„Sure. In fact, just about everyone in my family is singing your praises.“
Kristen looked away. „I like your family, Kyle. I like them too much to drag them into all this.“
„I know you do.“ He studied her across the room, not belittling her fear for his family and her respect for him went up. „How is your mother?“ he asked.
„She’s all right. Thanks.“ The kettle began to whistle and she lifted it from the stove. „I called the nursing home when we got back here.“ Sitting on her sofa with Abe next to her, his arm around her shoulders for support. „I needed to hear from the staff myself. My father tends… to keep things from me.“
„Parents do that. For some reason we don’t want our kids to worry.“
Kristen shrugged. She knew better. „Perhaps.“ She joined him at the table with the teapot and two cups and changed the subject. „Then Abe called the police in Kansas.“
„Did he get anywhere with them?“
„No. Nobody saw anything, and there aren’t any cameras in the nursing home.“
„What about the note and the flower?“
„Abe tried to get them to agree to ship it here, but they politely declined. They said they’d send it to their own crime lab in Topeka.“
„If it was Conti, they won’t find anything,“ Kyle said quietly.
„I know.“
He slipped his hand in his pocket and brought out a deck of cards. „I’ll stay here if you want to sleep. But if you can’t…“ He waved the deck.
Kristen knew she wouldn’t sleep a wink until Abe came back with news on the latest shooting. „I don’t know many card games,“ she said. „My dad didn’t allow cards. But I need to get some work done anyway.“
„Anything I can do to help?“
„Do you know anything about databases?“
He grimaced. „About as much as you know about cards.“
Kristen smiled. „Then just keep me company?“
He dealt himself a hand of solitaire. „That I can do.“
Tuesday, February 24,
12:05 A.M.
Red lights flashed, creating a strobe effect as they reflected against no fewer than five police cars, six unmarked cars, a CSU van, and two ambulances.
Mia was crouching by one of the two men. When she saw Abe, she stood up and beckoned him closer.
„Sorry I’m late,“ he apologized. „I had to find somebody to stay with Kristen.“
„No problem. This is Rafe Munoz,“ she said, pointing to the big man lying on a stretcher, encased in an unzipped bodybag. „He’s a bodyguard. Was, anyway. That“ – she pointed at the stretcher being loaded into an ambulance – „is William Carson.“
Abe grimaced. He knew the name. He’d been unfortunate enough to be cross-examined by Carson when he was still in uniform, years before. „Another defense attorney. What’s Carson’s status?“
„Iffy. May make it, may not. He was conscious for a few minutes after the first cruiser arrived. He ID’d Munoz before he passed out. They’re taking him to Rush. Munoz has a bullet hole in his head. Looks like he was kneeling next to Carson when he was hit. But Carson…“ Even in the darkness Abe could see Mia’s eyes gleam. „The first shot hit him here, barely grazed him.“ She tapped the top of her skull. „Second shot hit him square in the chest. We got an entry wound, but no exit.“
Abe’s pulse spiked. „The bullet’s still in him.“
„With any luck, before dawn we’ll have a maker’s mark to show Diana Givens.“
„Where did the bullet come from?“
Mia turned and pointed to the four-story building across the street. „He was waiting for Carson up there. Let’s go take a look.“
Armed with a bright searchlight, they climbed the fire escape to the roof and gingerly crossed to where their sniper would have lain in wait.
Mia whistled softly. „Do my eyes deceive me? Could I possibly be looking at what I think I’m looking at?“
Abe looked at the cup with the plastic lid, his own heart doing a little victory dance. Still he felt compelled to keep them from getting their hopes up. „It might not be his.“
Mia bent down, sniffed at it, pressed her latex gloved fingers to the side of the cup. „It’s coffee and it’s still lukewarm.“ She grinned up at him. „Jack will be pleased.“
Tuesday, February 24,
12:30 A.M.
He sat at his kitchen table, his hands still shaking uncontrollably. He’d missed.
He’d missed. And then he’d panicked and killed an innocent man.
Well, he reasoned, the man was probably not that innocent. He was hanging around Carson, after all. Carson was a dirty lawyer who represented murderers and drug dealers and rapists. Anyone accompanying such a pariah couldn’t be entirely innocent.
But it was a regrettable loss, he had to admit. Worse yet, he’d run without making sure both men were dead. He’d turned tail and run down the fire escape like a common criminal, like a thug with the police at his heels.
The police still didn’t know who he was. Not yet. But perhaps it was time to be considering the end. He picked up the three cards he hadn’t added to the fishbowl. They were special names. He’d put off their executions, because as soon as all three were dead, the police would put two and two together and know exactly where to find him. He’d wanted to empty the fishbowl first, but time was growing shorter.
He stood, feeling the ache deep in his bones. It hurt to swallow and his head throbbed. Hours of waiting in the cold, digging graves and hauling bodies were taking its toll. He’d barely been able to hold on at his day job. Things had to come to an end, and soon. He began making coffee, hoping to return some warmth to his body. He peeled back the lid from the can, then froze when the aroma of ground coffee met his nostrils.
Coffee. He’d had a cup of coffee. And he’d left it behind.
Jerking himself back into motion, he continued his task, scooping the coffee into the filter basket. The police were not fools. Reagan and Mitchell would find the coffee cup and they’d be able to get his DNA. It was bound to have happened sooner or later. He was bound to leave some physical evidence behind at some point, no matter how careful he was. Now he had, and he would pay. He had to take care of the three key players before the police figured out who he was. He owed it to Leah.
Chapter Seventeen
Tuesday, February 24,
8:30 a.m.
Jack was pleased. „We got more than a DNA sample from the lid of that coffee cup,“ he announced. „Our guy’s got a sore throat. We found traces of mentholyptis in the coffee, like he’d been sucking a cough drop at the same time he was drinking.“
„Oh joy,“ Mia said sarcastically. „It’s flu season. Let’s round up everybody with a sniffle.“
„It might be why he missed,“ Abe mused. „He’s not feeling well.“
„Poor baby,“ Kristen said unfeelingly. „My heart bleeds for him.“
„Regardless, he might screw up again.“ Mia held up a plastic bag. „And now we’ve got a maker’s mark. Hot off the press.“
Spinnelli took the bag and held it up to the light. „It’s in good shape this time.“
„They recovered it from Carson ’s right lung,“ Abe offered. „The surgeon was able to get it out just a few hours ago.“
„I’m glad we were there,“ Mia growled. „He almost threw it away.“
„But he felt so bad about it he asked Mia out to dinner to apologize,“ Abe added with a grin and after another second of growling, Mia grinned, too.
„A doctor this time. I’m movin’ up in the world.“
Spinnelli shook his head with an unwilling smile. „So what’s next, people?“
„Julia will autopsy Arthur Monroe today,“ Mia offered. „It’s strange, you know? Conti’s death was so brutal and Monroe…“ She lifted a shoulder. „Just a pop to the head and he’s done. Not what I would have expected him to do to a guy who molested a little girl.“