Washington, D.C.
Before the slippery drive to the District, Maggie called Racine. To her credit, the detective didn’t lecture her about the inaccuracy of the homeless. Instead, she simply told Maggie she was on her way.
“Don’t spook him,” Maggie warned. “If there’s suddenly an onslaught of uniforms in the area, he’ll leave. We’ll never catch him.”
“I’m not a rookie, O’Dell.”
Maggie thought Racine had been sloppy on this case since the start, but now wasn’t the time to harp on it. Racine may have been sloppy, but Maggie may have endangered an innocent homeless woman. She had a bad feeling about this.
It took an excruciating amount of time to get back into the city. Saturday night. Of course, she had to park several blocks away. This time she’d come prepared with boots, the hooded coat and warm gloves. She’d left behind everything that said FBI, except her badge and her weapon. The holster fit snug against her side, the shoulder harness almost too tight across her back.
Road crews had piled chunks of ice and snow along curbs and in-between vehicles parked on the streets. It was messy and slow going. She was almost at the coffee shop, not that it mattered. Nessie was gone.
Maggie stomped by the shop, trying to glance into the windows. The interior set too high off the ground for her to see inside. She stopped. Walked back to the other side. The coffee shop was wedged between businesses. There was no alley, or at least, no access from the front. It must run along the back of the shops.
She hurried to the end of the block, still trying to reach Racine on her cell phone. It kept going to voice message. She checked and double-checked. No messages from Racine, either. Finally, she shoved the phone deep into her pocket, angry at herself for not setting up some kind of communication system with Racine.
It was the detective’s city. Her streets. Her case. Her team. Maggie should have just let her handle this. Except for Nessie.
How could she have made such a stupid mistake?
She should have never gotten the poor woman involved. And now, she needed to at least make sure she was safe.
The narrow alley ran deep and dark. There were very few windows back here and most were also dark. A couple provided dim splashes of yellow and orange light. It wasn’t enough.
Maggie leaned against the brick wall and let her eyes adjust. Two or three Dumpsters. Their bulk could hide anything or anyone. Her eyes skimmed above. Wrought iron fire escapes spiraled up the walls to the second and third floors. She listened, trying to tune out the sounds of traffic. There was nothing here.
As she walked away from the alley, she noticed a police cruiser. Its lights flashed, but the siren was off. She followed, nudging between people and crossing intersections against the light. When the cruiser turned a corner, she hurried not to lose it.
Then suddenly the sirens blasted, and Maggie launched into a sprint.
She couldn’t see the cruiser, but followed the sound. Her boots crunched ice and snow and clanged over metal sidewalk grates. She could see her breath as she pushed through clusters of people. Her pulse raced. Her heartbeat pounded at her temple.
Something was very wrong.
Don’t be too late.
She didn’t remember unzipping her coat or unsnapping her holster. But her hand already tightened on the butt of her gun.
On the other side of the street, she saw someone also running. Only the figure was racing the other direction. Away from the sounds of the siren. Maggie skidded to a stop. She stepped between parked cars to get a better look. Sure enough, the person had slowed but hurried in the other direction. He was tall and wearing a long, black coat that flapped behind him like wings.
From the other direction, she could hear voices. Cops yelling to stay back. She turned to see a crowd spilling into the nearest intersection. In the distance, more sirens screamed across the cold night air.
She looked back to the other side of the street.
He was gone.
She ran across, putting her hand out to slow traffic and still getting grazed by an irritated bumper. On this side, there were no shops opened at this time of night. Entrances and the stairs leading up to them were dark.
Where had he gone?
She rushed to the end of the block. More people were moving along the sidewalks, almost as if drawn by the sirens. The hood of her coat had blown back and strands of damp hair clung to her forehead and whipped in her face. Dread gnawed at her as she dug for her badge and held it up to push her way forward.
More police cars were arriving. Officers started barricading the streets and cording off the sidewalks. She shoved her way to the nearest one and showed him her badge.
“What’s happened?”
He checked her badge and waved her on to another officer. By now, her gut was twisting in knots. Someone was on the ground. Paramedics spilled from their vehicles. Too many headlights. Too many shadows.
She held up her badge to the next officer who strung yellow crime scene tape from one lamppost to another.
“I’m with Detective Racine. What’s going on here?”
He stopped and stared at her. Then finally he pulled up the tape for her to duck under and pointed. “You best talk to Detective Sheldon.”
She barely recognized the detective. This time, he wore a heavy parka and a red ball cap. He stood next to a uniformed officer who was yelling into his shoulder mike, “We’ve got a victim and an officer down. Where’s that ambulance?”
Maggie stood on tiptoes, trying to see the chaos beyond the police cruiser that parked diagonally in the middle of the street. Its flashing strobe lights made it impossible to see. Suddenly, she caught a glimpse of pink, a long slash of it against the white snow. A pink scarf. And her knees went weak.
As she made her way to Detective Sheldon, the knot in her stomach churned together a mixture of panic and anger. She got closer but still couldn’t see what was happening on the ground. Only a crowd of backs with an assortment of alphabets on their jackets.
“Detective Sheldon,” she called out before she reached him. She waited until he glanced back at her. “I met you the other morning.”
“Right, Agent O’Dell. I remember.”
“Where’s Detective Racine?” she demanded. “I need to talk to her.”
The officer who had been on the radio, twisted around to get a look at her. He exchanged a glance with Sheldon, who finally said, “Detective Racine is the officer down.”