Eighteen

Sabrina sat in the chair next to the hospital bed and watched the boy sleep. According to Mandy, his name was Alex Kotko. He’d been kidnapped from St. Petersburg, where he’d lived on the streets, abandoned by his father after his mother died. He had no idea how long he’d been in captivity and could tell them nothing that might help lead them to the man who’d held him.

There was a soft rap on the door before it was opened. “Hey.” She looked up to see Mandy standing just inside the doorway.

Sabrina gave her a smile that waned quickly. “Hey,” she said, sitting up a bit. Strickland wasn’t the only one who called Mandy Black Coroner Barbie. With her bright blond ponytail, pert freckled nose, and dark-green eyes, she looked more like a cheerleader late for math class than an assistant chief medical examiner. It was an apt nickname, but Sabrina never used it. She knew how much Mandy hated it.

“How’s he doing this morning?” Mandy said, shutting the door behind her.

“As well as can be expected, I suppose.” She glanced at the boy. He was still asleep.

Mandy read her perfectly. “It had to be done.”

Sabrina nodded. “I know. I just … ”

It’d taken well over an hour for Mandy to coax the boy out of the corner and another thirty minutes before she was able to drape the blanket Strickland had brought in from his trunk around his shoulders. She wasn’t sure what Mandy had said to him, but whatever it was, it was enough for him to allow her to lead him through the house and out into the yard.

People had gathered. Neighbors crowding around the tape barrier. Uniforms pushing them back. They all went quiet when they saw the boy. He pressed himself into Mandy’s side, her hand shielding his eyes from the sun and his face from the people who stared at him. Mandy pushed the boy into the back of Strickland’s unmarked, following him in. Sabrina had gotten in the back as well, hemming him into the middle of the bench seat—the coroner on one side, her on the other. She said nothing, just listened to Mandy talk to the boy in a low comforting tone, trying not to think about what she knew had probably happened to him in that basement.

The hospital. The boy was a victim who needed medical treatment, but he was also evidence that needed to be processed. She knew from experience that the medical exam after rape was nearly as traumatic as the assault itself. If there was any way she could avoid putting him through it, she would. But there wasn’t.

The second he saw the doctors, he went wild again. Shoved Mandy into the wall and ran, but he didn’t get far. It’d taken three orderlies to restrain him while the nurse gave him an IM injection full of something that turned his bones to jelly. They wheeled him down the hall, leaving her feeling like shit, but Mandy was right. It had to be done. She looked at the paper bag the nurse had brought her an hour ago. Fingernail scrapings and various swabs—hopefully everything she needed to find the man responsible and nail him to the wall.

“What are you doing here?” she said, changing the subject. Nothing good would come from re-opening old wounds.

Mandy looked at the sleeping boy. “I thought I’d come hang around until Social Services showed up. They were having a hard time scrounging up an interpreter. I’d hate for him to wake up and have no way to communicate. Besides …” Mandy cut Sabrina a wicked look. “I don’t think he likes you very much.”

“Yeah? What was your first clue? Was it when he tried to bite my hand off or when he called me a government whore in Russian?” She’d insisted that Mandy translate everything he said, in addition to catching it on the voice recorder app on her cell.

Mandy winced. “The Russian people hate and fear their government. Criminals and murderers are held in higher esteem.”

“I wish I spoke a foreign language. All I can do is swear in Spanish, and that’s just because Val cusses me out on a regular basis.” She laughed. This time it felt a bit easier. “Where’d you learn to speak Russian?” Sabrina said, more out of curiosity than anything else, but when Mandy’s face went still, she was sorry she asked. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s not any of my business, I just—”

Mandy shook her head. “No. It’s okay. My parents were fluent. They taught me.” She looked at the boy again. “Some things you just don’t forget.”

There was another knock. A uniformed officer pushed the door open. “I’m here for … this.” He picked up the bag and signed the piece of paper attached to it to maintain chain of custody. “You need a lift, Doc?”

Mandy shook her head. “No, but thanks. I’m waiting for the Inspector.”

The uniform headed out, bag in hand. They were quiet for a while, both of them absorbing the events of the previous twenty-four hours that led them to the hospital bedside of a boy neither one of them knew.

Finally, Sabrina spoke. “Strickland asked you to come by, didn’t he?” she said, and she took Mandy’s silence for confirmation. She sighed. “He’s like Mother Hen on steroids.”

“He’s your partner. Give the guy a break,” Mandy said, easing into the chair next to her.

“Oh, I’d like to sometimes, believe me.” She took a breath and blew out a sigh. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I’m not your babysitter. I’m your friend.”

That’s what she liked best about Mandy. There was no bullshit to sift through when you talked to her. She said what she meant. Still …

“Don’t you need to get to—”

“Relax. I called Randell in to transport the body back to the morgue after we left yesterday. It should be there now.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want Randell to perform the autopsy. I want you.” Mandy was the best. She cared about the people that hit her table. Not just their bodies, but who they were before they died. That was important to her.

“Don’t worry, the case is still mine. I scheduled a room for later this morning,” Mandy said. “Between you, me, and Mother Hen, that sick son of a bitch is as good as caught.”

Before she could answer, her phone buzzed in her pocket. “Speak of the hen …” she said as she pulled it out and glanced at the screen. “Hey, how’s it going?” she said into the phone.

“Less than great. Mathews just left. He’s playing your song,” Strickland said before barking out a few orders to the gaggle of uniforms he was undoubtedly trying to organize.

“The Where-the-fuck-is-Vaughn song?” She sighed. “I haven’t heard it in so long, I actually miss it.”

“Further evidence that you need your head examined,” Strickland said. “Anyway, he wants us both to get to the station ASAP.”

She looked at the sleeping boy. He was pale, frail-looking. Like he’d been dragged through hell again and again until he was so spent, so worn, that he’d begun to fade away.

You remember what that’s like, don’t you, darlin’? The good ol’ days …

Sabrina stood, somehow managing to push Wade from her mind, at least for the time being. “I’ll see you there in an hour.”