Of course, it had been another thing to find out Jack DeShane was in love with her. It was always a bad situation when a cop got involved with a hooker, but then Eileen McKenna was not your regular prostitute and Jack was not exactly a by-the-book police officer. That’s what made him good. Still, if it got out a rookie was involved with Eileen, it could mean trouble from his superiors, maybe even get him kicked off the force.
Sam had tried to explain that to the young man when Jack had confided he was seeing Eileen. But there was no changing Jack’s mind—or his heart. But that was something Jack and Sam had in common. Hell, if he had fallen hard for a woman, be it the governor’s wife or the scroungiest piece of ass this side of the Pecos, there would be no talking him out of it. So what if life was full of complications? All you could do was handle them the best you could.
At the Main Street exit, Sam got off the freeway. He wondered how long after he had fallen asleep Jack had left the house. If he had gone to Eileen, that was fine. But if he was not there, then Sam was worried. He could not have Jack wandering around on the streets grieving or down at the station floundering in hysteria.
Jack would have to go to the morgue and make a positive ID. He had to be ready for that. After having seen Willie’s body, Sam cringed at the thought of any father being forced to go through such an ordeal.
Identifying victims of violent crime had been the least pleasurable part—hell, it was the most horrible part—of police work for Sam. Cops learned all about heartbreak in the morgue. It turned some of them sour.
Sam parked on the street outside Eileen’s high-rise condo. He did not plan on a lengthy visit. He simply needed to know if Jack was all right.
The wind blew gum wrappers and shreds of newspapers along the street as Sam stepped from the Plymouth. From lifetime habit Sam scrutinized the street and sidewalks before leaving the car. A dog sniffed at a water drain opening. A clatter of high heels brought Sam’s attention to a couple coming in late from a night of celebration. The woman wore a silver fox cape over a black dress. The tops of her breasts were exposed. Her hair was windblown and she walked unsteadily, leaning against her date. The man was nondescript, fortyish, tired. They passed Sam without a glance and entered the condo’s lobby. Sam shook his head. They had not even been suspicious of him. He might have been a mugger. People could be too indifferent for their own good.
He followed them inside and took the elevator to Eileen’s floor where he rang her doorbell. He could hear it echoing in the rooms beyond. Be here, Jack, he silently pleaded.
It was Jack himself who came to the door. He held the door wide and stood quietly staring at the old detective.
“I thought you’d come here,” Sam said. “I don’t want to interrupt. I just had to find but if you were okay.”
Jack dropped his gaze and Sam could see the scar on his cheek standing out like a thin scarlet ribbon.
Eileen pulled Jack aside and held him around the waist. “Sergeant Bartholomew!” she exclaimed, genuinely pleased to see him. “Jack didn’t tell me he knew you.”
“No reason why he should. We’re neighbors now.” He spoke to the still-silent Jack. “Do you want me to pick you up around ten?” He had to say this delicately, and there were damn few ways to do that. “They’ll want you downtown for…” Jesus, he could not say it.
Jack raised his eyes and they were filled with compassion. “I know, Sam, you don’t have to say it. I have to identify Willie. Make it official. I’d like it if you could pick me up and go with me.”
“I’ll be here.” Sam almost added son and chided himself for the near slip. As far as he knew he had never fathered a child. But he could not go around trying to make up for it by adopting Jack DeShane. Yet still the feeling was there. He was as linked to the younger man as he would have been to his own offspring. He felt Jack’s hurt as powerfully as one man could feel for another.
“Thanks, Sam,” Jack said, then added, “thanks for coming to see about me.”
“You’re in good hands.” Sam smiled at Eileen.
“Try to get some sleep, Sergeant. Jack will be fine,” Eileen called after him.
“Call me Sam,” he replied, hitting the elevator button.
In the privacy of the elevator, Sam let the relief flood over him. He sagged a little against the upholstered wall, but his mind buzzed with questions. Jack did not know yet how mutilated his boy was. No one knew what the killer had used. The forensic pathologist or the coroner could help them on that. But Jack needed to be prepared for the shock of having to identify Willie’s remains. The grotesqueness of it made the veteran detective queasy. How do you ask a man, a father, to look on the mutilation of his child?
There were other questions too. What was the motive? They needed a psychological work-up on the killer.
And the weapon. It was no simple feat to behead someone, even a child. Where was the killer? Would he strike again or was this a one-shot? And if he did kill again, what kind of task force would it take to track him down?
Damnit, he was too old for this. He was retired. He must remember that. He should not be asking himself questions that might take months of diligent investigation to answer.
And yet Sam Bartholomew knew, from the uneasy stirring inside him, that he could not let it go. He was a bulldog with a rag in its teeth. He would worry it until it fell apart.
CHAPTER 12
BETTY LAWRENCE was wrestling with panty hose that refused to slip over her wide hips when she heard the news about Willie.
For three-quarters of an hour the sermon coming from the old brown Zenith radio was an inspiration to her soul. Reverend Phillip Wilco was a fiery preacher and his Sunday sermons set up Mrs. Lawrence for the service she later sat through at the nearby Assembly of God church.
But when the last “amen” had sounded from the radio and the choir finished “Amazing Grace,” the news broadcast brought an abrupt end to Mrs. Lawrence’s religious fervor. The insane words coming from the Zenith turned her whole world upside down.
“And this just in—the ten-year-old son of Officer John DeShane of the Houston Police has been brutally murdered. Reports say the child was found in an empty lot on the south side of town last night. There has been no statement from the Chief’s office at this time. Officer DeShane is a patrolman who joined the force last year. An update on this and the rest of today’s news later in the hour. This is KTRH…” Mrs. Lawrence heard ringing in her ears that drowned out the radio. She looked down at herself and saw that she still had her hands caught in the waistband of her panty hose. She drew them up the rest of the way and dropped her skirt.
Willie!
She forced her feet into a pair of flat brown shoes before sitting down heavily on the bed. She wiped her hand across her eyes as if to deny what she had just heard.
Not Willie!
Taking a deep breath, she reached for her large pocket book, turned off the radio, and left her house.
She glanced up and down the street. The buses were not running this early on Sundays. She would have to walk most of the way.
Willie was Jack’s hope. His hope of heaven, that’s what the Reverend Wilcox would say.