Jake felt DeLuca close behind him as they rounded the first bend in the alley. Flat out running now, the rhythm of their footsteps matching, the gravel spitting underfoot. The one stripe of sunlight between the buildings on each side layered a frustrating glare on whatever waited ahead.
Jake kept the Glock pointed at the pavement. Nothing they could do to stop the sound of their footsteps echoing off the graffiti-covered brick walls that tunneled them to the north. Whoever was back there, in the gloom, would know someone was coming.
Three pigeons, startled, flapped up in gray confusion. Maybe a rat scuttled away, or maybe it was only a shadow. Jake’s eyes narrowed, listening as hard as he could with each step that brought them closer. They had no choice but to take the next two curves, see what the dead end had in store.
They’d arrive in thirty seconds. Less. A killer had stabbed someone in broad daylight in the midst of the lunch hour, in front of God knows how many people. Where had that killer gone? Down here? And if so, was he—or she—now hoping to kill again?
Was this another victim, calling for help? If so, were they about to see the Curley Park killer?
Or could this be the bad guy? Maybe holding his next victim?
“Help me!” The call came again, louder now, a man’s voice, tight with fear. Or injury. Or play-acting.
Dammit, there was no way to see back there. Who’d told the cadet about this? Where was that woman? What did she know? What had she seen? Was she part of some plan?
They were headed into a dead end, with a stone killer on the loose. Sounded melodramatic. Until you were in it.
Jake managed one look over his shoulder as he ran, checking on his partner. “Set?”
D gave a thumbs-up with the hand that wasn’t holding his weapon. “Set.”
Jake had radioed they were going in, so backup would arrive if needed. Around the next bend, Jake knew, was a concrete wall and a Dumpster. No question whoever was back there had heard their footsteps, but could have no idea who was headed in their direction. Might declaring their identity spook whoever this was? Start a barrage of gunfire that would certainly end in disaster? Or would it reassure whoever it was, announcing help was on the way? Only one fricking way to be sure.
“Boston Police!” Jake yelled.
* * *
“Jane? It’s Melissa.” Meliss—? Oh, Melissa. At 12:46, when Jane’s cell phone showed “blocked call,” she’d hoped it was Channel 2. But Jane barely got out a “hello” when her sister started talking. The khaki-suit lady’s interview was wrapped, and Jane was on the hunt for another likely candidate. Should be a man, since she already had a woman on camera. If she got two usable interviews, maybe three, that’d do it.
“Hey, Liss—Melissa,” Jane said. “Are you here? Already? I’m so sorry, I’m right in the midst of someth—”
“Jane, look, I’m a little concerned,” Melissa went on, as if Jane hadn’t said a thing. So what else was new. Melissa probably wanted to change the color of the wedding flowers, or change the font on the place cards.
“If it’s about the wedding, Liss, I do want to hear, and I don’t mean to cut you off.” A wedding was a once-in-a-lifetime occasion, and Jane had promised herself not to get in the way of Melissa’s day. Even though Melissa thought all days were Melissa days. “But I’m out on a story, and the police are trying to keep me away, and it’s—”
“A story? I thought you’d been fired again,” Melissa said. “Anyway, this’ll only take a second. You know Daniel and I were supposed to…”
Jane tried to listen and keep watch on the crime scene at the same time.
“I’m in Boston now,” Melissa was saying, “but Daniel’s flight from Switzerland got delayed. That means I have to stay at Robyn’s house without him, which is way out of my comfort zone. Oh. Wait. Hang on.”
Robyn, Jane knew, was Gracie’s mother. Daniel’s ex. Jane took a deep breath, asked the universe for patience and understanding.
And for at least thirty seconds in which nothing new happened.
Holding the phone between her cheek and shoulder, Jane pointed her little Quik-Shot at the crowd. While she waited, she’d get a few more wide shots of the scene, just in case.
Jake always complained about the lookies, not only their ghoulish curiosity but also how they contaminated a scene, sometimes even picking up evidence as souvenirs, and that the people who actually had information never wanted to tell it, while those who “didn’t know shit,” as Jake put it, tried to make the police believe they had the goods.
Wonder where Jake is now? She allowed herself to think while Melissa had her on hold. The EMTs still knelt by the victim. The ambulance doors remained open.
“Melissa? Are you there?” The onlookers’ interest seemed to have moved from the body in the park to an alleyway across the street. Jane followed their attention with her camera. Something was going on back there, and she needed to find out what. She couldn’t believe her sister was making her wait.
“Melissa?” She tried again.
She couldn’t blow this very first—she hoped not “only”—assignment because of a phone call from her sister. She needed fifteen uninterrupted minutes, and there was nothing on the planet that could deter her.
“So here’s the thing—” Melissa was back.
“I have to cut you off,” Jane said, “because—”
“We can’t find Gracie,” Melissa said.