Every Move She Makes (33 page)

Patricia's, Doctor Meadscolari's entrance wound is located on the left
side of her neck, and proceeds to her right. It appears the suspect used
his right hand to slit her throat, not his left." "You're not telling us
anything we didn't already know," Reid said. "Besides, Scolari could
have done it to throw us off the trail." Andrews cleared his throat.

"Let her finish, Bettencourt."

"That is not the only thing, merely the most obvious.

If you look closely, you will see that in all but Patricia
Mead-Scolari's case, the carotid artery on the right is untouched, but
on the left it is nicked enough to let the victim bleed out. In
Patricia's case, both carotids are slashed completely, meaning a fast
death. Whoever killed her was in a hurry."

"Your theory?" Andrews asked.

"In the Slasher cases, the suspect wanted to see his victims die.

U'ndoubtedly the nick on the carotid was done purposefully to prolong
the moment of death and to intensify his gratification when that moment
finally came." I passed around the autopsy reports of the known Slasher
cases, holding on to the newly discovered case of Christy Tanya McAllen.

They looked at them in turn, while I gave McAllen's report to Torrance
to examine, then pass on. "This, gentlemen," I said, opting to sound as
formal as my ex, "is a case I researched and pulled for an example. You
can see by the MO, the injuries recorded, as well as the photos, that it
can be nothing but a Slasher case."

"Which proves what?" Lieutenant Andrews asked.

"That Sam Scolari is not the Slasher." There was some murmuring, but
then silence. The only sound was that of my pulse in my ears while they
waited for me to continue. I looked at Torrance. His gaze met mine, but
he said nothing, merely handed it to Rocky Markowski on his right. Rocky
looked at it, then Shipley. He passed it to Reid, who made a show of
thoroughly examining it. "So it's maybe a Slasher case," Reid said.

"Look at the date, gentleman," Torrance said quietly, never taking his
gaze from me. 11 January twenty-fourth. What about it?" Reid asked. When
we were married, he hadn't remembered my birthday. It didn't surprise me
that this date held no particular meaning for him. Lieutenant Andrews
had the report now. His dark brows raised a fraction. "Good work,
Gillespie."

"What the hell are you talking about?" the DA asked.

Andrews handed him the report. "If this is a Slasher case, and all these
women here were lolled by the Slasher," he said, nodding at the photos
spread across the table, "then Scolari was with Gillespie the night this
girl was killed." The chief, who'd not said a word until now, leaned
forward. "How do you know?" he asked. "That was the night Gillespie was
shot. Scolari was with her the entire time," Andrews said. Pandemonium
broke out. The chief sat back in relief, undoubtedly with the thought
that his political career was saved. One didn't run for mayor with rogue
cops on the lam for murder. The only one who wasn't moved by the
announcement was Torrance.

"Allow me to play devil's advocate," he said.

Voices died. All waited. My heart sank. I felt a sense of betrayal.

Despite that I had a fair idea of what he was about to say-I would have
said the same myself-it didn't change the fact that I wanted his
support. By all appearances, Inspector Gillespie, you have proved that
Scolari is not the Slasher." He paused, allowing this to sink in. "What
you have yet to prove is that he's innocent of killing his wife." It
took every effort to appear neutral to such an announcement. Any nuance
of emotion on my part would be like a drop of blood in a shark tank just
before a feeding frenzy. The chief gripped the arms of his chair,
apparently seeing his political chances fading before his eyes. My own
hopes dashed, I didn't care. Still, I tried to salvage what was left of
my career as a homicide inspector. "We are missing the point. It's not
about Scolari, it's about something else, entirely. Maybe even the seeds
found with the frozen homicide victim."

"How do we know that?" Reid asked.

"What seeds?" the DA asked. I explained about the seeds the doctor had
found, and their history so far. "Professor Rocklin seemed pretty
certain the seeds were from the pokeweed plant."

"What's a pokeweed?" Markowski asked.

"Some tuber rooted plant indigenous to just about everywhere," I said.

"What's your theory on this pokeweed?" Andrews asked me.

"I think someone thought these pokeweed seeds were the real thing. The
rare rain forest seeds that cured cancer.

They probably thought they were getting away with the loot."

"Someone killed the guy, but didn't find the seeds?" Shipley supplied.

"Something like that. And if so, then they killed the frozen John Doe,
Doctor Mead-Scolari, then Martin and Smith in Property." I paused,
allowing this to sink in. "Assuming these cases are related, which we
can't be certain of, what would be Scolari's motive?"

"The murder of his wife," Reid said.

"He killed and froze the John Doe to cover for a murder he had yet to
commit?" Reid tipped back in his chair, shrugged. "Maybe the John Doe
case isn't related. But Scolari saw the opportunity to use the homicide
to his advantage. Everything after that had something to do with
covering up the evidence in his wife's case. I'd think the murders of
Smith and Martin would be proof of that." "And what about Paolini?" I
asked, standing, both palms flat on the table. I hated Reid's
nonchalance. "You were all so damn sure Paolini was responsible. That he
had it done to destroy his case to win a dismissal. Or have you
forgotten the death threats he made? The attempt on my life the night
Christy McAllen was killed?"

"What about the pizza?" Lieutenant Andrews asked.

"Are you saying Paolini sent that?" I took a deep breath, realizing I
couldn't win this argument. Not without fiirffier proof I swept up my
photos and reports. "I may be the only one here who believes Scolari is
innocent. Someone else, Paohni, or who knows, is behind this." "Scolari
sidpped town, for God's sake," Reid pointed out. Now he was angry.

Suddenly I wasn't sure I knew or wanted to know his motivation. I
thought of his conversation with Zim that I'd witnessed. The missing
autopsy photos. I was suspicious. "Did he?" I asked, stacking my
reports. I looked Reid in the eye, then each of the men at the table.

Except Torrance. "All I know is that someone killed Scolari's wife, and
he thinks he's being blamed for it. Come to think of it, he is being
blamed. Now, if we're finished ... ?" I may have crossed the political
line, but I wasn't brash enough to walk out with the chief present.

Andrews nodded, as did the deputy chief. I think they wanted me out of
there as much as I wanted to go. Torrance rose with me, but was stopped
by the deputy chief. "Lieutenant? A minute of your time?" "Wait for me
outside the door," Torrance said. "You can pick up your reports later."

I walked from the room empty-handed, only too glad to leave. "Do you
think this is wise? WHAT in the hell heard the deputy chief say before I
closed the door. I didn't bother to eavesdrop. I didn't want to know
what was being said. I didn't want to know if Torrance agreed with what
I knew was their opinion on this case. That my being there was a
mistake. That I refused to face the facts.

That Sam Scolari was guilty of murder.

bout three minutes passed while I waited in the Adeserted hallway. How
easy it would be to walk away from it all. Leave everything and not come
back. Leave Torrance's unnerving presence. Was I mad at him about the
case, or about the fact that twice now, when the opportunity had
presented itself, he'd refused to take advantage of me? This morning I'd
tried to rationalize his objectivity to my being female, but I had to
face it-I wanted him in bed. Or on the sink, the roof, in the shower, or
anywhere else we had a moment of privacy. I wasn't sure why I was being
so emotional. I knew, had we jumped into bed together last night in my
apartment, we might both be dead.

The door opened beside me, Torrance joined me in the hallway.

"So, I'm off the task force?" I asked as we strode down the hall.

Bringing up sex at this moment was probably not a great idea. "Let's
just say you passed the Burning Bridges 101 course with flying colors. I
wouldn't look into promoting any time soon. Especially if you're right
about Scolari." "I can't believe I'm hearing this," I said, lengthening
my pace to keep up with him. It should have given me a clue that now was
not the time for this discussion either, but I tend to be blindsided by
my own are. "You'd think I was a pariah for believing my partner is
innocent."

"It's more that people don't like being proved they're wrong."

"You included?" He halted. Before I realized what was happening, he
pulled me through the closest available door, which happened to be to
the men's room.

A uniformed officer stood at the sink, washing his hands.

"Get out," Torrance ordered.

The officer glanced at me and hurried out, wet hands dripping.

Torrance locked the door behind him, then turned to me, his gaze filled
with all the fury I'd felt moments before. While it occurred to me that
what I was seeing was undoubtedly rare, witnessed by a select few, I
wished myself anywhere but here. Forced to stay, I wanted to diffuse
this. "I know-" He reached up, and it took all my resolve not to flinch
as he held my chin so that I had no choice but to look him in the eye.

"What happened in there," he said, his voice tight, "I'd do it again-I
did it because I believe in you. I believe in your right to think your
partner is innocent no matter how guilty I believe him. I want you to be
right, goddammit. I want to see the look on your face when you prove
them all wrong, but not-" he broke off. He cleared his throat, took a
breath, apparently forcing himself to relax. His gaze went to the
stitches at my temple. "Not at the expense of your life." He turned away
from me, reaching for the dead bolt. "I'm sorry." He paused. I couldn't
see his face, but from the tension in his shoulders, I guessed that his
admission, and lack of control, cost him plenty. I touched his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," I said again.

He didn't turn. "When this is over, and our emotions aren't ..." He
never finished. Merely opened the door and strode from the room. I
stared at the space he'd vacated, wondering what he'd been about to say.

I thought about what he had said, and wondered how was I supposed to
interpret that? Telling myself that he was as screwed up as I-and once
again vowing never to date within the department-I followed him out,
nearly running into Markowski and Shipley, who were carting my reports
and binders with them. Markowski glanced up at the door. "They oughta
put them universal signs up. For people who can't read." "Screw
yourself, Rocky," I said, not caring what it looked like or how I
sounded. I moved past him to where Torrance waited at the corner, his
face a mask of indifference. Apparently, he wasn't about to let me out
of his sight, no matter how much he wanted to. Markowslci and Shipley
followed us into Torrance's office. "Good job on the Slasher case,"

Shipley said, dropping the binders on my work table. " Yeah," Rocky
said, giving me a pat on the back. I was almost touched by their delayed
show of support. Where the hell were their voices fifteen minutes ago?