Virginia burrowed down under the covers and tried to re-enter the deep REM state she was in earlier.
The phone started again.
Eighteen rings this time. It was either a stalker or an emergency. The odds were against sleeping any later, so she finally gave in, rolled over, and eased out of bed toward the phone.
“Hello. It’s early. It better be good.”
“V.G., can you come down?”
Larry was on the other end, and he sounded choked up.
“What’s wrong, Larry?”
“Today’s the anniversary of the D.”
She needed some coffee. “What the hell is a D?”
“Dale!”
He broke off abruptly. She could tell he was crying.
Dale…Dale…
It took a moment to make the connection.
The walls of Larry’s garage were covered in huge, colored posters of his idol, the late, great, Dale Earnhardt. More than once, his father had driven him for hours, crisscrossing the Southeast just to see the D race round and round a NASCAR track.
“V.G., they’re memorializing him on TV. I’ve been watching the instant replays of the crash all morning on the thirteen-inch here in the store. I can’t take it.”
“Listen, I’ll be right there.”
Virginia hung up and stepped into a light pink sweat suit she had taken out of the dryer the night before and thrown on the easy chair in the corner of her room. After clamping her old Atlanta Braves baseball cap down snug on her head, she pulled her long, dark ponytail through the adjustable hole in the back. She picked up her favorite windbreaker, one she had bought on the side of the street during the ’96 Olympics. It was covered in the interlocking Olympic rings with eagles swooping across the back. It had seemed glorious and patriotic at the time.
She pulled the door to her bedroom gently shut, hoping not to alert the dogs she was going out and avoid a mob scene.
Quickly and quietly, she went down the stairs and out the back door. She tiptoed to the Jeep, knowing that the moment the engine turned over, the pack, led by Sidney, would resume their hysterical barking, throwing themselves at the door and running in circles around the den.
Virginia backed out of the gravel driveway. She shifted and turned it wide to swing out into the street.
The morning was still cool and wet…the sun hadn’t scorched everything in sight just yet. The breeze off the ocean smelled fresh and salty. No other cars were out yet.
50
New York City
THE AIR WAS STILL FRESH AND THE SIDEWALKS WERE COVERED IN a blanket of glistening snow, still undisturbed, when Hailey went into work. Her walk the night before in the cold air had left her feeling so much better. Her mind was clear, and while still sad over Melissa, at the same time she felt happy to be alive and rededicated to helping her other patients. But the eerie similarities between Melissa’s death and a string of cases she prosecuted in Atlanta wouldn’t leave her mind for long. Of course, murders didn’t happen just in Atlanta, and she really didn’t know all the details about Melissa’s death yet.
Hailey stepped into the foyer, kicked snow off her boots, went upstairs three flights, and put on hot water. Not a soul was stirring in the little brownstone this early. She puttered around the suite and flicked on the computer to work on the outline for her article. Hayden wasn’t due for another forty-five minutes. She was often late, but never early.
Hailey was seated at her computer when a light rap on her office door broke the silence.
“Hello? Who’s there?” Hailey called out, rising from her seat, heading to the door. That was odd…she hadn’t heard a sound…no one had gotten buzzed up.
No reply.
Hailey opened the door to Kolker.
“Mind if I come in?”
“Hi. What’s up? Come on in. Any news on Melissa?”
“I think you know,” Lieutenant Kolker said cryptically.
“Excuse me? What happened?” she returned, as his handheld police band radio squawked.
Kolker held up the index finger on his right hand to her as he listened to a handheld police band radio he held in his left, signaling her to hold on. She did. He then finished the transmission by barking a series of numbers into the lower end of the radio.
“I’m really feeling much better now and I’m happy to talk to you. I do have a patient coming in just a few moments, would later today be okay? I can definitely meet you when I break at lunchtime.” Hailey walked around to her desk, sat down, and started flipping through her appointment book, a thick full-size black spiral notebook.
“Ms. Dean, I wish it were still that simple. Things have changed since we last met. For you, anyway,” he said flatly.
He leaned over toward her with his palms spread on her desk. “Ms. Dean, Hayden Krasinski was also one of your patients, correct? Just like Melissa Everett was?” His voice was cold. His eyes never left her own.
“Lieutenant, you know as well as I do that any communications between Hayden Krasinski and myself are protected under the doctor-patient privilege. I will say, though, that I know Hayden very well.”
He nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
“I spoke with Hayden last week and plan to see her this morning, as a matter of fact. Why do you ask? Wait…Kolker, please don’t tell me you think Hayden has anything to do with Melissa’s death.”
When he didn’t respond, she went on, “I assure you-no, I’ll go so far as to personally vouch for Hayden. She’s incapable of violence. She’s a very caring and sensitive person.”
He let her go on with neither comment nor reaction.
“Listen, I give you my word on that, as both a psychologist and an officer of the court. You do know that I am an officer of the court, Lieutenant? You seem to know everything else about my clients and me.”
“Believe me…I do.”
What was with his attitude?
“Then you know I’ve probably handled just as many felonies as a prosecutor as you’ve handled as a detective. And I swear to it…Hayden’s not involved in Melissa’s death, and if you’re trying to find her so that you can-”
“Ms. Dean, we don’t think Hayden was involved.”
She looked back at him across her desk, closing the appointment book and standing. “Then why all the questions about Hayden?”
“I don’t think Hayden was involved. This is about you. We don’t want to locate Hayden Krasinski. We know where she is. She’s at the morgue, Ms. Dean. Hayden Krasinski is dead. She was stabbed and likely strangled in the last twenty-four hours, and not too far from your office, either.”
Stunned, Hailey grasped the edge of the desk to keep her balance. The pain showed in her eyes and her immediate, gut reaction was one of disbelief. Her mind couldn’t accept the news, and the color drained from her face.
“Don’t bother to look so shocked,” Lieutenant Kolker said dryly. “That stunned, hurt look might have fooled me once, Hailey Dean, that’s right. It worked the first time you used it at the hospital, but it ain’t workin’ this time. You nearly had me snowed in there. Man, was I a fool. I guess you’ve used your looks before. It’s not working this time, Counselor.”
“What?” Her thoughts were spinning. She couldn’t take in the news about Hayden. “Lieutenant, I’m not-”
“Don’t bother to tell me what you’re not,” he cut in rudely, “because I’m going to tell you what you are. You’re under arrest.”
“For what?!” Anger took her over. Her patients were being singled out for death, and her words came out sharp as steel.
“Do you want me to repeat it?”
She said nothing back, the desire for revenge against the killer so strong now, her whole body was coiled and ready to spring.
“Melissa Everett and Hayden Krasinski are both dead. Two innocent women murdered just weeks apart, and you know what, Ms. Dean? You’re the only connection to the both of them.”