Dead Center (The Rookie Club Book 1) (19 page)

Hailey parked a block from the restaurant—half in a red zone—and put the visor down. On the drive over, Hailey had asked about Emily Osbourne. She was certain Jamie was still thinking about her. Emily would survive, Jamie had said. The word she'd used was "survive."

The two women walked toward the restaurant without speaking as though offering a moment of silence for those who wouldn't survive and for the survivors who would never be the same. She knew why Jamie didn't say, "She's okay" about Emily Osbourne. She wasn't.

Chances were, even when the physical wounds were long healed, the emotional ones would remain. Emily Osbourne would likely think about those moments—her terror, the pain, the humiliation—most days. For the rest of her life. Their job was to help the victims survive the physical wounds long enough to get a chance to try to heal the emotional ones. Hailey knew there were casualties in that process like anywhere else.

"You'll get him," Hailey assured her, breaking the silence as they reached the door of Tommy's.

"He'll make a mistake eventually," Jamie said, nodding. "They always do." The words sounded like something of a pep talk and Hailey felt certain Jamie aimed it at herself. The belief that the system worked—that the perpetrators would be punished for their crimes—was the only thing that kept them in this job. Otherwise, the fight wasn't nearly worth the tremendous effort, the low pay, the long hours, and the constant evidence of human cruelty that were their daily existence.

After seeing the photograph of Natasha at Marchek's house, though, Hailey wondered if there would be a higher toll before Marchek was stopped. She tried to set the thought aside as she walked through the doors of Tommy's. The restaurant was already packed as they weaved through the throng of Friday-night bar goers.

Hailey reached the back table where five women were already seated. It was a table of very powerful women. Most were nearly forty, a few older. They'd been on the force long enough to be jaded, but they were still there, braving the fight. As Hailey looked around the table, she saw the marks of battle in their lined faces. Cameron Cruz had a greenish bruise on one side of her neck that Hailey suspected was from one of the massive rifles she wielded in her job as a sharpshooter.

At the moment, she was in the middle of a story. Arms raised, head titled as though she were aiming a rifle, Cameron was animated. Whatever had happened, Hailey guessed it had ended well. Across the table, Shelby Tate and Linda James were attentive as Cameron recounted some small victory.

Sydney Blanchard sat next to Jess Campbell from Immigration and Naturalization. Jess looked heavier than the last time Hailey had seen her. Her eyes red. She clasped an empty beer glass in two hands.

"Margarita," Hailey said when the waitress came by. "Rocks, salt." She slid into the chair next to Linda.

Jess ordered another draft, sliding her empty pint glass toward the waitress.

Sydney pushed an empty glass toward Hailey, pointing to the half-full pitcher of margaritas on the table.

Over the years, Hailey had seen the Rookie Club change and grow, shrink and almost fall apart. A few times there were only three or four of them. It had been six months or so since she'd seen Jess Campbell, and Jess looked worse for the wear. Her shuttered gaze also suggested she might be on more than her second beer. They would make sure she got a ride home. It wouldn't be the first time someone had over-indulged at a dinner.

Jamie appeared with a glass of what looked like Coke in one hand. She raised her hand and said hello then took a seat to Hailey's left. Settled at the table, she looked back over her shoulder, brow furrowed.

Hailey leaned in. "Everything okay?"

Jamie glanced at her, then back into the crowd. "I thought I saw someone."

Hailey narrowed her gaze. "Who?"

"I'm sure it's nothing," Jamie said, shrugging her shoulders in a way that looked more like a shudder than a casual motion.

When the waitress delivered new drinks, Jamie was the first to raise her glass. "To Natasha Devlin."

All eyes were on her.

"She didn't deserve that kind of an ending."

Glasses raised, clinked.

"First one down," Jess said.

Hailey nodded. Christ. A dead cop. The first of their group to die. She hadn't thought of that. Cops died. Regularly. Not just on the job but from what Hailey always considered were side-effects of it. Heart attack, driving, accidents, suicide...

A crowd in the far corner roared, their laughs like the erupting of distant applause. The women officers remained silent.

Finally, Jess spoke up. "I always thought if we lost one, it would be in uniform, you know." She shook her head, took a big swallow of beer.

Hailey searched for a way to break the silence, to give Natasha the kind of send-off she would have appreciated. Or at least to ease the tension.

"Did you guys hear about the case where Natasha went undercover?" Cameron interjected.

"As a prostitute, right?" Linda asked.

Cameron nodded. "Man, she had ten cops drooling all over her. And the perp didn't even put up a fight. He would've followed her all the way up to Folsom and right into a cell."

They laughed.

"She actually got a date that night, right?"

"No way. With a john?"

Cameron laughed. "No, another cop."

Linda nodded. "Right. It was—"

"Steve Stilwell," Jess chimed in.

Linda shook her head. "Right. God, he was in love with her. Used to show up at roll call with a different-colored rose each day."

Jess nodded. "Guys in his unit called him 'Lovewell.'"

"That lasted—what—a week?"

Cameron nodded. "Three days, I think. Then she was on to Charlie Parker."

Linda nodded. "She collected phone numbers like lint."

"She loved the attention," Cameron agreed. "She never settled down."

Linda shook her head. "Ten years and I swear she had a new guy every time I saw her. She broke more hearts than Elvis."

"Good thing it's a big department," Cameron added. "I wonder why she never settled down. Seems like she could have picked her man."

Hailey glanced at Jamie. She was looking over her shoulder again. Hailey cast a glance into the crowd. No one stood out. Sometimes when she stood in a crowd like this one, Hailey wondered how many of the people around her were criminals? How many had gotten away with it?

Men bellied up to the bar, displaying tatted skin or stupid golf-shirts. Most had a girl—usually younger—at their side. How many men in that room had raped a girl? More than two, she'd bet. Killed? One, maybe. Impossible to say. It would certainly make the job easier if they were branded like cattle.

Hailey considered her own mother, those relationships that lasted only a week, sometimes just one night. What had made her mother run through men like that? Was that why Hailey couldn't love only one man? She sipped her margarita, let the salt burn her lips. God, it was complicated.

"Did you have to do the next-of-kin notification?" Linda asked.

Hailey nodded. "I met her parents. And a brother." She thought of Camilla and Ali, prayed she never had to hear that news. That they never had to hear it.

"Man, I hope it was a stranger killing," Jess said.

Jamie shook her head. "It wasn't."

Hailey watched her, waited.

Jamie shrugged, ran her finger through the perspiration on her glass. "This person had unforced sex with her before she was killed. Not a stranger crime."

Hailey nodded. "It was someone she knew."

"Shit," Jess said.

"You think it was an officer?" Linda asked.

Hailey shrugged. "It doesn't seem smart to have sex with a woman and then kill her, and the timing suggests that's how it went down. You'd think a cop would be smarter."

"Unless it was a crime of passion," Cameron suggested.

Hailey nodded. "And from what we know, he used something from the scene to kill her, so that would fit the crime of passion theory. He gets angry, picks something up and smashed in her head."

"From experience, I'd say it's much easier just to pull a gun and start shooting," Jamie said, breaking into a rye smile.

The table erupted in laughter.

Jamie shook her head. "Sorry. Bad form but I couldn't resist."

Cameron turned to Hailey. "You caught it, though, eh?"

She nodded. "Lucky me."

Jess shuddered. "Damn, I hope you close it soon. Murdering a cop takes a shitload of balls."

The waitress came by and they ordered, exchanged stories. Jess ordered another beer. Hailey poured herself another half glass of margarita from a new pitcher. Dinner was arriving when Jamie jumped up from the table, her metal chair scraping across the floor. "Holy crap."

Hailey turned to see her staring out the window, her expression frozen.

"What?"

Jamie pointed out into the rain.

Hailey followed her gaze, looked back. It wouldn't be the first time dinner had been interrupted by a crime in progress.

Soon, the whole table turned.

"It's Stephanie," Linda said.

"And Scott Scanlan," someone added.

"They're dating."

A dark car was parked on the curb, the door open. Stephanie had one foot out. Scanlan could barely be seen in the shadow of the car.

Hailey saw his face appear as he leaned over to kiss Stephanie. As she moved, Hailey caught sight of something dangling between them.

Jamie bolted for the door, darting between tables. "Don't you see it?" she shouted back.

"See what?" Adrenaline streamed in Hailey's belly. She jumped up to follow, the others behind her.

She reached the door, saw Scanlan step out of the far side of the car. He came around and opened the door for Stephanie.

Stephanie stepped out.

Hailey caught up. "Can you see it?" Jamie asked.

"See what?" she returned.

"Scanlan," Jamie shouted. "Step to the curb."

Scanlan didn't hear, or didn't look up.

Jamie called to him again.

A group of people had spilled from the restaurant to watch.

Stephanie stepped forward, tried to interject, but Hailey cut her off with a sharp stare. "Stay out of this."

Stephanie retreated, but the crowd continued to surge like a swelling storm. This was getting out of hand.

Scanlan turned toward them.

He stared at Jamie, his face set in the grimace of a scared teenager.

"Step away from the car," Jamie repeated.

"What is this about?" he demanded.

"Please," she said. "I just need to confirm something. It will only take a second. I won't touch the car."

"Who are you?" Scanlan shouted at her, starting to come toward her like a charging bull.

Jamie didn't seem to care. She flashed her badge. "Inspector Jamie Vail."

He stopped moving and planted himself in front of his car. "What do you want?"

"I need you to please step away from the car," Jamie repeated.

He didn't move, scanned the group of women watching him. Color rose in his cheeks and his eyes narrowed in anger. "What are you guys? Fucking Charlie's Angels?"

Hailey stayed quiet, no idea what was transpiring. "Jamie? What is it?"

Jamie didn't smile. "Yeah, we're Charlie's Angels. Now, please step aside before I pull out my gun and shoot you."

Scanlan looked momentarily stunned as he stepped away from the car. At least no one had drawn a gun yet. Scanlan was in trouble over the burrito thing, but this wasn't going to shine well on them, either. In general, it was best not to embarrass a cop in public and this was getting to be pretty damn public.

Jamie glanced back. "Hailey, look at it."

Confused, Hailey glanced at the dark car. She felt the jolt in her gut. "It's—"

Jamie nodded. "Look at the crystal hanging from the rearview mirror."

Hailey pictured Marchek's photograph in her mind—imagined the tiny rainbows. The car that Natasha Devlin had been sitting in when Marchek took that picture. The car where she sat, holding her trophy, after the awards banquet... That car belonged to Scott Scanlan, the deputy chief of police's son.

"Damn," whispered Hailey.

Chapter 18