Fated (4 page)

“How much do you know?” Hart asked, but he expected the laugh, the nuh-uh, and he sighed. “There have been attacks like this one before.” No reaction, so Toby knew that much. “But no one has ever survived an attack before. Until now.”

“And you think you can learn something about the attacker by studying the back of Mr. Drake’s neck?”

Hart bent his head, neither affirming nor denying. “Maybe I was just checking out the bruise pattern.”

“Were you?” Toby asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The weapon used might’ve left a mark. I was looking for—”

“
There
you are.”

Hart startled, gratified not to be the only one. In the doorway stood a woman, tall without heels on, hands on her hips. She wore a gray pantsuit that offset the dark brown of her skin perfectly. How she’d opened the door without Toby noticing was a mystery, since Toby was still sitting on the desk, facing it.

“Freddie,” Toby said, recovering quickly. He straightened as Hart rose to his feet. “This is Lieutenant Hart from Riverside.”

Freddie?
This
was the chief inspector?

“What? Were you expecting a man, Lieutenant? Or maybe someone white? Or both?”

“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” Hart said, feeling wrong-footed, and he was pretty sure he just saw Toby hide a grin. “You have to admit Freddie is a bit misleading.”

“Toby called me the minute you showed up here uninvited.”

Hart couldn’t help the slightly resentful look he sent Toby’s way. The helpless little shrug he got in return was, despite lacking any real contrition, pretty cute.

Chief Inspector Freddie closed the door behind her, looked Hart up and down in a way that told him she found his dress sense far less amusing than Toby had, and walked over to kiss Toby on the cheek. Hart raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“The name is Francesca.
You
can call me Chief Inspector Lesley, and you have no business interrogating Doctor Darwin.”

“Just call her Freddie,” Toby said to Hart. “She won’t respond to anything else. And he wasn’t interrogating me.” Toby smirked his off-center smile. “In fact, I learned more about him than he did about me.”

“Yes, I’ll bet.” Freddie sat down and crossed her legs, waving the two men down too. This time Toby sat in his leather chair. She rolled her eyes as they both stared at her. “Carry on, then.”

“Hart was just telling me why he was searching the back of Ben’s neck.”

Hart cringed, and Freddie turned to him slowly, dropping her head to the side. “You went into the victim’s room? You did go through police training, didn’t you?”

“I just—”

“Freddie,” Toby interrupted. “Let him explain.”

Hart ground his teeth together and took a deep breath. If asking for a laptop would’ve been a bad start, how about breaking procedure. No choice now: he’d have to show his cards. Not in front of Toby, though.

“Let’s take this outside for a second.” Hart grabbed his notebook, led Freddie out of the door, and closed it behind them. “How much do you know about this murder attempt?”

“Mr. Drake isn’t the first suspicious attack victim in the area,” Freddie said, crossing her arms over her chest. “There have been four before him. And I know this one fits in with the strange healings going on in your other cases.” Hart’s eyebrows flew up. “I’m a good cop, now spill the rest before I call Supe to let him know you were snooping.”

“Well, you’re right, and that’s pretty much all we know. So far we’ve found no real connection between any of the victims.” Hart hesitated. He didn’t like sharing this part with anyone. It had been difficult enough to get the captain on board, even with the new pathologist’s reports. “Apart from a very faint mark just underneath the hairline at the back of the neck.”

“I think I read something about that.” Freddie frowned and stared over Hart’s right shoulder. “The files refer to it as scarring.”

“That’s because Dr. McDonald, our new pathologist, had no other way to describe it. They’re not tattoos, but they’re not scars either.”

“Then what are they?”

“We don’t know. I was about to check if Mr. Drake had one when Toby walked in.”

“Those marks only showed in the last two cases. Why do you think it connects all of them?”

Hart sighed and rubbed the back of his neck where it felt stiff. God, he was tired. “Our previous pathologist resigned after he missed something major in another murder case. He wasn’t the youngest anymore, had trouble keeping up with the job, started drinking….” He shrugged. “He admitted it could be entirely possible he’d missed something else. And it’s too late to find out now.”

“Shit.”

“In a nutshell.”

“We should ask Toby about the marks,” Freddie said, lifting her chin toward Toby’s door. “Since he’s a doctor. He might know something.”

It couldn’t do any harm, Hart supposed. “All right.”

“What do you think they mean?” Freddie asked, hand on the doorknob.

“I don’t know.” He sighed and stuffed his notebook in his pocket. “I don’t know.”

T
HE
THREE
of them took the elevator back up to Mr. Drake’s room. When one of the nurses accosted Toby by the front desk, Hart walked faster, and Freddie kept up with him easily.

“What’s the matter?”

Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, he halted in front of Drake’s door. She wouldn’t miss a beat, this one. He tilted his head to where Toby stood leafing through a file.

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk so openly about the case in front of Dr. Darwin. He’s a medical expert in this case at best. He could be a suspect at worst.” Freddie’s delicately shaped eyebrows rose high, but she didn’t argue, although her crossed arms indicated she might like to.

“I play by the rules, Lieutenant, but I’m not afraid to use all my resources.”

“And that’s supposed to be reassuring?”

Freddie smirked. “Touché. But I trust Toby completely. He’s a good man.”

By the front desk, Toby signed off on some document. “I’d sooner make up my own mind on who to trust than not.”

Freddie shrugged easily. “Suit yourself.”

The nurse on Toby’s left stared in their direction, even though they were too far away to be overheard. As she said something, Toby’s head lifted in surprise, then he laughed, throwing his entire body into it. His shoulders shook, his throat bared, and more of his styled hair escaped, falling loosely over his forehead. Still laughing he turned toward Freddie and Hart and made his way over.

“He’s gay by the way,” Freddie said before Toby was in earshot. She side-eyed Hart. “That gonna be a problem?”

“No,” he said, keeping his eyes on Toby. “Why should it?”

“I know what guys like you can be like.”

Guys like
me
, he wanted to ask, but Toby had reached them. He clapped a hand on Hart’s shoulder.

“Shall we?” he said, and the three of them entered Drake’s room.

“What was funny?” Freddie asked. Toby’s eyes briefly flickered between the two of them. His smile was slightly wicked.

“Hospital humor. You don’t want to know.” He stepped aside so Hart could reach the head of the bed. “Go on, then, Lieutenant. Show us what you’ve got.”

Freddie smirked as he walked carefully past, minding the wires. Toby came to stand at the other side of the bed, and he helped turn Mr. Drake’s head. “There.” Hart reached out with his fingertips but stopped short of touching the mark. “That’s strange.”

“What is that?” Toby asked, eyes wide.

“What’s wrong with it?” Freddie peered over his shoulder.

“It looks nothing like the others.” It wasn’t faint at all. It was a thick, black tattoo. Hart grabbed his phone and took a photograph.

As a doctor, Toby apparently had no qualms about touching his patient, and he rubbed his thumb over the mark.

Beside him Freddie gasped as Hart said, “What the hell?”

“It comes off!” Toby looked at his thumb and rubbed his fingers together. They came away stained.

“The mark is smudged too,” Hart said. “I don’t understand. It’s like….”

“It was drawn on,” Freddie finished. “Was it like this with any of the others?”

“No. The other marks were all skin deep but faint. Too faint to be a real tattoo.”

“The others?” Toby demanded. “What’s going on?”

“This is very weird,” Freddie said, leaning over Hart’s arm where he was pushing the pillow down. “It looks like some kind of marker. From what Jackson told us, we assumed he’d interrupted the attack, and that’s why Ben is still alive. But the assailant must’ve drawn this on after Ben was already unconscious.”

“Maybe he thought Ben was dead,” Toby said, looking at his hands. Hart noticed his fingernails were very short and neatly manicured. You couldn’t be a doctor and have long, grubby nails, he supposed.

Hart studied the mark closely. Of all the murders possibly related to this case, Drake was the third with a mark that they knew off. There could’ve been others, missed by their last pathologist, but it was too late to find out now. None of the marks were identical but close enough to raise suspicion.

“What is it supposed to be, you think?” Freddie leaned closer still. She smelled vaguely of citrus. “It looks like a wobbly
X
.”

“Or a butterfly, if you use a bit of imagination.”

“Does he have any other tattoos?” Hart straightened. His phone beeped a low battery warning, and he snapped another picture. He had photographs of all the marks, but he wasn’t going to reveal that with Toby in the room. No matter what Freddie said, he would come to trust Toby—or not—on his own terms.

“Hold on.” Toby gently turned Mr. Drake’s head back, adjusted the tube in his mouth, and moved to the foot of the bed. “Yes, I thought I remembered.” He pulled back the sheet to reveal a delicate dragon curling around Mr. Drake’s ankle, its tail wrapping around it and settling on the instep of his foot.

Hart whistled low between his teeth. “Nice.” Drake, dragon—he could see the appeal.

“Now
that’s
a tattoo. God, that’s lovely.” Freddie lifted a finger as if to touch the back of the dragon but stopped short of actually touching skin.

As Freddie’s attention remained on the dragon, Hart glanced at Toby. People who knew more than they let on had certain tells, but Toby didn’t fidget or blink or glance away. It was an undeniable look of appreciation that met Hart head-on. Toby had his eyes on him, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly in amused challenge. Hart had the feeling it wasn’t his opinion on the case that was being challenged. The moment was interrupted by a beep coming from Toby’s pocket.

“Excuse me for a second,” he said, and left.

“Could the marks on the other victim’s necks be some sort of dye?” Freddie asked. “Instead of a tattoo, I mean. Something the killer didn’t have time to apply this time.”

“It’s no dye.” Hart fought the shiver that wanted to run down his spine. “At least not a dye Hannah had ever come across.”

“Hannah?” Freddie tilted her head in question.

“Riverside’s new pathologist.”

“Ah, I see. Well, what is it, then?”

“Like I said. I’ve got no idea.”

Freddie stared at the tattoo on Drake’s foot. “If it’s too smooth to be scar tissue, and it’s not a tattoo, maybe we can ask Toby if he knows a dermatologist.”

“No, that won’t be necessary.” Hart didn’t want to involve anyone else just yet.

Freddie glanced at Hart. “Are we even looking at the work of the same person?”

“We can’t be sure of anything, at this point,” Hart said, as Toby slipped back into the room.

“One thing’s pretty clear.” Freddie lifted her phone out of her suit pocket and swiped it on. “Whatever it is, it’s a calling card.” Her eyes went unfocused. “Supe? Yes, it’s Freddie. I’m at Brightly General with the lieutenant from Riverside. Are you in the office?” She met Hart’s eyes, and he gave her a small nod. “We’ll be there in half an hour.”

Already turning toward the door, Hart checked his back pocket for his notebook. He had more questions for Toby, but they would have to wait till later. He startled when Toby cleared his throat.

“Can I have a word with you, Lieutenant Hart?”

His mind already on meeting Freddie’s boss, Hart half turned, frowning a little. “What about?”

Toby said nothing, just lifted an eyebrow, and that infuriating little smile was back. It spelled trouble.

Beside him Freddie snorted and then pushed past them both. “I’ll be in the parking lot,” she said. “I drive a blue Camry.”

“What is it?” Hart glanced at Mr. Drake, whose still body betrayed no sign of having been moved and inspected. Being in the same room with him made Hart uncomfortable for reasons he didn’t understand and didn’t particularly want to examine too closely. Toby stepped forward and blocked Hart’s view while herding him out of the room, as if he knew perfectly well how he felt.

“Will you be back?”

“Back here? Yes, most likely. Once I tell Freddie’s superintendent and mine about the mark on the victim’s neck, we’ll need the family’s perm—”

“He has no family or friends.” Hart opened his mouth to ask about the one card on Drake’s windowsill, but Toby was still talking. “What I mean is, will you be back to see me?” The tilt of Toby’s body was infinitesimal, and if he hadn’t been clobbered around the ears with classes on body language and unspoken communication, Hart would’ve missed it.

Fuck
, he thought.
He’s coming on to me
. He rubbed his forehead, suddenly incredibly conscious of his casual clothes, of the way his brown hair probably stood on end from his rushed shower this morning.

“To ask you a couple more questions, yes.”

Hart turned on his heels and marched down the corridor.