“You’re both welcome,” Chisolm said and gave her a smile. “Now go enjoy your movie.”
He left the theater and found Lindsay leaning against the side of his patrol car.
“He’s clear,” Lindsay said. “Got a couple of Forty-Eight entries from last year, though. Big surprise there. Oh, and no protection orders.”
“Thanks,” Chisolm said, gathering up Kevin’s belongings and placing them in a large plastic baggie that he removed from his back pocket.
“You going to jail?” Lindsay asked.
“Yep.”
“Not the Psych Ward?”
“Nope.”
“He hit you or something?”
Chisolm shook his head and sealed the plastic baggie.
“What, then?”
Chisolm walked around to his driver’s door. “Theft.”
“Theft?”
“Yep. He didn’t pay admission.”
Lindsay snorted. “That’ll get dumped by the prosecutor in a heartbeat, Tom. It’s not even worth the time.”
“You finding many vans up south tonight, Bill?”
Lindsay’s mouth hung open in surprise. Chisolm slipped into the driver’s seat and started the car. He pulled away from the curb, leaving Lindsay in that pose.
Chisolm drove toward the jail. He glanced up into his rear-view mirror and saw that Kevin was staring at him.
“You did me ugly, brother,” Kevin said gruffly.
“Just keeping you out of trouble,” Chisolm said.
Kevin shook his head adamantly. “No way. You’re a traitor. You’re doing me worse than those rotten dinks ever did.”
“You’ve gotta listen to your doctor, Kevin. You’ve gotta take your meds.”
“He’s my goddamn son!” Kevin raged at him and slammed his face into the plexiglass shield between the drivers compartment and the back seat. The self-inflicted blow seemed to faze him momentarily. His eyes unfocused, then he leaned back and said nothing.
Chisolm drove the rest of the way to jail in silence, too.
0244 hours
Katie MacLeod stared at a picture of Amy Dugger on a swing, her black hair trailing behind her as she was caught sweeping toward the camera lens. She bore the irrepressible smile of youth, of innocence. It was a smile that didn’t know grief, didn’t know worry, didn’t know death or sex or tragedy. That smile just knew the pure joy of swinging back and forth with a parent watching.
The quiet tick of the clock on the mantle marked the slow passage of time for Katie. She had long ago given up wondering if she drew this assignment because of her gender. If it was true or if it wasn’t, she wasn’t mad about it any more. And, much to her surprise, she wasn’t bored either.
Kathy Dugger had finally drifted off to sleep on the couch, wrapped in a fluffy blanket. When Katie had suggested she go off to bed or get a larger blanket, the woman had refused. But she’d been considerate enough to tell Katie why. The blanket was the one Amy wrapped herself in when she watched cartoons on Saturday mornings.
Katie had struggled to keep her composure when she heard that and was barely successful.
Since Kathy had fallen asleep, Katie tried to move around as little as possible. Her leather gear creaked loudly when she walked or shifted in her chair. She’d made a pot of coffee and sipped cup after cup while reading the last three months worth of Cosmopolitan and Family Circle magazines. She took three compatibility tests in the magazines to see if Kopriva was her “true love” and all three told her something different. The first little quiz said he was trouble, the second put them in the “Might Make It” category and the third, from Cosmo, told her to “Jump his bones on the way to the altar!”
What about Stef, though? They had a nice thing, didn’t they? It was slow, it was simple, but it was nice. And it was exclusive. And fairly secret, she believed.
What more did she want?
For that matter, what more did he want?
Katie sighed and sipped her coffee. Those were her mother’s favorite questions, too. She pretended she didn’t care about the answers to them, but she knew she did.
She worried about Kopriva. She wasn’t sure he was going to recover fully enough to return to patrol. If that happened, what would he do? And how would he handle her still being on the job? He didn’t seem to be so macho that it would end up being a problem, but you never knew. Not until it happened. And it wouldn’t be the first time she’d run into problems with a man over her profession.
They were both only twenty-five, she reminded herself. Plenty of time to figure things out.
Plenty of time.
She stared at Amy Dugger’s picture and wondered how much time the little girl had left. Or if her time had already ran out.
The thought depressed her and she returned to her magazine. She read over the words, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Kopriva and about Amy. She wished for the clock to tick faster and for morning to come.
TEN
Tuesday, March 14, 1995
Day Shift
0601 hours
Amy Dugger woke from a dream of her mother to the man with scary eyes. She opened her mouth to yell, but his hand clamped down over her lips. His skin was damp and he was shivering.
“Ah, none of that,” he whispered huskily. “No loud noises or you’ll be hurting your mommy. Get it?”
Terrified, Amy nodded.
He removed his hand slowly from her mouth and smiled at her. She suppressed a shudder. “Good girl,” he told her.
Amy stared up at him, unable to avoid his scary eyes. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep.
“It’s early yet. It’s what I’ll call our special time, Amy. Time for just you and me.”
Amy squirmed. “I’m hungry.”
“Really? Well, if you’re a good girl, I will make you some pancakes. I’ll even make the special ones with mouse ears. Have you ever had those, Amy?”
She nodded. Her mother made them all the time. How had he known about special pancakes? Amy swallowed and blinked. What else did he know?
He reached down and pushed her hair back from her face. His hands were cold and clammy on her forehead and she shivered. A look of delight went across his face.
“Are you excited?” he whispered, leaning his face down toward her. She could smell the stale beer on his breath.
“No,” she whispered.
“Sure you are,” he said. His smile now matched his eyes, both crazily raining down upon her. “Say it. Say you’re excited.”
“But I’m not. I’m scared.” Tear sprang to her eyes.
His smile hardened into a line and he glared at her. “If you’re not excited, then I’ll just have to go hurt your mommy.”
He started to get up, but she grabbed his clammy hand. “No!”
His eyes fixed upon her. He didn’t finish standing, but neither did he sit back down. “Then say it,” he told her.
Amy cringed, but she forced her mouth to work. She couldn’t let anyone hurt her mommy.
“I’m excited,” she muttered, though she didn’t know what she was supposed to be excited about. Maybe the pancakes.
“Say it like you mean it!”
She recoiled from his words, but forced herself to pretend. “I’m excited!”
He smiled again and sat back down next to her. “Good. So am I.”
Amy said nothing, but said a short prayer in her head like her mommy had taught her to do.
Thank you, God, for not letting him hurt my mommy.
He leaned into her again and she was overwhelmed by that same smell of stale beer. She detected another smell, too, that reminded her of her father’s face after he shaved in the mornings, except the odor was not as pleasant.
“Now, Amy,” he told her, stroking her hair. “We are going to play a little game. And you can’t stop playing, no matter what, or I will have to go and hurt your mommy. Do you understand?”
His scary eyes were boring into her. She swallowed and nodded at him.