Tunnel Vision (14 page)

is going to fax us his statement.”

“Well, at least we know the victim wasn’t the owner of the car.”

“Austin’s interviewing the parking lot attendants to see if anyone remembers the car, but that’s a real long shot. You know how many cars go in and out of there every day?”

“Several hundred, I’d guess.” She seemed to be deep in thought, trying to re-organize the information they had on John Doe. “This is giving me a headache, Nicholls. Up for some lunch?” she asked.

“Can’t. I got a line on a new couch and it’s today or never.”

“Okay,” she said as she looked at her watch. “I’ll be back in about an hour. Page me if anything comes up,” she said as she grabbed her jacket and left the squad room.

Before Maggie could get back to the folders on her desk, the phone rang again. She rested the receiver on her shoulder as she answered it and repeated her introduction. For a moment there was silence on the other end.

“This is Detective Weston,” she repeated. “Can I help you?”

“I’m sorry,” a woman’s voice finally said. “Is Lieutenant Brodie there, please?”

“She’s just left for lunch, ma’am. Can I take a message?”

“This is Dr. Jacobs. Is Detective Nicholls there by chance?”

“Just a moment,” she said and pointed the

receiver in his direction.

“Shit. How can I get any work done if the friggin’

phone keeps ringing?” he said to himself as he took the phone. “This is Nicholls,” he said.

“Nicholls, this is Camille Jacobs.”

“How are you, Doc?” Nicholls said smiling. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m fine, thanks. When Lieutenant Brodie gets back from lunch, would you tell her I had a cancellation in my schedule and she can come by my office at four instead of five. She wanted to discuss a case you’re working on.”

“Which one?”

“I didn’t know you had more than one. She only said a woman couldn’t have done it.”

“I’ve warned her about that sexist bullshit, but she never listens to me. I’ll give her the message.”

He handed the phone back to Maggie and floated a note over to Brodie’s desk. “What’s your plan for the afternoon, Maggie?”

“I’m going to finish this report and then I’m going to sit right here on my ass until Lieutenant Brodie tells me what to do next.”

Glancing at the clock on the back wall of the room, he said, “Guess I’d better get a move on about that damn couch. Want me to bring something back for you?”

“No. I’m good, but thanks.”

Alone in the squad room, Maggie ran her hands through her hair and took a deep breath. She had known Brodie might be mad, but hadn’t anticipated the level of her anger. She remembered the last time she had seen that much anger in her former lover’s eyes and absently touched the scar on her forehead. IT WAS SUPPOSED to be a relaxing evening out with friends. Brodie was coming off another double shift and Maggie was relieved her lover would finally have a two-day break. Since Wheeler’s death, her father had made Brodie’s life hell, but she insisted she could handle it.

As soon as Brodie walked into the apartment they shared, Maggie sensed something was wrong. Without stopping to acknowledge Maggie, Brodie walked directly into the kitchen and took a beer from the refrigerator, leaning against the counter to take a long drink.

“Are you all right, Royce?” Maggie said as she rested against the door frame.

“Great,” Brodie said dully, filling her mouth with the amber liquid.

Crossing the room, Maggie touched her on the cheek. Brodie jerked her head away. “Not now, Mag.”

Draining the bottle, Brodie walked past her and tossed it in garbage before taking a second from the fridge. “My two days were cancelled,” she said as she opened her beer and took a long drink.

“What? You haven’t had a day off in over two weeks! You should call your union rep,” Maggie said. Whirling around, Brodie said, “And do what?

Admit that I can’t take it? Let your father tell everyone I can’t handle my job? Fuck that!”

“I’m sorry, Royce. I’ll call Carrie and tell her we can’t make it tonight.”

Finally looking at Maggie, Brodie’s face softened.

“No, don’t cancel. Just give me a few minutes to catch my breath and take a shower. It’ll be all right, baby.”

Brodie set her beer down and took Maggie in her arms, holding her tightly for a few minutes. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

Brodie had seemed more relaxed during dinner, but Maggie noticed she was consuming more alcohol than usual. By the time they arrived at a local club, Brodie had become sullen and distant. It was nearly midnight when a group of women entered the club and made their way toward a table. Brodie stood up quickly and staggered slightly. “Fuckin’ son of a bitch!” she seethed.

Following Brodie’s glare, Maggie said, “What’s wrong, Royce?”

Ignoring her question, Brodie left their table and walked toward the new group, Maggie following close behind. One of the women was standing, taking drink orders from the rest of her group. Suddenly she was grabbed roughly and spun around to see the florid face of Sergeant Royce Brodie. Pushing her away, the woman said, “Brodie! What the hell are you doing?”

“What the fuck are you doin’ here, Santos? I was told you had the flu and wouldn’t be at work for a couple of days. I got stuck with your for shit shift!”

Brodie accused.

“I was ordered to take the next couple of days off,” Santos said.

“By who?”

“The watch commander.”

“What?” Maggie exclaimed.

Santos grinned at Maggie. “Looks like your daddy ain’t as hot for your girlfriend as you are, Weston.”

Shifting her eyes to Brodie she said, “They changed me to first shift beginning tomorrow. Hope you can sleep off whatever you been drinkin’.”

Brodie grabbed Santos and would have hit her if Maggie hadn’t stopped her. “Let’s go, Royce. It’s not worth it.”

As Brodie made her way out of the club, Maggie made their apologies to their friends. She had to run to catch up to Brodie, insisting that she drive. Brodie sat silently in the car all the way home and remained silent as they entered their apartment. Brodie walked into the kitchen and took a bottle of Jack Daniels and a glass from the cabinet.

“What are you doing, Royce? You’ve already had enough to drink tonight.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Brodie said as she threw back the drink. Before the liquor finished burning its way down her throat she poured another.

“Don’t do this,” Maggie said as she came to stand next to Brodie. “Please. Let me call in and tell them you’re sick.”

“No!” Brodie said loudly. “I guess now you think I can’t do my job either!”

“That’s not it and you know it. You’re not going to be in any shape to work tomorrow. You’ve had too much to drink.” Reaching in front of Brodie, she took the bottle from her.

“Fuck you, Maggie!” Brodie screamed. “Go to bed and leave me the fuck alone!”

“Not while you’re like this,” Maggie said. “You’ve been drinking more and more since Stan was killed. You need to talk to the department psychologist.”

Great!” Brodie laughed. “Then your daddy can get my ass run off the force for being a nut case! That’s good, Maggie. That’s really good.”

Running her hand across Brodie’s back, Maggie said, “Come to bed, Royce.”

Turning to look at Maggie, Brodie grinned. Bringing her face close to Maggie’s she said, “Sure, baby. Let’s go to bed.”

“Not when you’re drunk, Royce.”

Maggie had never been able to describe what she saw pass through Brodie’s eyes the second before she felt the slap. She couldn’t believe her lover would strike her. The force of the slap and the shock of it stunned her. Brodie grabbed her and began pulling at her clothes, breathing heavily. Maggie shoved her away. “Stop it, Royce!” Turning, she walked into the living room.

“You belong to me!” Brodie shouted as she followed her.

“Not when you’re like this.”

“Well, maybe I’ll have to find someone more willing.”

“Fuck you!” Maggie turned to walk away from her.Brodie reached out and shoved her toward the couch. In an instant the arguing stopped as Maggie’s foot caught on a small rug and she fell face first onto the coffee table, shattering the heavy glass top. Maggie’s fall seemed to happen in slow motion as Brodie tried to stop it, but couldn’t. As blood seeped into the carpet under Maggie’s head, Brodie fell on her knees, calling out her name and dialing 9-1-1. MAGGIE WAS STILL running her fingers over the scar on her forehead when Brodie’s voice broke into her thought. “You asleep?”

“I was just thinking, Lieutenant,” Maggie said, dropping her hand away from the scar that reminded her of that night every time she looked in the mirror. She looked at Brodie. How had it all gone so wrong?

Over the last few years small things had reminded her of what she had had with Brodie. The tenderness, the gentleness of her touch, the way her heartbeat increased every time Brodie looked at her. Just as it was now. Would there ever be a time when the sight of Royce Brodie wouldn’t cause the same physical reaction?

“Could I run an idea past you?” Maggie finally asked.

Leaning back in her chair, Brodie said, “Shoot.”

When Maggie brought her eyes up to speak, Brodie barely heard what she was saying as she met her gaze. It was more than politely looking into the eyes of a person speaking. It was a reflection of the past. A time when everything had been right.

Maggie faltered for a moment as she and Brodie looked at one another. “I’ve…um…been going over the Garcia file and the one on your John Doe. See what you think.”

Brodie leaned onto her elbows. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Maggie smiled as she took a deep breath.

“We know Garcia left home around four Thursday and disappeared until he was found the following Monday morning. The missing person case I was checking this morning is Dr. Elliot Brauner, a professor at the university.”

“So what’s the deal? He run off with one of his sexy young coeds?”

“No. Or if he did it was the best kept secret in the universe. There are a few things about his disappearance you might be interested in though.”

“Such as,” Brodie said, still looking at the file folder.

“Dr. Brauner went to the university about seventhirty Thursday evening and didn’t return.”

“So.”

“His office is in the Biology Building.”

Brodie looked up at her without raising her head.

“You think there’s a connection with Garcia?”

Maggie shrugged. “I don’t know, but it seems too coincidental to be ignored and I don’t believe in coincidences any more than you do. Isn’t it possible that whoever killed Garcia did it to steal his keys?

Maybe they wanted to get into one of the offices and Brauner caught them.”

Brodie pushed her glasses to the top of her head and rubbed her eyes. “It’s possible, but do we have any hard evidence any of the keys were used after Garcia’s death? They could have been thrown away and we just haven’t found them yet.”

“Can I have permission to at least contact Brauner’s wife and ask her to check her husband’s office?”

“It can’t hurt, but it might be a dead end. Let me know if anything comes of it.”

IT WAS A little after four that afternoon when Camille’s receptionist showed Brodie into the psychologist’s office. She was bent over a chart, jotting down notes from her last patient’s visit.

“Have a seat, RB. I’ll be through with this in just a second,” she said without looking up. Brodie had been to Camille’s office many times since her departure from the Austin Police Department. One year for private counseling sessions designed to help her deal with her guilt over Wheeler’s death and seven of a more personal nature after they began seeing one another. She hadn’t heard Camille sound so detached in a long time. She glanced around the familiar office while she waited.

A few minutes later, the psychologist removed her reading glasses and placed them on her desk. Sitting back in her chair, she said, “I assume those are the files you wanted me to look at.”

“Yeah,” Brodie said as she leaned forward and slid the folders across the desk. Something was wrong. Camille had never been so distant toward her before. Now she would have to wait while she looked through the files.

“Pour yourself a cup of coffee, RB. You know where everything is,” Camille said as she became engrossed in the first folder. Brodie poured two small cups and set one in front of the doctor. It took nearly ten minutes for Camille to go through the file, stopping once or twice to flip to a previous page to reread a section of the report. Finally she closed the folder and removed her glasses. “You’re right. A woman didn’t do this one,” she said.

“Well, that eliminates over half the population as suspects. What can you tell me about the guy who did do it?”

She re-opened the folder and sipped her coffee half-heartedly.

“Probably young and white. Methodical. Patient. Precise. He is either fairly strong physically or he knew the victim. He might have cultivated a recent friendship with the victim which would have allowed him to overpower him easily. Do you have a scenario yet?”

“Just guesses. We think Garcia may have been lured someplace and rendered unconscious. Then the killer took the body into the old tunnel system under the university where he could work undisturbed, decapitated him, dumped the body and then returned to the campus to put the head in the lab.”

“Decapitation is a pretty messy business and certainly not a spur of the moment act. He had to have planned it. Probably over several weeks or even months.”

“According to the family, the victim was last seen Thursday afternoon when he left for work. The head was found early Monday morning. The body was located Tuesday after what we think could have been an anonymous tip from the killer.”

“Were there classes in that particular lab Friday?”

“Yes, and they used specimens from the tank. So the head was placed there sometime between late Friday and early Monday.”

“The coroner said the time of death, based on the body, was between two and four days before it was discovered,” Camille read.

“Unless the killer kept the body on ice for a while and then disposed of it after he finished whatever the hell he was doing with it. Why do you think he put the head in the aquarium?”