Sam was too stunned to think straight. She wanted to march into the clinic and haul Matt and Austin back to the precinct. Jake convinced her to go home, which was just as well. All she wanted to do was hold Dillon. Jake and Frank were going to question some of the employees as well as Tamara’s therapist to determine if anyone had been stalking Tamara.
Jake must have called Abby because she went all motherly on Sam, leading her to the couch in the living room, having the fireplace crackling and welcoming, pressing a cup of hot tea in her hand, then waiting for Sam’s hands to warm up before settling Dillon in her arms.
“I’m at a loss, Mom. Things seem to be spiraling out of control and I’m no closer to the truth than the first day I spoke to Forrest Johnson. I know these cases are all connected but I can’t figure out how the killer is doing it.”
“It will come, Samantha. Give it time.”
“How much time? After two, three, four more women die?”
Dillon patted Sam’s mouth and babbled something unintelligible. She grabbed his hand and kissed it.
“Jacob called, said he would be working late and stopping with Frank for dinner.”
“They’ll probably go to Izzy’s for an artery clogging burger. I hope you didn’t make too much because I’ve lost my appetite.”
Abby rose from the couch and patted Sam’s shoulder. “You may not be hungry but I’m sure the babies are.” She turned to leave, then stopped. “Jacob also said he called the hospital and spoke with the EMT who treated the victim in the ambulance. She doesn’t appear to have any injuries other than shock. But he was going to keep a police officer outside of her room.”
Good. Sam thought. Once the killer realizes Tamara was still alive, he may try something. Then a more horrifying thought crossed Sam’s mind. What if Tamara tries to kill herself again?
<><>
“Maybe you should have had your shoulder checked out.” Jake accepted the beer from Nancy and slid it closer to his side of the bar. They were at Izzy’s, a local hangout for the boys in blue known for the best burgers and fried chicken in town. It had a large bar area with a number of wide screen TVs playing an assortment of sporting events as well as a cozy dining area in the adjoining room behind the bar.
“Nah. Nothing’s broken. I’ll probably have a bruise to match the one on Sam’s right side but I’ll live.” He held up his own beer glass. “Nothing a little brewski won’t cure.”
They turned their backs against the bar and watched the Chicago Bears on the larger screen above the juke box. Someone with a few too many beers had unplugged the juke box so he could hear the game. They recognized a table of beat cops filling out squares on a large football pool for the next Bears game. Although locals who frequented the bar knew the police were regulars, as yet not one law-abiding citizen had complained to the press or mayor about this minor indiscretion.
“Don’t know why the captain wouldn’t let us haul their asses in again.” Frank made a fist as the Bears scored a first down. “Who cares if the mayor has a coronary? There are already four people dead and one injured.”
“We don’t have proof. Nothing solid.” Jake’s attention was drawn to one off duty cop he didn’t recognize but he knew the type. He had his three table-mates enthralled with a story of a collar. The three other men at the table were younger, new recruits, Jake figured. The storyteller had Pacino good looks, dressed in what looked like a cashmere sweater. The watch on his wrist flashed gold. It was at that point that the Pacino twin crossed his right leg over his left, the ankle at his knee. He was wearing expensive-looking deck shoes. When his pant leg rode up, Jake saw several deep scratch marks on the man’s ankle.
“Any idea who that guy is?”
Frank tore his attention from the game. “The husky blonde guy? I think he’s a friend of Andy’s. Plays racquetball with him or something.”
“No, the loud mouth. The dark-haired guy.”
Frank caught sight of the shoes and scratch marks and clamped a hand on Jake’s arm. “It could be a coincidence. Don’t jump to conclusions.” Frank’s cell phone rang. When he checked the monitor, he said, “Shit. It’s the chief. Those shrinks must have called the mayor again.” He waved a finger in front of Jake’s face. “Don’t make a move til I get back.” Frank walked away from the noise and out the front door.
In another adjoining room there were pool tables. Jake noticed one of the file clerks from the precinct sitting on a stool watching the players. He remembered her name was a flower of some type, maybe Daisy. He walked over and whispered in her ear. Daisy looked over at the table Jake was referring to. She smiled in agreement. Jake exited through the restaurant and out the back door.
Jake waited in the darkened back lot of the restaurant. He had asked Daisy to write a note asking the loud mouth to meet her in the back lot. Daisy was young and attractive. He doubted the cop would pass up an offer by a cutie with perky breasts. Daisy planned to slip into the ladies restroom and wait several minutes before returning to the billiard room.
Several minutes later the back door opened and the man stepped out. The door closed behind him and he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. “Hey,” he whispered. “Where are you?”
Jake struck a match and lit up a cigarette. He glared at the cop through the smoke, then dropped the match on the gravel. “She stood you up, too, I see.”
“Aw, man. That bitch.” He pulled out his own cigarette. Smoking wasn’t allowed in any restaurants in Chasen Heights. There were park benches outside the front entrance for patrons who wanted to smoke but usually only the workers used the back lot. Jake struck another match and lit his cigarette for him. “Thanks.”
The cop caught Jake’s unwavering glare through the smoke and unconsciously took a step back. Jake had at least six inches and sixty pounds on the guy. “Like your shoes. Must be cold wearing them without socks in this weather.” Jake inhaled long and deep, wondering how this guy could know Sam.
“These? Well, they are comfortable.” He snapped his gaze back to Jake. “Which precinct do you work out of?”
“Sixth.” Jake let the smoke trail lazily from his nose. “You?”
“Third. Homicide. I’m sure you’ve heard of me. I have the best closure rate in the city.”
Bingo. Jake’s hand started to shake as he pulled the cigarette from his mouth and flung it into the dark. “That so?”
“Yep. No one has touched my record.”
Jake could swear the guy’s chest just swelled with pride. “Sal Marino. Grab and slap. That what they call you?” Jake felt his right fist open and close and his jaw tense. The last time he had punched something it had been a brick wall and he had broken seven bones in his hand. Sal’s smile slowly faded. He had been the detective on the Nina Logesta case Sam had told him about. “Wasn’t there something in the paper recently about you screwing up a suicide case? A hanging, wasn’t it?”
“That bitch didn’t know what she was talking about.”
“What bitch was that?” All Jake could think of at that moment was slamming Sal’s face against the brick wall of the restaurant, giving him a sample of what Sal had done to Sam.
The back door burst open and Frank charged out of the restaurant. “Yo, buddy. We gotta roll. Just caught a lead.” He tossed Jake’s leather coat at him and dragged him away. “Sorry to interrupt,” he called out to Sal as he pushed Jake toward the sidewalk and toward the front of the restaurant where their car was parked.
“What the hell are you doing, Frank? He’s the one.”
“I know. The chief just called to tell me the DNA results. He has plans for Mister Marino and wanted me to make sure you stayed away.”