what to say. And this time when she kissed him, she pulled him close. He felt the heat of her body, and then her hand, moving to the erection already pressing against the zipper of his jeans.

“Please stay,” she whispered against his mouth.

It would be so easy.

“Kay, I can’t.”

“Why not?” She didn’t get it.

“Why not?” He pushed her back, holding her at arm’s distance. “Because, damn it, I’m not someone you can just fuck once in a while when you have the sudden urge to let loose. I can’t be that for you, Kay. I can’t help you.” And when Finn turned this time, he thanked God she didn’t try to stop him.

Finn choked up on the aluminum shaft of the Maglite and swept its beam across the front of Eales’s house. He hated this place.

After leaving Kay, he’d sat in his car outside her apartment for a long time, torn between going back upstairs or heading to O’Reilly’s, bellying up to the bar, and ordering himself a Jack Daniel’s. He’d never been closer to wanting a drink than he was tonight.

Dangerously close
.

He’d actually taken up his cell phone and debated calling his AA sponsor for the first time in months. In the end, he hadn’t. He knew that Terry Degan, the retired desk sergeant who’d acted as his sponsor for almost two years now, would only lecture him about how it wasn’t up to him to help Kay. It didn’t matter to Degan that Kay had been there for Finn when he’d been so far in the bottle he was risking losing his job the same way he’d lost his marriage.