Fallen Angels 03 - Envy (39 page)

That was al she had.
Damn
it.

“So now . . .” His fingers stil ed and he shook his head. “I don’t know what to do.”

“No offense, but why is it your business. And I don’t mean to be a bitch, but—”

“I know things about him that you don’t, and I think he’s done something il egal. And given that you’re with him, I don’t know who in Internal Affairs to go to. Good enough for you?”

As Reil y exhaled like she’d been punched in the gut, she wanted to pul over. Good thing they were final y at the hospital and she could park in the open lot in front of the emergency room.

When she turned off the engine, she faced him. “What are you talking about?”

Bails put a hand on the dashboard and ran his palm back and forth. Then he wiped the thin layer of dust he’d lifted on his thigh. “Look, I’m a cop because I want to protect people, and because I believe in the system. I don’t think a civilized society can exist without the police and courts and jails.

There are people out there who just do not belong in the general population. Period.”

“You haven’t said one word about Veck. FYI.”

“Has he told you he has a record?”

As a cold shaft shot down her spine, she forced herself to remain composed. “No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

This guy was ful of crap, she thought. “Listen, I’m sorry to doubt your sources, but there’s nothing in his personnel file—and you can’t lie about that stuff.

Al HR has to do—and did—is run his name.”

“Not when it’s juvie shit.”

Reil y blinked. Hard. “I beg your pardon.”

“He has a juvenile record. A serious one.”

“How do you know this?”

“I saw the thing. With my own two eyes.” Bails let his head fal back against the rest. “I first met Veck at the police academy. He was a loner who did everything right—I was the class clown. We just . . . clicked. After we got out, we stayed in touch even though we were assigned to different precincts down in Manhattan, and then I latermoved up here. For al the years I’ve known him, he’s always been tight in the head. In control. Tough, but fair. Matter of fact, he’s one of the best cops I’ve ever met, and I recruited him to come to Caldie because I wanted to work with him.” Bails cursed. “In al the time I’ve known him, I’ve never once thought he wasn’t fit for the job because of that shit with his dad . . . until now. It started with him nailing that paparazzi guy.

Then the Kroner thing out in the woods. It’s like his wrapper’s coming off—but I wasn’t going to say anything, I real y wasn’t, until—”

“Wait. Stop.” Reil y cleared her throat, thinking a dose of protocol might calm the headache she felt between her eyes. “In the interest of propriety, you should get in touch with my supervisor immediately if you have anything to say pertaining to Detective DelVecchio. You were right before you started . . .

you shouldn’t tel me these things. I shouldn’t . . . be in the position I’m in now with respect to him. Matter of fact, I have an appointment with her when you and I get back from this interview so that I can properly disclose the relationship to my department.”

Bails rubbed his eyes and nodded. “I’l do that . . . but I also think you need to know, too. Because if anything happened to you, I would never forgive myself.”

At that, Reil y stiffened. “Why would you be worried about my safety?”

He raked his hand through his hair. “See, I helped him move into his house, you know, when he got up here. He had al these old boxes that needed to go into the attic. I was carrying one of them and the bottom fel out. Fucking papers went everywhere and I started to pick them up—and there it was. His juvi record from back in the mid-nineties.”

“What did it say,” she managed through a closed throat.

“He had every marker for psychotic, antisocial behavior there is.” Bails frowned. “You know what I’m talking about, so I’m not going to list the shit he did.”

Animal torture? Preoccupation with fire? Bed-wetting?

“Al of it,” Bails said, as if he were reading her mind.

“But he’s never done anything as an adult,” she countered—except it was less a statement than a question.

“Not that we know of. And, see, that’s what’s been worrying me. Psychopaths are real y good at pretending to be normal. On the surface, they fit in—

because they make it their business to. What if this stretch of relative peace and quiet up until now . . . is al he can manage? The end of the acting period and the time when the real him makes an appearance ? You can’t deny that his wheels have been coming off—hel , you wouldn’t be his partner if things were going right.” The conflict on Bails’s face was plain to see. “Or worse . . . what if we just don’t know what he’s real y been doing? I tel you, I couldn’t sleep last night—I was trying to reconcile what I believe him to be . . . with what he might
actually
be. If that makes sense.”

Reil y heard Veck’s voice in her head:
I want to make everything perfect for you.

And he had. He’d said the right things. Done the right things.

Thrown his cigarettes out for her—or at least had done so in front of her.

She’d fal en in love with him in four days.

Fortuitous accident? Or by design?

Except where would it gehim? He’d been the one to argue for suspension . . . unless that had been a deliberate stance? She’d certainly taken care of championing his case and his reputation—which had more credibility than his doing so, didn’t it.

Bails’s voice drifted over. “You can’t trust him. I’m learning that now.”

“Just because he didn’t tel you about what happened when he was younger?” she heard herself say. “And besides, keeping a sealed record to yourself isn’t il egal.”

“I think he planted evidence. Sissy Barten’s earring, specifical y. To make it look as if Kroner was responsible.”

She didn’t bother to hide her recoil. “
What?
And how?”

“He went up to her bedroom, didn’t he. The day you two went over to the Barten house. He told me you were downstairs when he did. And he was in the evidence room yesterday morning—I talked to Joey, one of the crime scene investigators. He said Veck had been by—and he could have planted it then.”

“But he said he’d found the earring in and among the evidence.”

Bails rubbed his eyes again. “I checked the preliminary log of the items from the truck, the list that was made right after we got the vehicle. There wasn’t any notation of an earring shaped like a dove. That’s what I was double-checking right before I came and saw you two this morning.”

So that was why he’d looked poleaxed.

She shook her head. “But what does he have to gain?” Unless . . .

Oh, God . . . what if he’d kil ed her. What if Kroner had somehow seen something in the course of his own evil work at that quarry?

“You’ve read the report on Sissy’s body, right?” Bails said.

“Of course.” She’d spent al morning on it—and the conclusion that she’d first come to when the body had been found was now inescapable: None of the victim’s wounds matched those of Kroner’s other kil ings—and that kind of change didn’t happen, typical y. Usual y, the method and the fixations didn’t alter.

“So you’ve got to know she wasn’t defiled by Kroner. And maybe, after you add it al up . . . maybe Veck did it.”

Good heavens, she couldn’t breathe. Sure as if there were hands around her throat. “But . . . why?”

Although that was a dumb question to ask, she feared.

“How much do you know about Veck’s father?” the detective said. “His murders?”

“Just what I studied in col ege.”

Bails refocused out the front window. “Did you know that his father’s first victim was bled out by the neck and wrists—having been hung by her feet.

She’d also been marked up just like the Barten girl is. On the stomach.”

Reil y reached for the handle and shoved open her door. It wasn’t just for the fresh air. It was because she was seriously going to throw up.

“I’m so sorry,” Bails said, his voice raw.

“So am I,” she croaked, although that didn’t begin to cover it.

As she stared at the pavement, she knew she had been snowed. Big-time. And of course Veck had made the effort. She was his advocate at headquarters, the one who was supposed to vet him careful y and yea or y him to keep on the force: He’d wanted to keep working, and she’d been in the position to make that possible.

“Thank God for you,” she choked out. Too bad she couldn’t look at Bails—she was just too mortified that she’d been played so wel . “Thank God you said something.”

“
S
o how ’bout you do some talking first.”

As Veck spoke in a low voice, he kept an eye lock on Heron. The two of them had ducked around the corner of the apartment building and were standing in the shadows next to a scrubby bush.

Jim’s stare was dead on and his voice was church-bel deep. “You know everything. Al the answers you want?” The man put his forefinger on Veck’s chest, right over his heart. “It’s inside you.”

Veck wanted to hit that one back with a racket ful of
Whatever, a-hole
. But he couldn’t.

“My father wants to see me,” was his reply, instead.

Heron nodded and took out his cigs. When he tilted the pack forward, it was al Veck could do not to take one: “Nah, I quit.”

“Smart.” Heron lit up. “Here’s the way it works. You’re going to find yourself at a crossroads. There’s going to be a decision you’l have to make, an action to be taken or not, a choice between polar opposites. Al of what you are and what you have been and what you could be wil be measured on your decision. And the consequences? They don’t just affect you. They affect everyone. This is not simply life and death—it’s about eternity. Yours. Others’. Do not underestimate how far this goes.”

As the man spoke, Veck felt the two sides of him begin to split. One half was utterly repulsed. The other—

Veck frowned. Blinked a couple of times. Looked away and looked back. As God was his witness, he could have sworn that there was a shimmering glow over both of Heron’s shoulders and around his head.

And the bizarre il usion gave this whole nightmare credibility. As did the fact that the moment he’d wanted the guy, the fucker had been right behind him

. . . and then there was the no-prints issue down at the quarry . . . and the light show that had happened in the stairwel at the Barten house.

Veck put his palm up to his sternum and rubbed hard at the dark shadow in his chest. “I never volunteered for this.”

“I know how that feels,” Heron muttered. “In your case, you were born to it.”

“Tel me what I am.”

“You already know.”

“Say it.”

Heron exhaled slowly, the smoke rising up through that golden glow. “Evil. You are evil incarnate—or, at least, half of you is. And in the very near future, maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, you’re going to be asked to pick one side over the other.” The guy pointed to himself with his smoking hand. “I’m here to try to get you to choose wisely.”

“And if I don’t.”

“You lose.”

“Right then and there?”

The man nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing. “And I’ve seen where you end up after that. It’s not pretty.”

“What are you.”

Heron’s expression didn’t change. Neither did his stance. And he didn’t even stop with the smoking. But one minute he was a man; the next . . .

“Jesus . . . Christ . . .” Veck breathed.

“Not even close.” He stubbed out his cig on the sole of his combat boot. “But I am what I am.”

And that would be . . . an angel, evidently: In the weak and fading light of day, a refracted, gleaming show had appeared over his shoulders in the shape of giant wings, making him both magnificent and ethereal.

“I’ve been sent to help you.” The man . . . angel . . . shit, whatever . . . refocused on Veck. “So when you go to see your father, I want to be with you.”

“You already have been with me. Haven’t you.”

“Yup.” The guy cleared his throat. “But not when you were . . . you know.”

Veck’s brows popped. “Oh, yeah. Good . . .”

Annnnnd cue them both looking anywhere and everywhere else.

Veck thought about that night with Kroner. “What if the crossroads has already happened?”

“The Kroner thing? Wasn’t legal.”

“Wel , yeah, murder ain’t.”

“No, not like that. I’m not the only one who wants you, but the other side jumped the gun on that setup.”

“Other side?”

“Like I said, it’s not just me in this game. And trust me, the enemy is a real bitch—I’m sure you’l meet her soon, if you haven’t already.”

Oh, great, more good news, Veck thought.

And then he blurted, “I was going to kil him. Kroner, I mean.” Damn, it felt good to get that out.

“You mean,
part
of you was going to. Let’s get accurate—you didn’t do the damage, and you also cal ed nine-one-one, and if you hadn’t done that, he’d have bled out right at your feet.”

“So what attacked him?”

“You think you’re surprised to be talking to an angel? You don’t want to know what else is out there.” Jim waved his hand dismissively. “But that’s not what you and I need to worry about. We’re going to go see your father. Together. ASAP.”

Veck thought about that sensation of destiny’s arrival, the one where he felt like his life had slipped into culmination mode. Not even remotely a hypothetical anymore, was it.

“Is that the crossroads?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Abruptly, Jim lowered his lids and tilted his head down. As he stared out of vicious slits, he was downright deadly—and precisely the kind of thing Veck was glad he had at his back: He had a feeling he was going to need another good fighter around if he was going to battle this side of himself.

And that was what this was. A fight to the death.

“We’l find out,” the angel vowed, “when we get there.”

Everything happened for a reason, Reil y thought as she and Bails walked away from Kroner’s room a half an hour later.

Kroner’s condin had degraded, almost as if his injuries were a sea that he had briefly surfaced out of, only to be pul ed back underneath: He hadn’t been able to focus, had mumbled replies that made no sense, and not long after they had arrived, she and Bails had given up.