Seconds to Live (Scarlet Falls) (13 page)

“Yes.” Hannah agreed. “And thanks. I don’t know if I could sort out my thoughts enough to be coherent.”

“Let me know if either of you change your mind,” Grant said.

“What can I do?” Mac asked.

“Well,” Grant said. “Carson wants to attend the funeral.”

The kid could have Mac’s chair.

“Since I’ll be speaking,” Grant continued. “I’ll need you two to stick close to Carson. The service is bound to remind him of Lee and Kate’s deaths. I don’t know how he’ll handle it. He might want to leave in the middle.”

Mac suspected
he
might want to leave in the middle. “Whatever he wants.”

A small knock sounded on the door. “Uncle Grant?”

“Come on in, Carson,” Grant called out. “The door’s not locked.”

Carson slipped in. He was clean, his hair damp, and he smelled like soap. His pale blue pajamas were covered in tiny red race cars. He walked up to the closet and stared up at the uniform. “Is that Grandpa’s?”

Grant lifted him into his arms. “It is. See the eagle? That means he was a colonel.”

Carson turned his head to the Colonel’s uniform. “Grandpa had a lot of ribbons.” He reached toward them, then pulled his hand away.

“It’s OK, Carson. You can touch them.” Grant moved the boy closer.

Carson traced the ribbons on the chest of the uniform then dropped his hand. “Can I see yours, too?”

“Sure you can.” Grant lowered him to the floor. “I’ll be getting it out tonight.”

“I had fun today.” Carson walked to Mac and leaned on his thigh. “Can you come over and play tomorrow?”

“Maybe.” Mac rubbed Carson’s head.

“Uncle Grant says Grandpa is going to be with Daddy and Mommy now,” Carson blurted out. “Is that right?”

Eyes blurring, Mac squatted to the boy’s level. “You bet. He’s with Grandma, too.”

Carson nodded, then rested his head on Mac’s shoulder. “I miss them.”

“We all do.” Mac’s throat constricted until it felt as if a noose was wrapped around it, choking him.

Carson lifted his head and turned his face toward Grant. “Can I have ice cream after dinner?”

Grant laughed. “Definitely. Ellie bought your favorite.”

“Cookies and cream?” Carson’s eyes brightened. “Awesome.”

He squirmed away from Mac and bolted for the door. “I forgot. Ellie said to tell you dinner was ready. Nan made macaroni and cheese.”

“Then we’d better go eat.” Grant followed Carson. “We can’t let macaroni and cheese get cold.”

And Mac knew exactly how he and Ellie managed the kids. They enjoyed every exhausting minute. Unbelievably, Mac was a little jealous.

Which was ridiculous and selfish. He was the one who kept leaving. He was the one who took off for South America every time he felt like the kids were getting attached to him. The last thing they needed was more grief.

Who was he kidding? It was
his
heart he was guarding.

What was he going to do? He’d committed himself to stopping drugs, to protecting kids like Carson and Faith from the poison entering the country every day. But the thought of leaving his family again left him empty, just as the idea of committing to being a permanent part of their lives terrified him.

“Are you all right?” Hannah asked from the doorway.

Mac shook off his mood. “Yes. Just thinking.”

“Need to talk about it?”

“Not yet.” Mac joined her in the hall. “I’ll let you know.”

“Don’t shut us out again, Mac. We need you.”

“I know. I’m trying.” Mac rubbed the ache in the center of his chest.

Hannah leaned her head on his shoulder. “You can let us all in. We don’t bite.”

“Faith might.”

She laughed. “Seriously, Mac. I was always chasing something. Success. Independence. Approval. I struggled when every milestone felt so . . .” Hannah paused. “Empty. What’s the point if there’s no one to share those moments?”

“My job is dangerous, and sometimes it feels like I can’t possibly make a difference. No matter what I do, the drugs keep flowing.” Frustration filled Mac. “As long as there’s a demand for drugs, some scumbag will be willing to fill it. On the other hand, how can I refuse to do what I can? I know better than anyone that drugs can ruin a life. A whole family.”

Hannah turned him to face her. “You didn’t ruin anything. We love you. You had a perfectly legitimate problem as a teenager. The stress we all lived with was soul smashing. No wonder the three of us ran as far as we could from it.”

“Only Lee was strong enough to stay, and we abandoned him.”

Hannah nodded. “The best we can do is learn from our mistakes and not repeat them, because Lee was the one who had it right. This is what counts, Mac. These kids. This family. This is for keeps. Sure, it’s a commitment, and an intimidating one, but I promise, you won’t regret it.”

His siblings had managed to sort out their problems and find peace. Why couldn’t he?

Chapter Eighteen

Stella parked her unmarked car half a block from Our Lady of Sorrows Catholic Church. Lance rode shotgun. She rolled down the window and let the evening breeze into the vehicle. The scent of freshly cut grass lingered in the humid night air. Lightning bugs blinked neon green over the lawn.

“Do we have a picture of this creeper?” Lance asked.

“No. No name either.”

“But you think this guy might be stalking women from this Narcotics Anonymous group?”

“Gianna saw a tall, thin man lingering outside the meetings. This might be the last place Missy Green was seen alive.” Stella stretched her neck and checked her watch. “Today is Thursday. The meeting is over at ten. It’ll be dark enough for a stalker to follow the women undetected.”

“It’s a good start anyway.” Lance shrugged. “Some people can be followed in broad daylight. You’d be surprised how little people pay attention to their surroundings. Everyone’s totally focused on their phone.”

Stella slid down in the seat and stared through the windshield. Our Lady was an old stone structure. An attached parochial school formed one wing of the campus, while church offices comprised the other. Narrow and tall, the sanctuary’s spire towered over the neighboring buildings.

She scanned the sidewalk and the parking lot on the other side of the street. A woman got out of a blue Prius and hurried to the crosswalk, her heels clicking on the pavement. She jogged up the steps and disappeared inside the office wing.

“The meeting is in the basement below the offices,” Stella said. “The church donates the space several nights a week.”

While she watched the church, Stella played with a spare hair elastic on her wrist.

Bored, Lance slid his straw in and out of his Coke. “So how’s your grandfather?”

“Busy as ever.” Stella smiled. “I’m glad Morgan and the kids are living with us. It takes all of us to keep him occupied and out of trouble.”

“He’s a character.” Lance spun the straw. “How’s your sister?” he asked in a fake casual voice.

Stella took her eyes off the street for a few seconds to study his profile. He and Morgan had dated in high school, but Stella couldn’t remember which one of them had done the breaking up. She directed her gaze back to the church. “John’s death was hard on her.”

“How many kids does she have?”

“Three girls.” Who seemed to be coping better than their mother was.

“That’s tough.” Lance straightened and nodded toward the building. “Do you see that? There’s a person in front of the school office.”

Stella’s eyes pierced the shadow under the roof overhang. Something shifted. A faint orange light glowed brighter and then faded. “Gotta love smokers. Let’s see if he goes inside when he’s finished with his cigarette.”

Instead, he lit another. Stella gave him another ten minutes, but he didn’t move.

She reached for her door handle. “Let’s go have a talk with him.”

“Give me five minutes to circle around behind him in case he decides to bolt.” Lance opened his car door and slipped out into the dark, shutting his door gently. He disappeared into the shadows alongside the church buildings.

Stella checked her watch. When five minutes had passed, she started the engine and drove down the street, passing the suspect and making a U-turn. She pulled to the curb just as he lit another match. Under the hood of a sweat jacket, the flare highlighted sharp cheekbones over a gaunt face and scruffy beard.

Stella spotted Lance twenty feet away, hugging the side of the building. Flashlight in hand, she got out of the car and approached the loiterer. “Excuse me, sir. I’d like to talk to you for a minute.”

The man startled. He backed up two steps. Behind him, Lance’s shoe scraped on the pavement. The suspect’s head swiveled and he bolted straight between them, tearing off across the street directly into the path of a minivan. A horn blared. The van bumped his legs as he slid to a stop. He spun, slapping the van’s hood with both palms, and scrambling around the vehicle.

“Stop! Police!” Lance sprinted after him.

Stella was right behind them. The suspect hit the back edge of the parking lot and made a sharp left, skidding into an alley. Lance’s shoes slid on a patch of loose sand as he followed. He cursed and went down on one knee. Lunging to his feet, he ran, limping, toward the corner.

Stella gained ground on Lance, passing him and rounding the brick building. She spotted the suspect in the light of a streetlamp at the other end of the alley and willed her legs to move faster. Her thighs and lungs burned as she cranked up her speed. The suspect slowed, glancing over his shoulder.

She wanted to yell “stop” again but saved her breath for running. The suspect’s strides shortened, and he cut right and disappeared. Stella slowed, her hand hovering near her sidearm as she emerged from the alley into the next street.

Where is he?

She waited, listening, as her pulse thundered in her ears. A movement to her left startled her. Crouching, she flattened herself against the bricks.

The suspect bolted from a dark patch next to a Dumpster, and adrenaline sent Stella’s heart rate into hyperdrive as she went after him. He skidded around another corner with Stella right on his heels. She was close enough to hear his labored breathing over her own.

Stella made the turn into the rear yard of an auto body shop. A six-feet-tall chain-link fence blocked the rear exit. The suspect ran between rows of cars and leaped for the fence.

“Oh, no you don’t.” She closed in, grabbing him by the leg of his jeans. The baggy pants slid down until the waistband encircled his thighs.

Afraid his pants would slide right off and he’d slip away, Stella shifted her grip to his ankles and pulled hard. He fell off the fence onto his back, taking her to the ground with him, right into a pile of garbage. The fall knocked the wind from her lungs. Stella gasped for air.

He tried to scramble to his feet, but the jeans around his knees tripped him. He fell face-first onto the pavement.

Stella flipped onto her belly, got a leg under her body, and launched herself forward. “Get back here.”

He rolled and swung a wild haymaker at Stella’s head. She ducked, but the blow glanced off her jaw. Bright spots flashed in her vision.

She shook her head to clear it as a backhand flew at her face. She blocked the strike with two open palms and grabbed his wrist. Pressing the bone of her forearm into the hollow of his elbow, she arm-barred him to the ground.

He wriggled. “You bitch.”

Placing a knee on his spine to pin him to the ground, she wrestled his hands behind his back and cuffed him. A pat down for weapons yielded a wallet, a pack of cigarettes, matches, a small knife, and an oval medallion on a chain.

She collapsed onto the ground next to him and sucked in oxygen.

Lance limped into the alley. “Are you all right?”

Huffing, Stella nodded, rubbing her jaw. “You?”

“Fine.” But his face was lined with pain. “Just took a wrong step back there.”

She hoped he hadn’t hurt his bad leg on his first week back on duty.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep up.”

Stella sat up and forced three deep breaths in and out of her lungs. “I got him.”

“You did.” But the frown on Lance’s face told her he was unhappy with his own performance. He held out a hand.

Taking it, she let him help her stand. “Seriously, stuff happens, Lance. I could have tripped just as easily as you did.”

“But you didn’t.” Self-reproach flashed in Lance’s eyes as he grabbed the suspect by the bicep and hauled him to his feet.

Stella cupped her aching face.

Lance’s frowned deepened. He swung the suspect around. His hands were cuffed behind his back, and his face slammed into the brick exterior of the building.

“This is police brutality. I didn’t do anything,” the man screamed.

The hood had fallen off his head during the chase. In the light of the streetlamp, Stella got her first full look at the man she’d pursued. He was about thirty and as thin as an aging rock star.

“You assaulted a police officer.” Lance jerked the suspect’s arms high up his back.

The suspect rose onto his toes and screamed, “You’re gonna break my arm.”

Lance’s body tensed even more.

Stella grabbed him by the shoulder. “Back off, Lance. We got him.”

“I’m gonna sue your asses,” the suspect screamed into the bricks.

Lance spun the man to face him and leaned closer to his face. The cords of his neck went as taut as steel cables.

“Lance!” Stella grabbed Lance’s arm, her effort barely budging him. His chest heaved, and his jaw muscles twitched. He wanted to hurt the man. Stella could see it in his eyes. He wouldn’t take his eyes off the suspect’s. Stella forced her body between them, pushing on Lance’s chest with both hands. “I’ll take him from here.”

Lance jerked his gaze from the suspect’s face to Stella’s. He blinked and took a step backward, frowning as if the level of his own aggression surprised him.

“I’m gonna sue this whole city.” The suspect licked his bleeding lip. A small cut on the side of his mouth dripped blood, as did an abrasion on his cheek. Rotten lettuce from a broken-open garbage bag hung from the shoulder of his hoodie. “I did nothing to warrant this treatment.”

“Then why did you run?” Lance picked up the wallet from the asphalt and opened it. “Noah Spivak.” Lance thumbed through the contents. “This is impressive. He has six hundred dollars in his wallet. That’s a lot of cash, Spivak.”

Spivak’s arrogant glare set off a warning in Stella’s head.

“Let’s take Mr. Spivak down to the station for questioning.” Stella steered him toward the street.

Lance was still limping as they escorted the suspect to the car and put him in the backseat. Stella turned around in the parking lot. She stopped the car and stared through the windshield. An older model blue Toyota Corolla sat in the light-puddle of a streetlamp. Stella used her computer to run the license plate. “That Toyota is registered to Missy Green.”

They got out of the car and walked around Missy’s Toyota. The doors were locked. Stella doubted there was any evidence in the car. Missy obviously hadn’t made it back to her vehicle after the meeting. “This is where she was abducted.”

Lance pulled out his phone. “We’ll get forensics out here to check the vehicle and have it towed to the impound lot.”

Sliding back into the vehicle, Stella looked over the seat at Spivak. “Does that car look familiar?”

He shot her a
fuck-you
smile but didn’t answer.

At the station, they secured Spivak in an interview room and posted a uniform to keep an eye on him. While Lance searched for his criminal history, Stella spot cleaned some oily substance from her jacket and pants. From the Italian spice smell, she guessed it was salad dressing.

She met Lance in the hallway. His face still looked pained, his lips pressed white. His gait was stiff, as if he was making a great effort not to limp.

“You OK?” she asked.

He nodded and opened a file folder in his hand. “Spivak isn’t our typical scumbag. He has a degree in chemistry. After college, he moved to Albany, where he was brought up on charges three different times: once for assault, once for domestic violence, and once for statutory rape. The assault charge went away when the victim refused to testify. The domestic violence case was dropped when his girlfriend disappeared—she’s never resurfaced. The Albany detectives think he did her, but they weren’t able to prove anything, which means he’s no dummy. He did serve eighteen months in the state prison for the rape. He returned to Scarlet Falls to live with his parents after his release from prison.”

“Lucky us.” Stella reached for the doorknob.

Spivak had been sitting in the cramped, windowless space for thirty minutes, stewing. His cuffed hands were fastened to the back of the metal chair. His hoodie had been taken with his personal effects, and sweat had soaked through the armpits of his T-shirt.

With an exaggerated sniff, Lance pulled out a metal chair and sat. “The smell of fear in the air.”

Belligerence—and intelligence—shone from Spivak’s eyes.

“If I take the cuffs off, you’re going to behave, right?” Stella wanted his cooperation. Most criminals were smart enough to restrain themselves while being videotaped by a ceiling-mounted camera.

The look Spivak shot Lance could have burned brick. Spivak nodded, and Stella circled behind him to release his hands. He rubbed his wrists, and Stella spotted scars in the crook of his elbow. Track marks?

She sat in the chair across from him, read him his Miranda rights, and slid an acknowledgment across the table for him to sign.

“I know my rights.” Ego lifted his jaw, but a line of sweat trickled down his temple. “I’m not signing anything.”

They’d intentionally shut off the air-conditioning vent in the room. Discomfort could loosen a tongue.

Stella pushed the paper aside. She raised her voice and spoke to the camera. “Let the record show that Mr. Spivak was read his rights and stated verbally that he understands them.”

Spivak’s mouth flattened as he realized his mistake. His eyes flickered to the camera.

Stella slid the file in front of her and opened it. “You have quite the record. You’ve been charged with assault, domestic violence, and statutory rape.”

“I was never convicted of anything except the rape, and I was railroaded on that.”

“You like little girls, Noah?” Lance cocked his head.

“She told me she was eighteen.” His face went smug.

Stella checked the file. “She was thirteen.”

“She looked mature for her age.” Spivak clasped his hands. “Must be the hormones in our food.”

“Where do you live, Mr. Spivak?” Stella asked.

With one blink, his eyes went dark. “With my parents.”

Stella leaned forward, interlocking her fingers and resting her forearms on the table. “Why were you outside the church tonight?”

“Contemplating God’s grand plan.” His eyes shrank to mean slits. “Why did he put us in the same place tonight, Detective?”

Stella ignored the question. “Who were you waiting for?”