“And this is an NYPD badge, miss.” He casually took it out of his jacket pocket and flipped open his shield.
“Which one of you is Hailey Dean?”
39
St. Simons Island, Georgia
LOOKING OUT PAST THE HORIZON, THEY SAW THE SUN BEGINNING to show itself over the edge of the water.
“Come on, let’s go.” Virginia whispered it as loudly as she could, turning to the others and motioning.
They quickly made it back through the trees and past the security post. The guard, now snoozing gently, was still sitting straight up, with his back against the closed door of the guardhouse.
The guerrillas headed across the road and tried their best to blend into a stand of palmettos as they limped along.
Once past the thick stand of pointy plants, it was backwoods all the way until at last they circled back around to Larry’s 7-Eleven parking lot. Without a word exchanged among them, they climbed into three cars where they’d been left. They cranked up and drove into the half-dark, half-light of the Island dawn.
They’d made it, they were home free. Months of planning, weeks of labor, and incredible expense on the part of Palmetto Dunes Luxury Living had been bravely and beautifully destroyed in a single night at the guerrillas’ hands.
Vengeance was sweet.
Tonight, they had risen to greatness: shucked off their mall uniforms, their laminated company ID cards worn on chains around their necks, their plastic Radio Shack name tags.
The battle was on.
The guerrillas had struck back.
Vengeance all right, with a bullet.
40
New York City
LYING THERE IN HER HOSPITAL BED, HAILEY DIDN’T BOTHER TO CHECK the guy’s ID when he casually took it out of his jacket and flipped open his shield.
She didn’t have to. He was definitely a cop. No question about it. He had that look, immediately and easily identifiable by both fellow law enforcement and the people they spent their lives chasing.
She could spot one a mile away, even in plainclothes. They stood out in crowds of civilians like sore thumbs, if you knew what to look for.
The younger officers kept buff, muscled bodies for foot chases and arresting suspects who fought them tooth and nail. On the other end of the spectrum, cops who had been around for a while turned soft and pale. They were beaten-down, their exciting years of chasing the bad guys melted into desk jobs, brewing coffee at the precinct, and counting the days until retirement.
It wasn’t just the clothes or accessories. It was the way they wore them, the way they carried themselves, the intangible attitude that screamed out, “Look at me…I’m a cop.”
“Repeat, ladies. Which one of you is Hailey Dean?”
“I’m Hailey Dean. Who are you?”
“Lieutenant Kolker. I’d like to ask you a few questions about a young lady I think you know, Melissa Everett.”
The name slammed into her and stole her breath away. Melissa. For a few minutes, she had put it out of her mind.
Too upset to speak, she paused briefly. In that moment, he went on.
“You are Hailey Dean of Dean Counseling, correct?” he asked, though he knew full well the room was in her name, and that, of the two women, the one in the bed wearing a cotton gown would be his best bet.
“Yes, I’m Hailey Dean,” she said slowly, retracing her way through dim memories. “I had just thought of Melissa exactly when you opened the door. I…I think the reason I’m here is, in a way, because of Melissa.”
“Really.”
“I must have passed out. It’s happened a few times before. Please tell me I dreamed it.” Her thoughts were disconnected and her speech was dull.
He leaned forward. “Tell you that you dreamed what?”
“Was Melissa reported in the Post as being…” No. Don’t say it. Don’t make it true…
“Is she missing?” Hailey finally got the question out.
“Well, Miss Dean, you’re right and wrong. There was an article this morning in the Post. But Melissa’s not missing. She was found last night around midnight. She’s dead.”
Hailey was silent, hot tears filling her eyes.
It wasn’t a nightmare. It was real.
Melissa was dead.
“What happened?” she asked, and her voice broke on a sob.
“So you really don’t know?”
She shook her head, turning her face away from the two of them and wiping tears on the top edge of her sheet. She managed to ask, “Was it a suicide?”
Even as she said the words, they didn’t ring true.
But why else would he be here to see her?
“I was just with her last week,” she said in a rush. “She seemed to be doing so much better… I mean, Melissa was disturbed, but Lieutenant, she wanted to live. I’m sure of it.”
“Miss Dean, you’ve got it wrong. I’m not here for your professional opinion as a psychologist. Melissa Everett was murdered. She was definitely stabbed to death, possibly strangled as well. We’re waiting on the official cause of death from the morgue…and she may have been molested. It’s early on…but the way she was found…”
“You mean without shoes? Bare-legged?”
“Oh…so you remember that, Hailey? I thought it was all confused and mixed-up for you.”
Why was he being so obnoxious? No wonder people don’t cooperate with police.
“Well, I recall hearing that on 1010 WINS. I had no idea the body was Melissa.”
“As I said, there’s absolutely no question as to cause of death. Suicide was never even an option. And, Miss Dean…the last thing in her date book was an appointment with you.”
“Yes, I was her psychologist.”
Kolker just looked at Hailey.
Lying there on the single hospital bed, staring at the plainclothes officer, it all became real to Hailey.
Melissa’s battle with her nightmares, her demons, her ruptured childhood was over.
She was dead. Murdered.
Hailey’s chest hurt imagining the horror Melissa must have suffered at the hands of a killer.
All her prosecutions had convinced Hailey that suffocation in any form, especially strangulation, was one of the most painful ways to die. The victim was normally fully cognizant until the very end, knowing death loomed as lungs collapsed, eyes hemorrhaged, face contorted in death. But here, two painful possible causes of death? One wasn’t enough?
Hailey could hardly bear it. The beautiful, tortured woman who still looked like a girl, trying so bravely to live life whole and well, not an ounce of hatred in her body, now gone as if she never existed.
Just like Will.
The news about Melissa forced her back to when she had discovered Will was murdered. Now, as then, it seemed like a big misunderstanding, mistaken information.
She remembered thinking, frantically, that Will wasn’t dead, that he was fine…or if he wasn’t fine, there had been an accident, but he would be fine, if she could only get to him in time.
And then, the reality.
Will was dead, he had been murdered, there was no accident, and there was nothing she could do to help him.
And this time, like last, there had been no accident, no mistake.
The Post was right. Melissa was the dead girl. Hailey’s Melissa…her patient, her friend.
They had been through so much together, hours and hours spent alone in Hailey’s suite, reliving Melissa’s childhood nightmares, each trying their hardest, in their own way, to build a new life.
“I was hoping you could shed some light on her recent whereabouts, her friends, and her lifestyle,” Lieutenant Kolker was telling Hailey from someplace far away. “We found your business card in her purse, with your personal cell number on it and what appears to be your home phone number and address.”