Chapter Fifteen

Nick was tired. His day had passed slowly and without any progress on the case. Captain Cintrello had ordered the release of James Lugino for the homicide, and he’d probably walk on the possession charge. Cintrello also told Nick that someone was suing the state on behalf of Charlie Sloan. The D.A.’s office was fighting it on the basis that this killer was a copycat and Sloan was the real killer. Problem was, the copycat had access to inside information, and the D.A. needed to know how the information had been obtained in order to argue against the suit.

“You’d better figure out who the hell did that shit and fast, Nick,” his captain had warned. “If they gather enough evidence to prove that this department executed the wrong man, we’re going to get slaughtered in the press.” Nick knew that in a sheriff’s office, where everyone was elected, bad media attention even a year from an election could cost the whole department their jobs—from sheriff right on down.

It was five-thirty now, and he decided to drop by Sam’s house, hoping to catch her to talk. He rang the bell and Rob came racing to the door. “I’m glad you’re here. Derek’s sick. He’s been lying on the couch, moaning. I don’t know what to do.”

Nick followed Rob through the kitchen into the living room.

Derek lay across one couch, a blanket pulled to his chin.

“Sick?”

Derek’s eyes fluttered open and he shifted slightly.

Nick looked at Rob. “He go to school?”

Rob nodded. “He just came home and collapsed. He looks pale, doesn’t he? Man, you think it’s contagious?”

Nick knelt beside Derek and pressed his hand to the boy’s forehead. “Derek?”

Derek’s eyes opened.

“How do you feel?”

“Lousy,” he whispered.

“You’ve got a fever. Tell me what hurts.”

Derek’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “My throat mostly. I’m tired. Everything hurts.”

Nick turned to Rob. “You have a thermometer?”

“I’m sure Aunt Sam does, but I don’t know. I could check.”

“Show me where she keeps the medical stuff.”

Rob led Nick down a hall past the boys’ rooms. It was as far as he’d ever been in the house and he suddenly felt like he was trespassing. Rob opened the door to Sam’s room and went in. Nick found himself pausing at the threshold and taking stock of the room. It was white and simple.

Several Guy Buffet prints, including the famous one with the Buena Vista restaurant at the corner of Powell and Bay in San Francisco’s North Beach, decorated the walls. The bed was queen-sized with a thick dark denim comforter, and he could just see the tops of navy flannel sheets. He resisted the temptation to run his fingers across them.

The room could as easily have been a man’s room as a woman’s. But everything about it spoke of comfort. A pile of books was stacked in perfect order on each of the bedside tables. He walked by them and glanced at the titles.Corelli’s Mandolin, Snow Falling on Cedars, Under the Tuscan Sun.

Most were titles he’d never heard of. One had fallen to the side of the bed. He glanced down at it:The Teenage Jungle: A Parent’s Guide to Survival. He imagined Sam in her sheets reading to try to understand her nephews. On the floor beside the bed was a thick brown folder with pockets labeled A–Z. He saw a coupon for Palmolive dish soap sticking out of the “D” pocket and smiled to himself.

“I found the medical supply kit, but there’s no thermometer.”

Nick followed Rob into the small bathroom off Sam’s room. Rob had the medicine cabinet open and had pulled down a red plastic kit with the Red Cross emblem on it. He’d also emptied two small cosmetic bags, and the contents of all three were piled on the floor.

“No thermometer in here, and I don’t know where else it would be.”

Nick nodded. “I’ll look up here.” He stood and ran his finger along each shelf. The contents were perfectly lined, labels front. He couldn’t imagine anyone keeping a medicine cabinet so neat, but the image of Sam lining up the bottles made him smile.

There wasn’t a single prescription drug, but she had every type of cold medicine from children’s Dimetapp to Theraflu and Alka Seltzer. Most of the packages remained unopened. In a canister on the second shelf, he found gauze scissors and two thermometers. “Got it.”

He pulled a thermometer from the hard plastic case, shaking the mercury down as he carried it and the Tylenol back to Derek in the living room.

Rob trailed behind, almost on Nick’s heels. The boy’s concern was evident in his wide eyes and frazzled pace.

“Derek, we’re going to take your temperature,” Nick said, sitting on the edge of the couch. Slipping the thermometer under Derek’s tongue, he glanced at his watch.

“How long does it take?” Rob asked.

“About a minute.” He motioned to Sam’s room. “Why don’t you get the stuff in Sam’s room put away. By the time you get back, he’ll be ready to go.”

Rob nodded and headed back into Sam’s bedroom.

Nick ran his hand through Derek’s hair, remembering being sick as a kid. His house was always so full, there was hardly ever a quiet spot to go. He shared a bedroom with two brothers until they both left home. But when someone was sick, his mother always set up quarantine in the living room. Except when someone was sick, the room was strictly for adults, its old door pulled closed to the constant mess of six children.

Nick read the mercury as 102 degrees. He passed the thermometer to Derek to let him read it.

“One-oh-two.”

Derek handed it to Rob, who twisted it back and forth in the light. “Wow, that’s pretty high.”

Nick nodded. “Not too bad, but we should call Sam.”

Rob got up and found the phone.

“Are you allergic to anything, Derek?”

He shook his head.

“Do you ever take Tylenol?”

He nodded. “Sometimes.”

Nick opened the bottle and shook out two tablets.

“TheExile on Main Street album is great,” Derek said.

Nick smiled. “I’m glad you like it. They recorded that one in France when Mick Taylor was still in the band.”

Derek nodded. “Yeah, they rented some château because they couldn’t go back to England because of tax problems.”

Nick was always amazed at how much Derek knew about music. “I’ll look forward to hearing it again when you’re better,” he said.

“She’s not answering,” Rob said, returning to the room with a glass of water. “I left a message. She checks them pretty often, I think. Maybe she’s on her way home.”

Helping Derek up, Nick gave the boy the tablets and then water to wash them down.

Derek sank back on the couch.

“You think you could eat something?”

Derek shrugged.

“I’ll heat up some soup and you can just eat it when you feel up to it. You need a lot of liquids—juice, soup, whatever you can handle.”

“I’d like some juice.”

“I think there’s some in the freezer,” Rob said. “I’ll make it.”

“I’ll be right back, Derek,” Nick said. “You call if you need us.”

Derek nodded, and Nick stood up and headed into the kitchen. As he and Rob worked side by side, heating soup and making juice, Nick found himself settling into the feel of Sam’s house. He watched Rob pour the frozen concentrate into a pitcher, splashing the red juice on his white T-shirt.

“Oh, man.”

Nick smiled and put his arm around Rob.

“It’s my favorite shirt.”

“It’ll come out.”

Rob flipped on a radio beside the microwave, and Nick caught the familiar sound of John Coltrane.

“You always listen to jazz in here?”

“Aunt Sam’s all into this station now.”

Nick smiled and worked to Coltrane, listening for the sound of Sam’s car as though it were the most natural thing in the world that he should be in her house, making dinner with her boys.

As he cranked open a can of soup, he felt the familiar buzz of his pager. Lifting it off his belt, he stared down at the number. His captain. He crossed behind Rob and picked up the phone, dialing the station as he put his beeper back on his belt.

“Cintrello. Thomas here,” he told the clerk who answered.

“Thomas.” Cintrello sounded as though he’d snapped up the phone on the first ring. “I got news.”

“Another?”

“No.”

“Where’s the top to this thing?” Rob asked, holding the plastic pitcher with juice.

Nick turned and pulled open cupboards in search of a lid. “What’s up, Captain?”

“Where the hell are you?”

“My sister’s,” he lied.

“Well, I’ll make it short, then. I took a call about a half hour ago from a source who says one of ours is the perp.”

Nick halted. He’d thought a cop could be behind the killings. Who else would have had the inside info? “You’ve got a line on our suspect?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

Nick frowned. “You going to tell me who this source thinks is involved?”

His captain exhaled. “Chase.”

“That’s bullshit,” he snapped and then looked at Rob, who was staring at him wide-eyed. “Sorry,” Nick mouthed. “No, that can’t be right,” he said to Cintrello, lowering his voice and turning away from Rob. “This guy—your source—he thinks she did it? Impossible. She’s a great cop, Captain. What would be the motive?”

“Slow down, Thomas, and watch your fucking mouth. If you can’t look at this thing objectively, I’ll yank you.”

“This is objective, Captain. I know her as well as anyone, and I’d stake my badge on it.”

“That’s not objective, Thomas. Jesus Christ, you’re not screwing her, are you?”

“God, no,” he said quickly, one part of him wishing he was lying, one part glad he wasn’t. “Is there evidence?”

“Yes.”

“What—”

“It’s not enough to try a case on, but the undersheriff has got his panties in a knot over what happened last fall and he’s not about to take chances.”

Nick nodded. Last fall, the sheriff’s office had ignored reports that one of their own, Officer John Patrick Yaskevich, was involved in the sale of unregistered weapons. When it turned out to be true, the sheriff got more than an earful from the governor and there was a bloodbath in the papers. “They can’t possibly think this is the same thing,” Nick said.

“We’re not talking about it anymore, Thomas,” Cintrello said. “The D.O.J. is insisting she stay on the case, but I’ve been told that my ass is on the line. That means your ass is on the line. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“You’re my insider. You keep your eyes open, and if something looks fishy, I hear about it. Are we clear?”

“I still don’t—”

“Thomas, shut your trap already. We’ll see what the source has. Then we’ll talk. Corona is demanding that everything remain the same until then. But I’m letting you know to keep your eyes and ears open. Clear?”

“Yeah.”

“If I find out you held something back, I’ll feed you to IAD myself.”

Nick didn’t reply. The internal affairs division was a group he’d been fortunate enough never to deal with.

“Understand?”

His chest was deflated. “Yeah,” he said with his last puff of air.

Nick hung up the phone and leaned against the counter.

“I found the lid,” Rob announced, holding up the pitcher of juice.

“Nice work.”

Rob looked at him. “Is Sam in trouble?”

Nick blinked and shook his head, pointing at the phone. “No. That was something else.”

Rob nodded, but Nick wasn’t sure he believed him. “I’m going to take some in to Der.”

Nick put his hand on Rob’s shoulder. “Thanks.” As Rob left the room, Nick felt trapped. His loyalty had always been with the department, but he couldn’t possibly keep this news from Sam. He didn’t believe the allegations for a second, and Sam deserved to know what was being said about her. He only wondered how the hell he was going to tell her that she was a suspect in her own case.