Monday, March 13, 3:15 P.M.
Amy closed the door to Tess’s office. “It could have been worse, Tess.”
Tess slumped in her chair. Her meeting with Dr. Fenwick, the head of the state licensing board, had not gone well. “It could have been better.”
“They didn’t pull any sanction shit. You still have a practice.”
“Because I didn’t do anything wrong, dammit,” Tess snapped, then rubbed her forehead where a migraine brewed. “I’m sorry. Thanks for coming. It took the edge off, having you here.” Tess suspected Dr. Fenwick would have done more than “disapprove” had her attorney not been present. But disapprove he had. The board, he’d declared, did not find accusations against their members acceptable. The board did not appreciate not having their calls returned while she finished her rounds. The board would be watching the investigation and her. When she was cleared by the authorities, she was to present an affidavit to the board stating same. “Fuck the board,” she muttered.
“I don’t think it will come down to that,” Amy teased lightly. “I don’t think most of them can anymore, not without a healthy dose of Viagra.”
Tess shot her a scathing look. “Not funny. This is my career here.”
Amy sat down on the arm of the sofa and crossed her arms over her chest, sobering. “So what are you going to do about this, Tess?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you can’t let this accusation slide unchecked. It could ruin your career.”
“Duh.”
“Tess, I’m very serious.”
Tess stood up and began packing her briefcase. “I’m going to work with the police to find out who really did this.”
Amy leaned forward, her brows lifted, her expression sarcastic. “News bulletin, kid. The police think you did this.”
Tess studied the contents of a folder, then tossed it in the briefcase with the others. “I don’t think they do.”
“Todd Murphy might not, but that Detective Reagan sure as hell does.”
Tess thought about Reagan, about the way he’d asked his questions that morning. “No, I don’t think he does either. Regardless, they won’t be able to charge me because I haven’t done anything.”
Amy’s laugh wasn’t pretty. “Like that will stop them. Wake up and smell the damn coffee. I defend people every day that think they won’t be charged because they haven’t done anything. What makes you think you’re different?”
Tess slammed the lid of her briefcase down, a cold shaft of fear shooting her pulse like a rocket. “Because I’m innocent, that’s what.”
Hurt flashed through Amy’s eyes. “I don’t represent people I think are guilty, Tess.”
Tess’s shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” She laid her hand on Amy’s arm, felt her friend tense. “I know your ethics are just as important to you as mine are to me.”
Amy’s nod was tight. “It’s okay.” But it wasn’t. It was plain to see. Nevertheless, Amy squared her shoulders. “Look, I think you should attack this head on. Call the newspaper and give them your side. Make Bremin look foolish for jumping the gun.”
Tess had considered a similar plan throughout the day. “All right. Do you have a contact at any of the papers? Somebody you trust to be fair?”
“Yeah, I do. Let me take care of making the arrangements. I’ll let you know who and when.” Amy pointed a warning finger. “Don’t talk to anybody else except for the interview I set up. Promise me.”
“All right.” She looked at her clock with a frown. “I had a three o’clock session scheduled. Who was that with?” She bit her lip, then remembered. Mr. Winslow. Such a sad man. His story nearly broke her heart. “Amy, I have to see this patient. I’ll call you at your office when I’m finished.”
Amy was buttoning her coat when a soft knock sounded at the door. Denise stuck her head in. “Doctor, I’ve got about twenty messages for you. Mostly from reporters, a half dozen from patients.” She frowned. “Three canceled their sessions for tomorrow.”
Tess sighed and took the stack of messages Denise offered and scanned each one. “I suppose some attrition is to be expected.”
“A Detective Reagan called twice. He asked you to call him as soon as you were free. It’s urgent. He left his cell number. Oh, and you have a call on line one. It’s about Mr. Winslow. Somebody claiming to be Mr. Winslow’s neighbor. She insisted on talking to you. Wouldn’t leave a message.”
Tess’s head whipped up, the word “neighbor” sending her heart plunging to her gut. “What?”
“A neighbor of Mr. Wins—”
Tess leaped to the phone. “Shit. Oh, shit.” Tess ran to the phone at her desk and picked up, her hands shaking. “Hello?”
“Dr. Ciccotelli?”
It wasn’t the same woman. This woman sounded older than the woman who’d claimed to be Cynthia Adams’s neighbor. Dammit. She waved Denise and Amy to silence. Took a deep breath and willed her voice to be steady. “This is Dr. Ciccotelli. What seems to be the problem?”
“I’m a neighbor of one of your patients, Avery Winslow. I’m worried about Avery. He’s been in his apartment all day, crying. I knocked on his door to check on him but he told me to go away. He . . . he had a gun in his hand, Doctor.”
Oh, God. “Did you call the police?”
“No, just you. Oh, dear, I suppose I should have called 911. I’ll do that now.”
“No. I’ll do it. Thank you, Miss—?” The phone clicked in her ear. “Shit.” Hands shaking, she sorted the messages until she found Reagan’s. “Shit. Goddammit. Denise, call 911. Have the police go to Mr. Winslow’s apartment. Tell them he’s suicidal. Then get me his address. I’ll call you to get it when I get down to my car. Move, Denise.” White-faced, Denise disappeared to do as she was told. “Dammit, where’s my cell phone?”
Amy reached into Tess’s jacket pocket. “Right here. Calm down, Tess.”
“I can’t calm down.” A terrified sob rose in her throat and she pushed it back as she dialed Reagan’s number. She’d grabbed her coat and was out the office door when he answered.
“Reagan.”
“Detective Reagan, this is Tess Ciccotelli.”
“Dr. Ciccotelli, I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon.” His voice sounded tense, angry once again. “We—”
“Whatever it is, it needs to wait.” She bypassed the elevator and took the stairs at a run, barely aware of Amy following close behind. “I need your help. I got another call.”
“Who?”
“Avery Winslow. My secretary is calling 911 now. Call her if you need Winslow’s address. I’m on my way. Please meet me there.”
“We will.”
“Hurry, Detective.” She snapped her phone closed and burst into the parking garage. “My car’s over there.”
“We’re taking mine.” Amy grabbed her arm and steered her the opposite direction. “You’re in no condition to drive.” They reached Amy’s Lexus in a minute that seemed like a year. Tess was trembling as Amy pulled out of the garage and into traffic.
She jumped when Amy’s hand closed over hers. “Breathe, Tess. Just breathe. I’ll get you there as fast as I can.”
Monday, March 13, 3:45 P.M.
“Does it have a gift tag?” Murphy asked.
Aidan stood up, holding Mr. Avery Winslow’s Colt .45 between two gloved fingers.
Mr. Winslow wouldn’t be needing it anymore.
“No gift tag.” Just brains and fragments of skull all over the man’s living room. The wall behind his computer desk bore the most debris, but Winslow’s computer monitor was covered, the keyboard red and gray and sticky. The monitor was knocked askew. Behind the blood and tissue matter the screen brightened and darkened as a series of pictures scrolled.
Murphy got close enough to the screen to study the slide show through the mess. “Baby pictures. A little boy.”
A chair with wheels lay on its side, next to Winslow’s body. “He was sitting in his computer chair with his back to the screen,” Aidan said.
Murphy grunted. “The force of the shot must have thrown him into the monitor.”
Aidan crouched down beside the body. “He’s holding a bear.” For some reason it made his throat tighten. Swallowing it back, he looked up at Murphy. “A stuffed teddy bear with a gold gift tag. Same kind as before. ‘Happy Birthday, Avery, Jr.’”
Murphy grimaced philosophically. “But no flowers,” he observed.
“Obviously not his trigger.”
“Here’s the box the bear came in.” Murphy picked it up from the coffee table, along with a notepad. “He was meeting Tess today at three.”
“Looks like he got distracted,” Jack Unger said from the doorway. “Spinnelli wanted me here, just in case.” He took in the scene with a critical eye. “I’ll get my team over here and we’ll get started.”
Aidan pointed him back to the bathroom. “See if he has any medication. Tag and bag everything, even the aspirin.”
Jack tossed a look of mild impatience over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Aidan. We’ll go over this place with a pair of tweezers.”
Murphy moved beside the computer desk, nudging the mouse with one gloved finger. “The computer is stuck on this slide show. Moving the mouse doesn’t stop it.”
“Could be mucked up with brain mush.”
“You don’t think so, do you?”
Aidan shook his head. “No. Let’s have the hard drive hauled in, too. You want the bedroom or the kitchen?”
“I’ll take the bedroom.”
Leaving Aidan to search the kitchen. It was dirty, stacks of dishes in the sink. He touched the oven. It was hot, the dial turned to its highest setting. But he wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted him when he pulled the door down. Gagging, he took a giant step back as full comprehension sank in. “Murphy! Come and see this.”
Murphy wasted no time, hurrying to look over his shoulder. “What the hell?”
“It’s not real,” Aidan said grimly. He pulled out his handkerchief and tugged on the oven rack until the roasting pan was clear of the oven. “Just a doll, but it looks damn real.” The doll’s fingers, toes, and nose were melted and the stench of burning hair burned his nose and eyes. “Real hair and everything.”
“Close it up,” Jack ordered behind them and the Aidan quickly obeyed. “We may be able to figure out how long it’s been in there based on the inside temperature.” Jack flipped the oven light on and peered through the glass. “That’s . . .” He shook his head. “Inhuman. What’s this guy’s story, anyway?”
“Tess can tell us,” Murphy said, opening a drawer. “Aidan, look.”
Aidan looked down at the revolver that lay on top of a pile of oven mitts with disgust. “They were hoping he’d find the doll, get unhinged, then find this.”
A voice came from the living room. “Detectives?” Aidan stepped back into the living room where the ME tech stood frowning over Winslow’s body. “I’m Johnson from VanderBeck’s office. Julia said this guy gets the royal treatment. What am I looking for?”
“Time of death for starters,” Aidan said. “Tox screen, for sure.”
Johnson crouched next to the body. “He’s still warm. Blood hasn’t started coagulating. I’d say he pulled the trigger an hour ago, tops. What’s with the bear? Oh, man, look at this,” he continued, not waiting for an answer. He looked up, stunned surprise on his face. “My mother always used to say we drove her to pull her hair out, but I never saw anybody who really did.”
Aidan bent over for a closer look. In his left hand Winslow clutched a handful of dark brown hair, threaded with silver. The same hair that straggled from a hunk of scalp still loosely hanging from the back of his head.
Johnson gently removed the bear from Winslow’s hand and held it up for inspection, rotating it slowly. “His hair’s on the bear, too. He must have pulled it out with both hands before grabbing the bear.”
“What did they do to you, Winslow?” Aidan murmured.
“Sorry, Detective, I need a little space here. Can you back up?”
Aidan carefully stepped aside, his focus on the ME’s movements until a strangled cry jerked his gaze to the open door.
Where Tess Ciccotelli stood, coatless, her hair and suit jacket soaking wet. Her face utterly bloodless. One hand covered her mouth and her dark eyes were wide with horror. She took a single stumbling step into the living room and stopped.
“Oh, no,” she whispered. “Oh, Avery.”
A uniform stationed in the hallway grabbed her arm. “Sorry, Detective. She got by me.” He pulled her, but she struggled, her eyes never leaving Avery Winslow’s body. The cop yanked again, harder this time. “Come on, Doctor.” The term was not respectful and, together with the sight of the man’s hands on her, set Aidan’s temper to boiling.
“Take your hands off her, Officer.” Despite his efforts to keep his voice calm, it still came out as a growl.
The cop blinked, genuinely surprised. “This is Tess Ciccotelli, Detective. She—”
“We know who she is,” Aidan said acidly. “Let her go.”
His face darkening, the officer complied, stepping back with a look of complete contempt at Ciccotelli, which she never even noticed. Murphy peeled off one glove, took her by the shoulder and tugged. “Come on, Tess,” he murmured. “There isn’t anything you can do now. Let me call somebody to take you home.”
She shrugged free of Murphy’s grasp. “He lost his son,” she said as if none of them had spoken. “His baby.” She lifted her eyes to Aidan’s and in that moment any vestiges of doubt as to her innocence were . . . simply erased. There was anguish in her eyes. And truth.
“How did he lose his son?” Aidan asked quietly. And watched her throat work beneath the colorful silk scarf she wore. He’d been very wrong. He could see that now.
“It was last summer,” she murmured. “It was so hot, remember? He was running out the door to go to work that morning when his wife reminded him that it was his turn to drop their son off at day care.” Her eyes dropped back down to Winslow’s body, pursing her lips when they trembled.
From the corner of his eye he saw Johnson’s hands still and Jack watching from the kitchen archway. Ciccotelli just went on, oblivious to all of them, her voice taking on an ethereal quality that raised the hair on the back of his neck.
“He didn’t want to. He was busy. And running late. His mind was filled with appointments, but he did what his wife asked because they shared the baby duties equally and . . .” Her throat worked again. “And because he loved his son. He strapped the baby into his car seat and settled in for the drive. Traffic was bad and he became even later. He flipped on a CD to calm down. Finally he got to work and ran inside. He had clients waiting. Somewhere along the way he’d forgotten about his son. Until a few hours later when he heard a disturbance outside. There was a police car in the parking lot, and an ambulance. One of the officers was breaking a car window.”
She closed her eyes. “It was his minivan, Mr. Winslow’s, the baby still inside. They said the temperature inside the van had reached a hundred and ten. His baby’s brain . . . was . . .” She trailed off shaking her head, unable to continue. Not needing to. The picture she’d painted was vividly clear. Aidan could only imagine the scene, the frantic helplessness of a father, standing there, knowing he’d done such a terrible thing. The image of that father discovering a doll baking in the oven became even more horrific.
“They tried to revive the baby while Avery stood there and watched but it was too late,” she finished heavily. “His son had been dead for at least two hours.”
Aidan drew a breath. This was not the time to think about all his nieces and nephews, about how busy his own brothers so often were. How such a tragic mistake could happen to even good parents. But he did anyway. And because he did, he cleared his throat roughly. “When did he come to you?”
“After he tried to commit suicide the first time. His wife had left him by then. He . . . hated himself. And everyone he knew blamed him.” She opened her eyes, met his gaze. “It was an accident, Detective. Just a horrible accident.”
Johnson had quietly begun to work again. “Detectives, there’s something underneath him,” he said, pulling a flat box the size of a small plate from beneath Winslow’s body.
Murphy took the box and lifted the lid. He looked up with a puzzled frown as he tilted the box so they could see the contents. “It’s a CD. The soundtrack to Phantom of the Opera. Why?”
She’d flinched as if she’d been shocked with forty volts. Her fingertips pressed her lips as she stared at the CD in the box. “It was the music he listened to that day. He’d been caught up, he said, singing ‘Music of the Night.’” Again she swallowed hard. “After that day, it was all he could hear. That and his baby crying. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t function. He lost his job, his wife. His guilt drove him to the edge.”
“Well, somebody just pushed him over,” Aidan said and she nodded woodenly.
“Yes. They did.”
Murphy replaced the box’s lid and gave it to Jack. “Bag it. Please.”
“Detectives.” Johnson rolled the body onto its side, exposing a color photo, eight-and-a-half-by-eleven and glossy. And more horrible than Melanie hanging from a noose. Aidan’s stomach turned over, wanting to avert his eyes, somehow unable to. A baby wearing a blue playsuit sat in a rear-facing car seat, his face red and bloated, his features barely recognizable.
Her movements stiff, Tess Ciccotelli walked from the doorway to Aidan’s side and looked down. “That’s his son.” Her voice was harsh, trembling now with rage. “That’s how the police found him that morning.” Her eyes slid closed and her lips twisted bitterly. “You want to know the ironic thing? Whoever sent this didn’t need to. Avery Winslow saw this picture every damn time he closed his eyes.”
No one said a word for a few beats. Then Murphy blew out a breath. “There’s an envelope here on the desk, same size as the picture.” With a grimace he grasped the one corner not covered by blood and brain. Then hissed out the return address. “‘Dr. T. Ciccotelli, MD.’ It’s embossed, Tess. It’s one of yours.”
Her mouth dropped open, her body frozen. Her horrified gaze flicked from the envelope to the picture to Avery Winslow’s body, where she stared, a storm raging in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I need to go.” She spun on her heel and ran for the door.
Murphy started after her, but Aidan shook his head, pulling off his gloves. “I’ll go.” She was headed for the stairwell door. “Dr. Ciccotelli, wait.” She kept going, her face resolutely turned away. He followed her through the door, seeing the top of her head halfway down the first flight. “Doctor, stop.” She hesitated for the briefest of moments, then charged faster, grabbing onto the handrail for balance as she careened around a corner to the next flight down.
Tess ran, the stairs a blur under her feet. Reagan was still coming, his footsteps echoing behind her, getting louder. But she couldn’t stop, couldn’t breathe. She needed a minute. Just a minute to get her breath, her composure.
That picture . . . dear God. Who would do this? Who could be so cruel? That picture . . . that hideous obscenity had come in her envelope. With my name embossed into the corner. Avery had opened the envelope because he trusted her. Her throat closed. What he must have thought . . . felt. The pain of seeing his son like that . . . and thinking it came from me. Then putting his gun in his mouth and pulling the trigger.
He was dead. Avery was dead. But as bad as that was, the bigger reality was far worse. Even an hour ago she’d been able to tell herself that she wasn’t to blame, that she’d been merely a tool used by someone who wanted Cynthia Adams dead.
Now she knew that wasn’t true. Now she knew that Cynthia and Avery had been the tools. The real target . . . Is me. Two innocent people were dead. Because of me.
She dragged in a sobbing breath and abruptly stopped, hanging on to the handrail while her heart pounded in her ears and her knees gave way. She lowered herself to sit on a step, each breath she drew harder than the last.
The sound of Reagan’s footsteps slowed, then ceased. He was right behind her. Now the only sound in the stairwell was that of her own ragged breathing.
“Tess,” he said. Nothing more. Just that.
But the one syllable of her name seemed to hover between them, pulsing with a life of its own. She fixed her eyes on the wall in front of her. “I won’t leave town,” she said and rose to her feet. “You have my word. I’ll cooperate in any way I can.” Woodenly she began walking again and she’d made it down another half flight before he passed her on the left. He stopped on the landing, blocking her path with his big body. Tess stopped on the last step, her knees shaking.
He can’t arrest you, she told herself. You haven’t done anything.
But she knew he could if he chose and there wouldn’t be a damn thing she could do about it. “I’m sorry, Detective.” Her voice shook and she cursed her own weak fear. This should be about Avery and Cynthia, but she was enough of a pragmatist to admit it was not. It was all about her. “You’ve been trying to reach me all afternoon. What have you found?”
He was standing so close she could feel his sigh against her cheek. He was strong and solid, his eyes sharp and fierce, yet she’d seen the compassion there. For Cynthia. For Avery. And for just a moment she let herself wonder what would it be like to be the recipient of his protection instead of his accusation. The moment was short-lived.
“We found three florists who’d sold lilies to a young woman on Saturday,” he said grimly. “She paid them all with a credit card.”
Tess didn’t have to ask. She already knew. Gathering her courage, she lifted her eyes to his. They were serious, but not accusing. “Mine,” she said flatly.
He nodded once. “Yes.”
She pressed her lips together. “I didn’t do this, Detective. Any of this.” She looked away. “I don’t expect you to believe me.”
“I didn’t expect to believe you, either.”
Stunned, she jerked her eyes back to his unsmiling face as her pulse spiked once again. “You do believe me?”
His brows knit, as if his path to this point was a complete mystery. “Yes.”
“Then . . .” She was almost afraid to say the words aloud. “Then you’re not going to arrest me?”
“No.” He grabbed the end of the handrail and took a step back on the landing, his intense eyes troubled. “But I need to understand why you.”
“I don’t know. I thought I was just a tool. A pawn. But I’m not.”
“I thought you might be the target this morning. I wasn’t sure until now.”
She tilted her head. “Why this morning? What changed?”
He looked away for a few seconds. When he looked back his eyes were subdued. “Yesterday afternoon I requested a list of the cases in which you’d testified for the prosecution. There were a lot of them, a lot of people who could gain from setting you up. I owe you an apology, Dr. Ciccotelli. I was wrong.”
His use of her title served to reerect the wall between them. Still, formality beat accusation any damn day of the week. “Thank you.”
“We have to decide where to go from here.” He checked his watch. “I’ve been gone too long. I have to get back upstairs and finish processing the scene. Come on, I’ll walk you up and you can go back down the elevator.”
Tess shook her head, her stomach clenching at the thought. “That’s alI right. I’ll take the stairs.”
His look said he thought she was crazy. “It’s nine floors.”
Nine floors or nineteen, it didn’t matter. Tess only took elevators when it was completely unavoidable. That usually required a destination twenty floors or above. In her current state, she didn’t even want to think about being trapped in an eight by ten box, even for only nine floors. “I ran down a flight and a half, so it’s only seven and a half floors now. Go on up and finish your job, Detective. It’s the least we can do for Avery Winslow now. I’ll be fine. Call me when you’re ready to sit down and talk. I’ll go back through my notes on my court evaluations. Maybe it will help shake loose one of the names on your list.” She looked down, then back up to meet his eyes. “Thank you, Detective, for believing me.”
He nodded once and walked up two steps, while she walked down two. Something prickled at the back of her neck and she looked up, only to find he’d stopped and was looking down. His mouth was a grim line, his blue eyes bright and focused on her face, which heated under his scrutiny. It wasn’t the same accusing look as before, but this new expression was every bit as intense. Her pulse scrambled.
“You’re welcome, Doctor,” he finally said, very soberly. Then he took the stairs two at a time and less than a minute later a door above her head opened and closed, the sound echoing through the stairwell.
Tess exhaled a huge lungful of air, feeling lightheaded. Detective Aidan Reagan was a potent man. Her skin tingled with the aftereffects of that long look that she refused to even try to categorize. Just be grateful he isn’t arresting you, Tess, she told herself. She started down the stairs, relieved and guilty at the same time. She wasn’t going to be arrested.
But two people were still dead. That she could not change.
Still weak-kneed and lightheaded she managed the remaining seven and a half flights, exiting the first-floor stairwell just as Amy stepped off the elevator, Tess’s tan coat over her arm. Her friend’s eyes immediately narrowed. “What happened up there? I finally found a parking place and went up to find you, but they wouldn’t let me off the elevator. There was a snotty cop standing guard that said Detective Reagan chased you down the stairs. I thought I’d have to meet you downtown again.”
“It wasn’t like that. Avery Winslow is dead.”
“I figured that much,” Amy said. “Cops and CSU everywhere.”
“There was another picture.” The thought of which sent her stomach pitching. “The picture came in an envelope from my office, Amy.”
Amy’s brows snapped together. “Well, that’s not good, but anybody could steal an envelope. It’s not the end of the world.”
“It is for Avery Winslow.”
“You didn’t cause that, nor can you change it. Take your coat. I’ll take you home.”
Tess took it with a small smile of gratitude. She’d bolted from Amy’s car half a block away when traffic had snarled to a halt, leaving her coat in the backseat. “Thanks. The only good thing is that Reagan knows I didn’t do it.”
“He does, does he? And the grand detective told you this?”
Tess shifted on her feet, uncomfortable at her mocking tone. “Yeah, he did.”
Amy’s laugh was just shy of a sneer. “And you believed him?”
Tess nodded. “Yeah, I did.”
“Hell, Tess, don’t be an idiot.”
Tess straightened her spine, affronted. “I’m not.”
Amy pushed through the door to the street. “If you believe anything any cop tells you, you’re an idiot. My car’s parked two blocks away.” She studied Tess’s face critically. “You’re pale. Do you want to wait here while I get the car?”
Tess shook her head, still stinging from the insult. “The walk will be good for me.”
Amy shrugged and started walking. “Whatever. Look, I’m sorry I called you an idiot, but you’re scaring me here. The police want you to trust them. It’s part of the scam. Reagan’s got incredible blue eyes that I’m sure beamed total sincerity, but bottom line is that he’s a cop. Cops lie to get you to confess.” She shot her a sharp look. “You talked to him in the stairwell, didn’t you?”
Tess kept her eyes forward. “Only to say I didn’t do it.”
“And he asked you to get together later to talk.”
She lifted her chin, unsteady under Amy’s verbal assault. “Actually, I offered.”
Amy’s scornful laugh grated. “How much did I say I was going to charge you? I’m going to have to double it.”
Tess gritted her teeth and said nothing.
Amy huffed impatiently. “Now you’re mad at me because I’m the only one telling you the truth. Tess, do not trust the police. Reagan’s going to bat those long eyelashes and flash that movie-star smile to get you to tell him everything. And honey, anything you say, can and will be used against you. Don’t make me work so damned hard. Keep your mouth shut and everything will be fine. Do not talk to any detectives without your attorney being present. Last I checked, that was me. Do I have your word?”
Tess shoved her cold hands in her pockets, not certain which irked her more—Amy’s ultimatum or her rather disparaging view of Tess’s ability to judge character. It’s not like I’m a psychiatrist or anything, she thought sardonically. Working with the police was not a mistake. It very well might be her only hope of ending this before anyone else died. “And if I say no, Counselor?”
Amy stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing Tess to do the same. Her friend was totally serious, her eyes sharp as razors, her cheeks red with ire. “Then you’ll need to hire yourself another attorney, Doctor, because I won’t represent you.” Then she started walking again, leaving Tess standing on the sidewalk staring at Amy’s back with her mouth gaping open. As Amy disappeared into the crowd, Tess realized it was the second time in an hour someone had called her “Doctor” in that nasty tone.
The first had been the cop outside Avery Winslow’s front door whose grip on her arm had probably left a bruise. But Aidan Reagan had confronted him. Told the cop to take his hands off, and he hadn’t said it nicely, either. Reagan had stood up for her. But, she told herself, it was in his nature to do so. It appeared to be the way he was wired.
It was sobering, as were her current options for getting home. Amy was long gone and Tess couldn’t catch up even if she went running after her, which she wasn’t about to do. But she’d left her office without her briefcase or her purse. Her pocket held a dollar fifty in change, some lint, and her cell phone. If I were home, I could call Vito and he’d come without blinking.
The thought was just unexpected enough to make her blink. And clench her teeth. Home was Chicago now, not South Philly. And her brother Vito was hundreds of miles away. I miss him. She could admit it to herself. I miss them all. She knew Vito would come if she called. But it would cause her brother trouble with their father and she didn’t want that. Now if she’d actually been arrested . . . Yeah, I would have called Vito then. But she hadn’t been, so it was moot.
Jon would be in surgery right now and Denise would be gone. She glanced up the height of Avery’s building. They were still up there, Murphy and Reagan.
As was what was left of Avery Winslow. She closed her eyes against the memory, opened them quickly at the pictures that flashed against her eyelids. Avery lying there, his head blown half off. Cynthia, her body ripped wide open. And the sound of her own voice goading Cynthia to her death. The images would haunt her forever.
She couldn’t go back up there, couldn’t face it again.
And as much as it galled, Amy’s warning was rolling around in her mind. Reagan was a good man, a good cop. Murphy had said so. And yet Murphy had allowed her to be brought in and grilled. Logically she knew he’d been doing his job. But it still hurt. And it illustrated just how quickly a cop’s trust was set aside.
She’d help Reagan and Murphy. But carefully. For now, she needed a place to sit down and get out of the cold. She glanced around, got her bearings. She was only a few blocks from the Lemon, a place she knew she’d be welcome without a dime.
Monday, March 13, 4:45 P.M.
Joanna side-stepped a lady walking a lumbering basset hound, murmuring apology as she hurried. Tess Ciccotelli, like everyone else on the street, had her head down against the wind and rain. Made for smooth tailing. She’d been following the woman all afternoon and now knew another of Ciccotelli’s clients was dead. That would be another front-page story.
With Cy Bremin’s byline. Over my dead body. No pun intended.
Her eyes narrowed, still focused on her subject who had turned a corner and was now heading west. She needed exclusivity to guarantee that bastard Schmidt wouldn’t throw her story to Bremin.
She needed unencumbered access to Tess Ciccotelli. It looked like she’d be able to get her wish. In a move that still had Joanna scratching her head, Ciccotelli had all but fired her defense attorney. Right out there on the street. Because the shrink actually wanted to cooperate with the cops.
Personally, Joanna agreed with the lawyer. Ciccotelli was an idiot. Or, and it was a consideration, maybe she really hadn’t done anything wrong and this was one really elaborate setup. Frankly, it mattered little which one was true, as long as the byline said “Joanna Carmichael.”