Her Lawman On Call

It had never been one of Sasha’s favorite words or sensations. As far as that went, it was way down on the list.

At the very least, it encompassed a teasing sensation that tormented her until she could finally recall what, where and when she’d done “this” before, whatever “this” might be. Most of the time, the answers to the questions that occurred to her never materialized as she struggled to recall an elusive memory that would put things in perspective for her.

This time, she didn’t have to try to recall. The memory that had sent the sensation rippling through her was still sickeningly fresh in her mind.

Angela, lying in a pool of her own blood on the concrete floor beside her car.

Since the discovery, Sasha hadn’t stopped parking in the structure. It was either that or resort to taking a cab or some mode of public transportation. Although the city had probably the best public transportation system in the world, Sasha was possessed of an independent streak that fairly demanded she be in charge of deciding how she came and went. Subways and buses left you depending on others.

Besides, she loved that little ten-year-old Toyota. The vehicle had been her parents’ gift to her when she’d graduated medical school. They could hardly afford to splurge the way they did, even though they’d bought it used. And, since they did buy it for her, not to use it would be tantamount to insulting them.

Entering the level where she’d parked this morning, Sasha realized she was holding her breath as she made her way down a deserted row.

She was too old to be afraid of the dark, she scolded herself.

It wasn’t so much the dark that frightened her, actually, as it was who might be hiding in that dark.

Sasha glanced around to see if Walter Stevens was around somewhere. But if the security guard was on duty, he was making rounds on another level of the structure. There was no sound of anyone walking around here. No sound at all, really.

And then she heard it.

Every nerve ending in her body tightened as she listened.

A moan? A gasp? She couldn’t make it out.

Sasha looked over her shoulder toward the elevator doors. For a second, she thought about running back. And then she became annoyed with herself. There were still cars here. Probably just someone going home for the night. Or coming on for the night shift.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” Sasha called. But even as she asked, she was hurrying over toward where she’d parked her car this morning before making her rounds.

There was a prickly sensation traveling along the back of her neck. It refused to go away, refused to be blocked.

And then she saw it.

Her breath caught in her throat, threatening to suffocate her. A scream escaped her, vibrating amid the trapped air. There was a figure on the ground, sprawled out like a mutilated doll. Like Angela, there was a pool of blood beneath her. Like Angela, there was a bullet hole in the center of her forehead. Her eyes were wide open, unseeing as they stared at the ceiling.

This couldn’t be happening. Not twice. She was having some kind of hysterical hallucination, Sasha silently argued. Any second now, the figure would disappear.

But it didn’t.

Legs no longer made of lead, Sasha broke into a run. But it was too late. The figure on the ground was not moving. The gray-haired woman had surrendered to death the moment the bullet had found her.

And then another sound came. The sound of screaming. Sasha did not immediately realize that it was coming from her.

She was never going to get warm again.

The iciness that surrounded her went clear down to her soul, despite the blanket that someone had draped over her shoulders.

Sasha was sitting in her car, on the driver’s side, her feet planted outside the vehicle on the concrete floor as she faced the activity that was going on just a few feet away.

What were the odds? she wondered. What were the odds of this kind of thing happening twice? Two women, nurses, both shot execution style. And both times her car was parked close enough to the scene of the crime to be touched by the killer.

She shivered and took another long sip from the hot container of coffee the detective had shoved into her hands. It was half-consumed. Only belatedly did it register that he must have drunk out of it before he’d given it to her.

Whether it was meant to warm her hands or her insides, she didn’t know. The no-frills coffee—black no sugar—failed to do either. But the jolt of super-strength caffeine did help her focus. Did help her hear his questions rather than just drift numbly away from the scene in a desperate act of self-preservation.

Her lashes felt moist. Was it the steam from the coffee, or was she crying? Sasha didn’t know. She couldn’t tell. Everything seemed so surreal.

“The hospital has signs up in the staff lounge advising women to go into the parking structure in pairs,” she said hoarsely, more to the container in her hands than to the detective she knew was staring down at her.

“So why didn’t you?” he asked her quietly.

The question surprised her. She had been referring to the dead woman, to the fact that if the grandmother of two had heeded the advice, maybe she would have escaped being the center of another homicide investigation.

Another homicide at PM.

It seemed absurd. They had above average success in keeping their patients from dying within their walls, whether they were brought here for surgery or because of some extensive illness.

But it’s not the patients who are getting killed, it’s the staff, a voice in her head whispered.

Why?

Sasha looked up blankly. The detective—Santini, wasn’t it?—was looking down at her. There was a frown on his lips. It seemed like there was always a frown on his lips, she thought.

But then, murders were nothing to smile about.

“What?” she finally asked him.

“Why didn’t you?” Tony repeated patiently, aware that she could be going into some kind of shock. “Why didn’t you take someone with you? Why did you go into the parking structure alone?”

She shrugged. One side of the blanket slid down her shoulder. Tony moved it back into place, his fingers brushing against the side of her neck. They felt rough, as if he worked with his hands when he wasn’t being a cop.

“It was late,” Sasha replied.

“All the more reason,” he pointed out. When he’d taken the call that brought him back to the location where he’d been just two weeks ago, canvassing the area, he hadn’t expected to find the doctor at the center of the scene again.

The sensation that had shimmied through him was a surprise as well.

Sasha thought for a second. She supposed, to the detective, it must have appeared stupid. In hindsight, she had to agree. But she’d been going alone to the parking structure every night since they’d found Angela’s body. Besides, she didn’t think of herself in terms of mortality.

Sasha’s hands tightened around the container. “No one else was leaving when I left and I don’t like inconveniencing people.”

His eyes met hers. “Murder is the ultimate inconvenience,” he commented. Satisfied that the woman could understand him and process his questions now, he began by asking the obvious one. “Did you know the victim?”

Sasha bit back a sigh. She nodded. “Her name’s Rachel Wells. She’s a nurse. And a grandmother.” Sasha suddenly realized where he was going with this. “I didn’t know her well. Just to nod to, that kind of thing. She once showed me a photograph of her grandchildren. It was a Christmas-card photo,” she added.

Santini gave no indication that he was pleased or displeased with her answer. She didn’t like faces she couldn’t read. Everything that any of her family felt was right out there for everyone to see.

“Did the other victim know her?” he wanted to know.

The feeling of helplessness swaddled her. She hated being useless, but there wasn’t anything useful she could tell him.

“They were both nurses. I suppose they knew each other, but I really couldn’t say for sure.” Did he think there was a serial killer out there, focusing on PM’s nurses? She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“I don’t know yet,” he told her simply, even though as a rule he didn’t like having questions about his methods being put to him. “I figure if we ask enough questions, we might wind up finding an answer that’ll tell us something.”

That made sense. Right now, it was difficult to pull her thoughts together coherently. “Do you think this is some kind of a serial killer, going around murdering nurses for some twisted reason?”

He didn’t answer at first. “What do you think?”

Sasha looked at the detective sharply, her mind kicking in for the first time since she’d looked down to see her second victim in a little more than two weeks. Was he toying with her? Baiting her? She raised her chin slightly.

“I don’t know what to think.”

Tony inclined his head, as if in agreement. “Neither do I,” he admitted mildly.

That was a crock. She didn’t buy it for a minute. Detective Anthony Santini looked like the kind of man who knew exactly what he thought at all times. Moreover, he looked like a man who was on top of everything, be it situations or people, and he undoubtedly made it a point to remain that way.

And then she saw a spark enter his eyes. His interest seemed to sharpen, as if a new idea had just occurred to him. Sasha wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what it was.

The next moment, she decided that she had to know what it was. If she didn’t find out, she knew she would have no peace.

“What?”

Tony pointed out the obvious, straddling a fence, as if to see which side he was going to climb down on. “You found both bodies and both victims were holding the same note.”

For the first time, she felt something other than grief for the victims and the family members who were left behind. Was he actually saying he suspected her of being the one who’d killed both women? How could he possibly even think something so stupid?

“The guard found Angela,” she reminded him. “But technically, I guess you could say that, yes,” she allowed. Her stomach felt as if it was on its way to meet her throat. Dear God, she hoped she wouldn’t wind up doing something stupid, letting her nerves get the better of her. “Why?”

This doctor might or might not be the common thread here, he thought, since they had no other viable lead. It seemed an incredible coincidence that she was in the same vicinity as both of the victims.

“Do you know anyone who might be doing this to get your attention?”

It took her a second to absorb the question.

“My attention?” she repeated incredulously.

“You know, like a cat coming into the house and laying whatever they’ve killed down by your feet.” He saw the revulsion enter her eyes. He’d thought doctors didn’t become grossed out. “To them, it’s a flattering gesture, not a sickening one.”

Sasha pressed her lips together. Someone was killing their nurses and this man was talking nonsense. “No, I don’t know anyone who would bring me dead bodies as a gift.”

The ghostly pallor was receding from her cheeks, he noted. He was getting her angry. Righteously, or was that bravado? “You said you were a female doctor?”

How archaic did that sound? “I’m an OB-GYN,” she corrected.

His eyes never left her face. “Lose any mothers or babies lately?”

Did he think some deranged husband or parent was killing innocent people because they were trying to get back at her?

“You are crazy,” she told him, taking umbrage for her patients and their families.

He never batted an eye. “Part of the job, ma’am.”

Tony glanced over toward the yellow taped-off area. As he’d instructed at the first homicide, one of the crime scene investigators was scanning the area with a video camera. He wanted to compare tapes, see if anyone who had come to the first homicide turned up at the second. Besides the good doctor here.

He turned his attention back to her. “I’m afraid I’m going to need you to give me a statement again.”

She’d expected as much when she’d placed the 911 call to report the murder.

And then something suddenly dawned on her. “Do you think I did it?”

“I think everyone did it,” he answered. “Until I can weed the non-suspects out, one at a time.”

This seemed just too fantastic for her to absorb. That someone would think she was a murderer boggled her mind.

“Why would I kill Angela and Rachel?”

His eyes met hers. She’d never seen such serious eyes in her life. “If I had the answer to that, this would be easy.”

“Then I’ll give you an answer,” she told him heatedly. He was wasting his time with this line of thinking and the sooner he moved on, the closer he would get to catching Angela and Rachel’s killer. And maybe preventing another murder as well. “I didn’t kill them. I didn’t kill anyone. I don’t even step on bugs.”

There was just the barest hint of amusement evident. “Maybe you should. Their population is really exploding these days. Had to move out of my last apartment because the roaches reclaimed the building.”

Sasha shook her head. “You’re insane.”

“So you already pointed out,” he told her, unruffled. He took the empty cup from her and saw her stiffen indignantly.

“If you want my prints,” she told him tersely, “you just have to ask. My DNA, too.”

He laughed softly, humorlessly. “Everybody’s a CSI wannabe.” Glancing around, he beckoned over a policeman. “Sergeant, take the doctor down to the precinct. We need to get her statement.”

“I can do it,” Henderson volunteered, pocketing the small notebook he always used to take down information that came his way.

“I need you here,” Tony told him. “I’ll have a patrolman drive her in.” He spared a glance at Sasha. “I’ll see you at the station.”

“Doesn’t matter where you’ll see me,” she informed him, “the answers will still be the same.”

He merely nodded, walking away to speak to one of the patrolman. “Good, means you’re not lying.”

Sasha felt a flash of temper. She opened her mouth and then closed it again, feeling it more prudent not to say anything until she had more control over what could come out. All she knew right now was that the detective was getting under her skin at an amazing speed and rubbing her completely the wrong way.

Chapter 4

“C an I get you anything?”

The voice came from behind her. Sasha twisted around in the hardback chair to see Tony approaching her in the squad room. She’d been sitting beside his desk for the last fifteen minutes, waiting for him to make an appearance. She couldn’t help wondering if he was making her wait on purpose.

“A time machine,” she quipped, turning back around to face him as he moved his chair out.

Tony sat down and turned on his computer. A low grinding noise began to hum through the office as it went through its paces.

“Why?” he asked. “How far back would you go?”

“Two weeks.”

He looked at her. Two weeks was the amount of time separating the two murders. Was she making a backhanded confession?

“And maybe I’d start taking the bus to work,” Sasha added, thinking out loud. “Coming across one victim was bad enough. Two…” Her voice trailed off as she shook her head.

Then she raised her eyes to his and Tony found himself thinking that he’d never seen eyes quite that shade of blue before. Intense. Beautiful. And pretty damn hypnotic if he allowed them to be. Mentally, he pulled himself back.

“I know you’re overworked here and under-staffed,” she said, edging closer on her chair, “but you must have some kind of a lead, a clue, a hunch—”

Tony regarded her with mild interest. People didn’t usually attribute human frailties to the police department. They expected tireless, around-the-clock vigilance. And crimes to be solved in a timely fashion—as in yesterday. All the best crime dramas on television made it seem easy.

If only.

“How do you know we’re overworked and under-staffed?” he wanted to know.

Was the man born antagonistic, or had he just acquired the habit along the way? She was trying to be nice here.

“Well, aren’t you? Why should you be any different from the rest of the world? Besides,” she sighed, sitting back again, “that’s the way it always was when my father was with the two-six in Queens.”

She’d succeeded in getting his attention, Sasha thought. The look in his eyes changed. “Your father was on the job?”

Tony noted the way she smiled before she answered. Pride mingled with memories. A family girl, he thought. He should have realized that. Because of his own situation, he had a tendency to think of people simply as detached individuals. He wasn’t close to either one of his brothers, even though they both lived in the city and worked for it, Joe as a detective in Brooklyn and Tim as a firefighter in Staten Island. But for all the contact they’d had in the last five years, they could have just as well have been spread out all over the country.

“Twenty-six years,” she told him. Definitely pride there, he thought. It was audible in her voice. “Josef Pulaski. He made detective before he retired.”

Just like his father had been, he thought. Except that he was willing to bet that was where the similarity ended. If he’d ever been proud of his father, that had changed a long time ago—by the time he could understand what was going on behind his parents’ closed door.

He nodded in response to her words. “So that makes you more aware of procedure than most of the people who’ve sat in that chair.”

She couldn’t tell if he was attempting to extend an olive branch or not. “If you mean do I know that you have to rule me out as a potential suspect before you can move on, yes.”

Maybe she wasn’t going to give him trouble after all, he thought. The computer sat, ready, its grinding noise reduced to a soft, constant hum. Time to get started.

“No run-ins with—” Tony paused, referring to his notes. The victim’s name had momentarily escaped him.

“Rachel,” Sasha supplied before he could flip to another page. He raised his eyes to hers. “No, no run-ins. I don’t know all that much about her, actually,” she warned him. She and the older woman hadn’t been friends by any stretch of the imagination, although their paths had crossed a number of times. “Only that she was past retirement age.”

The woman had looked it, Tony thought. “Then why didn’t she retire?” In his experience, retirement was the carrot people coveted. “She love the job that much?”

Sasha thought of the couple of times she’d overheard the slain nurse complaining about conditions at the hospital, or about a supervisor who was riding her. “I think it was more of a case of her tolerating the job.”

“Then why—?” Tony left it to her to fill in the rest.

“The same reason a lot of people stay at a job they don’t like. Money. She needed the money,” Sasha emphasized. “Rachel had two grandchildren to raise. Her son’s sons. Eight and ten I think.”

She was making his job easier for him.

He raised his eyes to hers for a second. “Where’s the son?” he asked, tapping slowly on the computer keyboard. He typed like someone who had no knowledge of where the letters were arranged.

Sasha shrugged. “Ran off somewhere.” She tried to remember what the hospital gossip had been. “I don’t think she knew where.”

He stopped searching for keys. “So this son took a powder, leaving his kids high and dry, and Rachel stepped in?”

Sasha nodded in response to his question. “According to what I heard, he left the boys with her for the weekend two years ago. Mailed her a letter a month later, said he couldn’t handle being a father. Rachel complained about it.” To anyone who would listen, she recalled. “But she said she couldn’t just let the county raise the boys.”

Her words struck a chord. Aunt Tess had said something similar once. Tony shut down the momentary flashback.

Staring at the keyboard, he hunted and pecked in the new information. “Anyone else in the picture?”

He typed so slowly, she had the urge to push him aside and take over. Sasha knotted her hands in her lap. “Her husband. He’s a handyman. I think he does work for the apartment complex where they live.” She stopped trying to remember bits and pieces and looked at the detective who was engaged in a hopeless duel with the keyboard. “Why are you asking me this? Wouldn’t you get more information from PM’s Human Resources Department?” They all had forms they’d had to fill out when coming to work for the hospital. PM was extremely careful about who they ultimately hired.

“You’re doing just fine.” Hitting the period that brought the last sentence to an end, he sat back and regarded her for a second. “For someone who didn’t know the victim, you have a lot of information at your disposal.”

Was it her imagination, or was that a veiled accusation of some sort? Sasha could feel herself growing defensive. “I pay attention when people talk.”

The look he gave her was very pointed. “So do I.”

Except, she thought, in his case, what he listened to was probably all related to his work. Detective Santini didn’t seem the type to be concerned about people as people, the way she was. Concern was what had brought her into medicine in the first place. It was her overwhelming desire to heal, to fix, to make things right if she could that had made her decide to become a doctor. She’d gone into obstetrics because there she also had the added thrill of seeing new life coming into the world.

It helped balance out the times when she couldn’t fix things or make them right again.

“A man who listens. Your wife must be a lucky woman.” It was a flippant, sarcastic thing to say, but she was edgy and wired and heartsick all at the same time. She’d forgotten that he’d told her he was widowed.

Santini looked at her sharply. Had she been standing, Sasha thought, she would have reflexively taken a step back, like someone on the receiving end of a physical blow. Obviously, the wound was still very fresh. It wasn’t like her to have forgotten something like that, even if he was a stranger. She attributed it to the fact that she was very shaken.

“Sorry,” she offered.

His voice was completely dead when he responded. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

The silence hung between them, thick, uncomfortable. At least, it felt that way to her. Sasha took another stab at making amends. “I got personal and I shouldn’t have. It’s a habit I have.”

His eyes met hers again. “Talking first and thinking second?” he guessed.

That stung. “Your turn to apologize,” Sasha said after a beat.

A small, faint smile played along his lips before retreating. She had guts, he thought again. Brains, beauty and guts. On a good day, she was probably a very dangerous lady to tangle with. “I guess that makes us a couple of sorry people.”

She didn’t know if he meant it as a joke, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt and smiled anyway.

Tony asked her a few more questions, including inquiring about her immediate whereabouts around the time of the murder and if there was anything further she could tell him about the victim.

She noticed that he used the word victim rather than Rachel’s name. It made it sound so impersonal, so detached. But, she supposed that was probably a defense mechanism on his part. Otherwise, after all the horrible things he’d undoubtedly encountered as a homicide detective, he would have become completely paralyzed emotionally.

She wasn’t completely certain that he wasn’t now.

Taking a breath, Sasha told him everything she could remember.

“Rachel didn’t stay after hours and socialize,” she told him. “At least, not that I know of. She came, did her work, and went home.” Rachel never tried to get away with anything, but neither did she feel the need to give more than she was being paid for. She wasn’t one to go the extra foot, much less the proverbial mile.